Friday, August 29, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Yes
"The men and women who serve in our battlefields may be Democrats and Republicans and Independents, but they have fought together and bled together and some died together under the same proud flag. They have not served a Red America or a Blue America - they have served the United States of America."
- Barack Obama, August 28, 2008
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
The Doctor Will See You Now
As has been made abundantly clear to my Lovely Bride, I have been suffering from a backache that is roughly as painful as having one's leg fed into a garbage disposal made of hot acid. Because of a contract dispute between Blue Cross Blue Shield and my medical clinic, however, I have had to suffer in stoic silence. That dispute has now been settled and I am once again able to enjoy the fruits of a health insurance system that is the envy of Liberia.
After getting weighed ("I'm sorry Mr. Snag, I don't think you're wearing thirty pounds of clothing"), I settled in to wait for the doctor. I'd foolishly neglected to bring anything to read and was forced to browse through the few materials in the examination room. Family Circle. Country Living. Coping with Osteoporosis. Slim pickings.
Soon enough there was a knock on the door and the doctor let himself in. "Good morning," he said, eyeing me curiously as I tried to hide the breastfeeding pamphlet I'd been studying.
"Hey, how's it going?" I asked.
"Fine, fine," he said. "What seems to be the problem?"
"I've got a heck of a backache," I told him.
"Where exactly does it hurt?"
"If I was a cow, it would be from the chuck roast area down through my right foreshank."
He stared at me.
"My shoulder blade through my right arm," I explained. Doctors don't always get my sophisticated wit.
"Let's take a look," he said. He ran me through a series of simple tests, poked and prodded a little bit, and stepped back.
"I'm guessing rickets or scurvy," I said.
"I'm pretty sure we can rule those out," he replied. "Looks like you've got a strained muscle. Do you remember doing anything to it?"
"I pushed some particularly heavy paper a few weeks ago," I told him.
"I suppose that could do it," he said, doing his best to humor me.
"Can I tell my wife you advised me to start smoking again?" I asked hopefully.
"No."
"Please? I'll give you another co-pay."
"No. You cannot start smoking again. That won't help at all."
"It would make me feel better."
"That doesn't matter. I am not going to tell you to smoke."
"Okay, so what should I do?"
"Move around when it starts to hurt. Get some exercise. Don't sit in front of a computer for too long."
"Are you sure I can't just smoke instead?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Alright. Anything else?"
"If it's really bothering you I can write a prescription for a muscle relaxant. That might help you get a good night's rest."
"No thanks. I need to sleep with one eye open. I've got a lot of life insurance."
"Hmm," he said, making a note in my file.
"That was a joke," I told him nervously.
"Of course it was," he said.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Basketball Jones
"Eight hundred and seventy dollars for two kids to play basketball?"* I squeaked.
My friend E. laughed as he wrote out a check for his youngest son. "My oldest is done with basketball. You shouldn't have had so many children," he said. "
"No shit," I said. "Thanks for rubbing salt in the wound."
"Children are like wounds," he said contemplatively. "Great, gaping wounds with legs."
"Yeah, and they bleed money," I said.
"Remember when we were going to let my youngest kill himself for the insurance?" he asked.
"Good times," I said. "What do you suppose our boys will say about us when they grow up?"
"It won't be like the Chief's kid," said E.
"No kidding," I said.
E. and I were at a retirement party today for the chief of our local volunteer fire department. After the mayors and commissioners and legislators and other officials had their say, the chief's grown son took the lectern.
"Dad," he said, "When I was little it sometimes bothered me when you'd have to run out to fires and accidents all the time. Look at this room full of people, though." He gestured to the fire station bay, full of people as it had been all day, people from all over coming to say goodbye.
He continued, choking up a little. "I read somewhere that a man's only real legacy is the life he leads. You've made this a better place. That's the best legacy you could leave for me. I'm so proud to be your son."
The chief and his boy hugged while all of us, cops, firefighters and EMTs included, stared at our shoes and snuffled a little.
Now, at basketball sign up, I asked E., "Can you imagine what our kids will say at our retirement?"
"Christ," he said. "How about, 'I hate you, dad. You never did anything for anyone.'" He signed the check for his son's registration, handed it over, and stood up.
"I can hear it now. 'You're the worst dad ever. All the other dads are way better.'" I handed over a check for my own kids.
"Thank God I'll die before I retire," he said.
"You and me both," I said.
* I know. There is no need to remind me I'm fortunate to be able to afford it. Please respect my self-pity, as unattractive as it may be.
