Kicking The Year to the Curb

Thank God for the passage of time.   And the ability to turn over a new leaf on December 31.   The artificial marking this year is all too real for me today.

Good fucking riddance, 2015.  Indeed, it probably falls in the top three of the worst years of my life.   

Regular readers know that I had some health problems this year.  For somebody who usually gets a clean bill of whatever during his annual physical the last week of December, I hit the skids pretty darn quickly by March of 2015.

A mystery ailment that was part inflamed liver, part gall bladder, part hiatal hernia, and totally a drain on my bank account.   You see, when you have a high deductible on your own personal and independent health insurance, out-of-pocket soon means nothing-left-in-the-pocket.   Two ultrasounds.  Two MRIs.   One nuclear something-or-other test that was supposed to demonstrate how well my innards were working.   The tests said I was fine.  

Still, by October, I was less than...fine.

I had total trust in my doctors and still do.   But, somehow, the "let's try this" approach to finding out what was wrong with me became a bit weary for me. Now I recently watched reruns of the old "Doctor Kildare" TV show and Richard Chamberlain could figure things out in less than an hour with four commercial breaks.   My guys turned my health into a mini-series.

Of course, I didn't help matters on Halloween by colliding with gravity and fracturing my kneecap.   Suddenly, I had gastric issues and I was standing on crutches at the same time.  

The deductible mounted with a series of x-rays, both portrait and wallet size.   Luckily, the core of my body (thank you, wonderful personal trainer Christina) was in such good shape that the fracture healed almost completely in a month. But my inner system, which my primary care physician referred to as biliary sludge, was still...well...sludgy.  At last, it was decided that a gallstone was blocking my common bile duct and needed to come out.

So, one week before Christmas, I'm on a gurney at St. John's Hospital, which is a terrific facility, but one I don't want to visit as much in 2016.  An endoscopy unclogged me for the time being and the East River inside of me started to break up.   I immediately went home with visions of a cute anesthesiologist in my head.  She said I had a big tongue.   I told her that I bet she said that to all the guys with bile backing up into their eyeballs.   Nevertheless, I wasn't home for three hours before my primary care doctor called and suggested that the next step should be to rip the whole gall bladder early in 2016.  My response was less than respectful.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Luckily, my primary care guy is terrific and has also dropped the F-bomb to me on occasion.   But I couldn't begin to think about yet another procedure.   And starting the new deductible early.

Okay, I guess things could have been worse.   And I am so looking forward to 2016.   There are some great new developments that you will be learning about here soon.   Gall bladder or no gall bladder.   But I just want to take a recess for just a little bit.  I need to mentally regroup.  And my doctors finally concur.   In my annual physical the other day (I am back in fine fiddle), I will get to keep the gall bladder at least until Spring.   Woo hoo. 

So now I can really celebrate the passage of time tonight.   Saying goodbye to a year that seemed like two or three.  

See ya, 2015.   Let the doorknob hit you where the good Lord split you.

Dinner last night:  Italian panini.