First World Problems

4:32 a.m.

I have to go to the doctor today for a routine checkup. I have to fast for eight hours prior. I hate fasting. Not only did I eat a huge meal at 9:30 last night, but I lay awake all night eating popcorn, Honey Nut Scooters, and bacon, but I got up at 4:30 in the morning to have my Last Meal (which Beloved Wifey cooked for me) so I won’t starve to death by 1:30 in the afternoon. Eggs and ham! I ate so much I could barely waddle. I hate fasting.

8:04 a.m.

I’ve survived thus far on naught but weak black decaffeinated coffee. This sucks. I find myself weak with hunger, and snappish of attitude. I hate fasting.

8:37 a.m.

I’m not sure, but I think I just blacked out for a minute there. It’s been three and a half hours since my last meal. I hate fasting.

10:12 a.m.

Having difficulty concen… Concentr… Finishing a thought. I will now eat half a stick of sugar-free chewing gum. I’ve been saving it all morning. I hate fasting.

11:40 a.m.

It has now been over six hours since my last meal. My stomach is gnawing on my liver, asking me for onions. For the last forty-five minutes I’ve been seeing visions, hallucinations. They all involve hamburgers for some reason. Hamburgers. Wonderful, wondrous hamburgers. I hate fasting.

12:42 p.m.

Time to head to the doctor. I’ve asked my Beloved Wifey to drive me. I have tunnel-vision, and lost feeling in my extremities quite some time ago. The ravages of extreme hunger are cruel indeed. I feel numb to the world. I can do naught but stare, constantly aware of the nagging hole in my soul. I hate fasting.

1:30 p.m.

I’m sure the doctor will hospitalize me. He’ll take one look at me and will realize what he’s done to me. “Oh my gosh,” he’ll say, “you’re wasting away! You’re but a shadow of the fine man I saw just a few months ago! No, please don’t try to walk – we’ll get a wheelchair for you, you’re much too weak to walk on your own!” He’ll then pat my fevered brow and will write a prescription for two steaks a day, with potatoes. I’m sure of it. That’s what will happen. I hate fasting.

1:31 p.m.

They’ve called my name, and I’ve managed to drag myself into the little examination closet. No one seems to have noticed the ravages the fasting has caused me. I’ll try not to pass out as I sit here, waiting, endlessly waiting… Doctors always make you wait. In my enfeebled state I find that to be an atrocity.

1:32 p.m.

“So how are we today,” the doctor said as he came in the door, eyes focused on his iPad, paying no attention to my emaciated, withering frame. “I see you’re here for some blood tests. Have you been fasting?”

“Yes,” I whimpered. “Yes, I have.”

He glanced up from his iPad, looked at my belly, then, “Good. Looks like you could use it, you’ve got a few extra pounds there.” Eyes back on his notes, “Everything here looks good. Just go down the hall to your left and they’ll get your blood…”

1:42 p.m.

Back in the car with Beloved Wifey. “It’s okay, Honey, I can drive,” I said. “I’m glad that’s over!”

“Oh, okay. Where do you want to go for lunch?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m okay,” I replied. “I’m not hungry yet. I had a big breakfast…”

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