I am at the age where it is necessary for me to go to the doctor. A lot.
If you pay attention to what you read in magazines and see on television, a man in his mid- to late 40s needs to consult his physician for just about anything. I am a man in my mid- to late 40s.
I am 46. I am a former smoker (I have not had a cigarette in more than 10 years), I rarely drink (I might have a beer after mowing the lawn) and I have the eating habits of…well, that’s probably the issue. We’ll get to that later.
I don’t want to have to consult my physician before doing everything. I can see if I suddenly decide to run a marathon or something. I have never run one and I am probably way out of shape, so asking my doctor if I should do it is probably a good idea. I don’t like to run, and I feel pretty lousy after doing it, so 26 miles of running is most likely out of the question.
I don’t see myself mountain-climbing or hiking. I don’t like the outdoors and if I am climbing anything, it’s probably to get away from an angry wild animal.
One of those commercials instructed me to consult my doctor to see if I was healthy enough for, well…intimacy. I think I would know if I am healthy enough for that. I’m pretty in tune with how I am feeling and I don’t think my wife would appreciate the candlelight, soft music and a quick call to the health center. I’m reasonably sure that would dampen the mood a little bit.
I have not been feeling well lately. I attribute it a lot to being 46. My father always told me I would start falling apart after 30. To say he was a pessimist is an understatement as he started counting down his last days at 30. He’s still with us and is showing no signs of going anywhere soon. I like to think I am not going anywhere soon, but my body is telling me otherwise.
There’s nothing serious going on, but the parts of this old machine are showing their wear. I’m slower than I used to be, and a lot of movement requires advance planning. I see all these guys my age doing athletic things and I get tired watching them.
I’m pretty sure I eat badly. My diet hasn’t changed much since I was in my teens. I have a couple of cups of coffee and a couple of Krispy Kreme doughnuts for breakfast most mornings. I am known by the women in Krispy Kreme and sometimes I get treated to an extra doughnut or four.
Lunches are usually some kind of microwaveable meal. Dinner is generally some kind of fried or baked meat, chicken mostly, with a sauce or cheese. My wife is an incredible cook and rarely does she make something I do not eat.
There aren’t a lot of vegetables eaten at our dinner table. Neither of us like a lot of vegetables, most of them are squishy when cooked, so we usually double up on other sides.
We are both overweight. Not obese, but we are definitely carrying a little more baggage than we did when we first got married. Any organized exercise we do is purely by mistake. My wife goes to a water aerobics class now and again. I go to the local barbecue place for ‘cue, slaw and hush puppies.
My older daughter is a nurse who nags me about my diet. I remind her she is never too old for a strict grounding.
I am going to the doctor tomorrow. My wife made the appointment for me. She asked me a while back to make the appointment and I told her I would and there was no need to remind me every six months about it.
I don’t like going to the doctor. I don’t like going to my doctor, actually. He’s old and mean and doesn’t listen. My wife asks me why I don’t switch doctors and I tell her I like his nurse. I don’t like her because she’s young and pretty, but because she is old and tough and a Navy veteran. I deal with the doctor in charge to get to the nurse who knows what is going on.
I know I am going to get poked and prodded. They are going to check my blood pressure and tell me it’s a little high. They are going to tell me I weigh too much and I need to exercise. They are going to tell me I have to stop eating the doughnuts and drinking the coffee.
I could save a lot of money and re-read that paragraph tomorrow morning. I wrote it and I didn’t have to cough up a co-pay.
My wife made the appointment for very early in the morning. I get to wake up an hour earlier than normal, drive across town to read three-year-old People magazines in the waiting room and then wait an hour in a cold room in my underwear to have a nasty old man tell me to stop eating doughnuts. For this, I get to pay $40.
I’m going to the appointment because it makes my wife happy. If it keeps her quiet about the doughnuts, it’s worth the forty bucks.
Baltimore native Joe Weaver is a husband, father, pawnbroker and gun collector. From his home in New Bern, he writes on the lighter side of family life.