Paddy wants to blog, so I´ll make this quick.
He had his ´procedure´this morning, and the doctor found nothing in there but some "normal erosion" and a few nickels and a newt. I was so happy I cried, which made the people out in the waiting room think the worst had happened. A little boy even gave me a candy, and patted my hand!
The dialog I had with the doctor was a stitch. He gave me a quick rundown, and when I asked him to go a little slower he arched an eyebrow and said in very Oxford-accented Spanglish:
"You are the wife of Mr. O´Gara? You too are Irish."
I didn´t want to get into heritage just then. "Yes. I speak English," I told him.
"I speak English as well. I shall now tell you what. We found nothing out of order inside the bowel of your husband, neither did we find anything out of order inside his swallowing tube, nor did we find in his stomach. Only erosion, quite normal. A normal for a man who was drinking."
I nodded. "He drinks, yes."
"He is Irish, no?" the doctor said with a twinkle. "But he shan´t be drinking such difficult things in coming days. Whiskey, brandy, orujo, rum, such difficult drinks. He shan´t. Neither shall he drink orange juice, nor citruses fruits."
"You mean he shouldn´t? Should not have them?"
"That is what I said, no?" he said. "We shall send you a full report in the post."
And a little while later Paddy came walking out the door, very hungry after a two-day fast.
We had a lovely lunch, but no liquor at all. He shan´t.
I can only pray that someday I shall speak Spanish as well as this doctor speaks English!