"Docs Who Wear Crocs"
Life is full of meanings. Yesterday we drove from Katy to Tomball for seven minutes with a doc who made me feel so special. He didn't remember me at all. That means I am especially easy to forget, I guess, since he gave me a different story to the same problem. He recommended surgery the first time. Yesterday he said no although . . . Well, never mind. I am upset with him because he dismissed my unease that stems from not being able to write or draw or read for lengths of time. I wonder how he'd feel if he couldn't perform as a physician because of palsy? Or spasms.
I think they see too many people with the same old stories, too many times. They forget the same old stories are new stories to us. Hit fifty and they lump you in the "It's Old Age" category. Never mind. I will keep doing what I can until I can't. My little mama told me this night before last after I told her how I was determined to do a little now that I cannot do a lot: Old "I Can't" died, and "I Can" buried him. He-he-he. Another new postcard is on the way, fresh from my lap desk!
Oh. The postcard? "Docs who wear Crocs?" Docs who wear Crocs are usually pretty cool.
And another thing. JC asked if the proposed injections are temporary. Doc lied and said, "Permanent." Liar! The body absorbs the steroids. Gotta go. I feel another Fat Chick whisper.