I got a call the other day from a guy named Michael. He said he was calling from Emory Hospital and wished to speak with Tracy Hartley. I'm me I informed him, how could I help him? He told me this was a follow up call concerning my bone marrow transplant. Shit, I had forgotten all about that small medical procedure I had received, what was it, 14 years ago? "It's been 14 years whata ya wanta know" I ask him? "You haven't spoken to anyone from Emory since then" he ask? "No one" I told him.
It was July 30th. It was my 48th birthday and here was some guy calling 14 years later to check on me. So I went into this very long winded, detailed description of every aliment I had suffered in the last 14 years. Michael keep trying to interrupt, but I plowed forward. I told him about my back problems. I told him about the poison ivy rash I had suffered. I told him how bad the headaches were when Stacey and I went on a cleansing diet and cold turkey quit caffeine. I told him about the different times I cut myself and had to be stitched up in the emergency room. I told him how I thought I was dying after taking penicillin, which I had obviously become allergic too. I told him about how my blood pressure was giving me trouble. I told him about the time all the bees stung me. I told him about busting my toe and how it took a year for toe nail to fall off and another year to grow back. Hell I even made stuff up just to make it sound really good.
Finally I took a breath and he jumped at the chance to say something. He ask "what about the transplant, what about the cancer any problems with that"? "Oh that" I said, "no problem, no problem at all, check back in 14 years" I told him.