I received a phone call yesterday that was potentially life changing. To sum it up, I heard,
“Mrs. Brown, we received your blood test results and we need to see you in the office as soon as possible. The Doctor needs to talk to you.”
Of course, I interrogated the nurse until she finally folded and let me know it was one value, in particular, that was askew; and that no, I was NOT dying. Even still, hearing “we need to see you as soon as possible,” made me HORRIBLY nervous.
We have a saying in our house:
In other words, I take care of everyone before myself, everyone ELSES needs come before my own. Sure, I sound like a martyr, but any other Momma will sing you the same song. However, Big Daddy FREAKED when I told him about my phone call, so they “worked me in” to the schedule this morning. I’ll keep the “why” and “how” to myself, but WILL say Big Daddy can be VERY convincing when he needs to be.
When the Doctor went over my results, she informed me that based on the indirect vs. direct conjugation of red blood cell lysis blah blah blah I have something called “Gilbert’s Syndrome,” a totally benign condition that basically amounts to nothing.
The only other thing about Gilbert’s Syndrome is the potential inability to detoxify certain drugs in my liver the way “normal” folks do, specifically Tylenol. You know what else can’t detoxify Tylenol? A cat. So in addition to Gilbert’s Syndrome, I am also turning into a cat. Meow.
Of course I IMMEDIATELY called Big Daddy (who was on “death watch”) to inform I was going to “live to be 1000 year old,” according to my physician, and that I have this thing called “Gilbert’s Syndrome.”
“DILBERT’S SYNDROME? Does that mean yer gonna be an engineer? Ha ha..” said my husband as he gets his NINTH patent (no, seriously NERD ALERT.)
“No,” I said, “GILBERT’S SYNDROME”
Silence. Pause.
"Ogre, you asshole." He said.
"Wormser designed the javelin for Lamar's limp-wristed throwing style," I replied.
“’What are you lookin’ at NERD?’
‘Well, I thought I was looking at my mother’s old DOUCHE BAG, but that’s back in
"Not the Moos!" I shouted!
"What the fuck's a 'frush?'" Big Daddy laughed (one of his favorite lines.)
“She’s not that kind of girl, Booger,” he said.
“Why? Does she have a PENIS?” I said.
1 comment:
Oh man, I hate those phone calls. Glad everything is relatively bushy. Hugs to you.
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