“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.