This week Bill and I had our annual well checks. Those appointments, of course, must be scheduled months in advance, at least if you want to see the doctor and not the janitor. Both appointments were scheduled for 1:30 in the afternoon, one one day and the other the next. When I made the appointments, the office staff suggested we both come in the morning of the first appointment to have our blood drawn. That was good news, because we had to fast 12 hours before we got stuck with the needle, and I couldn’t imagine waiting until 1:30 in the afternoon to eat and drink coffee.
Aside from my, um, puzzle addiction, I really feel in control of most of my habits. However, if any one of you could have seen Bill and me yesterday morning, staring woefully at the empty coffee pot, it would have broken your hearts. Quite frankly, I was a mess. Bill was a bit better than me, but not a lot. We sat at the table with our shoulders slumped, a vacant look in our eyes. Every once in a while, one of us would look up at the clock, which seemed to be taking forever to get to 8:30 when we could finally drive over to the doctor’s office, get poked, and get caffeinated. Since the big hand had barely moved since the last glance, we would both give big uncaffeinated sighs.
When the doctor’s office finally opened, we were waiting at the door. I explained our purpose, and the receptionist asked us to take a seat. Time passed. More time passed. Still no call from a nurse to step through. Finally, my nerves had the best of me, and I went up and asked her about our status.
“Well, you keep getting bumped because the doctor wants to look at one of his patient’s blood results, and they get priority.
What? Just because someone has a rash over their entire body doesn’t mean they can come between me and my coffee. I was hangry and needed coffee.
I drink three cups of coffee a day. My first cup is the best. It’s freshly brewed, and I enjoy it in the quiet of my kitchen while I’m reading a good book. My second cup contains a fiber supplement to help keep me out of the hospital. It is virtually tasteless, but nevertheless, I don’t enjoy my second cup as much as my first. By my third cup, I am fully wound up and eager to greet Bill when he comes downstairs.
Which is why he doesn’t even have the sleep out of his eyes or his first cup poured before I start blasting him with questions. What are we doing today? Did you order that thing we talked about? The kitchen sink is leaking and needs to be fixed. What do you want for breakfast?
It was a quick five-minute drive to McDonald’s where we bought our coffee. Before even pulling out of my spot at the drive-thru, I had taken my first sip.