Ride ‘em broncho-scopy. It seems that’s what Señor Pulmonologist will be doing on Tuesday the 12th @ 7:00 AM. And I guess metaphorically I’ll be the bronco. Okay. A new doctor, for a new day, with a new test. How can you go wrong with that? I guess I could come up with a few answers. So … yes … Dr H is going to knock me out, shove a scope down my throat, have a look see, and mine some samples while he’s in there. I can hardly wait! Then he’ll send them off to be mused at, sliced diced and julienned …. and I’ll have to wait another week to get those results. This all seems to just drag on. To top it all off he also wants to send me for an echocardiogram to be certain granulomas haven’t started forming in my heart. He also suggested I see a ophthalmologist. Now I was going to make that journey on my own … but now with a little prodding … (move along there bronco boy!) I’ll make that appointment sooner than later.

I’m waiting for Godot, or Godar, or maybe François Truffaut, or any of the other directors of “cinéma de la nouvelle vague française”. Actually I’m waiting for Casey, Dr Mike’s assistant to call me back. He’s investigating getting my pulmonologist appointment moved up. It was set for Monday July 11 @ 2:00 PM, but I didn’t want to have to wait through another weekend for him to take a peak at my lungs … as it were.

Miracle of miracles! He did it. Got it moved to today @ 4:00 PM. I have to run to Swedish to pick up my chesty x-rays & other assorted items. Then I’m off to sell CDs for my friend Amy. She’s playing a lunchtime gig at the IDX tower downtown. Anywho … more later. Have to jam …

Take a deep breath … and hold. It was all so metaphoric. Also metabolic. And just a little ironic. It was said so lyrically. The words had a cadence, a rhythm, a melody, that were at once comforting, yet humorous. Like Mr Rogers in his little wool sweater conducting a CT scan. “And hold it …” such a silly sing song sound. He had a shtick. He had it honed. Maybe he did standup when he wasn’t doing his lab-technician “thang.” Maybe it was too many years doing the same job … looking inside of people. Take a deep breath ….

And so I did. Many times then, and many times before I even set foot in the “imaging facility.” I hold my breath a little each time I hear, “Hmmm … don’t know what that is.” “Hmm … never seen that before.” “I’m feeling kind of stupid today. Can’t figure out what’s going on.” Those are things I didn’t want to hear. Just holding my breath a little more, a little longer. Maybe everything will disappear. Maybe it will all mystically go away. Say a few chants. Say a few prayers. A Psalm in time saves nine … republicans maybe. Keep still don’t move. Maybe no one will see the dis-ease. With each breath held, a little more life was leaving me. How can that be? A little more will stolen from me. When I did breath, sometimes it was strained. Sometimes I’d cough. But I have no cold. Oh damn .. another upper respiratory infection? It’s all so arbitrary. Maybe Apple nailed it when they shuffled off … “life is random.”