Happy Birthday, Kev! I love you baby.
Happy Birthday, Kev! I love you baby.
Cuz it is! Happy Birthday to me!
Can someone please tell me why doctors feel the need to put you through torture while waiting for lab results? The doctor’s office called 4 times while we were gone, and each message they left for me sounded “urgent”. Turns out, my lab results are perfectly fine (liver, thyroid, cholesterol, HIV, Hepatitis, etc). It seems that I may have a slight urinary tract infection, so I have to go back in for another UA, but I am symptomless right now. I’ve had these off and on for years, so that’s nothing new, but let me tell you, I was stressing out big time that I had some horrible, incurable disease. I spent the entire vacation in St. John worrying for nothing. I did say a little prayer of thanks, though. Stupid doctors. Why couldn’t they just leave that on the message?
It’s just another day in paradise. This week, we’re in St. John. Tomorrow, it’s off to Jost Van Dyke via 40′ catamaran. Yeah, I know. It’s a rough life.
Here’s the thing: I’m 30. I’ll be 31 at the end of this month. So why, may I ask, do I need a booster shot? I had all my vaccinations when I was a kid. I had the final round when I was 18. I distinctly remember thinking at the time: “Woo hoo! No more boosters!”. How wrong I was.
Yesterday, my doctor decided I needed a booster shot. Again: I’M 30!!! In case you don’t remember what it’s like, please allow me to refresh your memory. The needle stick? Painless. The agony that ensues? Sheer and utter torture. I actually think it would hurt less if I just went ahead and severed my own arm. Nurse Ratched managed to stick the needle all the way into my joint. Ouch.
Just when you thought you’d finally outgrown all your childhood agonies, they come right back and bite you in the ass. Or the arm.
We had an absolute blast at the beach, and we’re trying to get back to reality. As soon as we got home and were eating dinner on Saturday, I got sick. It hit me like a ton of bricks, and I ran a fever for two days. I don’t really mind though, since my immune system waited until we were back home before it rebelled. Now, it’s on to laundry and cleaning the house. I have to pack, too, since we’re heading back to the beach on Sunday. Yeah, I know. It’s a rough life.
Right now, I’m watching the boats in the harbor. There’s a nice breeze from the ocean, and pancakes and sausage are on their way to my belly. 11 hours from now, I’ll be home. I wonder how hard it would be just to accidentally forget to get on the plane?
This is my official “I’m on the beach and you’re not” post. Right now, we’ve got one in the hammock, and three more taking their afternoon naps. Me? I’m sitting on the porch looking out at the beautiful, clear, impossibly blue water. I’ve got a killer tan, a cold beer, and we’re having fresh fish for dinner. At some point, we’ll be uploading pictures, so all of you can share in our little Surivor: Bahamas adventure.
So. How was your day?
So far, and yet so near. By this time tomorrow, I’ll be sipping Kalik on my sugar-sand beach. Only a car ride, two planes, a cab, a ferry, and a golf cart away! Meanwhile, I’m all packed, and I’ll be going to bed shortly, since our flight leaves before the butt-crack of dawn. Hey-whatever gets me there the fastest! I’m so glad that this has become a Coopahue tradition, and I CANNOT wait to see little GMan’s reaction to the beach this time around. I can honestly say that there is no one else on the planet that I could spend an entire week with, but these people are special, and it truly is a joy to share these experiences with them. Catch y’all in a week!
In exactly 72 hours, I will be on a beach. Not just any beach. An empty beach. My beach. My empty beach. How do ya like me (and Kevin, and J,and C, and GMan) now?