Kit had a primary care physician she really liked. After Kit discovered Type 2 diabetes by studying my bloodwork—my doctor had missed it—she convinced her doctor to take me on. Never have I had such thorough medical attention. Kit’s doctor has prescribed a battery of specialists and investigative tests.  So far, so good. But it feels like the doctors are determined to find something seriously wrong with me. And at age seventy-four, I’ll have to admit that time is on their side.

Kit and I have gotten into the spirit of making the best of the last of our lives.  We found a dentist who has brought our mouths up to code. Our new optometrist quipped, “I see no problems.” We are seeking out every available inoculation, exercising, and have lost weight. I asked for a colonoscopy which has been scheduled. Next we hope to back-off on some of our stress-inducing activities.

“Kit and I have as much energy as a hive of bees,” I sometimes tell people. I’m grateful for that gift and know it won’t last. I’m also grateful for doctors determined to not let my energy be cut short by inattention.

Drew