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For the last few months I have to admit that I have been feeling under the weather.

I am going to bed earlier and waking up after a restless sleep tired and irritable. My parents taught me to sleep on my stomach but now I have to resort to trying to catch a few winks on my side. In the past I used to have to visit the bathroom in the middle of the night but now I seem to have to go more often. Constipation is now a concern.

I used to enjoy a large breakfast but now feel sort of nauseous at the very thought of food. There seems to be a strange metallic taste in my mouth. My stomach seems queasy. Burping and flatulence occurrences are an embarrassing part of my daily existence.

Chocolate ice scream and cheese cake no longer tempt me as much as Chinese food and pickles.

Tiredness seems to take a toll on me in the middle of the day and an afternoon nap seems like a good idea. Strange, my chest seems to be more tender and I have sore enlarged nipples.

I went to Albert, my family doctor, and told him of my travails and he just shook his head. All of my complaints/symptoms seem to resemble me being ‘slightly pregnant’. Laughing at his bizarre diagnosis I told him that their must be another more viable alternative.

The symptoms didn’t abate and Doc referred me to see my favourite psychiatrist, Dr Ben. He had me lay down on his couch. I shut my eyes and talked of how my life had changed. ‘Ella is still my secretary who I dismiss every week. She boasts that I never hired her and therefore can’t fire her for the impoverished salary that she doesn’t earn.’

‘My son, Ari, is working in Quebec and is enjoying conversing the Francais with pretty waitresses over the three meals that he charges up at the companies expense.’
‘Sarah is living in Toronto and is still married after two years with Jim her loving, lawyer, of a husband’, Ben interrupted my train of thought repeating the loving part of my sentence. He had miraculously clued into my dilemma with a brilliant diagnosis- Couvade Syndrome.

I was feeling sympathy pains for my beloved daughter’s first pregnancy. Every evening we asked her how she was fairing? She told us of her daily concerns.. I had absolutely no solutions to offer up but I have to admit that I worried a whole lot.

Dr Ben assured me that all would turn out just fine and my symptoms would abate if I could share my story with my readers He told me to emulate the example of Syd, an eighty year old cardiac patient, who went to the priest for confession. He confessed that he had made love to two twenty-two year old women last week. Father Murray asked when was his last confession?. Syd admitted that he had never ever been to confession. Matter of fact he was Jewish. Why are you telling me asked Murray? I am so proud that I am telling everyone was the reply.

Now, I feel relieved/proud to share my joy to be an expectant grandfather, pappa, zayde, with the rest of London.

Len Lesser

Len Lesser posts a report every week

You can email Len at lenlesser@hotmail.com