After my hospital stint in Atlanta, I feel optimistic for the future: I really have very few internal organs left. Well, I've got about an inch and a half of colon, and my reproductive organs, and a gallbladder (that the doctor noted had stones). So I figure that I am actually ready for entering the very healthy portion of my life. One where I can eat and drink all I want and it merely just falls out the bottom.
I am thinking of writing a book about various hospitals to visit around the world. There's a nice one in Nice, France; Atlanta's experience was satisfying; and I have been in one in New York City that Geraldo Rivera escorted me to after he bumped into me, wandering the streets with pneumonia and a 103.5 temperature. Me + travel = hospital visit.
People think I am sickly. I am not, I protest. I feel I am like a Volvo. Little things fall off (lights, doorhandles), or stick (like electronic windows, or right-turn signals), but the engine keeps running forever. Look for me one day in the nursing home, filled with straw certainly, but still moving.
But what I don't get is why they couldn't have given me a itty bitty tummy tuck as they removed my appendix....
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