I might be dead

I went to the clinic yesterday for my annual physical, but because it's an Army-based facility, they had no idea what to do with me.
"Are you supposed to have labs done or something?" asked Dr. Melrose, a civilian at the clinic conveniently located five minutes from my house.
"...I really can't tell you what your requirements are for me, I'm sorry."
He basically sent me on my way, lamenting the fact that the different services have different forms, and when I said I could ask my AF reps at my unit what they were expecting me to get, he went ahead and signed me up for various bloodwork and hearing/sight appointments just for grins, and told me to come back after that to go over the results, and maybe that would suffice, oh, while you're here I may as well listen to your heart yep got one see ya.

Worth every penny, this military medicine system of ours.

I was back at that same clinic after work to watch Ryan's 15-month appt. to see his pediatrician. He's 31 inches, 24.7 lbs, in the 50th percentile for both. So there's our run-of-the-mill average amazing boy. I helped Ainsley out by being the one to hold him while he got his finger pricked to get some blood, and then later to get a flu shot and two others in his upper legs, which, all in all, based on his response, he would rather have done without. At least his band-aids had cool snoopy spaceships on them.