For those of you scoring at home or the office, I finally have some news regarding what some circles describe as my “abdominal concern.” Given that this topic has pretty much preoccupied my mind for a period not less than a number of weeks, I figure I should jump right into it and forget about trying to think of something interesting to write about.
The results of the previously discussed CT scan failed to indicate anything that could be causing pain or discomfort. With that in mind, my doctor referred me to a general surgeon to discuss options. I met with him this week, and after reading my chart and a general laying on of the hands, he announced that he didn’t detect anything in my gut that he could “fix” by cutting me open. Although I was in no position to argue with the man who said EXACTLY the words I wanted to hear, my brain couldn’t help comparing his examination with my newest trick of determining whether or not our mailbox contains mail simply by listening to the echo produced when I slide the key into the lock assembly.
We decided to just give it more time and see if the condition changes one way or the other. He did indicate that he could always stick a scope into my belly and see what he can see, but nobody really thinks that is warranted.
A couple of weird moments worth typing about played out in the office before I met with the surgeon. First, after the nurse weighed me in, she mentioned in passing that she probably should have asked me to remove my boots. I thought how strange that statement was to hear in this crazE, mixed up post-nine-one-one universe- as if I was thinking about using my boots to blow up their scale or something.
While taking my blood pressure, the same nurse asked, “So, have you ever had heart trouble?” Almost before I could begin thinking the worst, I replied “No.” Then she said that my pulse was barely 60, and suggested that that was outstanding for a person of my age. I laughed when she asked if I exercised often, as my normal daily routine is from bed to shower to truck, from truck to desk, back and forth between my desk and a Coke machine twice a day, then back to my truck, and finally… from my truck to the living room couch. What a workout! To think that it was nothing for me to survey at least 10 miles of highway a day for a decade and a fifth before becoming so sedentary.
Curious about the heart rate, I later looked online and learned that the average pulse for a relaxed adult is 72 beats per minute. So, unless my math is wrong, that means my heart has beat approximately 1,261,440,000 times in my lifetime- or 252,288,000 less than the average joker born under the same moon. Given that people always appear dumfounded when they discover how old I am, it makes me wonder if one of the tricks of looking younger than you are is related to having a slow heart rate and poor circulation. Undoubtedly, one of the best ways to look and feel older is to worry about things that you have absolutely no control over.
That said, you can stop wondering about my health, as I will have by the time I post this entry. Obviously with just over 79 days left until the beginning of baseball season, it is time to begin thinking about more pressing issues including whether or not the Albuquerque Isotopes will field a decent pitching staff.