Got this message today from the Man Down Unda’ (Greg Miner). We were supposed to hang out on New Years Day, but I didn’t hear from him. He left me a message that I didn’t get until the third and… well, it’s best if I write it out:

Everything is ok now – apparently I developed Type 1 Diabetes and ignored the symptoms for a month or so (thought I was battling the flu). Then that progressed to something called Diabetic Keto Acidosis — and I really felt like shit on Christmas and for a couple of days afterwards but again I thought it was the flu. Then I drove up to Danbury and during the
drive it progressed to Metabolic Keto Acidosis — and everything fell apart. Called my mom from a hotel I was staying in and was completely out of it (delerious, delusionsal, etc…), she called an ambulance, and I spent the next two days in the emergency room and intensive care until I was stabilized and not in any danger of cashing in my chips (from what the doctors tell me I was knocking on a door I really didn’t want answered) and then another 4 days in the hospital until I was stabilized – then I came
back here [North Carolina, where is family is] on Friday and on Monday I went to another doctor. She ran some tests and she told me to go to the emergency room – so then I had ANOTHER night in the hospital. But I’m out now and everything is slowly returning to normal. I’ll be on a strict diet, exercise regimen, and insulin injections for the rest of my life but I should be ok as long as I take care of myself and closely watch everything that I eat. I really have nothing to complain about. If I’m going to develop a chronic disease better it be diabetes than cancer or something of that nature. And being that theres nothing I can do about it (no one knows why one develops it however it’s suspected that there is a genetic predisposition) I might as well get on with life.

Absolutely. Fucking. Crazy.

This got me thinking about us (and by “us” I mean you and me, my readers) collectively. I know I’m speaking to a demographic here of men who are approaching or surpassing 30 years of age. I just wanted to say to ya’ll (and I’m not excluding myself, here) that “things aren’t what they used to be.” It’s probably time for some regular checkups, a few laps around the block, maybe even a little snap of the latex glove. I’m sure you’d rather hit your 35th at a party than in a coffin. God knows if I have to bury a friend, I don’t think I’ll take it very well.

For me… I have chest pain, and I don’t know why. I’m very overweight (OK, maybe I do know why). I sometimes get symptoms of angina when I’m out running in the cold weather. I hurt my shoulder on Thanksgiving and it still hurts. Through all this, I haven’t been to a doctor, and I can’t really explain why, except to say that I’m an asshole and I can’t seem to figure out the medical system (I called a doctor in November, but they couldn’t see me until February, which made me wonder what would happen if I were already dead. I guess the insurance company would be off the hook). Nevertheless, I think it’s time I made an effort to find out what’s going on with my walking carcass. It can’t hurt, right?

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