Anchor Struck

I saw a respiratory specialist yesterday and got encouraging news. The hole that collapsed my left lung two months ago has healed. However, because we don’t know what caused the leak and due to my age, the doctor is having me take it easy for another month. I will likely be referred to a thoracic surgeon. In the meantime, I can cheerily report that I am medically pleasant. One of my recent X-ray reports described me as “a pleasant 77-year-old man”.

So I got that going for me.

The doctor who (not THE Doctor Who) assessed me is just a chitlin-throw away from a Popeyes Chicken, so my Louisiana heritage compelled me to stop by. I had been raving to my primary doctor about Popeyes, so Jude and I bought a Family Feast. We had the sandwiches, then took the six pieces of mild and spicy chicken, onion rings and beans & rice to my doctor.

There have been very few times in my life where the timing was perfect, but this was one of them. I wanted to get the Popeyes Feast to the doctor before his office closed, but the ferry ride back to Quadra was uncharacteristically sluggish and the office was locked when we got there. The lights were still on, though, and one of the office staff responded to my urgent knocking.

When we got home, there was a phone message from another staff member thanking us profusely. The Feast coincided superbly with the staff’s after-hours hunger.

You’re welcome, Popeyes, which despite its New Orleans roots, is now owned by a Toronto company.