A Long Night's Journey Into Day

"Talk to me."

It was 6:45 AM and I had just finished texting my dear old friend, who oh by the way is also my urologist, the intimate details of my long night's journey into day. I will not quote chapter and verse to you but I survived and am, so it seems, good enough to mess up yet another day. The brief synopsis of the advice received was basically the urological equivalent of take two pills and call me in the morning. Medical intervention averted.

What I took from last evening, what I take from every encounter my body goes through, is that I am a wimp. With a capital W. All the way back to that infamous impetigo incident nearly 60 years ago, where I missed almost an entire soccer season due to, well, a little rash under my chin, my life has been dotted with continuing evidence of my inability to face any health adversity with something other than a quivering lip.

As I paced the floor in my bedroom last night and, in my mind equated my discomfort as the equal of any woman giving childbirth, even in that moment I recognized that I was prone to exaggeration. Okay, prone maybe far too gentle a term. And exaggeration may be far too complimentary.

My wife slept through most of the evening's physical and mental gymnastics. Asking early on if I was ok. And even as I said no and hinted, no suggested, I might have to go to the hospital, once she was able to monitor the situation and gauge its level of seriousness (far closer to Defcon 5 than Defcon 1), she was able to leave me to my own devices.

The conversation with my doctor likewise veered from my self absorption to matters mundane in relatively short order. With my wimpiness defused, the rest of humanity's existence returned to focus.

My last episode of note, which ended in hospitalization for three days led to the unfortunate incident where I drove two nurses from the profession by forcing them to listen while I read several of my blog posts to them in the middle of the night. Never losing an opportunity to impress a captive audience with my mental acuity.

This time, thankfully, it appears a bullet has been avoided. While I may not be quite fit as a fiddle (how fit, actually, is a fiddle) I am really quite fine. Although that is definitely a matter up for debate.