"Oh, no!" I exclaimed to my husband. "My giant yucca plant is sick."

He glanced over from the couch.

"How can you tell?

"See how the tips of all these leaves are turning brown and there are spots on them?" I said. "This is very bad."

"Can you save it?" he asked.

I nodded. "I'm not sure," I said. "It's critical. It needs to go into triage so I can assess the extent of the disease."

"So... you're, like, a plant surgeon?" he asked.

"Yes, yes I am," I said.

I quickly got into my surgical scrubs (dirty jeans and kneepads) and grabbed my surgical tools (trowel, clippers, fungal spray) and went to work on the patient.

"OK, we need to cut off all the infected leaves and then run an EKG, CBC, ABG, get a leaf CT, and root X-ray," I shouted to my ER nurse, aka my husband.

"I have no idea what you're saying to me," he replied.

"Look," I said as I discovered roots growing outside the pot. "This patient is root-bound."

"That's bad?" he said.

"Yes! We're going to have to amputate the pot."

"What?"

"Uh-oh, we've lost rhythm. Let's start stem compressions."

"Stem compressions?" he wondered.

"Yes. Get the defibrillator ready."

"We have a defibrillator?" he said.

"Of course," I said. "Can someone please put a pulse oximeter on that leaf?" I looked around and yelled.

"Is someone else here?" he wondered, also looking around.

I paused and felt a branch. "OK, we have a pulse."

"Honey, do you actually know what you're doing?"

"I do. I watch a lot of gardening shows and medical dramas. CAN WE PAGE ORTHO FOR A CONSULT?" I yelled out.

"We have an orthopedist in the apartment?" he said.

"Of course not. That's why I said to page one," I said, "OK, this yucca needs a tourniquet and two liters of Miracle-Gro, stat."

My husband looked at me like I had two heads, but I was very serious about my work. This plant had made it through three house moves and an infestation of fungus gnats, and I was not going to let it go without a fight. It was the patriarch of all the other plants I had acquired during the pandemic. We had even named it Zeus, after the king of Mt. Olympus and father of the gods. Sadly, even the mighty get root rot from time to time.

"OK, I see the problem," I announced. "The soil wasn't draining because the pot was too small, and it created an environment for fungus to grow."

"Is it terminal?" my husband asked.

"No," I said. "It just needs to be repotted."

"That's it?" he said.

"Yup."

"So, what was all the drama for?" he wondered.

I smiled.

"Higher ratings."

Tracy Beckerman is the author of the Amazon Bestseller, "Barking at the Moon: A Story of Life, Love, and Kibble," available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble online! You can visit her at www.tracybeckerman.com

Photo credit: Efraimstochter at Pixabay