Better Than a Stick in the Eye

So last week I had to go to my doctor's office and do some lab work in preparation for the annual physical exam that I had today. I distinctly remember thinking that it was less than ideal to be up so early, and fasting at that. Then one of my grandmother's old sayings popped into my head, "Well it's better than a stick in the eye." Of course my grandmother was right, it was not that bad after all and I probably should have been more grateful for having the opportunity to take advantage of such great health care. But frankly I found it hard to appreciate being stuck in the arm with a needle and having to walk through a busy waiting room holding a plastic container of warm urine.

Well anyway, these annual visits have over the years become a routine for me, one that I no longer look forward to. In the distant past my doctor would review the lab tests, poke and prod me a little, pat me on the back, and then say in a satisfied way, "Everything appears to be great. Keep doing what you are doing." More recently things have not gone so smoothly and I have actually come to dread this time of year, knowing that it is quite possible that the doctor will tell me that he is concerned that there is something horribly wrong with me.

Anyway, last year a young woman from my doctor's office called me a few days after I had given blood to inform me that the doctor did not want me to take any calcium-based antacids for ten days or so. The woman told me that the doctor was concerned about the high level of calcium in my system and that we would talk about it when I came in for my physical. "Alright" I said. "Is this anything that I should be concerned about?"

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. "Well, I'm not sure. The doctor just asked me to let you know."

I should have immediately called my sister the doctor who would have told me that the labs were most likely screwed up and that I should not worry. Instead I took matters into my own hands and decided to google "high calcium". Part of my "I don't need to ask for directions" mentality I think. The first article that I opened told me that "Hypercalcemia is the most common life-threatening metabolic disorder associated with neoplastic diseases, occurring in an estimated 10% to 20% of all adults with cancer."

My heart sank. I knew that I had some untreatable malignant form of cancer that was intent on killing me within a matter of days. I actually envisioned asking the doctor how much time I had left and him responding "ten," to which I asked if he meant years, months, days. "Nine, eight, seven . . ." were the next words out of his mouth.

What helped to elevate my anxiety even more was the knowledge that I had not taken any antacids in a quite a while, and certainly not on a regular basis. Then it occurred to me. "Maybe it is from the milk." You see I do not remember a time when I did not drink at least four gallons of milk a week, and it is not at all unusual for me to drink a full gallon on any given day. There is absolutely nothing under the sun that I love to put in my body more than milk. When I was a child it was chocolate milk. I would mix a quart or so of milk with something approaching a cup of powered Nestles Quick then sit in front of the television with a table spoon and my concoction, draining the glass one slurping spoonful at a time. The only thing that has changed today is that I know longer add the chocolate to my milk.

The truth is that I am addicted to milk and the thought of giving up my habit was almost unbearable. For five full days I did not drink any milk. Not one drop. What was I going to do if the doctor told me that I had some condition that required that I not drink milk anymore, for the rest of my life. The fear of having cancer was lifted, having been replaced by the panic that resulted from the realization that I was going to be told that I could never drink milk again. This is how my mind works and yes it is tiring.

Come to find out that my sister the doctor had been right. The lab technicians had messed up my tests somehow. I did not have cancer and I did not have to give up my daily milk fixes. You can not imagine the sense of relief that I felt. While I am truly grateful for being cancer free and for not having to give up milk, I believe that I am at least equally grateful for being reminded that my exaggerated fears don't often have a basis in reality. Of course the problem is that my brain is leaky and what I learn I quickly forget. Oh well, such is life.

The Sensibility of Rats

So when I was young I thought that if I could just get into my mid-twenties that all would be well. I would have the perfect job, the perfect wife, the perfect house, and a truly carefree life full of adventure, parties, and people that loved me. After all, that appeared to be the life that the adults around me were living. I thought of this freedom as a given, my birthright in a sense. Needless to say, it did not quite work out that way.

By the time I was twenty-five I had given up on the possibility that I would have anything that approached a normal happy life, let alone the life that I had idealized as a child. It was clear to me that others were to blame for the unhappiness and unease that I felt, for my failure to attain those things in life that should so rightfully have been mine. I blamed my parents whose self-centered antics had left real marks on my psyche. I blamed the women who came in and out of my life for not being strong enough, pure enough, or kind enough to fully appreciate the purity and depth of my love for them. I blamed everyone around me for the way that I felt, in complete denial of the fact that I was actually the source of all of my troubles. I was miserable and made everyone who loved or wanted to love me miserable as well.

Even into my late-thirties I just could not see the role that I played in my own life. I could not understand that I was wholly responsible for my thoughts and actions, for my peace of mind (or lack thereof), for my failures and for my successes. I was to blame for not recognizing the humanness of my parents and for not forgiving them for their inevitable human frailties. I was to blame for periodically creating those intolerable situations, full of raging jealousy and incessant demands, that drove even the best women away.

Today I live much of the life that I dreamed of as a child. Minnie and I have a relationship that is as close to perfect as is humanly possible. We have the love and respect of dear friends and of the members of our family. Both our health and are finances are good. Most importantly, I now understand that even without all of these things that my life can be full of joy if I simply allow myself to understand it to be so.

How did this happen you may ask? I believe that it was an act of God coupled with a bit of willingness on my part to honestly examine my life and make some simple changes. These changes have reformed the way that I see the world and think about life and my relationship to it. I now know that it was my thinking (and the actions that stemmed from it) that had all along been the source of my troubles, the roadblock that had kept me from finding my place in this seemingly upside down world.

It would be dishonest of me at this point not to disclose that I do fall back into my old way of thinking on a fairly regular basis. What is amazing to me is my willingness at those times to let myself stay in such a dishonest and frankly miserable place. I remember seeing somewhere a description of some sort of psychological lab test in which rats in a cage were given the option to press one of two buttons. When the pressed the red button a jolt of electricity was sent through the metallic floor of the cage that they were in. When they pressed the blue button a cookie fell out of a hole on the side of the cage. As you can imagine, it did not take long for these rats to learn that it is always better to push the blue button and get the cookie than to push the other button and get shocked.

What I have found is that it is not always so simple for me to choose to mash the cookie button. Frankly, I find it difficult at times to resist pressing the red button, knowing full well that my choice will inevitably create painful consequences for me and those around me. Go figure the workings of a reformed, yet still uncured mind. Nevertheless, what seems important to me is the fact that I now have some choice in the matter of whether I will be happy or not, whether I will push the red or blue button. For this I am and will always be immensely grateful.