My Latest Medical Adventure

 

The Rolling Stones said, "What a drag it is getting old."

Tell me about it, Mick.

In August, I will turn 65 years old.  (This is the part of the essay where you are supposed to say, "Why, you don't look 65!")

When I was born, everybody smoked cigarettes. I think the doctor who delivered me was smoking a pack of Pall Mall. ( "Mrs. Manis, <cough> you got a boy.")

The President was named Eisenhower. In 1959, he was 69 years old, 12 years younger than our current President.

TV was relatively new back then, and its shows were in black and white.

On top of that, people here in the South voted mainly for Democrats and were really concerned about who drank from water fountains.

Fortunately, things have gotten better.

We found out that smoking is bad for your health, and smoking is now regulated, and per Cedric The Entertainer, you can't smoke on earth anymore.

We no longer care about drinking fountains. The South is no longer the bastion of the Democratic Party but is generally the bastion of whatever the Republican Party has become.

I come from a time when people had to dress up to attend church, and we sang hymns. Now, we put on our best Sunday-go-to-meeting cargo shorts and sing choruses that last approximately two hours.

What can you say about TV?  If you have cable, you can choose 8 billion channels and watch four of them. 

I don't know how many streaming channels there are, but you can watch a new show each week before you watch a 30-year-old episode of Seinfeld.

(I still laugh when George says, "Why didn't you tell her I was an architect? I've always wanted to pretend I was an architect.")

One of the more depressing things about getting older is that you start breaking down before the Lord calls you home.

Jim Morrison told us nobody gets out of here alive, but if you are feeling good, you sometimes think you might be the exception to the rule.

 
I have an iPhone, and Apple Health is on it. One time, it posted a very serious message stating that I had stumbled (which I don't remember), and people my age have been known to fall.  It wanted me to go my primary care physician and tell her I stumbled.

"Why are you here, Mr. Manis?"  "My phone told me to go to the doctor."

I told my iPhone to mind its own beeswax

A couple of years ago, my wife said I was snoring way too much and wanted me to get a sleep study.

Well, I got a sleep study, but this also involved having my wedding ring cut off because, (surprise, surprise) I have gained weight since 1986, and I could not get my wedding ring off. 

Then, it took almost five months to receive my prescribed CPAP machine for my Sleep Apnea (which is worse than Awake Apnea) because of supply chain issues.

I'm happy to say my CPAP works fine, and the doctor is overjoyed with the results.

That's better than my latest medical adventure.

A couple of years ago, I woke up and was getting out of bed and became really dizzy.  Like most mature   Evangelical Christian men, I thought, "What new fresh Hell is this?"  Then, a couple of days later, my dizziness went away.

Then, last year, before my yearly check-up, I became dizzy again. I figured it was the same thing but made one strategic error: I mentioned it to my wife.

My wife wanted me to tell my doctor about it.  To be compliant with my wife, I did as I was told, totally ignoring that page of the Husband's Handbook to "forget" about telling the doctor. 

Of course, you know what happened.

My primary care doctor referred me to a specialist who referred me for a stress test and an ultrasound.

My ultrasound went fine, but my stress test was put off because my blood pressure was high. I had to go back to the doctor a couple of weeks later. The blood pressure was still high, but they went ahead and did the stress test. 

I had to go back to the doctor several weeks later. His verdict was my heart was strong, but I needed to get the blood pressure down.

So, he said I needed to lose weight. What do I eat? I told him I eat Chick-fil-A every Friday as a treat. He said I may have to give up some things I like. 

I don't smoke. I don't drink. I don't use recreational drugs. There's not a lot of things I can give up. It's not like I'm Keith Richards over here.

I will try to be better and shed some pounds. Of course, I want to see my grandson grow up and see (hopefully) that he will be a tall Manis. 

But Lord, please don't make me give up a number four with a Coke Zero, large fries, and Chick-fil-A sauce.