Diets, Doctors and the Box in the Basement

I’ve had the same internist for almost fifteen years. He’s a skinny-mini and I’m pretty sure I could bench-press him if I was so inclined. He’s got a new computer program and he showed me a flow chart that tracked the ups and downs of my weight through the years that I’ve been going to him. Up three pounds over this past six months, down the six months before. Ya, that’s my pattern. Got the message, doc. Accountability. I tried playing the jokester during this weight conversation. It usually works with him but this time he didn’t see any humor in me saying that I was on the Trump Stress Diet, eating everything in sight that isn’t nailed to the wall. He replied, “Well, you’d better find a different way to deal with your stress because he isn’t going anywhere.” What did I expect him to say? “Here’s some coupons for Cold Stone ice cream,” would have been nice, “go get your sugar buzz on.” 

My thyroid test numbers are wacked out again. We’re going to lower my dosage which, hopefully, will make it easier for me to sleep but won’t throw me back into a chronic hives cycle. I’m allergic to myself. If he had a flow chart on my thyroid and hive history overlapping it would show that I’m almost due for another five-six months bout of daily hives. A few years ago an autoimmune specialist finally concluded that thyroid antibodies have been causing the chronic hives off and on since I was a baby, but what’s new now is there is an infusion available to stop the hives in their track, if you can get the insurance company to cover it and a doctor to order it. But which doctor? The autoimmune specialist who takes four months to get into see? The internist who seems to be letting too many things fall through the cracks lately? Or the allergy doctor who would refer me back to one of the previously mentioned doctors but only after a few months of loading me up with useless tests and pills? I don’t know what was going on with my internist this week, he sure wasn’t his usual self. But then in the wake of what’s going on in the world, are any of us our usual selves?

I should be cleaning my house right now instead of hanging out at the computer. Ya, you read that right. I’m cleaning before my cleaner cleans. Actually, it’s more like picking up stuff and putting it where it belongs. I have a habit of littering the house with shoes and putting papers that need filing on top of the filing cabinet instead of inside it and I leave clean clothes hang in the laundry room too long. I don’t want to fest up to how messy my kitchen table/desk top looks the day before my cleaning service shows up. It’s embarrassing. I also go through the house and pick up temptations like my cell phone, iPod, house keys, jewelry, sensitive mail, my purse, medications, etc. and I put them in the car. Then I’ll have to pick up all the dog’s toys. Right now his tiger is trying to suck the dust out from under the stove and his squirrel is trying to figure out how to get outside the door he’s been stalking.

Have you heard of the Million Letters Campaign? Andrew Carroll, an author and the director of the Center for American War Letters will be in town later this month and is giving a presentation at the senior hall. We’re being encouraged to bring in letters we have that were written from war zones to donate to the campaign and I have a huge box full in the basement from the Vietnam era. And that presents a dilemma for me. Is it time to let go of those letters? If so, what do I do with the carbon paper copies of the letters I wrote to the guys on my penpal list? Am I really ready to give up on the idea that I’d like to write my own book on that era of my life? I have four choices, I think: 1) Hand them over minus mine; 2) Keep them all but put the contact information for the Center for American War Letters on top with instructions if I’m died, please mail this box to them; 3) get off my duff and write the book; and 4) do nothing under the illusion that I’m going to live forever and have plenty of time to decide later on. 

I suppose I could try reading some of letters and decide if there is any historical value in letters written back and forth between strangers. I don’t remember them being filled with any Red Badge of Courage-like stories. I remember them as being from young guys eager to hear from a college girl. Guys eager to get perfumed letters that got them teased by the others at mail call. I remember crushes. I don’t remember there being much talk about the topics the Center’s website says the letters they collect show: "---love, humor, faith, death, homesickness, grief, anger, courage, peace, human resilience, camaraderie, reconciliation, patriotism and historical events.” But it’s been decades since I’ve read those letters so my memory might be selective. Do you think it’s time to let go? What would you do? I’ve only got fourteen days to decide. ©