45 Thousand Mile Service

I've been feeling under the weather, as we like to say in these fair islands. It's one of the many euphemisms we have for disease, decay and physical failure. I was in proximity to a colleague whose entire family came down with a dreadful affliction - here's the evidence, if you have a strong stomach - and I have been touched by the merest corner of this plague garment, the gentlest whiff of this miasma. Still it was enough to make me croak like a frog and I felt delirious for a couple of days.

I am on medication for my sensitive thyroid gland, Carbimazole, and one of the side-effects (there's a misnomer for you if ever there was one - SIDE effects? there are only EFFECTS, wanted and unwanted) of the drug is to reduce one's white blood cell count. I wonder if this has anything to do with the increased frequency with which I seem to be contracting these brief but annoying bouts of sickness. I am also noticing that every morning, my left index finger knuckle is painful for a while, until I bend it a few times. I've never suffered from arthritis - mildly aching knees in the extreme cold is the worst I get at this tender age. Is this a product of the meds, a sign that I need to adjust my diet, the onset of something elderly?

It occurred to me as I jogged at moderate speed around the park recently, observing the side-stitch in my left chest that sometimes comes from not warming up properly, and hoping optimistically that it isn't really incipient cardio-vascular failure, that I have been exercising regularly for 20 years. Aside from the fact that it keeps me in a good mood and generally makes me enjoy life more, will it have done anything by now to give the physical body more chances of less failure?

I have a great dislike of one of the doctors in my local GP's practise, who treated me once with utter disregard when I was trying to explain my symptoms; but then, given my history, seeking help from any doctor is problematic, and so I tell myself that I owe it to myself to have regular check ups, and not to allow a combination of blind optimism, endemic resistance and deep-seated fears to rule my action in health. This rubbish medic wrote me a referral to go and get a chest scan some time ago, and instead of ignoring the personal stuff and doing the right thing, I made an official complaint about his attitude and still haven't visited the hospital. What foolishness. As my loving partner tells me every so often, as gently as she can, I am 45, and really I should get myself checked out just in case there is any lack of systemic balance which needs attention. It's like the 50,000 mile service for a car, she pragmatically tells me. Why wait for it to breakdown, when an investigation now might save me pain, and treatable problems develop into less treatable?

This fearless love I get from GGF is quite marvellous, stimulating me to giving myself the love I need to look under the bonnet.