Ok, here’s the thing. As my 50th year draws to a close I had this expectation that the night sweats would take a hike with the Big 5-0. But the other night I woke up pretty sure that I was suffering from some rare disease spawning the fever from hell.
Me: I think I might have Malaria.
Gary: Pretty sure you don’t.
Me: West Nile Virus?
What the hell does he know. I thought of going to the doctor. Imagine this conversation if I did go:
Me: I think I have Malaria.
Doc: Really? Have you traveled lately?
Me: Madison, WI
Doc: I meant someplace more third-world or jungle-like. Someplace exotic.
Me: Have you ever been to Madison, it is pretty exotic.
Figuring that if I did go and we had a this conversation, now would be about the time he would throw me the hell out of his office.
So I suppose I probably don’t have Malaria. Or the sinus infection I was sure was brewing. And the fire-starter hot flashes that start in the small of my back and spread through me like a Colorado wildfire are just something I am going to have to live with just a little bit longer.
Either that or maybe I can find someone that I can convince of my Malaria status.