Even though I try not to put off preventive maintenance -- I take in my truck for regular oil changes and try to repair items before they become too costly -- it's been a little different with maintaining myself. I put off dental visits for years until I caught a football helmet in the teeth, and I avoided visits to the doctor's office unless it was clear something was wrong I couldn't fix. (I tried to remove some skin cancer lesions myself in years past but apparently I didn't cut deep enough and they came back, so I do keep up my skin cancer screenings.)
I was reminded several years ago by a previous doctor it was time for my wellness checkup. He even assured me that the checkup would cost me nothing -- my insurance would pay for it. But it wasn't too comforting when he said, "Of course, if we find anything, you'll pay out the wazoo." I decided to wait because I didn't want to pay "out the wazoo" or have somebody looking inside there with a scope.
But, in spite of my avoidance of doctors when at all possible, I finally asked Mrs. Griz to schedule an appointment for a wellness checkup. It wasn't exactly because I felt all was well; rather, it was because I figured something wasn't quite right but had no idea what the problem was. I just felt like I was on the downhill slope and picking up speed a lot faster than I thought I should at 60. Of course, this is the first time I've been 60, so all could have been normal, as far as I knew.
Anyway, I went to the doctor and told him all my complaints, which were few on the day I went because I felt pretty good on that day. It is possible that his nurse, Mrs. Griz, might have tipped him off and told him of my always-tired and mostly-gloomy state. She sometimes sees things in me I don't. Quite obviously, she did when she married me!
I never knew so much could be learned about me through blood tests. All I had to do was let the lab tech draw a little blood from my arm. Thirty minutes later, a multi-page report was ready, revealing, among other things, a problem I never considered. My thyroid, it indicated, was not producing enough of the hormone called thyroxin to keep me going at a proper speed. I guess it's no wonder that I thought my engine was idling so slow it was about to die!
I was relieved too that the fix was not a major surgery or $100-per-dose medicine. It was a tiny little pill, with a month's worth costing less than a tank of gas in a Volkswagen. And, once I had taken the medication long enough to get it into my system, I started feeling a bit better -- a bit more like doing things again. Mrs. Griz said she might need to get some too, so she can keep up. We'll see if I can ever convince her to get her wellness check. She's declined so far.
Of course, no wellness check at the age of 60 would be complete without a thorough check of the exhaust system. That was a screening I was planning to postpone until postmortem at the earliest, but I agreed to it because of others I knew who postponed it too long and had to endure much worse procedures. And besides, the doctor assured me the procedure wasn't all that bad; the prep was the hardest part.
Again, I think he was right. I was never a fan of sports drinks anyway, but I now look at them in a whole new way, associated with a high dose of laxatives and looking much the same coming out as they did when they went in. Yet, even that wasn't as bad as I expected. I was able to continue working on my laptop at home and didn't even have to camp in the bathroom, though I did try to stay close by.
I can't say I remember much about the procedure itself. I think I woke up a couple of times and asked if we were done yet but then dozed off again until I heard the voice of Mrs. Griz checking on me.
If I had any dignity before I went in, I think I lost it there wearing a hospital gown and having people I've photographed for the newspaper before giving me an enema and taking photographs of my insides. And if that didn't deflate my ego enough, when I came home I still had a lot more deflating to do.
But, once again, it was worth it. Had I not, some polyps which the doctor removed could have become cancerous and made my future medical visits much more unpleasant and expensive. The preventive maintenance was good. My insurance paid for it and I was spared greater expense.
As it is now, I may be able to avoid drinking any of those laxative-laced sports drinks and letting anyone have a look up my wazoo for another three years -- it's too bad I can't go another 60 years instead! And since I've had it done, I can encourage others to get their full wellness checks too. Hey, they're great!
Randy Moll is the managing editor of the Westside Eagle Observer. He may be contacted by email at [email protected]. Opinions expressed are those of the author.
Editorial on 12/16/2015