Save a Prayer

I got a call from my doctor today and she says I have a low platelet count.

“Sweet,” I said.

“Low is good if we’re talking about weight, blood pressure, and interest rates. Not platelets,” she said.

“Oh.”

I immediately got on the computer. Have you noticed when doing a Google search for any health-related topic, the results quickly ruin your day?

Hepatitis C, AIDS, Anemia, Lupus. These are my choices? I used to donate platelets on a regular basis so I know I used to have them. Where the hell did they go?

I don’t have Hepatitis C or AIDS because practically chaste women with pristine histories and fear of harsh drugs don’t get such diseases. Do they?

“You don’t have lupus,” Becky said.

She’s a nurse. She knows these things. My sister was more on my side.

“What if you die? Who gets your husband and the boys?” Michele asked.

“Whoever wants them,” I said. “God bless her.”

“You should listen to that song Live Like You Were Dying.”

“I don’t like Travis Tritt.”

“Tim McGraw.”

“Whatever. Besides, if I lived like I were dying, they wouldn’t write a country song about it.”

“You wouldn’t go sky-diving?” she asked.

“Not quite.”

“Rocky Mountain climbing?”

“Already did that.”

“Go two seconds on a bull named Fumanchu?”

“Oh, I’d ride a bull all right, but longer than two seconds and his name is easier to spell.”

Becky weighed in on the conversation.

“With your luck, afterwards you’d go into remission.”

My dad always has the answer.

“I told you all that vegetarian sh*t would kill you. I just had a steak and feel great, ready to outlive all of ya.”

Why didn’t I think of that?