Amnesia!

So I walk oh-so-anxiously, this past Friday (having endured a white-knuckled spousal driving experience thanks to a morning snowfall) into a gastroenterologist's office in a busy hospital to have a tube the size of an average man's pinkie finger thrust down my throat, into the esophagus, into the stomach, and into the small intestine and, thank God for modern medicine, I have absolutely no memory of this invasive gastric procedure.
Needless to say, my husband has had great fun with this.
"You said you wanted me to go to that toy farm show in Minnesota," he told me, once I'd slept off the Demerol/Versed concoction and awakened, feeling refreshed and hungry, at 3 p.m. that same afternoon."You said all you wanted in life was to make me happy.
"And you know those Eagle concert tickets? You said to buy a dozen of them and we'd take the neighbors."
I tilted my head and looked at him sideways.
"Really?" I said. "I don't remember saying that."
"You probably also don't remember telling me that it's probably time for me to trade in the rusty old pickup and buy that Mini Cooper I've been looking at."
"You're making this up," I smiled. "Nice try."
"You can ask the doctor," my husband replied, raising his eyebrows. "Oh, and that nurse guy named Rusty. He was with you in the wake-up room."
Here's what I wanted to hear from my husband: Was I going to survive? My doctor had me all worked up, worrying about esophageal cancer and a mysterious malady called Barrett's Something.
"You're going to live," he said, reading my mind. "And the first thing you said after the doctor said 'You have a hiatal hernia, nothing serious, no surgery, here's a prescription to help you,' was
'Excellent. I'll be alive to go to a season's worth of baseball games with my husband ... Honey, go ahead and purchase that season package for $1,500."
I hadn't seen my husband look so serious since I announced I'd opened a credit card without telling him. Oops.
I was on to him now.
I shook my head. Found my reading glasses. Opened the day's KANSAS CITY STAR, turned to the Classifieds.
"Wait!" I announced, cheerfully, my memory suddenly restored. "I do remember saying all those things .... and, also, how you said, 'Sure, Honey, you can buy the King Charles Cavalier Spaniel puppy' ... here's one advertised for $700!"
He stood up, lowered his head, headed for the kitchen.
"How does chicken noodle soup sound?"