Here's a way in which Ed and I are different (are you smiling yet? one way? really? only one?): Ed claims I overuse the medical system. I claim he under-uses it. I study and think about what may be working or not working in my body. He thinks not at all about his and ignores or sleeps off any sign of trouble (or what I would see as potential trouble).
If I ask him -- how are you feeling? He'll answer -- how are you feeling? The questioning session will end there. I doubt that he ever wonders about aches and pains or even acknowledges their presence. He is soon going to be 68. In the 13 years that I have known him, he's never gone to a doctor because of an ailment. (After I told him he needed to establish a relationship with a physician, he went once for a check-up that lasted five minutes.) That is not to say he would never go. He just hasn't deemed it necessary thus far.
You could say his approach is risky. That he may lose opportunities to better health. This is possibly true. I'll let you know if I outlive him. But the fact is, Ed appears to be a pretty healthy guy and equally importantly, he's a happy guy. I have spent my life worrying if one thing or the next is failing me. He has spent no time on this at all. I can tell you this for sure: he will one day die -- a man at peace with himself.
(Caveat here: he goes to Walgreen's and gets his flu shot and he is diligent about attending to his teeth and eyes. When told he needs cataract surgery, he decided to investigate clinical trials of new experimental techniques. Just because he thinks it would be interesting to learn about how that works. Ed is very big on learning stuff.)
Knowing this about us, you wont be surprised to learn that Ed somehow dodged the cold I'd been growling at this past week, nor will you be surprised that I decided to check in with a doc today to make sure my cough isn't a sign of something ominous or contagious (I am once again setting out to see my granddaughter in Chicago and I want to be sure I'm a healthy grandma). Over breakfast, Ed looks at we with wonderment. You're really going to see a doctor for that?
Perhaps predictably, the doc came up with some cough pills and told me I was not contagious. There! Isn't that worth a visit? Ed would say I learned nothing new.
In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop at school, but it is somewhat of an unusual day because I scheduled a haircut for the girl (parental request) and so we trudge over to the shop immediately after.
I am always taken aback when something reminds me how quickly Snowdrop (and indeed all my grandkids) is (are) leaping through childhood. It used to be impossible to convince her to keep her chin down or to sit absolutely still as some fast moving set of blades traversed her forehead. Not anymore. She is playful, but helpful and cooperative.
And full of good cheer.
(Back at the farmette, the chickens always want bread from us. Always. They have very long memories.)
(A skip and a bounce.)
And in the evening I am on the bus, munching on leftover red lentil soup, speeding to be with the young family in Chicago.
If I ask him -- how are you feeling? He'll answer -- how are you feeling? The questioning session will end there. I doubt that he ever wonders about aches and pains or even acknowledges their presence. He is soon going to be 68. In the 13 years that I have known him, he's never gone to a doctor because of an ailment. (After I told him he needed to establish a relationship with a physician, he went once for a check-up that lasted five minutes.) That is not to say he would never go. He just hasn't deemed it necessary thus far.
You could say his approach is risky. That he may lose opportunities to better health. This is possibly true. I'll let you know if I outlive him. But the fact is, Ed appears to be a pretty healthy guy and equally importantly, he's a happy guy. I have spent my life worrying if one thing or the next is failing me. He has spent no time on this at all. I can tell you this for sure: he will one day die -- a man at peace with himself.
(Caveat here: he goes to Walgreen's and gets his flu shot and he is diligent about attending to his teeth and eyes. When told he needs cataract surgery, he decided to investigate clinical trials of new experimental techniques. Just because he thinks it would be interesting to learn about how that works. Ed is very big on learning stuff.)
Knowing this about us, you wont be surprised to learn that Ed somehow dodged the cold I'd been growling at this past week, nor will you be surprised that I decided to check in with a doc today to make sure my cough isn't a sign of something ominous or contagious (I am once again setting out to see my granddaughter in Chicago and I want to be sure I'm a healthy grandma). Over breakfast, Ed looks at we with wonderment. You're really going to see a doctor for that?
Perhaps predictably, the doc came up with some cough pills and told me I was not contagious. There! Isn't that worth a visit? Ed would say I learned nothing new.
In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop at school, but it is somewhat of an unusual day because I scheduled a haircut for the girl (parental request) and so we trudge over to the shop immediately after.
I am always taken aback when something reminds me how quickly Snowdrop (and indeed all my grandkids) is (are) leaping through childhood. It used to be impossible to convince her to keep her chin down or to sit absolutely still as some fast moving set of blades traversed her forehead. Not anymore. She is playful, but helpful and cooperative.
And full of good cheer.
(Back at the farmette, the chickens always want bread from us. Always. They have very long memories.)
(A skip and a bounce.)
And in the evening I am on the bus, munching on leftover red lentil soup, speeding to be with the young family in Chicago.
