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By Georges

My brain’s stuck on an 80’s song.  It was sung by – I think – Boy George.  Or maybe George Michael?  Some guy named George.

The name’s been rumbling around me for weeks, in one version after another.  Maybe I should pay attention.  It’s not exactly a common name, but with so many obscure instances when it’s hitting my line of sight, God knows it could be relevant.  Or not.

Healthwise I am more or less wading through the preliminaries right now.  MRI on the knee today – which may after all turn out to be treatable – at least for the short term – without surgery.  That may be wishful thinking, of course.  If it weren’t for the fiscal nightmare accompanying my being laid up I would probably be gung-ho to get it done.  Unfortunately being the sole breadwinner and barely eeking along sort of puts a damper on taking care of even critical stuff. (Remember the magnificent pay cut?  It’s not doing me any favors.  Neither was rent that jumped ridiculously when we renewed.)

The second round of tests are gastro related – and there are some definite warning lights that have been going off there for a while.  I didn’t think about the upper gastro until I was filling out forms at the specialist’s office.  When I told him some things I haven’t mentioned to anyone else, he insisted we take a closer look – from both ends, so to speak, heh.  I guess as much as I can’t afford things right now I can afford less to be permanently out of work or worse.  We’ll have to figure something out, somehow, if and when the verdict comes down.

I both dread and am relieved to get this stuff done after a couple of decades living with an out-of-sight, out-of-mind approach to my health.  I deal with minor-to-moderate stuff without much more than a shrug.  The medical community as a whole is well educated and unfortunately owned by the insurance companies.  I actually am comfortable, for the first time in a long time, with my GP.  We shall see if that holds up.  So far so good, anyway.

I know I’m rambling tonight.  I’m dead on my butt and too stressed to be any good for anything.

Youngest grandson tested positive for Cystic Fibrosis today – on a follow up test after an initial positive right after he was born.  They’re going to do some additional follow ups but it’s not looking too good.  Other grandson is doing better but that poor kid’s been to one doctor after another since he was born, too.  It’s been kinda insane around here this week.  We had both babies here and Wednesday morning I woke to my son sleeping on the sofa and my daughter and the baby sleeping on the floor of the office.  It was a necessary evil but frankly I was just exhausted by the time I got home tonight.

One piece of maybe good news.  The older daughter’s boyfriend is talking about buying a new home for them.  His family has the means to do so.  If he does, G and I may be able to rent the kids’ current place.  It’s a big house, nice place if you slap on a little paint.  And they’re offering us a kick-ass deal on it.  Predicated on the possibility of buying a new house, of course, which is by no means a done deal.  I kind of smile and nod with the kids.  Sometimes this one does what he says, other times not.  Definitely premature to give any serious thought to moving at this point.

My body is screaming at me now.  Gotta hit the sack and stay there for a few hours.  I’m too tired to even yawn tonight.

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