For The Next 4 Days I Am A Superhero . . . I Am RADIOACTIVE MAN!

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I spent a couple of days this week at Miami Valley Hospital undergoing some tests on me 'eart, veins, arteries, and other cardiovascular stuff.

My doctor has some concerns about my ticker, water retention, high blood pressure, fatigue, etc. She also mentioned that I had developed "very close" veins in my legs, or something like that. I told her that it didn't surprise me that my veins were very close because some of them had been working side by side and known each other for over 55 years.

She laughed in that non-smiling, silent way that I have grown accustomed to over the years.

But anyway, today was "stress test" day at the hospital. As part of the test I was injected with "a medical dose of radioactive material (TC 99M MIBI). Apparently this stuff may remain in my system for a few days and so to ensure that I don't have any problems entering federal buildings (or boarding planes) the hospital gave me a card to hand to the Feds should they attempt apprehend me and foil my lawful egress:
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What this means is that for the next four days I "pose no risk to the public" and have the permission of the U. S. Nuclear Regulatory Commission to enter federal property (and/or airports) glowing like freakin' kryptonite! (green no less - Superman's *least* favorite color)

How cool is that?! I mean - sure blue is my favorite color, but still - I'm just sayin' . . .

I told the nurse that I've been a little lonely lately so I probably won't flash my "credentials" until *after* being frisked, but I definitely would show the G-Men my card *before* the body cavity search kicks in. As I wryly added: "I'm not *that* lonely . . . yet!"

We both laughed quite heartily at my risque witticism. Or maybe it was just me that laughed really loudly and I just thought it sounded like two people. I guess I'll never know because by the time I ceased guffawing and regained my composure, she had left the examining room and did not return.

In retrospect I think that I may have spoken "inappropriately" and perhaps inadvertently crossed this particular nurse's "boundaries."

Well, regardless - the big news is this:

Move over Kevin J. Smith - lazy-ass retired librarian and all-round boring & predictable schmuck - because for the next four days there's a new kid on the block.

And the new kid's name is . . .


. . . . . . . . RADIOACTIVE MAN! . . . superhero





ADDENDUM:

On Monday morning, at the exact same time I was having a "venous Doppler" ultrasound on my legs at the main Miami Valley Hospital, my son Andy was having an ultrasound taken of his liver at Miami Valley Hospital South.

I called Andy's mom when I got home. I told her that I had said to the nurse on the way to my ultrasound that I was "hoping for a girl." Dian said "that's hilarious because Andy told his nurse on the way to *his* ultrasound that he was "hoping for a boy."

On two different sides of town, and at the exact same time, Andy and I were nailing them with the same joke.

My pop would have been proud.

(three Smith generations of "wacky comedy stuff" practitioners, pictured l to r: practitioner version 2.0, practitioner version 3.0, practitioner version 1.0, mystery person behind door)
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