March 07, 2011
My physical and philosophy
Originally published October 25, 2002
I also had my physical at work today. Yeah, they lassoed the Cracker and dragged him kicking and screaming to Medical for my yearly once-over.
2) My eyesight at distance is (right) 20-15 and (left) 20-18, with a combined 20-15 score. Yes, I am eagle-eyed. My up-close eyesight was 20-umpteen-gazillion, even with my Wal-Mart reading glasses. The nurse suggested that I go see an eye doctor. I told her I might go to Wal-Mart and upgrade to more intense magnification lenses off the $6.00 eyeglass tree.
3) My lung-capacity test put me in the top 5% of men in my age group. The nurse was amazed. "You smoke, don't you?" she asked. "All I can, whenever I can," I replied. "You really ought to quit," she said. "You have excellent lungs." I didn't tell her that I was not surprised, because I am WIND.
4) My blood pressure was 120 over 70. Resting heart rate: 72. Must be all that wine I drink.
5) My bloodwork was excellent, and the PSA is still zero. Good. Cholesterol is 180.
6) My EKG was fucked up. The nurse was concerned. "You've had a big change in your EKG from last year to this year. There's a lot of noise in this one, but a couple of places on this chart suggest that parts of your heart may not be getting adequate blood flow. That's a big change for just a year. Do you want me to make a copy of this for your doctor?" I told her, "Calibrate your machine." Fuck! The way MY heart got stomped last year, the sumbitch OUGHTA be sucking wind. It oughta make a noise like a car going down the road on a flat tire. Not LUB-dub, but WHOMPTA-WHOMPTA. When I get out of bed in the morning, I keep expecting my ass to fall off and make a noise like a hubcap hitting pavement: CLINGALINGALINGALING! Piss on that EKG.
So, I will live forever, unless something kills me first. OSHA has their hearing and breathing data that they require, and I am free to work the weekend duty.
And I stick to my original fatalistic philosophy: on the day you were born, you exited your mama's womb with an expiration date stamped on your ass, just like a gallon of milk. You can't see it, but it's there. You can't change it.
And I don't want to.
All content © Rob Smith