A Bit Much, Really

“What are we here for?” It was not an existential question.

Dr. Du Plooy asked me this after I’d waited for thirty minutes in a waiting room and thirty more in an examination room. Dr. Du Plooy is from South Africa and he wears square-tipped snakeskin boots. Seven years ago when I took a job with Hamilton County Schools and received my insurance card, I was told to pick a primary health physician. I flipped through the insurance directory and wondered how you simply pick a primary health physician you’ve never met. As the names of medical practitioners rolled past in columns, a new decision presented itself. Do I want a man doctor or a woman doctor? It’s an odd business, the repair and handling of people’s bodies, but then so is the business of building people’s capacity to think, function in society, and lead full lives in which I engage daily with my students. Considering the types of examinations I will inevitably have to undergo, do I want a man or a woman to perform those examinations?

Neither, when it comes down to it. For the same and different reasons.

Then I saw the name Dr. Du Plooy. I wrote it on my form. That is a great name.

In seven years, I’ve never been to see him, although my wife had. She likes his accent. And now, here I sat on a giant roll of tissue paper, my finger bookmarking my page in Becoming a Literacy Leader and Dr. Du Plooy asking my reason for being here.

“Well, I brought a list,” I said. “I haven’t been to see a doctor in 15 years, except for walk-in clinics when I have a sinus infection.”

“Those aren’t real doctors,” he said. “They don’t count.” See? I like this guy. We have the same philosophy on walk-in clinics. They are places where you announce your self-diagnosis for $80 so that you can get a legal prescription. It’s a beautiful system. I would go to Dr. Du Plooy for that because the co-pay is cheaper, but it’s hard to get in on the day that you need the drugs.

I told him my suspicions and ailments, some of which I’d rather not mention here, which probably gives enough context to narrow them down for you. After the plethora of examinations, I felt like apologizing to him.

Anyway. It turns out some things are no big deal, while the dry skin on my ear seems to be a bit of a concern. Now I have to go see another doctor about that. And, my cholesterol is really high. 251. It’s not supposed to be above 190. There’s a grandmother that teaches across the hall from me and her cholesterol is 134. I know she plays tennis about twice a week, plus she jogs every morning, and she eats good food. I mean “good” in every sense of the word…good tasting, good for you…it’s probably got better morals than most people I know.

My beautiful and amazing wife, she did research. She loves to research. If anyone was born at the right time to appreciate the internet, it is my wife. She initially panics about my cholesterol, which I love her for. Then, she outlines my diet for the next six months.

Green and orange vegetables, fresh.
Fruits, fresh.
Some chicken,
fish twice a week,
oatmeal every morning,
green tea,
whole grain breads if I eat bread.
Olive oil on everything.
Lots of garlic and omega-3s.
Black beans (which I love!)

No butter,
no red meat,
no hamburgers,
no sugar,
no trans fats,
and obviously nothing that lists cholesterol on the nutrition chart.

If my Bi-Lo—my favorite place—only sold foods I could eat, they could fit it all in a 1922 Ford delivery truck. Most of it is in the produce section. (And I love the produce section).

So what? I’m not even suffering. Although, I may have to start exercising, too, which might induce an inclination to complain, but I doubt it. And if it was intolerable to eat this way, I would do it. The PE teacher at our school says, “If you don’t take care of your body, where will you live?” It’s a simple decision.

Well, I have nothing to report yet. I don’t get my cholesterol retested for another seven weeks. But, since I learned about my cholesterol, I have eaten well. The very next meal I ate—Thursday night—was a cholesterol-reducing meal, and I have not failed to eat right for 10 meals in a row. And really, I’m not suffering. (Check out the comments for recipes we’ve tried and loved.) Delicate and Fancy Chicken, Lemon Coat Chicken, Spicy Chicken, Chicken Ratatouille, and Cioppino.

Plus we’ve had curry rice, black beans, hummus, Triscuits, steamed broccoli, raw carrots, plums, apples, lots of blueberries, Cherrios, and oatmeal. Marcy cooked up a chicken using ginger and rosemary from our herb garden, and it was savory…succulent, even.

So I’m eating right all of a sudden. But, it does make one think, what are we here for? When a person who knows about the mechanics of bodies says that yours is in a bit of self-inflicted danger, it elicits certain thoughts:

1. Well, no one lives forever. When your time is up, your time is up

2. Wait! If your time is up because of cholesterol and you change the cholesterol variable, might not your “time” change?

3. Of course, you could always die from other causes—car accidents, aneurism, lightning, plane crash, random violence, deadly virus…I haven’t even touched the tip of the iceberg here. (Speaking of icebergs, sinking boats…)

4. OK, carpe diem, then, as always.

5. I don’t feel like going to work today.

6. I’ve always wanted to write good poetry, instead of the bad tripe I spawn in moments of inspiration. They say to create art, one must suffer. Perhaps this is my chance to really suffer.

6b. This isn’t suffering. I don’t crave suffering, really, and this definitely is not it. Is art worth suffering? Other people’s art is worth other people’s suffering, sure, but do I want to be a martyr for art? Not really. Although, I would really like to write something really good…

7. Am I spending whatever “time” I’ve got well? Back to the existential…

I can’t really say if I’m spending my time well, but here is one thing I can say: I’m enjoying most of it. I love spending time with my family. You should hear my daughter make up stories or sing songs she’s learned. When she starts a conversation in the car, all I can think is, “I’m glad I was in the car when she said that.” I tell her she is precious, and she says in her two-year-old voice, “I am precious. What is precious, Daddy?” My little boy makes the happiest noises and has the most charming smile. And he smiles at everything. Of course, my daughter is stubborn, and my son only wants to pull the washbasin on his head or pull poisonous substances out from under the kitchen sink instead of playing with toys. But, when I am wresting the basin stand from his hands for the dozenth time, or trying to convince her to eat one bite of dinner—as tired as I am—I am so glad for it. I always have been. And what choice is there but to choose between loving and cherishing what I have or wearing myself out on it? I choose both.

And then there’s Marcy. If you’ve read any other part of this blog, then you have seen my inability to describe the Rocky Mountains or flying through a cloud. How then can I describe Marcy? I can tell you she is funny, smart, clever, determined, caring, compassionate, intentional, loving, curious, deep, light, concerned, honest. But you won’t know her. Nine years in, I barely know her. I long to know her.

I watch her and try to learn about God. If He created her, then He must be all those things that she is and more, but more so. Can a creation surpass its creator?

So far away from Dr. Du Plooy’s office we are now. Cholesterol really didn’t spark this conversation. These are the thoughts I have every day, but it seems too burdensome to say these things in response to, “Hello! How are you? How’s your family?” So, I use my cholesterol as an excuse to unload these thoughts. Hey, it’s got to be good for something.

My friend put up some poems on her blog. One, The Happiest Day, illustrates so well my greatest fear—that I will reach the end of my life looking for happiness and then realize that I probably had it in my hands and chose to ignore it. I choose—even when it is work to do so—to enjoy and relish my day. And what else? To “fear God and keep His commandments, for this is the whole duty of man.” This, I could do better.

Really. If I can change my diet so quickly, why not this?