Last week, while I was still recovering from my infamous bee sting--wouldn't you know it?--I started having some other problems. Over a period of several days, I had this nagging pain in my head. And honestly, at first, I couldn't tell if it was coming from my Rocky Balboa eyelid or from some other sore spot on my cranium. I mean it was one of those traveling, vagabond sort of pains that sometimes felt like it was in my jaw, then in my neck, then in my forehead, then in my eye, then in my chest… It moved faster than a deadbeat dad trying to escape child support payments. You get the picture.
(Wow, I’ve got to pause here and say that I never really thought I would live to see this. I mean, here I am giving people exhaustive anatomical tours of my various aches and pains, just like I used to hear elderly people do when I was a little boy!)
Anyway, my floating mystery pain finally zeroed in on one of my teeth. And, although I tried to ignore it for a while, it kept increasing both in intensity and frequency until I just couldn’t stand it any more. So I made an emergency trip to the dentist who immediately told me that I was in desperate need of a root canal.
Well, I once sailed the canals of the city of Amsterdam in the Netherlands. And I’ve always thought it would be kind of neat to see the historic Panama Canal. But a root canal has never been on my Top Hundred List of things I want to do before I die. Somehow, I had survived all these years without one, and I was really hoping to keep my record intact. After all, I’d always heard horror stories about root canals. But I have to admit, when it was all said and done, phase one of my root canal went rather smoothly. (I’ve still got two more phases to go, however.) And, having just completed all the meds for my eye problem, I'm now on a new round of prescription drugs for my tooth. So, the pain is in check now.
But, it seems like I’ve just been falling apart lately. (Maybe it’s that psychological thing of turning the big “5-0”.) Anyway, all of this led me to recall Solomon’s reflections on physical aging, as recorded in the book of Ecclesiastes, Chapter 12. At one time this poetic description of old age seemed so foreign and far removed from me. But now it’s getting closer every day. Note my explanatory comments regarding the Biblical imagery in boldface type:
“Remember your Creator in the days of your youth, before the days of trouble come and the years approach when you find no pleasure in them, before the sun and the light of the moon and the stars grow dark and the clouds return after the rain; When the keepers of the house tremble (i.e., your hands are shaky & your knees are weak. Kind of sounds like an old Elvis song, doesn't it?) and the strong men stoop (i.e., the shoulders become bowed over), when the grinders cease because they are few (i.e., yep, that’s the one about losing teeth!), and those looking through the window grow dim (i.e., failing eyesight, often expedited by bee stings); when the doors to the street are closed and the sound of grinding fades; (i.e., your sense of hearing falters); when men rise up at the sound of birds (i.e., restlessness, inability to sleep, easily disturbed), but all their songs grow faint (i.e., your voice grows thin and weak); when men are afraid of heights and dangers in the streets (i.e., unsteady, less adventurous); when the almond tree blossoms (i.e., your hair turns white); and the grasshopper drags himself along (i.e., little things become burdensome) and desire no longer is stirred. Then man goes to his eternal home and mourners go about the streets (i.e., death).
Wow, that's an interesting take on aging. Well, two weeks ago a demon-possessed bee flew into one my “windows” and this past week, one of my “grinders” failed me. What’s next?
One final thought. In the midst of all this, for my leisure reading of late I’ve been working through an excellent new biography on the late Roberto Clemente, one of my heroes as a kid and one of the first truly great Latin American baseball stars. (I saw him play in person back in 1972. He was killed following that season in a tragic plane crash. He was on his way to Nicaragua on a New Year's Eve mission of mercy to deliver humanitarian aid to earthquake victims.)
As I’ve been reading the book, I’ve been reminded of the fact that Clemente not only was a phenomenal athlete, he also was a quirky guy. He continually complained of so many physical ailments that many regarded him as a hypochondriac. Ouch! I really think Clemente is starting to rub off on me. I need to finish this book and pronto. And, when I do, I promise not to write any more about my health or about any of my roving anatomical pains. Not even if a bull gores me next week!
Dr. (not the kind that can help you medically) Danny
(Wow, I’ve got to pause here and say that I never really thought I would live to see this. I mean, here I am giving people exhaustive anatomical tours of my various aches and pains, just like I used to hear elderly people do when I was a little boy!)
Anyway, my floating mystery pain finally zeroed in on one of my teeth. And, although I tried to ignore it for a while, it kept increasing both in intensity and frequency until I just couldn’t stand it any more. So I made an emergency trip to the dentist who immediately told me that I was in desperate need of a root canal.
Well, I once sailed the canals of the city of Amsterdam in the Netherlands. And I’ve always thought it would be kind of neat to see the historic Panama Canal. But a root canal has never been on my Top Hundred List of things I want to do before I die. Somehow, I had survived all these years without one, and I was really hoping to keep my record intact. After all, I’d always heard horror stories about root canals. But I have to admit, when it was all said and done, phase one of my root canal went rather smoothly. (I’ve still got two more phases to go, however.) And, having just completed all the meds for my eye problem, I'm now on a new round of prescription drugs for my tooth. So, the pain is in check now.
But, it seems like I’ve just been falling apart lately. (Maybe it’s that psychological thing of turning the big “5-0”.) Anyway, all of this led me to recall Solomon’s reflections on physical aging, as recorded in the book of Ecclesiastes, Chapter 12. At one time this poetic description of old age seemed so foreign and far removed from me. But now it’s getting closer every day. Note my explanatory comments regarding the Biblical imagery in boldface type:
“Remember your Creator in the days of your youth, before the days of trouble come and the years approach when you find no pleasure in them, before the sun and the light of the moon and the stars grow dark and the clouds return after the rain; When the keepers of the house tremble (i.e., your hands are shaky & your knees are weak. Kind of sounds like an old Elvis song, doesn't it?) and the strong men stoop (i.e., the shoulders become bowed over), when the grinders cease because they are few (i.e., yep, that’s the one about losing teeth!), and those looking through the window grow dim (i.e., failing eyesight, often expedited by bee stings); when the doors to the street are closed and the sound of grinding fades; (i.e., your sense of hearing falters); when men rise up at the sound of birds (i.e., restlessness, inability to sleep, easily disturbed), but all their songs grow faint (i.e., your voice grows thin and weak); when men are afraid of heights and dangers in the streets (i.e., unsteady, less adventurous); when the almond tree blossoms (i.e., your hair turns white); and the grasshopper drags himself along (i.e., little things become burdensome) and desire no longer is stirred. Then man goes to his eternal home and mourners go about the streets (i.e., death).Wow, that's an interesting take on aging. Well, two weeks ago a demon-possessed bee flew into one my “windows” and this past week, one of my “grinders” failed me. What’s next?
One final thought. In the midst of all this, for my leisure reading of late I’ve been working through an excellent new biography on the late Roberto Clemente, one of my heroes as a kid and one of the first truly great Latin American baseball stars. (I saw him play in person back in 1972. He was killed following that season in a tragic plane crash. He was on his way to Nicaragua on a New Year's Eve mission of mercy to deliver humanitarian aid to earthquake victims.)As I’ve been reading the book, I’ve been reminded of the fact that Clemente not only was a phenomenal athlete, he also was a quirky guy. He continually complained of so many physical ailments that many regarded him as a hypochondriac. Ouch! I really think Clemente is starting to rub off on me. I need to finish this book and pronto. And, when I do, I promise not to write any more about my health or about any of my roving anatomical pains. Not even if a bull gores me next week!
Dr. (not the kind that can help you medically) Danny
