Sedona, April 2004
One of the things that can easily slip, when a loved one is ill for a long time, is the body's scheduled maintenance. That's definitely the case here: for the last two years physical exams were put at the bottom of the priority list. Even knowing that one must have one's own resources intact if one is to give to the loved one does not prevent this schedule's slipping.
So, finally, things are almost up to date. The urologists and gastroenterologists have carried out the sundry indignities and indiscretions that lie within their power. The cardiologist has listened and thumped and rendered his verdict. The psychologist continues spelunking inside my head. The remaining base to cover is the endocrinologist: when I was born, the doctors decreed that my thyroid was too large, and in their great wisdom decided that it should be subjected to a radioactive bombardment. Many of those similarly assaulted later developed thyroid cancer; I have not, although last summer there was a two-month period, coinciding roughly with Amelia's last two months of life in this world, during which there was a very real threat, thanks to my over-eager and otherwise thoughtless "primary care" doc, of cancer for me, too. After trying unsuccessfully to have further tests done in Arizona I decided just to let it ride; we were otherwise occupied, you know? Anyway, I go to see this last fellow tomorrow night, will contribute some blood and money to his inventory of both, and find out whether some of the things I've been feeling for the last 60 days are actually the product of the node on the thyroid which turns out to be my legacy from the dawn of the atomic age.
Otherwise, the consensus, among earthly authorities at least, seems to be that I will live a while longer. Anyone who looks at the above picture may wonder at the wisdom of allowing natural selection to do its work, however........
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