Last week I got the impression that someone thought I had leukemia. It wasn’t something I overheard at a dinner party, where one haughty woman wearing a giant, floral hat leaned over to another woman whose plastic face-alterations were slipping and said: “Oh, Gladys, look at that girl. Surely she has…the leukemia.”
No. I went into an urgent care for an acute illness, and an anomalous result on a blood test indicated that I was, you know, not doing so well. I was more concerned with my urgent matter, so when the clinic kept calling me during the week to ask how I was and then asked me to come back for a follow-up test, all after I got to feeling better, I grew somewhat concerned.
The follow-up test has confirmed that I am not at the tail-end of a lengthy terminal illness, which I was glad to discover. It got me to thinking, though…what things do I need to take care of, stat? I should probably put a will together. You know, so that nobody has to fight over all the original Rembrandts I have laying around, the villa in the Seychelles or my collection of prize-winning giant miniature ponies.