My doctor is cooler than most. He carries a blackberry and answers e-mails. Even so, I always dread my annual visits. My treadmill performance keeps slipping, my glucose keeps rising, and our alcohol conversation keeps stretching my veracity.
Our relationship has always been strictly doctor/patient, but recently he invited me to his book club to discuss Alan Greenspan’s memoir. After a couple of drinks, we got down to business. I hadn’t fully digested the Maestro’s masterpiece, but I knew I could fill in the blanks.
I was soon waxing eloquent from the end of the dining room table with a glass of red wine supporting my memory and elocution. When my half-full glass mysteriously became half-empty, I saw a hand out of the corner of my eye whisk it away and replace it with a glass of water. I knew then that I had witnessed my first miracle. My doctor had turned wine into water.