When Grandma goes to the doctor

I get so lonesome for Heaven that I am afraid God is testing my patience and I will have to wait until I am 100 or some such foolish number. This has been my week for doctors, the cardiologist, the neurologist and my primary doctor. I saw my primary yesterday and this is what I said. "Look, please do me a favor, don't ask me a bunch of questions, let me tell you what my problems are first."

    He listened to my puny complaints and then I said, "Now I know you are a good doctor and I have told you what is going on with me, and I know full well your predilection for extensive excursions in your chosen field but I do not want to do one thing further about any of them. You have let me unload my gripes, now I will not have to tell my peers. I do not want to see any specialist or have any sophisticated battery of tests, so let's you and I agree that they go with my eighty-nine year old turf. They are the physiological decay that goes with my age group. So we shall not question them, simply acknowledge them and then wish me a Happy Birthday, okay?"

    He smiled, albeit grimly, and said, "Happy Birthday!" and we shook hands before I opened the door. Oh yes, he did ask me one question before I escaped, "Why is it you want to get to Heaven so badly?" So I told him before I left his office.