Shinn the Writer

The Biennial Flu

 

Well, November is upon us, and recently I was very sick. Nausea permeated my entire being. I just wanted to pull the covers over my head (which was ready to explode) and stay there until it was all over. I knew that many others shared this sickness, but that didn’t help my disposition in the least. Yeah, I was sick of the upcoming election and it was getting worse. I’d hoped voting early would ease the pain; perhaps the decrease in pressure helped a bit, but not much.

 

I thought of using alcohol to make the pain go away. I used to drink more than I do now. Much more. I did so until I took an action that had lots of good health consequences, I retired. W.C. Fields once said “A woman drove me to drink and I didn’t even have the decency to thank her.” I felt that way about my job. But upon retirement I took stock and cut back significantly. (BTW, retirement also cured my high blood pressure.) Finally, I discovered that I had afib and cut back to my current level, a glass of wine every three days or so. Pretty light.

 

Why even bring this up? Well, I mentioned recently that I have a new “ologist”. For other reasons, nothing serious, he had me take an ultrasound. This revealed some scarring on my liver and asked me about my alcohol consumption. I told him about my current light level and my former, not nearly so light exploits. Apparently, my self-destructive past had left its mark. There were some things to watch out for and yet another med (Pantoprazole) to take. But overall, it looks like yet another of life’s bullets dodged.

 

My dad was born October 30, 1912. I’ve made it a habit on every October 30 to drink a toast to him. Wine is my usual drink of choice, but my father rarely drank wine, so on October 30, I have a beer. This also makes pouring the beverage into a special pewter mug more appropriate. The mug is a trophy that my dad’s dad won in 1932 for having the highest bowling average in the Detroit Athletic Club’s Thursday night bowling league. Wine just wouldn’t work. 

 

This year my dad would have been 114 years old, though he died at the age of 58. And this year it would be the last alcohol I would have before election day. That was my plan. My general rule is to allow myself a drink if the date is a multiple of three. Pretty geeky, but it keeps me on track and it’s important. Yeah, I lose a day in February and months with 31 days, no big deal. And I’m flexible so long as my overall level stays the same.

 

But before the election I wanted to make an exception. Like a bottle a day each day leading up to the election. Starting about mid-October. Somehow, I resisted. I kept to my plan. Probably voting early kept me from getting too sick. And on November 3, the cure to my sickness would arrive.