But somehow, I’ve ended up making a million doctor appointments, as though I’m a car getting everything checked before a long trip.

Sticking with the car analogy, I don’t even want to leave the garage but I guess I thought I should know what condition I’m in, just in case.

Today I went to the eye doctor, who revealed that I can have cataract surgery, even though I wasn’t aware I had cataracts! What are they, even? All I know is, the surgery would improve my vision so much that I wouldn’t need contact lenses.

That sounds wonderful! Except there must be a downside, like possible blindness?

Who cares! Life has become a game of dodge-ball, and I was never good at that. Cancer, blindness, fragile bones, you try to keep ducking but there they are.

Also, and this is way too much information, for the first time in years I went to a gynecologist, who loved what she saw and said my muscles were too toned! She pressed several different places and asked how each place felt. Some were “Don’t love it”, a couple were “Ow”, one was “Nothing” and others were pretty nice, although I am too classy to say “Keep going!”

Later this week I have an appointment to discuss my shitty bones, and then a regular annual physical.

I feel a weird mixture of dread and elation. Dread of finding out awful things and elation at knowing I don’t care about dying, if only it would hurry up.

If you were ever a smoker, I’ll bet you think if you had six months to live, you would smoke your head off. If you’re concerned about your weight, you probably think you’d go on a wild 6-month eating binge.

Me, I eat cookies all night long, I don’t exercise, I don’t care about my cholesterol, I don’t want anything more than a little dope to smoke and something good to watch on Netflix. I’m ready to die, like Leonard Cohen was before he recanted, but first I have to go to a million doctors.

But here’s the good news: Two different blood pressure tests today at two different offices revealed that it was 150 over 80, and also 114 over 51.

So that’s a relief.

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I’m not afraid of snakes, spiders or bees. I’m not afraid of death. I’m just afraid of everything else.

Today, I was afraid to walk down my driveway because I saw a Thing that looked like a cat but wouldn’t move when I honked my horn at it. I’m terrified of possums and  raccoons and squirrels, all of which inhabit my urban neighborhood. (Signs of the apocalypse, obviously.)

I’m so afraid of falling that I dread taking a walk. I fell last week and skinned my knees but it was traumatizing to hit the pavement. After breaking my pelvis and hip by falling, I feel deeply unsafe about my body. Why don’t other people fall and break?

I’m afraid of hospitals, now that I know what happens there. I’m afraid of lice, rodents, thunder, large knives, and medical disorders like fistulas and prolapse of the uterus or bladder.

I hate being so fearful. Many of these fears are new ones, and I’m not  including the universal ones like clowns and cancer. It’s strange to be vulnerable to so many fears at a time when I contemplate every tall structure with the question of whether it’s high enough for jumping, should I choose to depart.

Fears or diagnoses, anyone?

Today I had the privilege of another colonoscopy. My mother had colon cancer, so this is her gift to me. I looked forward to the propofol, but little else. The fasting and the nauseating potion you have to drink are an ordeal, even for someone who is used to ordeals.

I felt strongly that I would have cancer. Then, as I waited for the lady with the propofol, I felt Max’s presense. I felt so sure I was going to join him, I figured I would die during the procedure.

The Doctor appeared and exclaimed at how pretty I looked. I told her that I wore lipstick* just for her. The next thing I knew, I heard her voice telling me: “It’s all over, your colon is beautiful!”

If I can’t just be dead, at least I know I have a beautiful colon. Feel free to admire it in the pictures   below!

* M.A.C. Russian Red

Recently I attended the wedding of one of Max’s oldest friends, who was also a member of his band.   It was a joy to see this wonderful young man celebrating his love for his adoring bride, his obvious soulmate.

The wedding was also an opportunity for me to see old friends, and to see some of Max’s school pals who were now grown ups.   There were babies and toddlers everywhere and I got to hold a placid baby girl wearing a pink tutu.

We couldn’t help but notice a family with three or four young children, all completely bald.   I assumed that one of the kids had lost his hair from chemotherapy and the others had shaven their heads in solidarity. You hear about this practice more and more, and I respect the  sacrifice  and devotion involved.

After several funny speeches, the bride and groom danced to a recording of a silly song about bees or something.   It looked like a dance you learn in preschool, with funny hand-motions. It was adorable. During their dance, one of the bald kids joined in, weaving between them and spinning around happily in her own world.

It was such a poignant bittersweet image: The glowing couple embarking on a new life together, the little child with cancer, whose fate was uncertain.

When I was drunk enough, I danced with my husband, who wouldn’t let me lead. Then I danced with some women who just wanted to shake it up regardless of the too-fast beat and our painful high heels. When we finally said goodbye to the groom, we learned that the bald kids had  head-lice, not cancer.

Ha! See how things change depending on your perspective? It’s a good reminder that all experience is filtered through interpretation.   From now on, I hope I can remember that a tragic worldview could be a lapse of judgement or a  tendency  to see cancer instead of  head-lice. I can’t think of a proverb to  illustrate  this insight.

Anyone up to it? It has to include the word  head-lice.

I was tagged by Rollergirl to post a picture of where I blog.

I don’t have a camera but my husband has one. I don’t know how to use it, because I am burdened with a Girlie Brain. I asked a close relative who will not be named to take a photo of my computer, but no.

I asked my BFF to take a photo, but she won’t send it to me.

I have given up and taken a picture with my cellphone. My computer is in a small cluttered room, facing a broken window we have mended with black tape. All the Saints working together could not change these circumstances. They taunt me as my frustration level mounts, causing stress hormones to bathe my system, furthering my chances of getting cancer of one or all of my favorite internal organs.

I turned to Patti Smith to deliver me from the ordeal of human existence. See her there on the monitor?

Let it be known that all those who refused to take a photo for me WILL NOT GET DINNER!

There.

*I now tag Juri, Nick, Queen Marie, Jill and Suebob. You guys are supposed to show us where you blog, link back to this post, and then tag 5 other bloggers. If you ignore this assignment, NO DINNER FOR YOU EITHER.