That Which Must Not Be Named

Life’s got more twists and turns than a pretzel-making contest, doesn’t it? At our age (regardless of your age) you’d think we’d all be pros at hanging on for dear life on this wild ride they call living. This morning at the crack of dawn, at the local Acute Care Clinic, I crashed the local gathering of the ladies’ club, as we huddled together like a flock of chilly flamingos, bravely facing the nippy breeze. We were counting down the moments until the door creaked open and we were welcomed by the smiling faces of nurses and staff.

It seems as though I have a case of You-Know-What, severe enough to have kept me awake and “feeling bloated”.

Earlier in the week in the midst of my hospital adventure—I was twice presented with an offer for a “softener”. It was pitched like a luxury item at a spa, optional but oh-so-tempting. In my naive bliss, I imagined they were talking about some plush cushion to pamper my posterior during my convalescence. So I breezily declined, thinking myself above such creature comforts.

Alas, my friends, hindsight is 20/20, and my understanding of the term has since undergone a dramatic, and somewhat uncomfortable, shift. Now, in the throes of regret, I’ve been handed down a strategic battle plan from my doctor designed to… let’s say… storm the stubborn fortress.

My wonderfully supportive girlfriend will be dispatched on a quest to our local alchemist’s shop—to gather the threefold arsenal prescribed by my wise and sympathetic doctor. One of these magical concoctions boasts the ability to work faster than you can say “move it!” while the other two potions are for fortifying my defenses over the long haul to conquer that which must not be named.

If all goes to plan, I’ll be headed to my chambers, like Eglon of old (Judges 3.24). I am optimistic, however, that things will come out better for me, though, than they did for him!

When all of this is over, I want to go boweling!

(Sorry … I can’t help myself) 😉