A Glare from the Window

Articles

RD Larson

A Glare from the Window
Oct 14, 2003

Those irritating little facial tics that drive an already stressed person wild can really bother a type A - hyperactive person like me. It bothered me so much that I began to put my hand over the twitching eye. Kindly spouse and friends asked me if my eye was bothering me.

“No, no. I’m fine, just a glare from the window,” I always replied. Saying that after dark one time too many caught me in the lie.

A doctor’s visit was scheduled. Naturally, I called on my cell from the driveway to cancel. I’m never sick, nothing’s wrong.

Then the headaches began. Driving like an ice pick over my ear, the pain was so intense my knees sometimes buckled. That’s a hard thing to deny with family members who make it their unholy business to notice stuff like that.

“Go away. Mind your own business. Leave me alone.” I tried to sound as vicious as I could manage under the circumstances. Convinced I was faking the pain, I looked it up on the Internet. Lots of possible but certain not ME. A big stalwart person like myself, athletic and resourceful. However, I called the doctor myself this time.

“Hey, Doc’ I pulled that shoulder tendon again? I could stand a few more pain pills just to give it some rest. What? No, no. I can’t take time off. They’ll fire me. Uh-huh. Well, yeah, I’m still a writer. Yeah, still work at home. I’m too busy. Deadlines, responsibilities.” I lowered my voice trying to sound calm and easy- going. “Appointment? Tuesday, 3 PM. UH-huh-I have a scheduled rewrite -- what? Okay, don’t call the house. I’ll be there.”

After a number of visits and tests, I went back to my doc for what she called “evaluation.” I purposely wrote a report card for her, too. Folded in quarters, I was annoyed by all the bother enough to present it to her before her “evaluation” of me.

“Hello, RD, how are you feeling today?”

“Excellent.” I told her, squinting around my twitchy eyeball as I held the part of my head that threatened to fall off.

“You’re a baby boomer, you know.’ Dr. Kenny peered at me from her rolling stool.

“I doubt it; those are old folks.” I sniffed.

“Well, you’re one of them, kiddo, and you need reading glasses.” She stared at me and I would swear to you that little flames flicked in her eyes.

“Maybe.” I conceded, remembering the last time I wanted to read the want ads. I stood up.

“Sit down, there’s more,” she said, her face flushing in sympathy.

“What now?” I could barely get it out.

“You’ve got an allergy and you’ll need to take a pill to control the headaches.”

I jumped to my feet. “Are you telling me I’m so old I have to wear glasses and take pills?”

I’m getting a second opinion as soon as these granny glasses break and the antihistamine pills are gone. The moral of this story is don’t expect me to get old any time soon. That cat’s climbing the curtains again, but I’m still waiting for the new improved microwave-robot vacuum to put her out.

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To learn more about the author: visit www.RDLarson.com or email RD Larson: RD Larson419@aol.com

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