The Antelope in the Living Room: The Real Story of Two People Sharing One Life by Melanie Shankle Page A

came within a two-mile radius of the waitingroom was offered “the best cup of coffee you’ll ever have! Ever! The best coffee ever!”
    Call me a skeptic, but I seriously doubted this claim. In my vast coffee experience, I have found that free coffee that has been percolating for hours isn’t usually the best use of my taste buds. I did, however, take the bag of Oreo cookies that Gloria offered because I needed something to settle my stomach after that breakfast taco.
    When Perry’s doctor came in to let me know he was out of surgery and doing well, Gloria was quick to come and check on me. She was thrilled to tell me that her sources confirmed that my husband, “Mr. Perry the Eighth,” was doing well. Now, Perry is a III, but I had no idea where the VIII was coming from. Gloria said it with a certain reverence in her tone, as well she should for a lineage that long and proud. It’s like we were descendants of the English monarchy all of a sudden.
    Then I got a glimpse of her clipboard and noticed that what she was seeing was Perry’s name followed by III, which happened to be right next to his doctor’s name, which starts with V. So what she actually was calling VIII was, in fact, IIIV. I’m not much on Roman numerals, but I feel fairly certain this is not the sign of any number that the Romans came up with back in ye olde Roman times.
    Unfortunately, even after three surgeries, Perry’s back still bothers him from time to time. And surgery is no longer an option unless he wants to spend the rest of his life moving like Joan Cusack does in Sixteen Candles and, let’s be honest, it hasn’t proved to be very successful in the past.
    So the next time he started complaining about his back, I suggested he try acupuncture. I have two friends who rave about the effectiveness of acupuncture. Plus, it seemed like everywhereI turned, I kept hearing about its miraculous effects. (Granted, most of this information was gathered while watching the summer Olympics in Beijing, so it could have just been NBC creating culturally relevant filler between Michael Phelps’s events.)
    (This is also where I learned that Chinese people eat chicken feet.)
    I asked my friends for the names of their acupuncturists. The first one’s name was Lupe Gonzales. For some reason, Chinese acupuncture practiced by someone named Lupe just didn’t feel very authentic. Something tells me Lupe’s ancestors weren’t practicing ancient Chinese medicine.
    When I called my other friend to find out who she went to, she told me she couldn’t pronounce his name but it started with a T . Perfect. That was the kind of alternative medical credentials we needed.
    Perry told me that if I’d call and make the appointment, he would go. I called Dr. T.’s office at one thirty the following afternoon and explained that my husband needed to come in for a treatment. Dr. T. said he could see him at two thirty and asked if we knew where he was located.
    No. No, we didn’t.
    Dr. T. is located right under the Wendy’s sign. “Look for Wendy’s Hamburgers!”
    Aww, honey. Good news! You can get acupuncture and then stop for a Frosty on the way home. What says medical professional like close proximity to Wendy’s Hamburgers?
    Except for maybe a medical degree purchased through an institute of learning that advertises on television.
    I called Perry to let him know he needed to be by the Wendy’s Hamburgers in an hour, and meanwhile Caroline and I wereheaded to the pool. Have fun and enjoy your nice, relaxing acupuncture.
    Truth be told, I felt a little envious as I headed to the pool loaded down with various swim paraphernalia. Perry was probably lying peacefully in a candlelit room while basically getting a massage. Maybe I could come up with an ailment that required acupuncture followed by a delicious Frosty.
    By the time Caroline and I traipsed in from the pool later that evening, Perry was already home sitting on the couch. I walked through the back door and