If there has been a single day that needed to be written about this year... It was today. Here I go...
Today was my father's 69th birthday. My father passed away late in 2010 and not a day goes by that I don't miss him. My dad and I had a spectacular relationship and laughed most of our time together. That said, I really think he was screwing with me today.
Yesterday I was supposed to go for my ALCAT testing to find out about my food allergies. For reasons irrelevant to this piece, I had to reschedule for today. When I got there they were backed up, so I went and worked out. Then I came back at 5:30 for them to draw my blood but they couldn't because fedex had already picked up all the blood for the day. That is, unless I wanted to drop my own blood in the mail tomorrow. I respectfully declined.
At this point, I asked the MD, for my own knowledge, what ALCAT stood for. She informed me that no one had ever asked her that before and she'd have to google it.
So we decided to discuss my disc issues instead. She felt the muscle around the base of my neck and asked if this hurt, if that hurt, etc. Then she said, "I'm going to do something that'll make you feel better immediately" and, over my shoulder, I heard the old familiar sound of unwrapping plastic. I said "what's that?" she said jokingly, "I'm not telling you, but you'll feel much better before you leave."
But I suddenly realized that I was about to get quite a few injections into my neck. As I questioned the events about to occur, I warned "I'm feeling clammy!".
Last thing I remember, my MD (who looked remarkably like Macy Gray) said "Kal, if this guy goes down I can't hold him!"
The guy went down.
That's right, I passed out cold. (I hope you're singing "macho man" in your head.)
Upon awakening with towels on my forehead and neck, I remembered that unexpected needles were never really my friend. That relationship has not changed at all after today.
My ever-so-loving and caring chiropractor then walked into the room, saw me lying in my misery and said in his most concerned voice " DeVito... You... (let's go with wussy)" and started laughing uncontrollably. I retorted with a silent but equally as effective hand gesture to assure him I was, indeed, alright. He laughed more and closed the door behind him.
When I was able, I sat up and gathered what was left of my dignity and went out into the lobby. There my chiropractor informed me that he was absolutely astonished that my tough exterior was a total facade. (Apparently in Egypt, my exterior would be considered quite tough.)
Kerry, my Irish, New Yorker, patient's assistant that has no business being anything but Italian, hurried past me with a full waiting area and said, "Excuse me, Mr. DeVito... Is this your dress here in this office?"
Can you believe I actually PAY these people!!
So in conclusion, here's where we stand:
I still don't know what foods I'm allergic to. I STILL have to get blood drawn. My shoulder is killing me more now than when I woke up today. I have a new list of things I am not allowed to do (including working out my entire upper body). I need an MRI. Neck injections are not my thing. And... apparently, the five letter P word translates easily into Egyptian.
Happy birthday old man... Very funny!
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