I Never Take Good Health for Granted
I have performed what has become a Rite of September for me. Since my routine physical at my doctor’s office is scheduled in September and since the next appointment is always a year later, it takes place this month every year. The purpose: to make sure everything is okay. But what if not everything is okay? It is always possible that I am diagnosed with a terminal illness or something serious that is determined to be a terminal illness in a later diagnosis. If I am going to find out that I am going to die in a year or two, this is when it would happen.
I have lost so many people. Since the 21st Century began, I have lost a grandmother, both parents, a great-aunt, an aunt, an uncle, three first cousins, a great-niece, a stepfather, a stepfather-in-law, and a woman who would have been my grandmother-in-law if she had lived to see her granddaughter’s marriage to me. On top of deaths in my family, I have from time to time, learned of deaths of people who were once friends or acquaintances of mine. I guess my point here is that each time a loved one passes, I am reminded that the same thing can happen to me.
I walk into the doctor’s office waiting room with my wife who is with me to provide moral support. My name is called, and I exit the waiting room and into an area where they weigh me and take my blood pressure. I fear that being nervous about my blood pressure being high will actually cause it to be high. I am nervous about the physical in general. Other vitals are measured. The blood pressure and everything else is excellent. I go to an exam room and wait until my doctor walks in. We have a brief conversation, and he examines me a little bit more. Then I walk down a hall for my dreaded lab work in which blood is drawn from me. I strike up a conversation with the nurse who is drawing the blood to distract myself from the fact that there is a needle in my arm. Key medical metrics that I am watching closely will be in the results of this blood test that I will likely get in a day or two. After this, the appointment is behind me. Part of the anxiety is lifted but I will feel chills of terror if my phone rings and my doctor’s name is on the screen. Why the anxiety? Because I am already 57 and as I get older the chances of a medical death sentence increase.
It is the next day that I get the result of my lab work. I am notified by e-mail, and they are available online. Not getting a telephone call from the doctor is a good sign. I learn about it while I am at work, but I wait until I am home before I look at them. I want to be with my wife when I view it. When we do look at the results, everything is normal! I immediately praise God. But something occurs to me. Would I have praised God if it was bad news? I could curse God for striking me with sickness and death or at least allowing these things to happen. But what if, according to God’s infinite wisdom, I would be miserable if I lived in this world forever? What if God does offer eternal life but not until all things are made new?
I guess I can take comfort in knowing I am not the only one who goes through doctor office anxiety. In fact, a writer colleague of mine once had a serious health scare and this influenced a fiction manuscript that she wrote (but has not published). A character in that story has a life-threatening diagnosis and battles this while managing other aspects of her life.
From what I have seen from those who go through this, they often (but not always) get news that they have overcome the illness or do not have it in the first place, and they experience tearful joy and relief. I would like to feel this joy every day.