A woman at the Hillbilly Flea Market in Ashland, Kentucky, or maybe it was Floyd, or Flatwoods. It was on Route 23.
Any way, she asked me how old I was. I think I was 57.
She said, "The reason I ask is because my husband died of prostate cancer, one of the easiest cancers to treat, and he might still be alive if he had a Prostate Specific Antigen (PSA) test."
She said to get one if you're getting into your fifties.
I got out of my fifties as quick as I could.
I had some blood tests shortly after that, cost me $900.
"Your heart's good, liver's good, kidneys good. You might be gettin' diabetes though and have to take a pill!"
I was pretty sure that wasn't a risk. I ate very little sugary foods, candies, pastries, high fructose corn syrup.
"Oh. Well..." Doc said, "did you maybe drink a beer the day before you had the blood taken?"
Hell, that was 30 days ago. I don't remember.
I've got paperwork to turn in to see how much Medicare will cost. How much I'll have left to live on. Have to pay a penalty for not signing up when I retired.
Then I'll have to get Part C and D that everybody's complaining just 'inflated'.
I may have to keep on doin without until I break down on the side of the road and someone takes me to the junkyard.

There will always be another song to be written. Someone will write it. Why not you? www.garyeandrews.com