About me

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Is there a doctor or nurse on the plane?

I've heard that question twice. The last time was about ten minutes ago. Someone at the front of the plane is making memories.

And making memories is often not good.

The first time I heard that question, we had a dead fellow and his living wife. I had to give up my first class seat for her.

That won't be happening today.

We're in the middle if a perfectly normal descent into Phoenix, and I assume we don't have so much of an emergency this time.

The last time with the dying fellow, that plane landed in 10 minutes from 35,000 feet. No one had to tell me to use my seatbelt.

The thing is I again figured it would be me, and again, it was not. An incident last summer left me thinking that.

I'm the one with the poor diet, dearth of exercise, compendium of bad habits, stressors, and far to much exposure plane, trains, and automobiles.

Maybe all that running left me with something good to go with the faciitis. Maybe all the swearing keeps my veins clear. Maybe a deity hasn't finished her game.

Maybe I should find those DNR papers and have a big old party.

-- text tapped from a virtual keyboard. You found misspellings? Imagine that. Get over it.

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