Fighting the Reaper
Old age isn't for sissies. Neither is late middle age, as I see it.
My scrawny-butt husband dodged a bullet just this past November when he had a heart attack. And this morning I got a telephone call from my mother, informing me that my aunt is in the hospital with the same symptoms that he had. They did an EKG, and her enzymes are elevated. They have NOT done an angiogram yet, presumably because she doesn't have a penis. (And yes, that sounds crass, but studies support that there is gender bias where thoroughness and aggressiveness in diagnosing heart symptoms are concerned. If you're a cardiologist in Charlotte, NC and don't like what I just wrote, bite me. AFTER you catheterize my aunt, that is.)
My aunt is only eleven years older than I am. I think of her more as a sister. And this turn of events upsets me terribly.
My father died when he was my age.
Am I fighting the Reaper? You bet I am. I am not ready for the system to break down. I am not ready to go gently into that good night, to borrow a bit from Dylan Thomas. I doubt I'll ever be ready for that. I'll be kicking and screaming every bit of the way. And I'll kick and scream every bit as much when that SOB starts making grabs at those who I love.
I can be a nutrition nazi and a kitchen cop with my husband. We live together. It's easy. And I suspect it would be easier for him to have another heart attack than it would be to cross me when I've got my mind made up that things are going to change. So, he does what he needs to do to stay healthy now, and all is well in our world.
What do I do with my aunt, though? She lives halfway across the country. And bless her beautiful heart, she's German, and there's nothing better for her than "Bauernbrot dicht mit schoener Deutschen Butter gestrichen." Unless it's "Bienenstich." God help us all.
She WILL get that angiogram by Monday, or my ass is flying to Charlotte, and I'm going to go full-bore Sylvia on a cardiologist. And then I'm going to invite her here again, where all of you can take her under your wing. We're cruising together in October, and I may have just found another gym partner for those early mornings on the ocean.
My scrawny-butt husband dodged a bullet just this past November when he had a heart attack. And this morning I got a telephone call from my mother, informing me that my aunt is in the hospital with the same symptoms that he had. They did an EKG, and her enzymes are elevated. They have NOT done an angiogram yet, presumably because she doesn't have a penis. (And yes, that sounds crass, but studies support that there is gender bias where thoroughness and aggressiveness in diagnosing heart symptoms are concerned. If you're a cardiologist in Charlotte, NC and don't like what I just wrote, bite me. AFTER you catheterize my aunt, that is.)
My aunt is only eleven years older than I am. I think of her more as a sister. And this turn of events upsets me terribly.
My father died when he was my age.
Am I fighting the Reaper? You bet I am. I am not ready for the system to break down. I am not ready to go gently into that good night, to borrow a bit from Dylan Thomas. I doubt I'll ever be ready for that. I'll be kicking and screaming every bit of the way. And I'll kick and scream every bit as much when that SOB starts making grabs at those who I love.
I can be a nutrition nazi and a kitchen cop with my husband. We live together. It's easy. And I suspect it would be easier for him to have another heart attack than it would be to cross me when I've got my mind made up that things are going to change. So, he does what he needs to do to stay healthy now, and all is well in our world.
What do I do with my aunt, though? She lives halfway across the country. And bless her beautiful heart, she's German, and there's nothing better for her than "Bauernbrot dicht mit schoener Deutschen Butter gestrichen." Unless it's "Bienenstich." God help us all.
She WILL get that angiogram by Monday, or my ass is flying to Charlotte, and I'm going to go full-bore Sylvia on a cardiologist. And then I'm going to invite her here again, where all of you can take her under your wing. We're cruising together in October, and I may have just found another gym partner for those early mornings on the ocean.
