MERIDIAN —    Yes! I am normal and I have proof. You see it all took place during the last couple of weeks – the authentication of my normal stuff.  You know all of those yucky-yearly-checkups? They are necessary, but still yucky. Well, well, well, well -- I’ve learned there is really a brain located inside my skull (told you so) with no mishaps, no dingle/dangles, just a rather cute, lively, and healthy brain. Then, the next good news – I have a beautiful colon and gorgeous liver. Actually some folks have confided recently that they have always admired my colon – what a compliment! I promised them, one day, they may have a peek at my lovely liver as well.

    I am normal – shout it from the rooftops!

    Now there are some skeptics, uh-huh. Always those skeptics hanging around, don’t you know? Sniff … sniff … sniff – trying to find something, anything that could be termed other than normal. I’ve said – Give it a break! I’m saying – I’m just saying … bet they have ugly “inners” and I sure don’t even want a peek. Good grief!

     I am normal -- tell your neighbors and tell your friends!

    I’ll be the first to tell you that I have walked some long, long hallways during the last couple of weeks. Shudder – I’ve entered some gosh-awful-looking rooms (I call them rooms rather than torture chambers), and I’ve witnessed pieces of machinery and tools that only the unknown-of-the-world could have invented and orchestrated. But at the same time, I’ve met some of the most compassionate and comforting folks that could be found on the face of the earth. These very people utter phrases such as … now hold your breath … one … two … three… BREATHE! Or, this might be a little stick. OUCH! And then there’s, let me know if I’m hurting you. HURT! HURT! HURT! But the best one, Hold it, hold it, hold it – release. Ugh.

     I am normal – send a fax, email, text, beat the drums, or Morse code, whatever!

     As long as those hallways were, as disturbing as the machinery seemed, and those horrific body commands-from-you-know-where, nothing can compare to the day before … uh-huh, you know. “Oh, this is so-o-o much easier, Mrs. McKee, than it used to be.” Yeah, sure – the green gook could have come straight from the septic tank as far as I was concerned. I mean, hold your nose, stop up your ears, slime it down with jello, ice cream, or chocolate pudding – no matter … the stuff was putrid!

     Come the next morning – stumble into the cubicle and what do you hear? A jolly, “Good morning, Mrs. McKee, how are you?” Argh – one of these times, I’m gonna tell ‘em, but then, after I’m dosed up and out like a light, what will happen? Something to think about – so I try a smile and nod pleasantly as I march toward the cot like a condemned prisoner headed for the gas chamber. “Dead woman walking …”

    I am normal – let the party begin!

     But after all of that, there is the green gown. “Uh, Mrs. McKee, just leave it open down the back.” What? There goes the last bit of privacy and the last ounce of bashfulness that I had managed to survive within my pitiful self. With shaking hands and stressed, wobbly knees, I tried to undress in a sane manner. Taking one deep breath after the other, praying, praying, praying – oh, just allow me one more grace, one more blessing, one more tiny bit of courage, and I really will start counting calories. I’ll walk and exercise. I’ll cut back on red meat, drink more water, and chew each small bite forty-two times. I’ll only associate with the healthy people of the world so that I won’t be persuaded to do something unhealthy. I’ll … I’ll … I’ll – wait a minute. That’s no fun! I love my unhealthy friends.

    By the second week, I really didn’t give a rip. Oh, drink this gook, fine. Leave the gown open down the front, sure thing. Climb aboard this awful thing that rumbled like the end of the world with a never ending tunnel – no problem. Hold your breath, hold your breath, hold your breath – who needed to breathe anyway? And then … everyone began to look the same – all with green round heads and big slanted eyes.  I remember toward the end that I screamed – Take me to your leader!

    There’s that cheery voice again. “Hello, Mrs. McKee – we’re all done.”

    I am normal … I am normal … I am normal!

     Oops, one more thing – last Sunday during “Praise Time” at church I decided to announce, you know that I’m normal.  I suppose it was sort of in a braggy way. Within a few minutes I acquired a sore throat. Cough, cough, cough – I was only normal for about an hour. Sigh. Lesson learned – one mustn’t brag at church, even if one is normal.

     Hippity-Hip–Hooray! I am normal!

    Dear, dear readers:  I hope you’ve enjoyed my little take-off on my annual checkup. Even though I’ve had fun writing this column, please know how very important an annual medical checkup is for a good and healthy life. Make that appointment today so that you will have a beautiful colon and gorgeous liver, too.