Convenient Control Comfort

ConvenientControlComfort

David C. Russell

“When you grow up you can do as you please!

“When you retire you can…” parental observations.

“I’m calling on behalf of Dr. Sawbones,” the attractive-sounding female voice began.

“Okay. What is this about?” I asked. Internally, I knew exactly.

“Your recent blood work,” she said, tone conversational.

“Go ahead, tell me.”

“You are a little more toward becoming pre-diabetic. Your hemoglobin, triglycerides, and cholesterol are a couple points higher than before. She wants you to add two medications.”

“Run that by me again please. The part about what the hell she wants,” I said.

Anytime a medical pro tells me what to do, I don’t care how attractive they are if especially the opposite gender and over twenty-eight, this 70-something curmudgeon will typically go on the defensive.

I thought, Slow down, she’s the messenger here. You just might meet her in person one appointment later.

She repeated herself for my benefit. My mind started to consider my options in this, or sudden shift to strategy beneficial to me.

“Thank you for your time and letting me know the wishes of Dr. Sawbones,” I said to end the call.

One habit no one had challenged me about was coffee consumption. So, I made one-half pot of coffee, went to my home office, fired up the computer and started self education on alternatives to drug prescriptions for elevated cholesterol and triglycerides. My seven-year-old granddaughter came in, touched my arm, and had a major crisis needing the resolution that only a Grandfather could provide. Of course, that was my interpretation.

“Grandpa,” she began, “The dog pooped in the doorway and I don’t know how…”

“To wipe it up?” I finished. She nodded.

“I smell something burning. What’s that?” I asked.

“Half a bagel stuck in the toaster,” she said.

“How long has it been stuck?”

“About ten minutes or half hour,” she said.

She accompanied me to the kitchen. “Solving this is a two person task. First, you unplug the toaster from the wall. Don’t pull the cord but the little thingy on the end of the cord,” I said.

I commended her on listening and following the directive.

“Now, get Grandpa a wad of toilet paper from the bathroom. We’ll use that to clean up after Oscar.” Oscar was almost two, a youthful most times, King Charles Cavalier Spaniel..

“After the dog?” she asked.

“I mean clean up the shit, the poop, the mess.” I tried to smile but failed miserably.

Within a few minutes, all had been addressed. The floor was shiny clean, the bagel was vanquished and an open-faced-cheese sandwich its replacement alongside a glass of juice.

“Your grandpa has some serious business in the office. How about watching some cartoons and we can talk about them in a while.”

The living room was next to my office, so it would be convenient to look after her on occasion. She was spending a couple days with us while her parents were on a prolonged date, a mini-vacation.

As I perused information from one site, it told me that some persons are genetically predisposed to high cholesterol. Meds, diet, and exercise for these folks were the best way to lower the numbers and improve one’s health. I didn’t like that approach because it would cost me financially.

Another site mentioned the same, but also had a few articles about which foods and diets would work to lower the numbers. I smiled thinking, Ah, more like it. Simply, alter the grocery list and voila! Another article discussed what processed foods are okay, not perfect, to consume, but okay.

Sure, it might cost a bit more to up the intake of omega-3, vitamins B, C, and D, and whatever the heck else the entrenched medical establishment would study and tout, but hey, their hands wouldn’t be on my retirement years income.

Things like the boxed dinners, chips as a bedtime snack, Swiss, cheddar or bar cheeses would have to be greatly restricted, but there would be benefits.

One could still have the occasional fried eggs. There was no freeze or limitation on Brussel sprouts, broccoli, brown rice, legumes, melon or orange slices, or even quinoa. Unsalted, or I supposed lightly salted nuts, would be fine and dandy, too.

Suddenly, my convenience, comfort and control were again interrupted. I heard a bang or crash from the patio. A homemade, craftily conducted private investigation would ensue with grandpa at the helm. I doubted we were victim to a break-in and entry, but one can never be too sure.

As I walked through the living room, my granddaughter was in tears. “What’s wrong missy?”

“The horse died. It’s so sad.”

“What horse?”

“The one on TV. He was shot.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Did the good guys win?”

“You don’t get it, grandpa. The horse, just the horse,” she said.

“Life seemed less complicated and complex when I was your age,” I said, and continued to the patio.

My eyes took in the mess on entry. Our dog was chomping away at a formerly six-pound bag of dry dog food. The bag was in shreds and the food all about.

“Oscar,” I said, adding, “Stop. Stop this very instant.” He continued eating. I quickly got the broom and dust-pan and began the task to sweep up the remaining food and placed the pan on a higher shelf. I yelled to my granddaughter, “Honey, I need your help. Get me a big zip-lock from the cupboard. Oscar made one hell of a mess.”

I suppose everything became elevated in that moment: blood pressure, annoyance, triglycerides, discomfort, and lack of control. Shortly, we had a couple pounds of food replaced in a zip-lock, Oscar crated, and my granddaughter praised for her help.

“You, me, and grandma are going out to eat for supper. Where do you wish to go?”

“You know grandpa. Where do I always pick?”

“It starts with the letter “m” right?” I asked. She smiled.

An hour later, grandma arrived home from her part-time job as para-pro at the middle school. She had a Pyrex dish in her hands.

“What’s in the dish?” our granddaughter asked.

“Something special for tonight’s meal.”

“Well grandpa is taking us to Mc’Donald’s for dinner.”

“This will be for dessert when we arrive home,” she said.

We immediately went to the dining room on our return home. I placed napkins and spoons around the table for the three of us. The dish uncovered revealed four whole-grain biscuits mixed with strawberries.

“I had this for dessert during summer when your age,” I said.

“He’s still having it at his age,” my wife said.

“Hey, it’s good stuff and healthy for anyone,” I said.

“Until you add either more sugar or whipping cream,” my wife quipped.

We dished up and each microwaved our dessert for one minute. This was enough to warm the biscuit and the strawberries which released juice into the biscuit making all taste succulent simultaneously.

“Grandpa and Grandma, I like this and love you,” our granddaughter stated.

“We also love you,” grandma said, touching our granddaughter’s forearm.

There are a couple things concluded from all this day’s adventure:

The learning in life is sometimes pleasant but most times long and arduous.

I was reminded, and perhaps my granddaughter got a glimpse into philosophy via the TV. Scripts on the tube may involve more than good guys versus bad gus, or the centuries-old debate of good versus evil.

There is always room for surprise in unexpected moments. Our dessert attests to that. I may win this battle yet against the doctor and medicine in general. Look out big pharma, grandpa is coming!

End