A trip to the Doctor.

Saint Joan of Arc, pray for us.

The doc gave me the diagnosis.  I am invisible to x-rays.  As if I didn't have enough enough hereditary quirks to escape notoriety.  His office is in a boarded up shotgun off North Robertson Street downwtown of Elysian Fields.  I had to crawl through a window to get into the waiting room, but his rates are reasonable, even if his front door is boarded up.

After a battery of tests and procedures appropriate to a general physical examination to establish a person's current state of health, Doctor Omphaloskepsis (he seems to be of Greek-and-Creole descent) told me, without mincing words, "You are radiolucent."

It is a benign, congenital medical condition reported in 0.00051% of the global population.  Its complications, as reflected in morbidity and mortality reports, are statistically nil.  My doctor advises me that, if I do, indeed, suffer complications that impact my activities of daily living, I should increase the lead in my diet.  Sometimes, the cure is worse than the disease.

As he put his X-ray spectacles back in their case, he looked at me ruefully.  "This is not a disability that you cannot overcome with appropriate, professional oversight.  I have some fishing line sinkers in my tackle box back home.  If you put one between your cheek and gum every day for a month, the prognosis is favorable.  Make an appointment next week and we can review your treatment plan.  I will dispense the medicine then.  The cost of a sinker is $1.56 apiece, and you will be receiving thirty of them.  Remember to bring $468 in cash or money order, as well as the fee for the office visit.

My radiolucent nature has never been an impediment, so I declined to undergo the prescribed therapy.  Dr. Omphaloskepsis did listen to my head with his stethoscope, and he diagnosed me with an accute case of confabulation.  His recommendation for this:  a good night's sleep every night.  Ascelpius may be the good of medicine, but Hypnos an Morpheus swab balm when and where it is most needed.

After a night in listening to the pulse of the New Orleans' musical spirit in five venues at the end of my street, it is time to try correct my radiolucent symptoms.  I need a little, doctor-prescribed shut-eye.  I predict a lot of lumber will be sawed in the Odditarium tonight.

-Don't do anything Whalehead King wouldn't do!
Baleanius Rex!