I'm a little sick. I have bronchitis. There's a short story that goes with that. I went to Dr G for a patch of skin he planned to fix. As I was going there Darling called me on the phone.
"Do you want me to go with you?"
I'm almost fifty-five years old. I don't need Darling to sit with me at the doctor's office and hold my hand. I almost said yes.
"No, I'm good. I can do this." I tried to sound convincing.
"Okay, but make sure they take your temperature, your pulse and your blood pressure. Oh, and make sure Dr G listens to your lungs."
"What? There's nothing wrong with my lungs! That's not even why I'm going in today."
"Just have him listen."
"Okay," I grumble.
The PA takes my pulse and blood pressure and I ask her to write them down for me to give to Darling. She smiles. Everyone there loves Darling. Darling spent a lot of time at the doctor's office during the dozen years she took care of her mother. The PA writes down my numbers and puts her initials on the piece of paper, handing it to me and smiling.
When Dr G comes in the room he looks at my left temple.
"Say, Doc. Darling says you should listen to my lungs."
He just looks at me and I shrug. "You won't hear anything, but she says you need to listen to them.
So he does. "You have a slight case of bronchitis," he says. "Don't tell your wife or she'll get a swelled head." We both grin at that. Darling is anything but prideful.
Of course Darling just smiled slightly when I told her I had bronchitis. "Yeah," she said, "I thought you might have that."
Dr G prescribed some medicines for my lungs. I didn't realize he prescribed two medicines, though, so I didn't start taking the antibiotic until three days ago, three days after he saw me.
I'm getting better. But I'm still sick…
… and tired (with kudos to Bill Cosby).