Why Are We All Here?

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  No "Ken's Korner" last week due to internet connection problems. Thank you for your patience.


The age-old question that mankind has sought the answer to for centuries.

Linda Fiorentino's character asks it to God-in-female-human-form, played by Alanis Morrisette, in the 1999 film "Dogma".  The reply is a simple tweak of Fiorentino's nose by the deity with no explanation.

As I grow older, I become aware of the fact that I've already lived half of my life expectancy here on this planet.  Before marriage and family, I had no fear of death.

I still don't.  Through my faith, I know what's on the other side.  If given a choice, no one really wants to die. But I worry about the loved ones I will leave behind come my Judgment Day.  Namely my wife and daughter.

Mankind's greatest dread is the knowledge of its own mortality.  

I have lost three relatives to cancer.  My godfather and second cousin at 49.  Another second cousin at 52. My maternal grandmother at 54.  My great-uncle at 59.  While those deaths were smoking-environmental related, it never ceases to cross my mind as to how many others have died of a terminal illness without knowing they had one until it was too late for medical intervention.

More than four months ago, I changed jobs.  I had gone from working days to evenings, and now not sitting down to a traditional dinner with my family, and consuming less wine, I've managed to lose a few pounds, and others have taken notice of it.

Since I turned 40, I've made annual checkups part of my life.  My doctor, who's the same age as me, is going through the same careful navigation to stay healthy in our advancing years.

One day, having done the necessary fasting and abstention from alcohol, I went to have some bloodwork done the morning of our annual trip to Kennywood Park.  As it was approaching the time for my annual physical, I wanted to get that done and out of the way before I called to schedule my appointment.

They beat me to the punch a little over 24 hours later, when I got the call as I was preparing my daughter's lunch.

"It's about your thyroid", the woman in my doctor's office said to me over the phone.

My thyroid?  My wife was born without one.  I double-checked to make absolutely sure it was me they were talking about, as we both go to the same doctor.

They were.

My mind flashed back to my job change and the change in my eating and drinking habits that went with the new work schedule. Was that all it was, or is this something more serious?

Whatever the matter, my mind raced through the fact that I needed to remind myself that I was not a young person anymore, and that I'd better be ready to deal with matters like these sooner, rather than later.

That's not to say that the moment of fear, anxiety, and other emotions didn't have an effect on me.

For a while, I became patient with Savannah getting distracted from practicing her letters and numbers.  I became aware of the time I had with her...and all my loved ones, for that matter.

And the clock ticking those seconds away resonated in my head much more loudly.

I just turned 44.  My former boss was at this same age when he had two heart attacks in succession.  If it happened to him, it could very well happen to me.  I never lost sight of that.  An esteemed colleague of mine dropped dead of a heart attack at 53 while working a charity event.  Another died at 49 after years of fighting heart disease.  Another colleague just recently announced he was cancer free, while another succumbed to cancer as it appeared he was beating it.

I even asked for prayers on Facebook, thinking of the worst once I walked into the doctor's office.
Turned out not to be so bad.
My doctor and I are the same age, and are going through the same age-related health concerns.  My thyroid numbers concerned him and my cholesterol was up a point.  He was simply checking to see if I had any symptoms that I might have avoided calling him about.
But we went down the list, and he gave me a thorough exam.
"We'll keep an eye on the bloodwork," he said.  As long as I wasn't puking or passing blood, it was all good.
This is what convinced me that I have a good doctor, the fact that he was concerned enough about my well-being to order me into the office to catch anything before it had a chance to materialize.
Or metastatize.
You don't find that level of dedication in a doctor these days.
Well done, Dr. Fiorina.  You have me for life as a patient.

NEXT WEEK:  Heaven's Gate