My Doctor Called . . .

It was four days before Christmas and several weeks after my comprehensive doctor’s check up. You know, the check up where they take enough blood from you that could feed a whole family of vampires and a couple of vampire pets, and an occasional drop-in vampire visitor—who’s really hungry? Yup, when you’re in your forties, they like to put you through the ringer—I swear there’s a blood test for everything from hormones to hemorrhoids.

Hubby and I were in the grocery store doing a pre-holiday shopping trip when the call came in. He was making fun of me because I couldn’t reach the plastic bag dispenser and singing that Short People song.

“What do you do when I’m not here?” he teased reaching for his phone.

“I find someone nice enough to reach it, generally it’s someone who doesn’t poke fun at me.”

You know, the short jokes get old around here. He finally opens his phone, but the call had already gone to voice mail. He pushes some buttons to hear the message. I’m busy finding the perfect crown of broccoli, but when I glance up, I see hubby’s expression lose its teasing glint.

“What’s your new doctor’s name?” he asked.

“Why?” I toss some broccoli into my buggy.

“A Dr. Burns is trying to reach you.” Hubby hands me his cell phone and I listen to the message.

“This is Dr. Burns’ office, we’re trying to reach Christie Craig. Can you please have her return our call as soon as possible?” My mind starts naming off the different type of tests I’d had. The “what if” scenarios start forming. You know, the what if scenarios you don’t like thinking about, especially when you’re standing in the middle of the produce aisle in the grocery store and Jingle Bells is playing over the loud speaker.

Nevertheless, you know what I did, don’t you? I immediately hit redial. “Hi, this is Christie Craig, I’m Dr. Burns’ patient and I was asked to call.”

I’m asked to hold, assuming they’re pulling my chart. It seemed like forever, I watched a little ol’ lady go through the green beans, one at a time. Time. Precious time, I think. Another couple of younger ladies were comparing cucumbers and giggling. Cucumbers. Precious cucumbers. (Hey, when nervous, I get all sentimental about my salad favorite fixings.)

Hubby is staring at me, waiting, so concerned that he’s totally missing the humor at the cucumber section. And you know how men love cucumber humor.

Suddenly, I feel this isn’t the place to have this conversation with my doctor. And by “not the place” I’m not talking the grocery store, I’m talking about the particular aisle. So I motion to my hubby and push our cart to the candy aisle. Hey, if I’m gonna get bad news, I want chocolate close by.

I keep the phone tight to my ear, and stare at the Truffles and those specialty M&Ms. My heart is pumping. I envision the nurse reading over my charts and trying to figure out how to give me the bad news. Hey, writers are known for our overactive imaginations—and so are writer’s husbands if the look on his face is accurate. But forget him, heck, I’m already prepared to ask how much time I have left.

I roll my eyes and tell myself I’m being silly. I mean, how bad could the news be? Probably no worse than I finally came down with Diabetes. The gene runs rampant in our family. (Okay, maybe the candy aisle is the wrong place to be.)

I stare back at my husband who is staring at me. Then the nurse comes on the line. I listen carefully and shut the phone. Then I reach for a big bag of peanut M&Ms.

“What is it?” hubby asked. (Remember, he was giving me a hard time about being short.)

“The doctor needs me to come by her office.”

“Now?” he asked.

“No, but definitely before Christmas,” I tell him, sounding somber.

“Did she tell you what it was about?”

I nod, but don’t offer particulars. I only made him suffer for a couple of seconds, by then I couldn’t stop myself. I grinned, seriously I was giddy. I mean, who knew a call from my doctor could make my day. I was so envisioning bad news and instead . . .

“What’s it about?” my hubby demanded.

Smiling, I tell him. “The doctor bought a couple of my books to give away as Christmas gifts and wants me to autograph them.”

Hubby just stared and then he took away my peanut M&Ms. I never got them back, either.

Okay…that’s my call from my doctor. So . . . how is your New Year panning out? Are you holding tight to your New Year’s resolutions? I haven’t been really bad, but I could be better. So… I’m about to do my time on the torture machine. Anyone else having issues staying on track with the resolutions? Let me hear from you so I don’t think I’m talking to myself.

P.S. Thanks, Dr. Burns, for giving me a blog and for a way to get even with my hubby for his short jokes.