I peered in the mirror this a.m. for the first time in about eleven days and almost swallowed a tube of lipstick.
Who was that hollow-eyed scary looking imposter sitting in my makeup chair? Can someone please call an exorcist?
After peering more closely I recognized that tale-tell chicken pox scar from the 50s. Good golly. It was I.
Little did I know that negative sounding experience would result in a memorable week of pampering equivalent to a swanky spa or fat farm.
I even came out almost 10 pounds lighter. No wonder, you try a diet of Jell-O and pop-sickles and see if you don’t loose 10 pounds in less days.But what I witnessed in the hospital restored my faith in the medical profession. I’ve never seen such professionalism balanced perfectly with genuine compassion.
And my new doctor could be a regular on ER. He told me I called him Dr. Kildare while under the influence of some delicious drug. (He is still wearing braces, and had no idea who Dr. Kildare was.)