Doctors’ orders

Having quoted George Trevelyan on his two doctors, and applauded Michael Milton on what he’s done with just one, and now regrettably recalling another Michael Milton who lost an appendage (readers of John Irving’s Garp will know what I mean and share my regret), it would make sense to write about the encroaching infirmities of time.

I’m not planning to lose any limbs, or anything else. But aches and pains that didn’t used to be there must now be acknowledged and subdued, before just about every walk. Some mornings are better than others. Fortunately, I can still put them entirely out of mind and beyond the veil of perception within ten or fifteen minutes of purposeful striding.  Like Trevelyan I do credit Drs. Left and Right with the daily cure.

But what if the day comes when I require a referral, and I’m instructed to give it a rest?

Well, I don’t intend to cross that bridge unless I have to. But of course if that day comes I’ll seek another opinion.

My Dad used to say we’d know his time was up, if he ever voluntarily relinquished his car keys. That day eventually came for him, and he handed them over with grace and acceptance. That’ll be my model, if ever I’m credibly urged to hand over my sneakers and sit back down at 7 am.

Meanwhile, I have to get up and go. Doctors’ orders.


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