Friday, September 17, 2010

So I'm at my doctor's, and she's feeling my boobs, and nagging me to get a mammogram. I'm not begrudging her the nag, it's her job--but by way of a cautionary tale she's telling me about one of her patient's mothers who was perfectly healthy until she showed up with breast cancer at the age of ninety.

Wait a minute. Ninety?

Well, everyone's got to die of something, I say. And then a minute later: I'm not even sure I want to live to be ninety.

Oh me neither, she says, palpating my mammaries. I definitely don't want to live to be ninety. That's why I smoke one cigarette a day and have heavy whipping cream in my tea.

I nearly fall off the table laughing.

Are you sure that's enough? I mean, maybe you should drive without wearing your seat belt or drink brandy for breakfast or something just to guarantee that you won't outlive your retirement income.

I know it's ridiculous, she says. Now raise your arms above your head for me, and press the palms together.

4 comments:

laurie b said...

i agree. i want to do the right thing but i'm not sure living to my max old age is going to be worth it. everyone is going to die a second before they're ready or a second after they've lived too long - there is no perfect time. it's just a matter of what side you end up on.

Lisa Jones said...

God, Alison, I love this! Cracked me up -- almost splurted my Lapsang Suchong all over my keyboard!

Anonymous said...

did she check your lymph nodes? ;)

Anonymous said...

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