Monday, January 02, 2017

 

The Disease


Cal B acquired a mysterioso
disease. Various syndrome
labels were attached to it,
but the blood tests, and
numerous other tests, showed
nothing. Again and again.

He was dying. Spiritual cures
beckoned.

He attended one support group
meeting in a dank warehouse and
chanting.

That helped...in a general sense.

The inevitable keeps edging close.

A Specialist flown in.

He likes the nightlife.

No surprise to anyone: the World
is moving on.

And doesn't wave as it passes.

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Sunday, April 27, 2014

 

Seasoned Medical Complaints


-(shouts) Don't say hello again! Put the phone to your good ear!

-Hello? Oh, I don't mean that. I'm hearing you loud and clear.

-Which practitioner are you complaining about today? Obviously
not an ear person.

-Never mind! I'm seeing the Cancer Impresario at four. I'll let
you know what he slices off with his laser.

-Can't wait. You know...even at your age people develop 

interests, hobbies?

-I should fly little airplanes down Lincoln Road?

-Anything! Spare me the medical bore. On and freakin on!

-Hey! What can I say? It's my whole life!


-Why don't you have a party for the Big-C Billionaire, the Dermo,
the Dentist, the...

-I get the idea. But I'm not treating them, they're treating me!

-Humor! Lame, but  valiant try from one nearly dead.

-All from Miami Beach, and I'm not even Jewish.

-Too bad. Then there'd be a tradition behind your abject misery.
A tremendous folklore from Russia and Poland. Artists who
translate tragedy to fiddles. And, add the thumping comedic
record coming down from the Yiddish theater.

-Okay! Okay! So there's nothing behind me except a succession
of sour and icy Puritans.

-Broke THAT tradition at least! You'll die doing it.

-As long as I can find it. I...tied a string!

-By God you’re laughing! Laughing!

-That's why I call you!

-I should go on the medical and psychiatric payroll.

-No room.

-I’ll serve for a dollar a year.

-Fifty cents!

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