Ain't Gonna Drown in the Gene Pool

If it is true that biology is destiny we are completely screwed, blued and tattooed. Our grandfather died at 56. Father died at 53. Both were the victims of massive coronaries. So, if a crude mathematical progression (or regression as it were) is any barometer of our lifespan we are scheduled to buy the farm at around 50. Which is annoys us considerably given the fact that we are are about 5 months from achieving that distinction.

We don't particularly dwell on the fact that we caught a lousy break in the genetics department. But it is evident that our internist does as our yearly physical-which we were forced to endure last week- becomes significantly more arduous the closer we get to the mid-century mark.

We spent the first thirty minutes in his office going over our history. Our doctor, an intense and owlish man, asked us exceedingly personal questions concerning our daily habits which we felt were none of his concern. We consider our use of the crack pipe to be quite moderate in its breadth and scope. And we did not feel led to confess the recreational sex we had with those hookers during our vacation to Zaire. When it comes to the doctor-patient relationship, we still believe in a zone of privacy.

We then moved on to the examination itself during which every square inch of anatomy was poked, pulled, thumped and listened to for approximately an hour. We were ordered to give urine samples in 2 different labs. And believe us, we were in the Doctor's building long enough to accomplish this feat. An EEG was administered. Possessing a manly chest is its own reward when it comes to applying and removing electrodes. 5-count 'em-5 vials of blood were extracted from our left arm. Finally, 2 x-rays were taken of said manly chest. 2 hours later, we were finally discharged into the Arkansas sunshine.

Again, we try not to dwell on these things. We don't much believe that we will punch our ticket at 50. We don't smoke cigarettes which was the drug of choice of our progenitors. We have managed to pretty much keep our girlish figure over the years through a fairly sensible diet and vigorous exercise. We probably enjoy our martinis more than we need to. But everybody needs a hobby. We don't have certain stressors that a lot of other people have. We don't have a bad marriage. Hell, we don't have any marriage. We have been blessed to be gainfully employed through out our adult life. We are under the medical supervision of a talented and caring physician who seems to have taken it as a personal challenge to drag us through the fifth decade of life. Finally, we are fortunate to have adequate insurance which gives us the means to do the preventive care that may keep us from having to cash the genetic check given to us by our forebears.

But sometimes, in the stillness of the morning, we wonder. It is said that we know not the day our the hour when our souls will be required of us. And we know that some day, maybe sooner than later, we will be told some news that we don't want to hear.

Still, so far so good. Everyday we wake up to a new sunrise. The heart in our chest is still banging away even though in the past couple of months it has seen way too much action (to steal a line from Joe Jackson). We have the best friends a man can possibly have. We are returning to Little League. Not to get all Paul Greenberg on you, but it is always, always, a good thing to be around little boys and baseball. Life, despite the pain and loss that occasionally attends it is, for the most part, exceedingly beautiful. And we are grateful beyond measure to be here.

And so, call us crazy if you will, we like our chances.

Still, you might want to check on us in 6 months or so. Just in case.