How Irish Whiskey Saved My Brain (Maybe)
By Bill Frayer
Alone, getting my brain scanned,
The kindly radiologist told me
With sad eyes, “I think you have a tumor
In your brain.” And showed me a large shadow
On the MRI which looked, well, big.
I rode home in the cab
In the dark, alone,
Thinking over my life.
“How odd, that it should come
To this.” I pondered.
“Well,” I thought, as I entered my bright empty home
At midnight, “If I’m doomed,
I might as well enjoy an
Irish whiskey before bed. “So I sipped on a generous Jamison,
As I marveled at the kaleidoscopic hallucination
At the periphery of my right eye
And enjoyed the calm, surprised at myself.
“Tomorrow,” I admonished myself, “I’ll get the full version.”
As the whiskey fortified my spirit.
I slept soundly, knowing I’d deal
With any new reality
In the morning.
Good thing. The overnight study
Reversed the calamitous finding
And I was forced to face
That I had no tumor
And would likely live
To face more unknown risks.
No easy exit yet.
I think it was the whiskey.
I think I deserve another.
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