Suzanna Danna

Who here remembers my teary break up with cheese earlier this year? You? You? How about you, over there with the clown shoes? Do you? It was ugly and I even received well played, sweet and yet smart assed (way to go Jules) condolences cards from well wishers about the heart rendering break up with my beloved cheese.

For those of you who don’t know how the whole thing played out. It went down like this:

1) I went to get my lab work done for my hot Argentinean GP.
2) He hotly told me, “Oly sheet, jour cholesterol level is not good. Jour triglycerides are at 464 points, we must do someteeng.” <-- I know, my phonetically correct spelling of how he talks makes him sound like Speedy Gonzalez... but he is not. It is more Antonio Banderas, with blue eyes. Trust me. HOT. Sinewy, Harley riding hot. Dark skinned perfection that dislikes the words “fat” and “morbidly obese”. And I quote, “No, I do not like that phrase... morbidly obese, what is that? Why do they not have the term “morbidly skinny”?” Don’t you just want to chew on him?
3) I, being a big baby about the whole thing and refusing to take any more medications, say “Fine.” and adhere strictly to a vegetarian diet (WITH NO CHEESE) for 6 to 8 weeks.
4) I got my lab work redone for my hot Argentinean GP 8 weeks into the vegetarian bullshit.
5) Did I mention that I couldn’t have any cheese?
6) My labs come back and I am yet again in the presence of the Argentinean GP’s hotness.
7) He says, “Tell jour parents they are fired. Jour triglycerides are at 600 points. We can not even get a reading on jour cholesterol. Jou must take medication.”
8) I huff and say, “Fine.” again... all the while thinking... “He is so hot.”
9) I take Crestor (10 mg) and of Lovaza (400 mg) a day forever or just since April or whatever.

Okay, are we all up to speed? Does anyone really care? How about I tell you that hot Argentinean GP has dark wavy hair and rocks a lab coat?

Let’s move on.

So, I get a call from hot Argentinean GP’s office, “Susan? It is time to get your labs done again.” He asks for lab work every 6 months to keep track of everyone’s.... stuff. (Scientifically speaking, of course.)

I had stuff to do last Monday so I was fasting anyway (see also: too stupid to eat breakfast), so I swung by the lab in hot Argentinean GP’s building to see Linda. Linda is a one-stick wonder. I have this nice little vein in the crook of my right elbow; the only problem is that it runs horizontally at the surface. She gets it every time though.

I’ve been to phlebotomists or clinic people that have bruised me up and down both arms and hands looking for a spot. They’ve used 22’s, 24’s, butterfly needles, six or seven sticks at a time... and if I have been fasting it never works. They label me a “hard stick” (translation, “I can’t do this.”). But Linda? God bless her, she is so good to me.

So I went to see Linda and then scheduled my appointment to go over my tests with hot Argentinean GP for yesterday in the afternoon. Mister went with me... thank goodness because it turned out he has pneumonia.

One, two, three (all together now)... Awwwwwww.

I know. Poor baby, just what he wanted for Christmas.

So we go through all of Mister’s stuff. Hurty shoulder, dry cough, wet (ew) cough, when are his next labs? He wants a Bow Flex®. Then it was my turn. I was so selfish sitting through all of Mister’s stuff because I just wanted to know one thing. Has it happened? Have I turned into a walking block of cheese? Will I stroke out at any moment if my heart rate goes above x?

I barely let hot Argentinean GP finish his dictation about Mister’s poor state of being (aww!) into his little recorder thing before I pounced on him. I pinned him to the little rolling chair and put my face mere inches from his... “What do my labs say doc?” I asked breathlessly. He yelped and ran from the room. I had crushed his little motorcycle boot clad foot when I pounced on him.

Not really. I sat calmly in my chair and asked him breezily, “So, what do my labs have to say doc?” He flipped the chart open and said four beautiful words to me. Words that made the blinds all over the building open up and the white light of Jesus fill the rooms and offices. He said, “Your cholesterol is perfect.”

I blinked and said, “What?”

He repeated, “Your cholesterol is perfect.”

I wanted facts and figures. “Like... HOW perfect?” I asked suspiciously.

He showed me the chart. My triglycerides were 213, my LDL was 33 and my cholesterol level was 113. Perfect.

Well, mother fucker. What do you know about that?

Then he turned the page and said, “But, your thyroid has just about given up.” He compared the information from the labs from this year and now and said, “It is amazing how much can change in six months, huh?”

Oh, and as a side note, last Saturday I went to the eye doctor person to check to see if I could wear contacts. I am forever sweating (my face and head get hot... it’s weird) and I take off my glasses and then leave them places and because I am near sighted I have to have them to see to drive and I squint because I don’t have prescription sunglasses..... blah blah blah, you get the picture.

So I went for the exam thingy. I was a bit wary because I am (as Mister says) a noncompliant patient. And the thought of touching my eyeballs makes me want to throw up. Not sure why. I will hold your hair if you ever vomit and I can hang out in a surgery or seven and watch a tumor being removed on Discovery Health Channel while I eat my dinner. But the eyeballs, ::shudder:: eeeeeesh.

OMG. I just realized why.

Fucking Halloween.

When I was little they used to make up a “Frankenstein’s Lab” in the school to walk the kids through. They would blindfold you and put your hands in different bowls. Spaghetti, “Braaaains!” Corn syrup or oil, “Blooooooooood.” Skinned grapes, “Eyeballllllls!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” AAAYiieeeeee! (Vomit.) And scene.

I don’t even have an issue with that scene in Bladerunner where they are at the eye guy’s lab and the big dumb guy is putting little eyeballs on the shoulder’s of the scientist like they are little parrots. But Mister has to hold me down like a cranked out ferret to get drops in my eyes.

So, I was a bit reluctant. Add those things to the fact that I am getting over a frillion year long sinus infection and that my eyes are all burn-y anyways with the pollen in the air and you have yourself a recipe for success!

Long story short? They told me I have small eyes. Wait, let me quantify that. An Asian woman told me I have small eyes. I lost one contact within the first few hours. No clue where it went. I have taken them out and put them in again several times but it isn’t pretty. My eyes get tired from wearing them and I haven’t worked up to 12 hours of use yet. I am at like five hours.

Go me.

Does it get any easier?