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I didn’t know what to expect, of course, but Mike rose to the occasion fearlessly and with grinning optimism. He continued to caress and adore my beleaguered breast area with clear-eyed, unflinching adoration. One midnight as we were making sweet, crazy love, I felt a neon electric current race through my blood and realized there was some profound sexual healing going on. The glory of falling in love during this worrisome time was a splendid gift from the gods. It kept my heart focused on something heavenly while I dealt with day-to-day earthly reality.

The blood tests came back dandy-fine, and it seemed I was ready to go under the knife. The few days I endured before I found myself on a stretcher counting backwards to oblivion were foggy and unfocused. I didn’t know whether to keep the news close to my chest, so to speak, or blurt it out to anybody who crossed my path. At first, I decided not to spread the (C) word, but when anybody posed that common clichéd question, “How are you?” I just couldn’t tell a lie. Pretty soon my old pals, new pals, and all the dolls I danced with at Mike’s gigs were privy to my upcoming medical shenanigans. I’m really glad I allowed my friends to share the weighty burden with me. The startled look of shock, concern and love on the delightful faces in my life made the harsh facts more bearable.

I am thrilled and honored to call my longtime doctor, Jim Blechman, my friend. He is a devoted servant of holistic, wholesome health, a homeopathic dreamboat who lives and breathes what he practices and preaches. All kinds of movie stars, hot-shots and characters like me wait patiently in his little Santa Monica office to have him hold our hands, listen quietly to our pulses and to feel the magic of his swift, sharp acupuncture needles. The pooparazzi once laid in wait behind the bushes to shoot photos of Nicole Kidman consulting with Jim, which wound up in that important medical journal, the Enquirer. By the way, Dr.Blechman has a two-year waiting list, so you’d better start lining up now.

I was fortunate to come across Dr. B. 24 years ago when my Daddy, O.C. Miller, was dying of Black Lung Disease. Jim made house calls, schlepped all the way to the Valley, talked to my macho Southern dad in his own colorful language, and actually convinced him to sample the joys of Bach Flower Remedies. Late in my father’s life, Jim opened him up to a new-fangled way of thinking, which happily enhanced his final days. Dr. Blechman has been my family’s “family doctor” ever since. / Issue 46 - September 2018
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