In good shape, for the shape I’m in

I’m trying hard to remember. What was so dad-gum funny about that?”— I said that. About 30 years ago.

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“Hello, how are ya,” a friend greeted me. We met last weekend where I shop for vitamins.

“I’m in good shape for the shape I’m in,” I joked, laughing like friends do when they run into each other. “But, keeping me in shape these days is getting to be like those old cars of mine. The older we both get, the more maintenance we both require.”

We laughed again and waved as he went one way, and I went the other.

It’s a common commentary on life, I suppose. Joking about aging. Until aging really starts happening to us.

Like my sisters and me at the family reunion some years ago. “You remember,’ I posed the question. “How we used to laugh at Mom and her brothers and sisters. They drove halfway across the country to drink coffee and talk about their aches, pains, and surgeries?”

We laughed.

“Well,” I continued, “here we are, we’re at that age. Talking about our aches and pains and surgeries. And I’m trying hard to remember. What was it that was so dad-gum funny about that?”

I’ve always tried to care for myself, as I do with the old cars I enjoy tinkering with. Routine maintenance for me and for them, to keep us all on the road and between the ditches.

During my three score and ten, plus a half dozen, I’ve jogged, walked, worked out at the gym and at home, water skied, bicycled, or laid on the couch and slept late in varied attempts to stay in shape. Or not.

Like the television commercial that touts a body in motion stays in motion, my goal was always to stay active. I’ want’ve always thought it better to wear out rather than rust out. 

Just as I keep the rolling stock in the garage nourished with quality lubricants and fluids, I’ve also tried eating healthy. Reinforcing diet with vitamins and supplements.

The result? So far, so good. I guess. At this mature age of social security benefits and increased fiber, my checkups are good. And I require only one prescription medication. Still, the journey has had its moments. Shopping to supplement my supplements last weekend reminded me of early one morning in the 1980s, touring Arkansas in a car born in 1957.

Hitting the road early, I wasn’t far into the morning when I sensed my heart racing. Feelng warm. A glance in the mirror revealed a bright red face staring back at me. As if that wasn’t enough, I began to itch. Fiercely.

A quick exit off I-40 took me to St. Mary’s Hospital in Russellville, Arkansas. “Taken any medicine this morning,” the nurse asked.

“No.”

“Have you eaten anything this morning?”

“Just fast-food fake breakfast. Sausage biscuit. Orange juice. Coffee. Black,” I said. Mentioning again how the itching was escalating.

“Where do you itch,” she asked?”

“More all over than anywhere else,” I offered.

“It might be the orange juice,” she commented while checking my blood pressure.

“I’ve never been allergic to anything.”

“No medications,” she doubled back to ask again.

“No. Although I did take my morning ration of vitamins.”

“What did you take?”

“Let’s see … I take vitamins A, B complex, C, niacin, lecithin, bran, brewer’s yeast, zinc, bone meal … that’s all I can think of at the moment.”

She continued writing. “Why do you take lecithin.”

“Helps reduce cholesterol and lower blood pressure. Is that what’s making me itchy and red-faced?”

“No,” she said. “I just like to test people to make sure they know why they’re taking vitamins.”

“No one told me to expect a pop quiz,” said. “Does trying to stay out of hospitals count as a reason to take vitamins?”

Until that moment, I never knew that some nurses have no sense of humor.

I contemplated my fate. Was it circulation, heart trouble, or old age? After all, I was approaching 40.

”Good morning, ” announced the doctor. “Do you like broccoli?”

“Broccoli,” I asked before pausing? “Yes, I like broccoli. But tell me, doc, what does green veggies have to do with our unplanned, but nice, chat?”

“You eat lots of it?”

“Sometimes.”

“I think that’s causing your symptoms this morning.”

“Broccoli,” I paused. “As a rule, sausage biscuits don’t come with broccoli. Even in Arkansas. It wasn’t even listed as a side on the menu.”

“You told the nurse you take niacin.”

“I did. And I do.”

“And you took niacin this morning. I’m guessing before breakfast?”

“Maybe,” I conceded.

“I think you’re experiencing a niacin reaction. If you eat broccoli, you’re probably getting a sufficient amount of it without added niacin. If so, an extra dose on an empty stomach can trigger the symptoms you’re experiencing.

“Seriously,” I asked. “I turned around on the interstate, delayed my trip half a day, saw my life flash before my eyes, and spent quality time with you this morning. For a niacin reaction. Shouldn’t you at least keep me for observation or something?”

“Nope, just lay off the niacin a few days and reduce your dosage,” he laughed. “No joke, you’ll be fine in an hour or so.”

It really wasn’t funny at the time. But funny is sometimes a matter of perspective. Like having a temporary health scare and a trip to the ER while your antique automobile that never once hiccupped during five-days covering three states waits on you in the parking lot.

Now that’s funny!

—Leon Aldridge

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Aldridge columns are published in these newspapers and magazines: The Center Light and Champion, the Mount Pleasant Tribune,  the Rosenberg Fort Bend Herald, the Taylor Press, the Alpine Avalanche, The Fort Stockton Pioneer, The Monitor in Naples, and Motor Sports Magazine.

© Leon Aldridge and A Story Worth Telling 2024. Excerpts and links may be used, provided full and clear credit is given to Leon Aldridge and ‘A Story Worth Telling’ with appropriate and specific directions to the original content.