This is a question I’ve asked over the years. I’d pull it out for my first date repertoire; or my son and I would make suggestions while waiting for a movie to start or standing in line for an amusement park ride.

My offerings included steak and ice cream sundaes. Billows of whipped cream and caramel sauce, on the sundae, not the steak, and charbroiled but still rare — the steak, not the sundae.

Well, I was wrong. My last meal has nothing to do with ice cream or the rump of a cow. How do I know this? Because I had my last meal about an hour ago.

There you go. A good ole PBJ on soft white bread.

I didn’t have grape jelly, my jam of choice is strawberry but the end result is the same…comfort.

Nothing says a gentle last meal like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Ahhhhhhh.

Okay, where am I going with this? Well, you see, I’ve been on a journey since 2017 to find a neurologist who would listen to my when I explained my physical symptoms such as tremors, dizziness, shuffling gait and falling, slurred speech, cognitive decline,  incontinence, headaches — the list was long and frightening– without rolling his or her eyes and stating: “You need a psychiatrist.”

Even though my MRIs and CT scans showed enlarged ventricles…

… and I displayed what is known as the triad for hydrocephalus…

…the assortment of doctors would poo-poo my complaints and label me just another hysterical woman.

Well poo-poo on them. I finally met a neurosurgeon at UMass Memorial Hospital, Dr. Mark Johnson, who conducted tests, revisited my scans, and agreed that the installation of a ventriculo-peritoneal shunt was called for.

So my seven-year journey is coming to and end. And even though shunt surgery has a low percentage of life loss, all surgery comes with risks.

Thus my last meal.

Wish me luck.

Blessed be :}

Il mio amato immortale.