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04/03/2003 Archived Entry: "TALL AND SKINNY"

TALL AND SKINNY

Yesterday I had to go to Salina for a Dexa test...a bone scan...or whatever you call them to determine bone density. It's a machine they pass over your hips and spine while you lie on a table on your back. You don't even have to take your clothes off which is way cool. The mobile unit doesn't come here until late this month so I couldn't have it done locally as I would have preferred. I needed the test now, so I was told.

Well, you know how they are about such things. You have to fill out all the customary forms about your height and weight, who in your family had what disease or died of whatever, how many surgical procedures you've had, what meds you take, your dog's middle name...the whole gamut of questions. It was a long form.

The lady behind the bullet proof glass at Mowery Clinic is an all too familiar sight as she is the one I get to talk to for other X-ray stuff, once she opens THE window that separates us. She is definitely in charge of the window and I have to wonder if she has been physically attacked at some point in the past to demand such protection. No one else in the clinic is protected like that. The window is never open unless she opens it. It's a bit like going to our county law enforcement center and talking to my friend Rick Harper who sits behind a foot thick piece of something impenetrable.

Anyway, that lady gave me the clip board with the questionnaire, a pen and sent me on my way. Actually, I knew all the answers without digging through my purse to find that information that's often required and more often forgotten. Yesterday I was really sharp! I didn't have to refer to notes.

I answered the myriad of questions and took the form and clip board back to the lady who takes her time in opening the window. One talks on HER terms. I handed her my clipboard and pen and this look of utter dismay came over her face. "You filled this out in RED ink", she says, "and it HAS to be black ink". "You handed me a pen with red ink", I reminded her. She looked at the pen in her hand I had just given her. I looked down on the counter before her, and she did as well hoping to see no red pens, and we both noticed simultaneously that all the pens were red. She was trapped. It was HER mistake. She said again, "It has to be filled out in black ink". "You'll have to fill it out again". Now I know why she needs that bullet proof window! "Again?" I asked plaintively. I mean that thing was long and ink color makes a difference? So I agreed to fill it out again but she couldn't find a pen with black ink and finally decided red ink would have to do. I could tell from the look on her face that this was the beginning of a bad day for her.

Next, the technician takes me off in another direction and has me get on the scales to check against the record I had made in red ink. Then she measures me right on five feet seven inches, just as I hoped. Amazing she says. What? I ask. She said she'd been in that business since the Dark Ages and no one ever had put down their exact weight and height. "They always fudge a lot", she says. I wasn't even sure but I made an effort to guess correctly. Usually people lie, especially about their weight. I never understood that. If people are going to lie, they ought to change their ways when they go see their doctor, don't you think? I don't think it would pay to lie to your doctor.

Older friends of mine who were once taller than I are now shorter so I suspected I was holding my own or growing in a way to make medical book history or sumpin'. I just hoped I was holding my own. It's one thing to be tall and lumpy but quite another to be short and lumpy. I'm not anxious to become short and lumpy if I can remain tall and lumpy. I only dream of being tall and skinny.

I was just happy to learn I was still five feet seven, a height I reached in the 7th grade and haven't wavered from. It has been a long time since anyone pulled out the old ruler and measured me, but they never forget to calculate weight. Never.

Now to the heart of this story. What I have long suspected is absolutely true.

Brit and I were sitting on the back deck, lovely evening as it was, chatting about our day and I was relating the series of events that transpired with the lady behind the bullet proof glass. I also mentioned the five feet seven thing.

You've really shrunk haven't you, he stated very positively. SHRUNK? SHRUNK? How tall do you think I am or was? FIVE FEET TEN INCHES TALL, he said, full of confidence like he's on one of those "Know your Partner" quiz shows and about to win a million dollars or a spin around the world on the QE2, maybe both. FIVE TEN? I bellow back. FIVE TEN? That is just two inches short of 6 feet tall AND at your best you were only six one. I envisioned tall and skinny, like in my dreams.

It's just as I thought, I said, I've lived with you for 52 years and you know less about me than anyone I know. You don't know my favorite color, what books I read, my favorite food, what kind of music I like, who my friends are, what operations I've had, where my scars are, if I can read a map or if I have dyslexia. Who are you? He just laughed and said, well, all those things are true so now you know. I've always worried about you getting lost and me trying to describe you to the police. I never could do that and I need you right here, so don't get lost.

Now, wasn't that a sweet way to get out of a peck load of trouble? Five ten..ah, tall and skinny. I love the way he sees me.