Sarah and I laugh, and say no.
"Well, why are you here?"
"Because Medicare requires it," I answer.
"I need a prescription refilled, and I don't know, maybe there will be Christmas bonus out of it."
She smiles, remains silent and leaves us waiting for what seems like half-an-hour before the Nurse arrives.
She sits behind the computer and stares at my file.
"You're here for your annual physical?" she begins.
"No, we just need to get this prescription refilled and we're required to come in for this to happen," Sarah explains, giving every detail of my medical history.
"Are you Sarah?" she asks, staring at my wife.
"Yes," and we wonder what's in the notes about her?
"Don't you want a physical?" she asks, perplexed and uncertain.
Sarah and I look at one another and say, "NO!" at the same time.
What do we want to know from a physical at this point?
Stage 4 pancreatic and stage 4 prostrate cancers left us knowing everything we need.
We don't want to know what else might be going on inside.
Against all odds, what we're doing right now seems to be working, so we'll just keep doing what we're doing.
"Can I at least check your breathing?" she asks, almost pleading.
"Sure," I shrug.
She does, asking me to lay down and begins feeling my stomach, pushing the scars from my Whipple surgery.
It hurts.
"That's enough," I say.
Sarah resumes control of the visit, clarifies the prescriptions been refilled, concludes the visit, and we leave.
So, we feel as good as we can about how things are going medically, and will continue to do what we've been doing because, I ain't dead yet.
********
My Celebration of Life delightfully lingers but is coming to an end. Help me make sure Sarah and Che will be fine without me.
Please consider being part of their future at https://gofund.me/ffda4f4b
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