Odyssey & More
I’ve been on a medical odyssey since February when I mentioned to my doctor that I hadn’t had a chest x-ray in at least ten years. Since I worked near Ground Zero for seven years, and given that I was at the age, 72, when my father, a pack-a-day smoker, contracted cancer, I thought it wise. I was also concerned about an infrequent cough, recalling old novel and movies when such a thing was a sign of “consumption.” It emanates from the bottom of my throat, where it frequently feels a small pocket of air is sitting. The exam turned up a tiny black spot at the bottom of one of my lungs, nodules and an enflamed aorta. “What the heck causes that?” I said, alarmed. The doctor asked if I were a smoker. He would ask me this several more times during ensuing visits, as if he didn’t believe I’d never smoked and that I was on the bottom of the ladder concerning drug and alcohol use. I left my door unlocked at night for a week so it wouldn’t have had to been broken down in the event my aorta erupted in my sleep. I continued doing the book shop, although I was more careful about weight distribution, exerting myself. My blood work was clean and my BP was never higher than borderline. Next step, a cat scan, which didn’t show anything definitive and led to a referral to a pulmonologist so that stuff could be ruled out. He suggested a Pet Scan, which I’d never even heard of. It involves a so-called miniscule injection of radioactive material and a half-hour scan in an enclosed space. I passed the time conjuring the faces of beautiful women, including non-celebrities. Again, the results were inconclusive, but at least the aorta was no longer enflamed. I did not feel sick or weak. My weight is slightly below my target of 175. I am concerned only about the cough, which, when it began, had me abandon the deep breathing exercises I’d done for years to keep my BP in check. What had caused the four nodules, which are not tumors and may even dissolve on their own? What would happen if they grew? My primary didn’t answer this, although he said it was probably nothing. I love the guy. He has appointments as early as eight AM, is always on time and has a great bedside manner. Anyway, the first possibility that came to mind as I was walking home that February morn was the three Covid vaccines I’d had, which I’ve become less suspicious of in time, although I would not rule them out entirely. Had I ingested foul particles doing the deep breathing? I won’t rule out the Ground Zero effect, but why would it have taken so long to manifest itself? Was it simply age? Was I suffering long term Covid? If I’d had the virus, I was totally asymptomatic. My greatest suspicion has recently focused on Cacao powder, which I use instead of Viagra or the like. I didn’t read the instructions and used a tablespoon rather than the recommended teaspoon — duh! We all know what happens when you assume. Since I’ve cut back I no longer get red spots on my member, for which I was prescribed a cream. Strangely, the recent wildfire pollution did not exacerbate the cough. Gone are the days of a single annual doctor visit. I have one each in July and August, and one with the eye doctor next week. Sucks.
This time they really got him.
Headline from nypost.com: “50,000 New Yorkers died fighting slavery — is that not reparations?”
Excerpt from the column of NYP sports media critic Phil Mushnick, taking Brooks Koepka to task for having sold out for Saudi money: “His model wife chooses to parade in revealing, hubba-hubba outfits. Have her try doing that in public in, say, Riyadh or Mecca. Put your moolah where your Mullahs are. See how well that goes over with your bosses.” Kudos once again.
The air quality seems normal today. I didn’t wear a mask while running the book shop. My thanks to the three ladies who each brought a bag of items, and to the kind folks who bought books, CDs and DVDs. For the first time this week the incoming far surpassed the outgoing.
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