My Fans

I love my fans. They make me feel so comfortable, so calm. I think I have the best looking fans in Santa Monica. I am a very lucky woman to be surrounded by fans at a time like this.

Of course, I am talking about the Casablanca fans from Lamps Plus that my friend Keith, Master electrician of Carpinteria, installed on Sunday. I love them! He did such a wonderful job and all for a bagel and a chicken salad. I'm cool. Yes, I'm cool. Thank you, Keith. (And family.)

Yes, I went to the surgeon yesterday to learn my fate. It started out like a Twilight Zone episode I had seen once. I was in the waiting room and I picked up a magazine and I noticed it was from the year 2004. Then I noticed that all of the magazines were old and I joked with the receptionist about the age of the publications. She said, without a smile, that no one comes back here more than once. WHAT? My mind was racing. Why don't they come back? Are they all...dead? This is not a good sign. And then the surgeon came out and beckoned me into his office. I reluctantly followed him to what I thought was my doom.

Actually, that is the story of my life...Doomed. Doomed at birth. And yet I go on. I go on laughing. Ha ha...Hahahahahahahahaha...Laughing just a little too hard.

But about my surgery. The surgeon showed me a chart of my insides and told me just what he was going to slice out of there. A little bit here, a little bit there. A good portion of my stomach, a bit of esophagus, maybe a little garnish on the side. And voila, I will have a new digestive system. Exciting, isn't it? It is sort of is exciting. What else could one do at my age that would be completely different from the norm? Climb the Himalayas? Anyone can do that! Become a Hindu, swim the English Channel? Pssshaw, child's play. Get a new digestive system, now you're talking challenging. How about climbing the Himalayas with a brand new stomach? Now that is an extreme challenge. So this will all happen the last week of August. And while he continued talking about all of the negative possibilities that might happen during surgery my mind went to much more important areas of concern...That I had to get my hair done before surgery because it had been a very long time since I'd had my hair done since I have been cutting my own hair for some unknown reason and because I felt like I needed some kind of DO (or due) so I might not look absolutely terrible lying in that hospital bed with a tube up my nose. If your hair looks good you feel complete. Then I thought I should get my toes done since I never do that either and you never know when the anesthesiologist might look at your toes and wonder if you were a person worth saving. And by the time I had finished thinking about all of this important stuff the surgeon was shaking my hand and saying he'd see me soon and then he said two words that made me want to run out of there as fast as my legs could carry me.

"Good luck."

What did he mean, good luck? He's the one doing the operation? Is he going to be coming off a bender that day? Is that what he's talking about? Do his hands shake? And he's a very big man. How is he going to fit his huge hands into my little stomach? Does he know something I don't know? And what about all of those old magazines in his office?

What if I get on a plane right now and land in, oh, I don't know... Calcutta. I'd live there for a while, right? Have an interesting life. Wouldn't have to be cut up by a drunk surgeon and spend weeks trying to figure out how to eat. Why don't I just do that? Why? Why am I listening to people I don't even know? And trusting them. This while thing feels like a Twilight Zone.

You know what, I am going into the living room and I am going to sit underneath my fan and I am going to pretend I am in Calcutta. And maybe, just maybe I'll buy that plane ticket. Ahhhh, I feel better already.