The other night, one of my nurses looked up from her charting and said, “I have no idea what to write about you. You’re so healthy.” Which would probably be news to most of the people I pass on the street. To most of them, I probably look quite ill indeed. Of course, it’s all a matter of perception. Those who know me to some degree know that I’m one of the toughest gimps on the block. Those who don’t may assume that I’m sick or dying or in a great deal of pain, but they probably wouldn’t use the word “healthy” to describe me. The whole concept of health is one that seems to be grounded so deeply in appearance. It’s illustrated in the cliched image of a parent checking a newborn baby for ten fingers and ten toes. But the human capacity to thrive is tremendously adaptable. Even with my tubes and a couple additional orifices in my body, I feel good almost all of the time. And I think that doesn’t jibe with how others see me, at least at first.
I’m going to see a movie at Loring Park with a friend tonight. I don’t think I’ve seen an outdoor movie since I was teenager. Tonight’s forecast is for a warm and humid evening; in other words, perfect weather to be in the park.
Here’s an idea for your nurse:
Bad Hair; Smart mouth; Needs to be slapped regularly.
I must say though that your diet’s probably better than that of anyone I know. You don’t drink. You don’t smoke. You don’t have a regular jonesing for things that’ll kill you. You’re a juggernaut.