Old Age Day by Day March 10,2010

I have a couple of medical tests to do this morning. Both are routine, and yet, and yet I've worked myself into a tizzy. My blood pressure is up, I have a pain in my chest in my right heart (I have a right heart and a left heart), and all I can think of is my friends who have gone for a routine test and stepped onto a roller coaster than took them for a terrifying ride. I don't like heights, I can't abide roller coasters, I got sick on the swings at the county fair when I was fourteen and never rode anything again. Okay, I'd just had a corn dog and that may have had something to do with it, but I really hate heights. I tell people I don't like views. Views mean you have a down part or an up part, or both. I had to do some major talking myself down when we camped on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. While everyone else was leaning over the edge I was looking at postcards to see what they were seeing.

I'm old. I've been so lucky, never had a surgery or too much trouble medically, and there is no reason for this luck, I've done absolutely nothing to deserve it, so how long can it last? At least I eventually force myself to do the right thing and have the test, though now I discover I've exposed myself to a ton of radiation for mammograms which I didn't need and don't do much good. If you live long enough, this is the kind of thing that happens. The test or medication that was supposedly saving your life is killing you. The medical people change their mind every ten years and reverse their advice. Remember ointment and burns? Estrogen for a healthy heart? An apple a day? Well, the apple is still okay. And now coffee and chocolate are, too, which is a neat thing about living so long.

So shortly I will be sitting in a room full of terrified people, each of us reading People Magazine upside down, trying to slow our breathing and fingering beads. Misery loves company, and at least the ride is open to all and does not discriminate. I thought finals were bad in school - these tests are sometimes very final, and when they're over, you know it doesn't exactly mean you're fine. It means that one little aspect of our bodies is not showing anything dramatic. The rest of the machine - well, who knows? Certainly not the doctors. We're all in the dark here, and I can either think of it as crowded or cosy.