I’ve been fighting a cold since our first night in Amherst. I know it began about then because I bought some ibuprofen because I was headachey. I almost never get headaches and seldom take any medication, so that must have been the beginning. I got back here to Pittsburgh Wednesday night on Eileen’s Greyhound Bus, another story, and called the doctor first thing Thursday morning. They gave me a prescription for an antibiotic, told me they thought it was not pneumonia, only bronchitis, had me take a chest x-ray and some blood work to check for pneumonia, told me to drink a lot of liquids and sent me home. None of this was remarkable, except for one thing: for only the second time in my life I lost my appetite! Sick as I was, that was the silver lining. I can eat when I’m happy, bored, depressed, sick, well, you name. Nothing stops me. Since Monday, I’ve had some soup, a banana, grapefruit juice and not much else. I’ve lost about eight pounds. Now, if I could just figure out how to continue eating, or not eating, this way. Unfortunately, I’m feeling better; I finally got hungry again.

The tests confirmed I did not have pneumonia. Neither the doctor, nor I, thought I did. She told me to call in for the results today. I asked what would change if I had it. Answer: nothing. They would just want me back for follow-up. I keep wondering why I needed the tests. I would certainly come back if I wasn’t beginning to feel better. I think we as taxpayers, and I as patient, pay a lot of extra money for confirmation of the obvious. Or is this just one more example of our "cover your ass" culture?

When I was a young girl I was a tomboy and ran around with all of the boys in the neighborhood. There weren’t many girls my age. As I got older my mother persuaded me to stop running around with the boys and that nice Jewish girls did not exercise. Because I was overweight and a klutz this suited me just fine. When I got to college (University of Chicago) the prevailing attitude was, "if you feel an attack of exercise coming on, lay down and it will pass." It was only after I got into my late forties that I began to appreciate what exercise might do for me. With enormous effort I finally learned to swim when I was 47. I used to swim a half mile at a time, but finally decided it was too boring. I took up weight lifting and other aerobic exercise. I’m still doing it; I still don’t love it. Occasionally I feel that good feeling everyone talks about, but it doesn’t happen often, and I have to look for it. Today was not a great exercise day. I got to the health club determined to do 30 minutes of aerobics before I went to the machines and then to the Tai Chi class. I only managed 20 minutes of aerobics, but I got through the rest of it, with great difficulty. I don’t know why some days are harder than others.

Isn’t it interesting how you can change the entire meaning of a phrase with the letter "S." For my concerned friends and relatives: I am not sick and nothing has happened to me. My move to Pittsburgh necessitated my finding new doctors. I don’t like doctors; I like hospitals even less. From past experience I know that a doctor’s visit frequently involved me in some activity I did not like. So I try to stay out of doctors’ offices as much as possible. However, I feel strongly that I should have a doctor, just in case.

So Steve got me a recommendation from one of his colleagues and I went to see a doctor. We had a nice talk and he told me to get a lot of tests. I had to have some of these for my cataract surgery, and the doctor ordered a few others, including an echo cardiogram, which I took on Monday. That’s what scared me. I don’t have the results of the test; I won’t know them until I return to the doctor next Monday. Just taking the test frightened me. What if they had found something terrible and rushed me right into the hospital? It’s happened to other people.

I am generally healthy, and for the most part, not much ever happens to me. I eat more or less properly, if a little too much, I exercise, I don’t have high blood pressure or diabetes. I have high cholesterol, but very good HDL’s. I worry about this, but not enough to begin taking statins. So why do I worry? I’m not generally a worrier.

I have come to realize that we are a society that lives in fear. If the government isn’t making us worry about terrorists, then the drug companies are making us worry about various drug-curable (?) aspects of our health.  One of the doctors I stopped seeing in New Jersey gave me a number of long spiels about the strokes I could get from my high cholesterol. I have to assume the drug companies did a real number on her.
I marvel that drug advertising can be effective when I listen to the recitals of side effects. But I’m also certain that anyone with a touch of hypochondria probably gets most of the ailments described. In spite of the fact that the side effects keep me from taking any of the drugs, I guess the advertising finally got to me.

BTW, if you are interested in the quality of health care in our wonderful, advanced society read the story about a Rand study which rates the effectiveness or our health care system at about 55%. It seems it doesn’t matter whether you are black, white, rich or poor, your chances of getting good care are about 50-50.  "Everyone is at equal risk for poor quality of care."

Back to the doctor this morning. Everything is fine and I can continue all of my normal activities, including driving and visits to the fitness center. I wouldn’t have minded taking a week off from the health club.

Speaking of health, I was reading an article in the AARP Bulletin about state legislators wanting to force pharmaceutical companies to disclose spending on marketing to doctors. I would like to see them forced to disclose spending, or better to stop spending, on TV advertising. We become more and more of a drug culture as these ads proliferate. Because of my recent relocation I have had to find new doctors. They are universally astounded when I tell them I take no meds. I can’t believe I am so unusual. I won’t take any drugs unless I am certain they are necessary and the benefits will outweigh the side effects. I have had several doctors who tried to push drugs on me. As a result I have seen a number of doctors since I left Chicago eight years ago. None of these doctor visits   were for ailments; just trying to find someone in case of emergency.

This was probably a good one, but hospitals still scare me. I was told to arrive at 6:45 am. Since retiring I consider that an obscene hour. Especially if it is still dark out. I drove myself to the hospital. They make it very easy: drive into the ambulatory patient parking lot, walk into the hospital. Like the army this is hurry up and wait. If I had arrived an hour later, it would have been fine.

They took me in, finally, had me undress completely (for eye surgery), and put on those wonderful hospital gowns. Then they started putting drops into my eye. Along with the drops came lots of paperwork. I signed my name, over and over. Since they had already taken my contact lenses away I couldn’t read any of the papers, even if they had given me time to do it. After much probing of my left hand, they finally attached an IV to my right hand. By the time they took me down to the surgery room I was panicky. I don’t panic easily. I’m one of those idiots who seldom fear anything ahead of time.

The actual surgery took much less time than all the pre-op. Within a short time Steve came to get me and drove me home. I have four bottles of eye drops to put in on an interesting schedule: twice a day for one; three times for two of them; four times for one and shake it well. Good thing I still have most of my marbles.

I’ve had no pain, but I have a big concern. I’m not able to see much out of that eye. I don’t know how quickly vision is supposed to recover, but this feels a little like the last time. I was hoping this one would be easier. I go back to the doctor at 8 am tomorrow. I’ll ask a lot of questions.