My Boss urged me to make a doctor's appointment today with regard to the inordinate amount of headaches I get. My migraines and cluster headaches and stress headaches et. al. have always been around. It's hereditary, and it's on both sides of the family. I didn't have a prayer. I've also been plagued with the damn things since Age Five. It's a part of me; if there's a large family function, odds are you will find me in one of the back bedrooms, sleeping off a Demerol. (Ahh, Demerol, I love you. Cotton mouth be damned.)

Through the years my doctor started gently reminding me to pay attention to the frequency/intensity/location/timing of these little buggers. It's only in the last year that I've noticed the changes. The Big Cheese only served to reinforce my paranoia about this condition turning out to be a slow leak in my cranium. I had a lovely dream about that just last night.

Add to that the fact that I called to make an appointment today, and was told that the ticking time bomb in my head would have to wait until October 31. It's both a blessing and a curse to have such a fabulous family doctor.

There's a line from City Slickers,

"When I asked you what you wanted for your thirty-fifth birthday, you said you wanted a CAT scan!"

That's me. Definitely.

What's wrong with being careful?

Huh?

Posted at 1:15 p.m.