You deserve better but this is all I have.

Yesterday, probably still reeling from the psychic trauma of Thanksgiving Weekend With Every Living Relative, I forgot to take some Very Special Medication that Mommy Takes Because of Something You Did. I’m such a delicate wee thing that my dosage is extra-extra-low because that is all my willowy frame requires, but the bad thing about being on the teensy-weensy dosage is that once it leaves my body I’m WHOOPSY DAISY paddling around in a sloppy hell of withdrawal. So today I woke up soaked in sweat, reeling around my suddenly tilt-y apartment. When I saw two Henrys reaching for me from their two cribs, I knew I was in trouble. Fortunately the Husband is working nights this week, so once I roused him from his slumber, which I did by gently calling “GET UP I’M DYING OH CHRIST,” I quickly medicated myself and returned to bed, where I had dreams that I was Buffy the Vampire Slayer (how sad am I, still dreaming about a show that ended years ago? Quite sad) and a Herbie-the-Love-Bug-type car was roaming the streets of Brooklyn, announcing that it was the harbinger of the apocalypse. (If I wrote the script to this movie, I would title it DOOM BUGGY. That is an excellent title, and you, privileged reader, can take it. There, it’s yours. Don’t say I never do anything for you.) And I was all “bring it on” and I was tossing my pretty pretty hair this-a-ward and that-a-ward because I was Buffy and my hair was so blonde! So blonde and so pretty!

When I woke up, it was 1 p.m. This pretty much set the tone for the day.

Another thing that happened yesterday is that I went for a physical. I haven’t had a physical since the 80s—I remember the nurse instructing me to remove my shoulder pads and leg warmers before putting on the day-glo gown--so it seemed time. I didn’t realize I was getting the extra-vigilant doctor who would alert me to every possible thing that could ever be wrong with me, so I left there a little freaked. Extra-enthused doctor informed me that I have a GOITER (well, okay, “enlarged thyroid,” but isn’t that a goiter? Isn’t it? Oh, why didn’t I buy the iodized salt?) and HIGH BLOOD PRESSURE (okay, just a high reading, but my reading usually peak at 90/70, usually they’re so low that by all rights I should need to do a handstand to get the blood away from my ankles before I’m conscious enough to sign a check) and also several other things that I can’t mention here. Oh, and apparently because there’s so much cancer in my family, I’m a fool for not seeing a genetic counselor because I’m a ticking time bomb, people! Tick tick! So I’m scheduled to get all kinds of tests and she gave me the name of this counselor with the words “FAMILIAL CANCER SYNDROME” underlined next to it.

I called my mother looking for more specifics on the dead in our family, hoping that perhaps I had overstated the cancer running amok throughout the generations. It was a mistake, because my mom distrusts doctors and their voodoo practices. She truly believes that if you have something wrong with you and you don’t know about it, it will simply vanish. Poof! But if you make the mistake of going to a doctor and getting it treated, you, my friend, are doomed. Not just doomed. Doooomed.

So there I was just trying to get the facts and my mom is on the other end shrieking YOU’RE NOT GETTING CANCER! STOP IT! And then the rest of the conversation went like this (facts have been altered not to protect anyone but because I am simply too lazy to rise from my chair and find my notes):

Me: So how many brothers and sisters did grandma have?

Mom: 8? Wait, let me think. 12. No. No, 8. 6 brothers, 2 sisters. Including her. So she had 7 brothers and sisters.

Me: And did they all die of cancer, or…?

Mom: They were so old! When you’re old it doesn’t count. That’s what my doctor said. It’s not genetic if you’re old. They weren’t 35! They were OLD!

Me: What were their ages?

Mom: So let’s see, there was Mama, she was 74; there was, hmm, Salvatore, Uncle Sally, he was 62…

Me: Cancer?

Mom: Oh, cancer, yeah. Terrible. Colon cancer. Because all he ate was sausage. Seriously, it was all he ate.

Me: [Making a note never to eat sausage again]

Mom: Uncle Maddy, 60s, also colon cancer.

Me: Let me guess--sausage eater?

Mom: [dreamily] Uncle Maddy loved the sausage.

It went on like this for a while. Apparently my family is evenly spit between lovers of sausage and lovers of booze and/or cigarettes—or, hell, all of the above! Italians are fun!

Do you know what else is fun? Talking about dead people! There are so many of them! Think about it--they outnumber us. They could totally rise again and they would so kick our asses. And in reality my slaying power is minimal and my hair is short and brown. We are so screwed.

Comments

[elswhere]

Your better-than-nothing is a lot better than many people's best. "Uncle Maddy loved the sausage." Hee! Not to be laughing at death and grisly illness, but-- hee!

[lizardek]

I think your dosage might still be a tad too high, there. :P

[Mir]

The path is clear, now: eschew sausage, immediately, and go on the all-bacon diet!

[Heather]

Buffy - please come back to us!

I miss her too.........

[Kelly]

I second lizardek on the high dosage.

You spin mad tales. Truly. Love. Your. Stories.

I hope all is okay.

[melissaS]

"Mom: [dreamily] Uncle Maddy loved the sausage."

All day I'm going to be dreamily saying this about anyone and everything.

I picture your mom with a little smile on her face looking out the window....thinking about all the sausages Uncle Maddy loved before.....

The sausage you can cut out but the booze? No.

[sarah]

Damn you! Now I want sausages, but I want them dreamily.

[Mrs. Kennedy]

My mother's entire life has been fueled by denial, and she's nearly 80. Clearly, it works.

[sac]

This was funny. There, it had to be said.

[thelioness]

First time poster, long time reader here, was struck by the memory of Sarah Michelle Gellar on "All My Children" as the illegitimate 14 year old daughter of Eryka Caine (anyone know if Susan Lucci finally won any Emmy?) with BROWN, BROWN, decidely BROWN hair. So with some Clairol #23, you might still have a chance at saving the world.

[Jenn]

That's why I try to stay as far away from the doctor's offices as possible, because when you go, you find out that your health, in fact, sucks and you are doomed, doomed, doomed!

How I do miss Buffy. But mostly Angel. Rawr.

[Gen]

The little black cars that take you through Disneyland's Haunted Mansion are called Doom Buggies. This is one of my husband's 7,692,541 memorized pieces of trivia.

[honestyrain]

my doctor, on the other hand, told me to go to a local hospital, find a physiotherapist on coffee break and ask for advice on what to do about my back pain so i wouldn't have to pay for treatment. genius! it just might work!

i'd take your guy any day. mine is a drunk dellusional freak who couldn't find a goiter with a lamp on his head and a map.

[Miel]

Hah! You are funny. The other day I was thinking about how it seems like if we were thinking rationally we would never, ever eat sausage again as long as we live--or do anything life-shortening. But we keep doing it, don't we? Why can't we control ourselves? Is sausage really THAT good?

I think if you had a goiter you wouldn't need to go to the doctor for that. Man, your neck would be puffed WAY out and such. As far as I know, no one (in the developed world) gets real goiters anymore.

And that reminds me that when I first heard about goiters in health class I TOTALLY WANTED ONE. That was a few years after I stopped wanting muscular dystrophy so I could meet Jerry Lewis.

But goiter sounds way better than 'enlarged thyroid.'

[wix]

ok, i may cross into the realm of stupid in about two seconds, but here goes: did you forget to take your meds becaues henry did something? or were you driven to take meds in the first place because of something henry did? this phrase threw me (obviously) and i've been wondering about it at odd times, like when frosting cookies, so i had to ask: Very Special Medication that Mommy Takes Because of Something You Did

[Alice]

I've tried to explain this a few times here but then I get very very tired. I can only say it was an attempt at humor. If anyone else cares to take a shot, they may be my guest.

[wix]

i didn't mean to make you tired, alice! and it *was* funny, i just didn't get it because i are dumb. i've been reading your blog for a few months now, but i can't remember a reference like this one. (in my defense, i operate on 3 hours of sleep a night, so there's a lot i forget/many dots i can't connect.) i'll dig through the archives.

[jilbur]

okay, here's my attempt to dissect fairy cobwebs: Very Special Medication Mommy Takes Because You Came Along And Ruined Everything But Don't Feel Bad Sweetheart Momma Loves You, Really, Now Run Along And Play And Don't Mind Me And My Misery

[robb]

The scary thing is that, unless I'm mistaken, the living currently *outnumber* the dead. There you go, just a little Malthusian tip to brighten your day.

Oh, and in my quick Google to check my facts I found this:

"Interesting enough, the exact point of equalibrium [where there were as many people dead as alive] was announced the same day that George Burns died."

[Alice]

Jilbur is good and smart. So you should listen to her. I'm going to go take a nap in the corner with the blanket over my head.

[Alice]

Robb, if that's true, You Are Freaking Me Out Bad. So bad I had to capitalize it.

[wix]

oooooooooooooh, i see. thanks, jilbur.

[elswhere]

OK, if there are more living people than dead people... where are the new souls coming from?? This is really scary. *cough* I mean, it would be if I believed in reincarnation.

[Nobody]

You aren't sad; tv is sad for failing to produce anything as good as Buffy. But I don't want more Buffy, if it's going to be anything like the last couple of seasons.

Arthur C. Clarke took the idea of reincarnation and a shortage of souls and wrote a disturbing little short story, the name of which escapes me at the moment.

[Alice]

Okay, people, DON'T PANIC. According to *my* (definitive) Google search, that whole more-living-than-dead thing isn't true. And I don't know how George Burns figures in to all of it, but I aim to find out.