My sister called me earlier this evening and left me a voice message expressing concern about my 'kidney disease' post of last night. I haven't called her back because I was out having dinner and buying vegetables and then came home and, to my surprise, decided to watch the opening ceremonies of the Beijing Olympics. And now it's late.
Well, sister, I wouldn't worry. The phrenologist didn't seem overly concerned and neither will I be. It's still not even certain that he's right. More tests will determine that. He says, if he's right, I am at stage 3 of the disease, "moderate decrease in kidney function." He says the goal, if he's right, is to limit the severity of decline in function, so that I can plan on dying of old age before I have to have dialysis or a transplant. I told him my plan, at present, is to die relatively healthy at age 96 after being hit and killed instantly by a speeding bus. "So," I told him, "your job is to make sure that happens."
I'd be lying, of course, if I said this unexpected pre-diagnosis did not bother me. It's particularly annoying since the doctor who sent me to the phrenologist said it appeared that the over-the-counter arthritis pain remedy I have been taking was responsible for the unhappy blood test results and that my kidneys seemed to be functioning normally. But such is life.
Anyway, I'll find out more next week, after I deliver large orange vats of refrigerated urine to the phrenologist's office.
Ellie, if you read this: you must know something of this, right? Tell me what you know, OK?
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