“Swan song” A metaphorical phrase for a final gesture, effort, or performance given just before death or retirement.
Before I share the happenings of late here in Coupeville, I wanted to alert those of you reading my posts who might be of a “certain age” (those of you who cart around mercury in your teeth, receive the dreaded AARP cards several times a week, and whose joints could use a good shot of WD-40) to be prepared for a phrase your doctor may soon use, as mine did on the day of my annual physical.
I’m happy to say that my blood pressure while waiting in a doctor’s office was a glowing 118/74; my cholesterol reading was exemplary, as was my glucose. Once the nurse left, I waited patiently in my paper gown for the doctor, and was feeling pretty darn spiffy for a gal my age. I even daydreamed about taking up a whole new career, something that would allow me to kick up my heels.
And then the doctor arrived, and my daydream of a new career took a nose dive from the balance beam as we went through the list of preventive tests and procedures I’ve had over the years. Boomers get ready, because one day very soon your doctor is going to say, “We’ll perform that procedure today and then you won’t have to have it again for three years, and that one WILL BE YOUR FINAL EXAM!” WTF?! as the highly evolved Twitterverse would ask! Since my hearing remains stellar, I didn’t ask her to repeat what she said for a couple of reasons: If I heard her correctly, I sure as shootin’ did want her to repeat it, and if I hadn’t heard her correctly, I couldn’t afford hearing aids.
“But wait!” I say, dear readers. My visit with my doctor was even more eventful. It just so happens that for the week prior to my exam I was having intestinal pain. After a quick poke around of my abdomen (at which point I was thinking: why bother if I’ve only got one exam left), my doctor determined that I needed to have a CT scan of said abdomen STAT! Now, unbeknownst to you, until now, I once had a very bad reaction to the light-up-your-insides iodine they use for these tests. This much I remember when I’m asked if I have any allergies to medication. Not a problem, my doctor told me, they’ll just do the scan without it. How cool is that, I thought, until the doctor once again snatched up my dignity. “We’ll just have you use barium sulfate.” Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you look at these situations, I had been fasting for my blood work, so there was no turning back. I waited in reception area while they brewed up my private batch of BS (if the shoe fits) and lo and behold, there was an elderly woman drinking her first bottle of BS. Let me rephrase that…she was sipping it as if it was some fine cognac, but her face registered “cheap hooch.” Anyone who has ever had to take BS knows it’s not a sipping brew; best to “chug it” as the kids in my day used to say. (No, this is not one of my high school boyfriends. He’s far too dressed up.)
As I was handed my own private reserve of BS, the technician, as if I was buying a fine wine, told me it was better chilled. This immediately alerted me to the fact that this young woman had never experienced BS. Cold BS does not a difference make from room temp BS. It’s all BS.
Now, I’m one of those people who wants to know what kind of reaction I might have when I take a medication. I never read the first warnings in the pamphlet, no, I immediately skip to the rare, but gravely severe reactions listed: swelling of tongue, loss of eyesight, stroke, death. These are the things I focus on. When I got my shingles vaccination over at Walgreen’s last year, the pharmacist gave me the warning pamphlet, and I immediately scrolled down to the gravest reactions I might have: shortness of breath, constriction of airway passage. These are concerns that need answers. “So,” I asked, “if I were going to have a reaction, in what time frame would that reaction take place?” To which the pharmacist replied, “Within 30 minutes.” Doable, I thought. There’s enough crap in Walgreen’s for me to paw while I wait to see if I’m going to circle the drain. Somewhere around the adult diaper section, I swear I felt my throat constrict and I became light-headed. Perhaps it was just the thought of wearing adult diapers, but I wasn’t going to take a chance, and spent the remainder of my thirty minute window of adverse opportunity within shouting distance of the pharmacist. I share my “idiotsyncrasy” (as my friend David calls it) with you so you know why I raked my doctor’s assistant over the “what’s the worst thing that can happen” coals before leaving. Once home, I did as instructed: I chugged my first pint, stopping only once to grab some air. An hour later I downed the second round, leaving a bit in the bottle as instructed to take with me. One never knows when one is going to crave a little BS.
I survived the CT scan, but that “final exam” remark was still sitting in my craw, so I knew it was time to head down the pier. I can always count on my guys down at the coffee shop to give it to me straight, so I asked if any of their doctors had ever slapped them up side the head with the news that a particular medical exam would be their final exam. Wow! You’d a thunk I asked them to cut their fishing lines with a thirty pound King on their hook. In fact, a few pushed their chairs back as if some unwelcome entity had just invaded their inner circle, carrying an unknown malady.
After a series of harrumphs, and some serious throat clearing akin to that of a TB ward, I realized I had crossed over into the unspeakable territory known as “Final Exam Syndrome.” I didn’t pursue the topic any further, and quickly changed the subject to the pros and cons of using 600 feet of extension cord.
Oh, I see it’s almost 3:00 a.m. I was going to tell you all about Mussel Fest and how not even the wild wind and rain could keep the out-of-town folks from heading to Coupeville for the festivities, but I’m tuckered out from yammerin’ on and on about my trip to the doctor. But before I go, I wanted to tell you I heard from Bob Kay down in Florida, the inventor of the Gutter Cluster Buster. You might remember I did a piece on a gutter cleaning gadget that I purchased and Bob wrote to me to tell me about his invention. Oh, see, I’ve started to yak again. Next time, I’ll tell you what Bob had to say in his note.
Big thanks for the animation to :http://www.free-animations.co.uk/music/singers/singer_1.html
And wipwapweb.com for the rest of the photos that grace this post
I can definitely relate…
Thanks for dropping by, Nancy. We’ll have to do lunch soon to catch up and maybe study for our “final exams.”
Thanks, Michaelene, for the medical updates and big smiles. Good to know you can down BS with the best of them.
My pleasure, Tess.