I had to forgo my usual “morning off from work” routine today. Instead of stepping outside to enjoy a cup of coffee only to have it ruined by a Blue Jay crapping on my front stoop, I had to show up at the hospital first thing. I had an appointment. The nurse there wanted to ask me a whole slew of questions in preparation for the upper endoscopy I’m scheduled to undergo next week.
The procedure is commonly known as a “scope.” My doctor wants to thread a flexible tube down my throat so he can examine my guts with a tiny camera. Personally, I think it’s one of the rewards married men of a certain age get for putting up with their teenage kids. Another is a colonoscopy.
Today’s question-and-answer session seemed mostly to be about uncovering any problems that might complicate next week’s shindig. The nurse asked about my medical history, whether I’m allergic to anything and if I’ve ever had any problems with anesthesia. She had a long list and it took some time to get through it all. Then she took my blood pressure and had me step ON THE SCALE.
I’m generally not that self-conscious about my weight, but I have been making an effort to shed a few pounds lately. I’ve been watching what I eat, walking our big dog Rodney more often, and making it a point to trudge up and down several flights of steps once an hour while at work. I could do more, but it’s a start and it seems to be paying off.
To my delight, the hospital scale informed me that I’ve lost some nine pounds. I am now under 200lbs for the first time in more years than I care to acknowledge here.
When I left the hospital, I texted my wife the news. She replied with an encouraging “Yeah!” And then immediately followed up with a request that I take her car in for a state inspection. She had been asking for the same favor for several days. Each time, I somehow wormed my way out of giving her an answer. This time, she sweetly said it would be “so helpful” if I took care of it for her.
Because my weight loss had put me in such a good mood, I happily (and finally) gave her a straight answer. Only later, while I was waiting for her car to be inspected at the shop, did I figure out what she had done. She waited for the perfect opportunity, pounced and got me to agree to do something neither of us relishes.
My wife is cunning that way.
I would try to get her back and trick her into undergoing the scope next week, but (a)she’s too smart for that, and (b) my doctor would likely notice something amiss.
And if he didn’t? Well, that’s a whole other post.