Smoke Gets In Your Eyes (and nose and throat)

 A week ago we had rain and then sunshine.  A grand and totally delightful end to eight days of being smoked like a rash of bacon.   Thus the title above that might make you want to do some memory moves with The Platters.

The Air Quality Index runs from 0 to 500.  I was shocked to see the red line hit that and rise beyond the measured quantity.  Mentally and emotionally taxing as well as physically harmful.

Rain has blessed us once more the past two nights. Hopefully enough to be a wild firefighters wet dream.

Now I can take walks again if my right foot agrees.  Surgery on the left foot in late February put me in good standing to stay seated and home in the early days of the you know what.   To keep on the right footing I am planning another surgical round of  "The Hokey Pokey" with the podiatrist this winter.

Meanwhile it seems like all my "annuals" have somehow coagulated into a September sludge of visits to every medical professional in my life. 

My eye specialist informs me that it shouldn't be too much longer until "I Can See Clearly Now."   (I didn't plan on song titles when the urge to post hit me this morning.  But I'm humming right a long with it.)   In order for surgery to be covered by insurance, your cataracts need to be past the point of  hindrance.  I'm so ready to dispose of  those yellow blinders. Bring on the knife.

My beautiful dental assistant informed me that it was time for the five year total x-ray of mouth.  We've been through this enough times that she had a distraction for my over the top gag reflex:  salt.  Cheap trick.  Then the hygienist bolted me in.  I do a very good job keeping those pearly whites clean so I never experience "A  Burning Ring of Fire' that others have claimed.  But she forgot to give me any samples of toothbrush, toothpaste, and floss.  That burned a little bit.     Meanwhile the dentist teleported through the room, looked at my teeth, scanned the dental radiographs, glanced at his two associates notes, and  high fived me on his way out.   

The mammogram is featured next.  A sister is a breast cancer survivor so I'm always aware of the need for my own advocacy.  I am also happy when the tech assigned is the one who is fast and efficient without maximum discomfort.  (Oh to heck with discomfort.  It can blasted hurt!)  She was a traveling tech that they snagged for a full time position.   I'm thankful for her. 

The annual reminder for my GP, however,  is still sitting in my "to call" list.  I confess that I really don't want to see him without having lost a few pounds.   I've always said there were two skinny women inside of me fighting to get out.  A lifetime of  "Losing You" reflecting in my mirror.  But singing it doesn't change anything but the expression on my face. (The chubby one looking back at me.)    I told someone the other day that I was big boned from my dads side of the family and I got the bubble wrap as I aged from my moms side of the family.  There are no skinny genes (or jeans) apparent in my genealogy.  

After all the appointments are history I always feel like I can "Just Breathe" normally and start fresh.  And I'm feeling like I'm ready to put 2020 behind me too.   "Movin' On."  ASAP.


    





Comments

Far Side of Fifty said…
I sure hope the fires are out! As we age it seems the appointments become our social life:)
9:43 AM, September 27, 2020
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