We are all mortal–or at least our bodies are.
I was forcibly reminded of this yesterday when I discovered I am mildly anemic–and have been for at least the last year. My red blood cell count is a tad low, as are my hemoglobin and hematocrit levels. Because I am a vegetarian, this is likely the result of a B12 deficiency, but could be one of a number of other things–some of them scary, others of them not.
For now, I will consciously be trying to get more B12 into my system. In a few months, we will do blood tests again and see if that has made a difference. If it hasn’t, then it will be time to start looking for a more serious cause.
I have been a bit careless with my diet since Jane died. Sometimes, I skip a meal. Other times, I consume whatever comes first to hand. Periodically, I make something elaborate. But where there was once joy in cooking or sitting down for a formal dinner, now there is only the reminder of Jane’s absence. It is not a pleasant experience, and part of my poor eating habits derive from willful avoidance of that experience.
The rest of my semi-annual visit to my primary care doctor went well enough. My cholesterol is under control, my triglycerides are well below 100 and my HDL has moved into the healthy range. Even my blood pressure is a happy camper.
But Jane’s numbers were great, too. We never know what is lurking down there. “Life,” as one group in central Pennsylvania puts it, “is uncertain: eat dessert first.”
I remember going out for a walk with my grandfather when I was in my early 20s. He was in his mid-80s and still walked everywhere he wanted to go. But he had slowed down over the last year and knew his heart had started to fail. It was a somber yet upbeat stroll. We talked about a lot of things, including what he hoped would happen with my grandmother after he died.
As we came up the sidewalk toward the house, he stopped and pointed out a bare spot in the grass.
“I don’t know if I will be here in the spring,” he said. “But I have some seed in the garage if I am.”
Jane lived the same way, especially that last summer and fall. She did not expect to live, but she had plans if she did that went far beyond beating her cancer. She had painting projects and cross-stitch projects and carpentry projects and writing projects–and none of it was a bucket list. It was stuff she wanted to do–just like my grandfather’s seeding project.
I don’t know where I will be a year from now–what the state of my mental and physical health will be. But there are seeds I am planting now that will need tending whether I am here or not. And more seeds I will plant then if I am here to do it.
