Still Here

 I am not sure why everyone suddenly cares about my health since retiring six months ago.  Seemed like the concerned were coming out of the woodwork.  A daily litany of questions about how I was feeling . . . did anything hurt . . . was I okay?  The only missing question was whether or not I had had a bowel movement.  Daily, if you must know.  The constant querying about my health, though well-intended, was wearing me out.  A daily grind.  The wife, my children, friends, and those wonderful people at Medicare.  They all wanted to know . . . how is my health? 

I can handle my wife’s constant questioning.  It is a part of her commitment as my spouse.  It was in the vows made to one another . . . “in sickness and health.”  She needs to know which category I’m in and adjust accordingly.  The children . . . well, I’m certain it is written somewhere in the Children’s Handbook under the chapter “Aging Parents”.  Children are supposed to care if they want to stay in the will.  Friends . . . they are just nosy.  But Medicare . . . for them it is all business with any eye on the bottom line of profit or loss.  They only want to nip any health problem in the bud before it becomes a money pit.  Their concern for my health warms my heart.

 

I activated my Medicare at the start of the year as the door at the university ceremoniously hit my butt on the way out at retirement.  Shortly after Medicare started calling about my free annual wellness check-up.  Their persistence was admirable as they called several times a week for nearly six months.  That tenacity finally paid off and I returned their call.  The guy on the other end was insistent that I schedule my check-up right then and now.  He reminded me that it was free.  So is a toothache.  He even called my healthcare provider to personally set up my appointment.  He even made sure that they would remind me of my destiny with wellness.

 

That is how I came to be sitting in my doctor’s office this past week for my free annual wellness check-up.  I like and appreciate my doctor.  She is a good doctor and person with great bedside manners.  She gets to the point.  She is honest.  Her concern for my health, I do not mind . . . she ranks right up there with the wife.

 

Prior to the appointment my mind did what it does best . . . it wandered.  Boy, did it wander.  With the present president in the office in the realm of being ancient and his numerous “wellness” check-ups in his first year . . . the “intelligence” evaluations he received . . . and his definite, daily incompetency displayed for the whole world to witness . . . I will admit I had some anxiety.  After all, I’m getting to worthy of the title “old fart” and the concern about my health that comes with it from others.  I worried that I would not pass the test and would be seen in the light of our bumbling and incompetent president.  No sane person wants to be seen as a chip off the ol’ presidential block.  Certainly, I did not.

 

With the wellness check-up there is a “cognitive assessment”.  It does not come close to the one the president received and that he “aced” with is self-proclaimed “superior intelligence”.  The Medicare version is simpler.  It is not the Montreal Cognitive Assessment (MoCA).  To assess my cognitive ability, I was told three words that I was to remember and recite later.  The words were “banana, sunshine, and chair”.  Then I was given a piece of paper and told to draw a clock putting the hands on 10:30. Morning or afternoon, I asked. I thought that was a cognitively astute question . . . the nurse rolled her eyes, telling me to “just draw it.”  After a few random questions I was asked to recite the three words from the start of the test.  That was it.

 

The nurse who administered the test passed me despite some questionable answers on my part.  She proclaimed my clock art was perfect even though the doctor said I had the wrong time.  The nurse had said 10:30, the doctor said, “11:10.”  I heard 10:30 and that is what I drew.  She scored it “perfect”.  The doctor said, “close enough.”  On reciting the memorized words, I said, “banana, sunrise, and chair.”  The nurse corrected me while telling me it was “sunshine” and not “sunrise”.  She said it was “close enough.”

 

“Close enough.”  Cognitively I am “close enough”.  I imagine that I fall on the skinnier side of the bell curve, somewhere on the functional side.  Probably not in the category of “superior intelligence”, but solidly in the functional realm.  Though passing grade, I was disappointed that I did not get to name any animals . . . I spent a whole week studying animal shapes by eating a box of animal crackers.

 

The cognitive assessment was only a part of my wellness check-up.  There was a two-page questionnaire about my health that I had to complete.  It asked me things about my sleep (yes, I do—6-8 hours a night), eating habits (three daily squares), sex (male), exercise (I suppose), feelings (yup), and general overall sense of being (I am still here).  There was a review of my medical history (Yep, still breathing with the ol’ heart pumping).  Checked on “functional ability and safety” which amounted to how well I performed my daily tasks and whether I had recently fallen.  I passed as I can still perform those daily tasks along with those assigned to me on the wife’s “honey do” list.  Hadn’t fallen except once while playing basketball with the grandchildren—tripped over my own feet.  Otherwise, I was functional and safe.  Then there was the “other” category of my wellness—height, weight, and blood pressure.  I had some height, though they did not say how much.  I figure 5”10” . . . at least that is what I was the last time someone checked, but with old age you do lose height . . . which seems to deposit itself around the waist.  The weight was there but they did not say what it was.  Apparently, it was of no concern despite the obvious “Dunlop” in my southern extremities.  I passed.

 

The final step was the “preventive plan”.  Doc was straight forward with her assessment.  Keep doing what you are doing was the plan.  You are still alive. You are still functioning physically, cognitively . . . or at least close enough.  Get a shingles shot.  No red flags.  Return in a year. I imagine that somewhere in the great Medicare-land a bell rang as another client got their “clean bill of wellness”.  They can cross me off their list.  I am good for another year.  Money pit avoided.  I passed.  I won’t be hearing from them for at least another six months before they start reminding me about my “free annual wellness check-up”. 

 

I am still here.  That’s what I told my doctor when she greeted me at the start of my wellness check-up . . . I’m still here.  After 68 years, I am still here . . . physically, mentally, and spiritually.  I may not run like a brand-new model, but I run.  I get what needs to be done and get it done.  I keep plugging away and will until the motor quits running.  That is all I can do and I am well aware of that.  In the meantime, I want everyone to relax and quit asking me about my health.  I am “close enough”.  Functional.  I’m retired . . . not on my deathbed.

 

I am still here.    

Live Longer . . . Hug

I did not grow up in a “touchy/feely” family.  My parents were not the “touchy/feely” kind, thus it should come as no surprise that they didn’t demonstrate the fine art of hugging . . . at least not around us kids as we were growing.  Since the acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree, I am not much of a “hugger” myself.  Now I do not want to leave the impression that because my parents or siblings were not the huggy, touchy/feely sort neither am I . . . that would be wrong.  Over the years I have participated—both on the giving and receiving end—in hugging.  My wife comes from a hugging family . . . all touchy/feeling . . . and, in order to survive one has to learn to jump into the hugging culture or run like hell in the opposite direction.  Over the span of my lifetime I have done both . . . but, I would not classify myself as being a “hugger”.

Working on my sixth decade of life, I am learning that maybe I need to reconsider the “hug”.  Apparently there are health benefits in hugging.  Sure, hugs make you feel good . . . but, they do so much more!  Who would of thought that a little squeezing could be good for a person.

For one thing, it decreases the release of cortisol.  Cortisol is a stress hormone.  When hugging, instead of those pesky stress hormones being released, the body blocks them creating a surge of “feel good” brain chemicals.  Hugging reduces stress and makes you feel good.  Again, not being a “hugger”, the very thought of hugging another person stresses me out . . . my body is flooded with cortisol just at the thought of having to hug someone else.  Stresses me out, not because the other person or myself doesn’t deserve a hug, but because I am an awkward hugger.  Not having a lot of experience I always seem to come at hugging like it is some strange mating dance with arms flailing in a hundred directions . . . I am not quite sure at what I am supposed to do.  You know, if you are going to hug someone you should do it “right” . . . my problem is I’m just not sure what is “right”.  Most of my hugs are like to bumper cars running into each other . . . contact was made.  Hugging . . . just the thought of hugging . . . creates stress for me.

Another thing that researchers suggest that hugging can do for folks is to lower their blood pressure and slow down the heart rate in stressful situations.  I guess if a hug can limit the release of stressful hormones it would make sense that it would reduce blood pressure and slow down the old ticker.  I can buy that . . . but, the places in my life where I feel under stress are not places that I would see as being conducive to hugging.  Making my daily commute to the big city to work each day is stressful.  Each day I can feel my stress grow as I am driving . . . feel my cheeks burning red as my blood pressure rises . . . thanks to all the idiot drivers I encounter on a daily basis.  It is not a pretty sight and no amount of yelling or sign language makes me feel any better.

Researchers are suggesting that a hug could help in that situation . . . I guess I could  rear-end one of those idiot drivers . . . jump out of my car and embrace them before they beat the living bejebbers out of me.  At least after they beat me to a pulp I know that I will have low blood pressure and my heart—if it is still beating—will be beating at a slower rate.

I also do not think that my boss would want me interrupting her yelling at me when I screw up for a hug . . . just to make me feel better.  Nor do I think that the law enforcement officer who pulls me over to ticket me for road rage and speeding will want me to embrace him or her while issuing me a ticket . . . just to make me feel better.  And, I also do not think that Internal Revenue Service auditors care too much for hugs as they are taking me to the cleaners . . . even if it would make me feel better signing off on that big check.  Internal Revenue Service auditors just don’t strike me as the “hugging” type.  Sad, if they were the “hugging” type they just might live a little longer.

Lastly, researchers claim that hugging can strengthen the immune system and reduce the risk of getting sick when under stress.  Sort of a “hug a day keeps the doctor away” philosophy . . . I understand that the apple growers are not too cool on this idea.  Besides, how does this work?  If I am at work and suddenly feel a bit ill, do I go up to one of my co-workers and get a hug?  I work with all women in my office . . . married women . . . happily married women . . . and all I can envision is getting slapped . . . slapped silly and written up on harassment complaints.  Just the thought of that makes me feel sick . . . I think I need a hug.

The bottom line on this is that “hugging” is good for you . . .

. . . for me, I am not too sure.

As I stated earlier, I did not grow up in a family of “huggers”.  Throw into that mix that I am a loner and appreciate my company over just about most other company . . . attribute that to my being an introvert.  As an introvert I feel “hugging” is an act of invasion into my space . . . into my domain . . . into my kingdom.  And, lastly, I feel really awkward when it comes to hugging.  As a pastor there are times when the most powerful ministry I can be a part of is to give and receive a “hug”.  For me these are pretty stressful situations . . . an awkward dance . . . a comedy of errors.  Because of all this I do not consider myself to be a “hugger”.  It has probably cost me a couple of decades of life already . . . but, then again, if I was a “hugger” and I happen to “hug” the wrong person I might not be around anyways.

I am not against “hugging”.  I appreciate a good hug.  There are times when I long for a hug.  I really like hugging my granddaughters.  No, I am not against “hugging” . . . I’m just not really comfortable with it.  People who really know me know this.  They tolerate it and hug me anyways . . . they know that I am not performing some awkward mating dance.  They tease me about it.  Shoot, I can even laugh about it.  Hugging makes me uncomfortable . . . uncomfortableness creates stress . . . stress releases those pesky cortisol hormones . . . cortisol hormones create havoc on the body, thus shortening one’s life.  I want to live a long life . . . maybe “hugging” is just not meant for me.

I don’t know.

My granddaughters do not seem to care one way or another how goofy we look when we hug . . . they just relish the hug (as do I).  Now that might change in about ten years, but right now they just love their grandpa.  There is one lady who gives me a hug every Sunday morning . . . a solid hug . . . and, surprisingly, I look forward to it every Sunday.  From time to time the wife sneaks in a hug when I least expect it . . . and, it feels good to be hugged.  So do the daughter from time to time . . . sneak hugs.  I have noticed that I do not get as tense as I used to when I hug or get hugged.  Nor do I have the urge to run like hell.  I can even feel the years slowly adding onto my life.  There just might be something to this research . . . “hugging” just might be good for you . . . just might make you healthier and happier.  But, I don’t know . . .

Maybe I should give it a real try.  They say what doesn’t kill you will make you stronger . . . I guess it is worth a shot.  Need a hug?  Well, be patient with me as I learn the art of hugging . . . ignore my awkward dance . . . it might not be a “hug” but there will be contact.  It is the intention behind the act that matters . . . and, I do care.  It has just taken me a little longer to get to the point that I can express it with a hug.  All this talk about “hugging” has made me want a hug . . . I’ve got to go!  There is a “hug” out there waiting to be had!

Don’t Mess With My Junk . . . Food, That Is

Geez, it seems every time I turn around someone is telling me how to be healthier and live longer through the food that I eat, the diets I am on, the exercise I do, and the way I live my life.  I imagine that all of us want to live longer which means that we probably should watch what we eat in our diets, probably exercise a little more than we do, and make the most of our lives.  A little advice now and then probably does not hurt . . . but, I am ready to draw the line as these pundits of health have crossed one too many of what I consider to be sacred ground in my own life.  The latest is has to do with what I consider to be “comfort food” and the health experts have labeled to be “junk food”.

I guess I should qualify that what I call “comfort food” I grew up with as being called “snacks” by those adults who graced my life.  Of course that was a different time and mind set than today’s more health conscience crowd, but around the house I grew up in they were snacks . . . snacks that were always a treat to receive.  I guess that is probably why I think of them as being “comfort foods” today . . . they bring back fond memories of childhood.  But, now, they are considered “junk food”.

Here is a list of the so-called “junk foods” that health experts are claiming are bad for one’s health because of fat, sugar, salt, and calories: potato chips; tortilla chips; snack mixes like Chex Mix; corn-based snacks like Cheetos; gummy candy; hard candy; packaged cookies like Oreo Cookies; snack cakes like Twinkies; baked goods like those powdered sugar covered mini donuts; and, chocolate candy bars.  I’m surprised they didn’t list microbrews . . . I would have had nothing left in my diet worth eating!

Now, having looked over their list of “junk food” I can admit that for the most part there are some that even I would agree are “junk food”, but the rest I would throw over into the category of “comfort food”.  Remember that “comfort food” is that food that we reach for that makes us feel good when we don’t quite feel up to snuff or we are having a bad day . . . a couple of bites of “comfort food” we perk up and feel better . . . so what if the health experts are going to say it is a sugar rush.  I prefer to think of it more on the spiritual and psychological side as being beneficial because it makes me feel good.

My problem with the whole article that I stumbled upon was the fact that the examples that were shared about these “bad” foods were that they practically used stuff right out of my kitchen cabinets.  For example, potato chips . . . they chose Lays potato chips . . . “no one can eat just one.”  That is their motto and I can attest to it being true . . . try to sit in front of the television and eat just one Lays potato chip . . . it can’t be done!  Closest I have come so far is about a half of pound.  How could something that taste so good, be so bad for you?  Well, they say it is the fat, salt, and calories packed into those thin delectable chips that makes them so bad . . . but, that is why I find comfort in them . . . I like them!

Chex Mix . . . over-the-top sodium . . . too much salt.  The health experts say that one serving (about a cup) is approximately a third of the sodium any person should consume in a day.  To tell you the truth, I do not find much comfort in only one serving of Chex Mix when sitting in front of the television watching The Simpsons.  Besides they package the mix in those nice little bags that easily sit in one’s lap.  But it is the sodium, the salt, that makes this such a wonderful “comfort food”.

In the area of corn-based foods they went after Cheetos.  Now Cheetos are not one of my top “comfort foods” because that orange artificial cheese they coat the corn-based product with gets all over my fingers . . . then I end up wiping them on my jeans and it leaves a big orange stain on my jeans . . . then the dogs follow me all around the house wanting to sniff and lick my jeans . . . but, there are times when I crave Cheetos—especially the crunchy ones.  The health experts proclaimed that these sorts of products are some the unhealthiest things that a person can eat.  They say they have no nutritional value as they are fried and loaded with sodium . . . but they taste so good.

In the category of store-bought cookies they took on two of America’s favorites . . . Keebler’s Chips Deluxe and Oreos.  How un-American can one get . . . how un-patriotic!  The problem?  Trans fats . . . whatever those are!  Apparently trans fats are what give these cookies their shelf life . . . the ability to taste great even after having sat on the shelf in the kitchen cabinet for months on end before being eaten.  It is probably the reason that these cookies float in milk and never absorb it.  But, they taste so good!

The health experts really pulled Hostess and Little Debbie products through the wringer as “unhealthy” for people . . . especially Twinkies (which I agree with because it is like trying to eat a sponge filled with whip cream) and Little Debbie Swiss Rolls.  Little Debbie Swiss Rolls have been a staple in my diet for over five decades.  They are cheap.  They taste great when they come out of the refrigerator.  But, the experts agree, there is nothing good about them except their taste . . . at least we agree there.

They took on those mini-donuts that are covered with powdered sugar . . . the food of every college drunk.  The health experts stated that these were the “perfect storm of saturated fat, sodium, and copious amounts of sugar.”  After a night of heavy drinking, with little or no money to buy real food, nothing beats a package of powdered sugar donuts.  Brings back fond memories as I write about them.

Lastly, chocolate . . in particular chocolate bars.  Apparently there is over 20 grams of sugar in most chocolate bars.  I guess 20 grams of sugar in one sitting is not good for the human body.  But I am not a big chocolate bar fan . . . I prefer my chocolate over raisins—which seems to be a healthier alternative, but I am sure that the unless the raisins are organically-grown in some third world country that they are probably not good for consumption either.

I guess I would be less touchy about this advice if they had not stepped on my toes by going after some of my favorite “comfort foods” . . . or it they had not labeled them as being “junk food”.  At the rate that the health experts are going there is not going to be much left for any of us to eat or enjoy eating.  It gets tiresome feeling guilty about having to sneak into the garage to enjoy a few potato chips or to indulge in a few Little Debbie snack cakes.  Yet, on the other hand, it is creating a sense of risky adventure . . . death-defying risks . . . that creates a little adrenalin rush to go with the sugar rush.  I kind of like that “living on the edge” feeling it brings to the equation.  Still, I would like the health experts to back off for a little while . . . to let me eat my “junk food”—I mean, “comfort food” in peace.  Besides these so-called “junk foods” have been around a long, long time.

Potato chips have been around since the 1800s.  Oreos made their appearance into the American diet in 1912.  Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups appeared in the Roaring Twenties (1923 to be precise).  Snickers and Twinkies—a double whammy—welcomed the Thirties by showing up in 1930.  Kraft macaroni and cheese (still one of my favorites with a couple of slices of Kraft American Cheese Singles thrown in) also came in the Thirties—1937.  M&Ms were 1940 with Peanut M&Ms coming 14 years later in 1954.  Cheetos were 1948.  Flavored potato chips . . . only took a hundred years for them to appear in the 1950s.  Pop Tarts and Doritos came just in time for the free-loving do anything era of the mid-1960s.

It is not like “junk food” or “comfort food” hasn’t been around for a while.  Obviously there must be some reason, with it being proven to be so bad for people’s health, that the Federal Food and Drug Administration hasn’t yet ban them from the market.  Shoot, I think I know why . . . they taste so darn good!  If they didn’t they wouldn’t still be around today.

So, in conclusion, I wish the health experts would keep their research and opinions to themselves.  I wish they would quit messing around with my junk . . . food that is.  I wish they would leave me alone and allow me to eat myself to an early grave . . . at least I will die happy.  As Homer Simpson says, “Mmmmmmmm . . . donuts!”   

Even an App for That

The guys who do technology workshops for me at the university assure me that they make apps for everything.  I always took that with a grain of salt . . . but, it looks like they are telling the truth.  They really do make apps for just about everything under the sun . . . including medical care.  According to the most recent issue of Time magazine, you can now get medical care wherever you happen to have your cell phone. 

Years ago . . . and, I mean years ago . . . when I first started in the ministry I went to visit one of the members of the congregation I was serving out in the country.  While I was visiting she told me that she had an appointment to get her heart pacemaker checked out to see if it was operating properly.  She picked up her phone, dialed a number, spoke a few words to a person on the other end of the line, and then she placed the phone against her chest . . . after a couple of minutes, she again spoke to a person on the other end, and then hung up.  “Everything is fine!” she exclaimed.  The pacemaker was working like a charm.  She then explained that the doctor could check the pacemaker over the phone, saving her several hours of making the round trip to the doctor’s office about a hundred miles down the road.  I was amazed at the technology involved in that . . . that was over thirty years ago!

Telemedicine has changed a lot since then.

According to the article in Time magazine there are now numerous apps for the cell phone to get doctoring.  Of course, these apps run the gamut of what a person can actually get . . . from a sort of “ask the nurse” app to an actual doctor talking to you.  And, of course, these apps range in price from being free to up to $40 per use if you actually see a doctor.  According to the article, everyone who is using the apps are pleased.  It is a cheap alternative for those seeking care when compared to what a regular visit would cost in money and time . . . usually costing less and not having to mess with insurance.  For doctors the apps are a means of building a public profile, attracting new patients, and making a little extra money on the side when they are not busy.  And, for hospitals . . . well, it is a means of streamlining care for existing patients . . . medical staff is not wasting time with minor health care issues and spending more time with those patients who need it.  It is a win/win situation for everyone involved.  Even Doctor Phil endorses medical care apps . . . he is a spokesperson for Doctor on Demand.

The executive director of the health care consultancy, IMS Institute, states, “We are going to see a major shift in how medicine is practiced and where.”  But . . . are we ready?  I am not too sure that I am ready for this shift in medical care.

I remember seeing a cartoon once in which a man was watching a tele-evangelist pleading for people watching him on television to put the part of the body that was ailing them up to the television screen for healing.  In the next frame of the cartoon strip the man has dropped his pants, pressed his cheeks (of the buttocks-type) against the glass of his television screen . . . he wanted his hemorrhoids healed.  Even in this age of “selfies”, I cannot imagine myself sitting on my cell phone to give the doctor a good picture of my hemorrhoids.  I also cannot imagine using the app, getting a doctor to look at my “owie”, and having the doctor kiss it through the screen on the cell phone.

Yet, in the article, that is just about what one guy did.  He grabbed his phone, opened his medical app, and had a video chat with a doctor in real time.  After the doctor examined the pictures that this guy sent him, he diagnosed a sprain knee . . . set up a real appointment . . . and, charged him for his services.  The guy never left the comfort or the confines of his couch . . . saving time and money.  Look out, Doc, I’m sending a few Instagrams of those hemorrhoids!

Of course, this new telemedicine has its shortcoming . . . hemorrhoids, being one.  Primarily, these new apps are good for diagnosing routine illnesses like the flu and assessing minor injuries; they are not good for more serious illnesses and ailments.  They are not good for heart attacks, strokes, and cancer treatment . . . they are also not good for getting prescriptions since the doctor doesn’t really know the individual nor his or her medical history.  Apparently this has already led to some malpractice suits . . . there is probably app for that too!

I presently have two health issues that I am dealing with in my life . . . both involve taking periodical blood tests.  There is not an app for blood tests that I could find . . . and, I don’t think smearing a little of my blood onto the screen of my cell phone is going to get me the results that the doctor needs.  Nope, I still have to do my doctoring the old fashion way . . . thirty minutes waits, tons of paperwork, stripping down and wearing one of those hospital gowns that expose the southern extremities and freezes the cheeks when sitting on the vinyl, and having a five minute chat with the actual doctor.  Then there is paying the bill, haggling with the insurance company, and thanking God that I didn’t drop anything in the examination room that I would need to bend over and pick up while the nurse was there.

As Bob Dylan sings, “The times they are a’changing.”  As much as I like technology, I do not think that an app is going to replace my doctor . . . or my dentist . . . or my car mechanic . . . or my chiropractor . . . or pharmacist . . . at least not yet.  I am sure that they are working on creating apps that do all of those things, but I am not sold . . . yet.  When they can create an app for the dentist that is painless and cheap . . . I might consider downloading one.  In the meantime, I am thinking about going back to a regular cell phone . . . not a smart phone.  That would solve a lot of the problems for me . . .