My grandfather was a man of steel – that is, he retired from a steel mill and was invincible, at least to an eight-year-old boy who saw him as a mythical figure. He was raised bow hunting in the wooded hills of New York State; in his early 20s he drove a jeep during World War II, and his house, the backdrop of my early Christmases and Easters, was built using the bricks, doors and fixtures from homes of the late 1800s. He proudly displayed the Turnbull family crest above his bar and I felt so bad for my cousins – those poor children born to my aunt who lost out on the chance to share his last name. In 1985, my 56-year-old grandfather drove his motor home along the barren, desert stretch of interstate that connects California and Arizona. It was dusk and, as the oldest grandchild of the six in tow, I enjoyed a perk of birth order and was seated in the front next to him. I can’t recall much of what happened next - the vehicle swerving off the road, a gurgling sound, a sudden jolt and pain radiating from my hip. It happened so quickly, a few minutes maybe, but the net sum was a battered motorhome and a stranded band of children among the desert scrub, clinging to a newly widowed grandmother. Years of an itchy throat and a heavy daily dosing of Tums had masked a severe and neglected case of Gastroesophageal reflux disease (GERD) that had culminated in a ruptured esophagus. At eight years old, I knew nothing of his symptoms or his disease. I knew only that a man of steel was gone and it had happened in an instant. I since learned that disease and death are not exotic or rare but are the payment due for the experiences we have on this earth. Like my grandfather, many individuals live life without much thought of this until their bodies remind them through the onset of disease. No matter who we are, each of us has a kryptonite buried within that has the potential to unravel us. The first step in avoiding a fate similar to my grandfather’s begins with being mindful of the glow, even when faint, of our own personal kryptonite. That is – we must pay attention to our health and symptoms. A simple written journal of personal health will work. I keep an app on my phone called Symple that allows the tracking of health oddities as they arise. The second step is to seek medical counsel when the glow is first detected. As a boy, I watched my body heal itself with the help of the all-powerful Band-Aid and a kiss from mom. As we age, Band-Aids lose their miraculous power, as do other quick fixes. We must take our symptoms to the clinic, unabashed and unashamed. Even when we admit our frailties and make time in our busy schedules for the doctor, how many of us heed their advice, finish the pills prescribed, stop eating fast food, or turn off the TV or tablet to get to bed at a decent hour? The third step, therefore, is to whole-heartedly act on the recommendations of your doctor. If you don’t trust the suggested treatment of your current provider seek another. Disease grows best under the shade of stubborn resolve and neglect. It just wants to be left alone to do its work. Don’t let it. As a boy, I maintained a vision of myself in a cape, impervious to the forces of evil. I knew superman and wanted to be like him but in a motor home in 1985, having a front row seat to witness his mortality, that vision was lost. External threats to our health and safety will always exist. But we must be vigilant and ready to act against those threats from within. Follow Gregg on Twitter
pixelskylines
turnnoffyourmind
andulkaphoto
dailybridgerton
jbbartram-illu
2087
discoholicmusic
dededos