So, part of my annual physical included answering a bunch of questions and taking a memory quiz. (after losing 150 vials of blood . . . ok: 6)
First Was The Memory Quiz
The memory quiz involved my remembering the name and address of someone after I counted backwards from 20 to one, and recited the months backwards, after correctly identifying the day and year.
Alas, I forgot the correct first name of the bloke.
However, I gave him a more interesting first name AND I remembered his last name, his street address and town.
That’s about right —
“… fretting about forgetting can be a self-fulfilling prophecy. So, let’s all take a collective deep breath. The next time you struggle with the name of that famous surfer or forget to buy milk at the store, you can remember that these are examples of normal forgetting and, hopefully, you can relax. Forgetting happens. If you stress about it, it will happen even more.” ― Lisa Genova, Remember: The Science of Memory and the Art of Forgetting
Next, Came the Questions
Then, one of the nurses handed me two more tests to answer. (After I gave all that blood) The answers to all the questions were multiple choice: never; sometimes; frequently; all the time.
Hardly nuanced, eh?
Who never jumps up and runs . . . to the . . . potty? Or, has regrets?
My answers were consistantly sometimes.
I suppose, they will show the doc my propensity to fall, and how close I am to those forests of depression into which seasoned citizens wander.
So, it can be no accident then that perusing the Wall Street Journal after I returned from my physical and found good “gardening” advice:
“The key to contentment in old age is to define the aspects of life that remain within reach. The corollary is to surrender those things that are risky, silly or just plain stupid. (Old Age is Like a Debenture)
I had to look up debenture.
A debenture is a kind of unsecured loan — God loans me life; with what could I ever repay Him?
“O Lord that lends me life, Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness.” William Shakespeare
For this year’s annual physical: Thank you for a doctor who cares enough about my physical and emotional; steadiness to ask questions; questions that point me back to my dependence on God, who is the God of my gray hairs.