“THIS IS A TEST!”

“This is a test of the Emergency Magazine Column System. Had this been an actual magazine emergency you would have been instructed to read something else!”.

We now resume our regular whimsy.

Whimsy? No one uses that word anymore. I did, because I self-administered the “does anybody really care?” test and passed! The key benefit of living into our senior (now that’s a word I hate!) years is the wisdom of better choosing what we allow to annoy us. I’m OK with “whimsy”, or as BOOMer Carly Simon so wisely sang, “I haven’t got time for the lame”.

If we’ve learned anything by now, it’s thislife is one ongoing test. Things like work and traffic test our patience, intelligence and get-long skills. Beyond those daily tests, there always seems to be a looming appointment pending with that doctor determined to find that thing that will eventually kill you.

Someone recently shared a meme that made me stop and think: sound of air raid warning sirens, which blared until every student was standing in line on the playground. The drills made no sense.

Bunny and friends with my Trix. I still watch Bugs on Saturday mornings on METV. Yet the meme did not pass the test.

Our childhoods were not worry free. We grew up in a world actively anticipating nuclear war. I can remember the Three Stooged being interrupted by the Emergency Broadcast System tests of the 60s. After the high-pitched tone ended, the announcer would remind us it was only a test. Swell! You just gave me 30 seconds to contemplate my personal incineration at the hands of the Soviet Union, and for a time, Cuba.

“Pardon me, Mrs. McAnally but doesn’t this make it easier for them to cook all of us?”, I once asked. She shot me the Teacher Glare, a hard boundary one did not violate in those days lest the principal call your parents to discuss your Critical Thinking skills.

It’s a sweet capture, and yes, I did spend many Saturday mornings watching Bugs

We were old enough to understand the threat. Heck, every Tuesday at 10:30, school was interrupted by the frightening

You may remember the well-intended, but unintentionally hilarious “Duck and Cover” video produced with loving concern by the US Government during those ominous days of nuclear threat.

We watched D&C in class. As the unmistakable sound of 16MM film wound through a projector, we watched Timmy, the kid in the movie, innocently riding his bicycle. Suddenly, a blinding flash! Timmy falls off his bike with stunt man grace rolling next a street curb. The narrator applauded Timmy. “He sees the flash! Timmy ducks and covers!”.

Yay Timmy! The cement curb saved him from the atom bomb. Duck and Cover never showed Timmy rising from the protection of the curb only to find his bike and family turned into ash piles. It got to the point at family gatherings that the blinding flash of Dad’s camera had us diving behind the sofa.

Thank God it was all for naught. Sure, there are nukes all over the world and in the hands of some pretty crazy people. I still ride a bike and think of Timmy while noting where the highest curbs in our neighborhood sit. Just in case.

I may have escaped nuclear disintegration then. They’re making up for it at this end of my life. It ain’t the Russians this time. It’s doctors and dentists in their never-ending search for the thing that will eventually kill me. I’ve been bombarded by so much radiation over the years I glow in the dark.

I am my own night light.

I have a wonderful doctor. He’s thorough, caring and seems genuinely pleased

(surprised?) I’m not dead. These days, after my annual office exam, I report to the Imaging Center for a nuclear lung test.

They know me on a first name basis over there on Carmichael Road.

They gave me a CAT scan. Or is it an MRI? SAT? Whatever, they check my lungs looking for things hundreds of x-rays haven’t found.

I’m happy to report my lungs are fine. They just find other stuff during the lung test that requires- are you ready? MORE TESTS.

Last year I spent 40 minutes in a noisy tube for a test that ends with the attendant sliding you out like a freshly baked pastry. The stuff they’d seen near my liver during the lung test (I didn’t know the lungs/liver were that close to each other) turned out to be harmless cysts. No worries.

This year following the lung scan (miraculously ok) my doc saw some “plaque” around my heart and urged me to get a heart work up. I did. Over two appointments I spent more time being scanned and bombarded by different machines only to learn I should undergo a heart cath. I did.

The worst part of the cath test is the prep. No food or drink after midnight. The old saw “the way to a man’s heart is through the stomach” is garbage. Apparently, the modern way to a man’s heart is through the groin. The room temp is about 40 degrees. For some reason to see inside you, they must give you The Big Shave on the outside. Humiliating. I did not go under from the sedation. Thus, I had the mind-bending experience of watching a wiry probe explore my beating heart, all while laying on a rock-hard slab that left me walking like Quasimodo for 2 days afterward. You know what they found? Nothing!

I passed another test and I’m darned grateful.

Eventually they’ll find the thing that will eventually kill me. I’m not Keith Richards.

Until they do, I’ll enjoy some Saturday morning whimsy with Bugs Bunny and friends.

I also hope it’s the last time I must wait for my hair to grow back. Until next month, kids, remember what The Man saidDuck and Cover!

(If you have a comment on this column, email me at gregbudell@aol.com. It's still fun to hear from new people!)

Greg Budell lives in Montgomery with his wife, Roz, and dog, Brisco. He's been in radio since 1970, and has marked 17 years in the River Region. He hosts the Newstalk 93.1FM Morning Show with Rich Thomas and Jay Scott, 6-9 AM Monday - Friday. He returns weekday afternoons from 3-6 PM for Happy Hour with sidekick, Rosie Brock. Greg can be reached at gregbudell@aol.com