Tao of Scott

Hi Nichole,

I am trying not to reevaluate my life style .

I went to my primary care physician the other day and had a complete physical examination. Two questions. #1: is there such a thing as a secondary care physician? #2: is it possible to have a truly complete physical examination and survive? Well whatever, it doesn’t really matter, I underwent what is generally excepted as a complete physical examination. In my case this amounts to me yammering on and on and on about my blizzard of symptoms while my main medical professional takes prodigious notes on his computer. Of course there were still the probings, the squeezings, the turn to your left and cough-ings, the open up and say ah-ings, but primarily we just discussed my concerns about whether or not I would continue on my medications. We agreed that the medications were the glue that was holding me together and there would be no chance in hell that I would be cut off. Whew! Thank god! I was getting more than a little worried that I might be considered sane enough to forego my pharmaceutical babies, my chemical flannel jammies with the little feet attached, my pill shaped facsimile of a soft lap in which to curl-up and a warm breast at which to suckle. My safety net, my harness, the very bungy cord in the jump that is my life. With the fear of being cut off from my medications now allayed I had but one question.

“Uh, doc, are these medications going to destroy my liver? Cuz see, I’ve been having these random pains over here (I indicated that region of my torso where I imagined my liver might be located). And besides my brother-in-law had a liver transplant so, you know, there’s that.

“With these specific meds, at the dosages prescribed there is virtually no chance of liver damage.” the doctor said as he peered over his glasses his gaze never leaving the computer screen.

“So nothing to worry about, you know, as far as the liver thing is concerned?” I confirmed. I am by nature dubious of statements made with great assuredness.

“Ya, pretty much no danger there.” my primary care physician stated as he was getting up from the computer, opening the examination room door, and gently shoving me out into the hall. “Go over to the lab across the parking lot and get your blood drawn.”

Two days later I get a call from the doctor’s office. “Mr. Tennyson?”

“Uh, ya.”

“This is the doctor’s office calling. It appears that your liver enzymes are slightly elevated. The doctors says quit drinking. Oh and watch out for those pills.”

Click.

“KATHY!!” I scream. “The doctor says I gotta quit drinking beer!” I whined just like a four year old would whine.

“Well what did they say exactly?” Kathy posed in that really reasonable steady tone of hers which always serves to remind me of how ridiculous I am.

“They asked if still take aspirin every day and I told them well, ya. So they asked how much? About a thousand milligrams I said. They’re like ‘Jesus, whataya do that for? Whatareya an idiot?’ Then they asked me if I drink so I said ya! Duh! So they asked me how much and I explained that by their standards my drinking would be considered excessive, however, in the crowd I run with I’m considered something of a moderate. Of course I assured them that I only drink beer, never the hard stuff. They said whatever, just stop and loose the aspirin while you’re at it.” I reported to Kathy in detail.

“WHAT AM I GONNA DO!?” (RE: the scene in “Oh Brother Where Art Thou” where the brilliant and under rated Tim Blake Nelson is franticly splashing around in a creek chasing after a toad who used to be John Turturro. Of course as you know them sirens never did turn Turturro into a toad.)

“Let’s see… are you still taking all that aspirin?” Kathy asks.

“Uh, yes.” I answer looking down at my shuffling feet.

“Fuckin-a Scott, whataya do that for? Whatareya some kinda idiot? I swear to God you’ve got the sense of a lobotomized fence post.” Kathy observed by way of chastisement.

“Well look, loose the aspirin, be sure to drink at least four quarts of water every day, and take three milk thistles* three times a day. Call the doc and set up a new blood test for three months from now and we’ll see if we can’t salvage the beer habit.” Kathy wrapped up.

I called the doctors office and explained our scheme. They said it sounded like an idea (good or bad was not established) and we’ll order new blood tests in three months.

Whew! Fuck! Thank god! I was getting more than a little worried that I might have to forgo my beloved beer, my liquid bowling buddy, my bubbling comrade in life’s adventure, my frothy open armed brother, always at my side, always there to assist in any moment of doubt or confusion. Now, with a comprehensive health management plan in place, I can concentrate on passing blood over the fact that I have no viable plan for procuring gainful employment.

Love dad.
*milk thistle is well known as an effective liver maintenance agent.