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I Have To Go To Venice. Part Two.

“Ah, Venice,” said Dr. Shay in his slow, measured tone. He moved to retrieve his stethoscope. “Beautiful city.” Dr. Shay is in his early-fifties and has been my doctor for many years. I like him because he never makes me feel rushed in my appointments and lets me spout out my various theories on the roots of health problems without becoming annoyed.

“Yes, I know,” I replied, nodding. “I’ve been there.” That was part of the problem with this whole trip. I was being forced to take vacation time for a location that I’d already been to. It pissed me off.

“You don’t sound too thrilled,” he said as he wrapped a blood pressure cuff around my arm.

“I’m not,” I said. “I couldn’t be less thrilled.”

“And why is that?” Continue reading I Have To Go To Venice. Part Two.