Chris started the day off with an eye doctor appointment. Looks like all is well for another six months. She has cataracts, but they are just going to watch them.
I
had an appointment with a physician’s assistant later in the morning. For about two weeks now my right ear and jaw
have been receiving electrical bursts that make my jaw ache and my ear tingle
and subsequently itch like crazy. The
jaw ache started first, then the ear entered the equation, and I recognized the
same sensation from previous neck issues as nerve involvement. This check-up was just to establish that the
condition existed. I wanted to take the first
steps toward ensuring that there was not some sort of alien technology that had
been implanted in my jaw to record all the brush strokes of my speech patterns,
enabling them to take over my body and perfectly duplicate speech patterns,
thus fooling the world and providing an in-road to total species domination.
The
nurse was … interesting. I was the only
one in the waiting room when she opened the door and stuck her head out to call
in the next patient. She looked directly
at me, and I returned her stare, but no attempt was made to call me back. She returned to the workers at the desk and
some communication between the, ensued.
And suddenly my phone rang.
Strangely enough, it was the doctor’s office, calling to tell me that it
was my turn to be taken into the waiting room.
I answered gleefully, and the nurse suddenly realized her mistake. She thought I would be a female. And even with a mask on, the remnants of my beard
peeking out from beneath proved a deal-breaker.
She was embarrassed. No … she was
mortified. I assured her all was
well. I even explained that my wife’s
name was Chris, which could be a guy’s name, so we are used to answering to
either. She stumbled a few more times
before finally just calling me Mr. Chris.
I told her that would not be a problem … I would just call her George.
Done. So she began her questions to get
me all checked in. One was, “Are you
depressed?” I replied as deadpan as I
could muster, “Only when someone doesn’t get my name right.” She rolled her eyes at me. Another question was, “Are you happy? Do you consider yourself a happy person?” My answer, “Not when someone messes up my
name.” Fortunately she was a great
sport. We laughed a lot.
The
PA finally arrived and did her inspection.
As far as I could tell, she would admit to finding no alien
implants. Instead she said I probably
had something called TMJ. Sounded to me like
a rock band or maybe a TV channel. Kind
of suspicious. I asked what that
meant. She responded with some medical gobbledygook
with the letters T, M, and J involved.
Something about the jaw muscle tightening up and constricting the nerve
to the ear. The treatment? Rest it for a few weeks. Really?
So what does that mean? No
talking for two weeks? Well, not exactly. I’m restricted again. Getting used to this. No chewing bubblegum. Done.
I don’t do that anyway. No
chewing anything that is … well … chewy.
Like steak. OK. That is few and far between. Oh, and if it doesn’t improve in two weeks,
call the dentist or go see an ENT doc. They can make sure I’m not grinding my
teeth. I suppose they can also do an x-ray
and determine for sure about that alien antennae …
2
Corinthians 4:18 says, “So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what
is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”
Father,
thank you for all the knowledge these medical folks have attained in their years
of schooling. Keep using them to calm
the fears of old-timers who aren’t completely convinced about things like alien
implants and new-fangled vaccines. Amen.
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