It was a week of turbo work and health issues – the baby’s MRI was wonderfully negative. My friend’s MRA – she won’t call to get the results because she says she wants to enjoy her evening. My mother was driven home from the office yesterday, she calls and says, hi, how are you?, I was driven home because I have the classic signs of a heart attack.
Stop.
What?
Yes, but it wasn’t. I told everyone at work that it was ridiculous to drive me home. I just hate that they all think I can’t handle this job.
Stop.
I’m going for bloodwork tomorrow. I’ll talk to you later.
Then today, in the midst of a call with a reporter, she calls in and so I excused myself and took her call – is everything okay? – yes, I’m going to bed now.
Later, I spoke to her to see if she was up for company, but she wanted to go to bed. She said she hates her doctor because he told her what he always tells her and has been telling her for the past twenty years, that she has to stop drinking and quit smoking. She said she hates that people at work think she can’t handle her job.
I said well realistically, you’re 71, but your health is like someone who is 91.
What?
I said your health is poor because you do drink and smoke and work a demanding stressful job that you have to drive an hour each way to and from.
Well, I’m not stopping – I told Puentes that and I’m telling you that.
I said fine, then you got to deal wtih the fact that you can’t handle this job and you are in poor health.
I called her after Pilates this evening to say that exercise is a form of a drug – I could feel the endorphins being released into my system as I held the third teaser position. She said I know.
La di da.