I used to think I was a superhero. A rotund, pasty, privileged superhero, but superhero none the less. I’ve held jobs more or less consistently since the time I was twelve. How much I work became a running joke among my friends. I abused my body with unhealthy amounts of caffeine to squeeze more work hours out of each day, and I did this for years without much of a break.
Last year when my Dad needed surgery, we packed up our dog and cat show and headed north to take care of him. I worked my forty plus, ran errands, made sure doctors appointments were made and kept, and did the occasional shuffle from Tomahawk, WI to Minneapolis, MN for check-ups with the surgeons. Three months later, Dad was healed up and I was falling apart, freshly diagnosed with at least one pinched nerve and Diabetes.
My body had been trying to tell me something and I finally had to stop and listen. “Only human.”
Tomorrow I’m heading back to Illinois. There’s one more post-divorce court date to attend to. More importantly, I’m *cough* getting to that age when it’s prudent to get ones pipes cleaned and tubes checked. I can’t ignore the aches, pains and lumps any longer. The doctor awaits my arrival Monday morning and there I’ll stay until we get things fixed.
I have a lot of things to look forward to: an awesome wife and best friend, adventures living in a new country, writing. Who knows, maybe kids will be in our cards, too. I need to be as healthy as I can so I can enjoy that life.