Day + 69, Breaking The Chains Of Plastic

Every Tuesday since I was discharged from the Amyloid clinic, I've sent a brief e-mail to my contact at the BMC giving a synopsis of my health for the previous week. It's also the opportunity to ask questions or express concerns about how my health is progressing. Every week I complain about my slow progress and how I feel like I am not getting anywhere, and every week I get a response that I am doing a great job and "keep up the good work". Umm, thanks.

As you know, a couple days ago I brought up my need to always carry around my dear friend, the urinal. I must confess that it's really bothered me ever since. Our relationship has been sort of like a person you befriend because of shared circumstances, and you welcome them into your life with open arms, and then a few months later you're yelling at them for eating all of the food in your refrigerator. I felt a strong desire to let go. This friendship was no longer working out.

In this Tuesday's email to my contact at the clinic, I discreetly brought up "the urinal situation" and sought counsel on the best way to deal with it. I waited in front of my keyboard for hours, waiting desparately for an answer. Then suddenly, a noise, a new icon appears. My inbox sprung with a reply. The response I received was like poetry to my ears. I had progressed far enough that I didn't need to keep track anymore! Tears welled up in my eyes. I grabbed a tissue.

Now I feel like a mob boss, as I've been scheming on the best way to get rid of this plastic beast of burden. Do I burn it? Bury it? Consign it to the recycling bin? I better act fast; I haven't used him in a day or two and I'm beginning to suspect he knows his days are numbered.