That’s the word from the New Rollogist. I’m trying not to take offense. This means they’re 95% sure that one of the illnesses they were considering will not be the BIG WIENER in the reality show that has become my life, “Name that Disease!” I know that some of you whom I’ve emailed are wondering about the nasty three-letter mofo. I don’t have a definite rule-out on that yet; it isn’t necessarily indicated on a brain MRI. I will tell you just as soon as I can celebrate crossing that one off the list. There are still many possibilities. Two doctors mentioned a “rare rheumatological illness” in recent days, so we’ll be looking at that, too. (Although I prefer the term, “exotic,” instead of “rare.”) When I went to look it up, I found websites for it, so I was thinking, “Oh, good, there’s a lot of info about it . . . ” until I saw that the website had a “Memory Wall” page in it, then I was all, “Aw, #^$&!” Because, and I should have put this in my “How to Be Sick” instructions, you just don’t want to pick an illness whose website features a freakin’ memory wall, or quilt, or any such damned thing as that.
I love me some Little Richard. Always have. Shut up! What’s not to love? Last night we saw this commercial, and I laughed, as I do every time:
I had just been asking Jif, “Do you think I present as ‘sick enough’ when I see these docs?” because I still try to be pleasant, and funny, and whatnot. And Jif, who’s been going with me to appointments, said that he thinks I do, that they should be getting the message that I’m plenty sick.
Then he says, “Hey, you should take Little Richard with you. He could tell them, ‘Help her!'”
“What do you think I take you for? You’re supposed to be my Little Richard! Tell them to help me!”
So Jif does his best Little Richard, “HELP HER! SOMEBODY HELP HER! WOOOOOOOHOOO!”
And I laugh ’til I snort. “Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ about!”
And he says, “Right. Then they’d shoot me, thinking that would help you.”