Note from the doc.

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Something about something.  Blood work included.  Oh, he seems upset.  This doc, the last, the one before that, on to all but the first who thought there was nothing wrong at all, have been saying something about death, and dying, and on and on.  I swear, they need to give these people something for their nerves.  I outlived the one who couldn't find his a... my health issue, with both hands.  I am grateful, as it means that particular quack isn't practicing anymore.

As to the blood work?  I know, it looks bad.  Terrible, in ways.  But it's... pretty much normal.  Not normal back to the last time I had such at the V.A. in SLC, which was three years ago.  Though it was like it, and worse in some ways.  No.  Not even back to when I first went to SLC three or four years before that.  But that is normal to when I first visited the clinic in Ogden.  And may have been the norm in Iowa City before even that, as I roughly recall.  Panic?  Yeah no.

I'll... make an appointment for... what comes after October?  November, right.  I'll chat.  But I'm not taking any stupid medicines, certain types I simply refuse to take.  And I'm not taking anything too pricey.  And I won't take anything with side effects that are too dire.  Why not?  Because, by all medical rights, had they diagnosed me correctly in the first place, then I should have been dead as long ago as my doctor has been practicing medicine and longer than that smarmy chick at the front desk has even been alive.  Is she even married?  Not pretty enough to check, so I haven't.  Too old for a real shot if not.  That's probably her problem.  Thankfully, not mine.

Yeah, look, doc.  Chill.  I'll die, but in my own sweat time.  I shouldn't be here just by medical.  You know that.  Just my heart, which has been bad for thirty years.  But dying three times, at least two of them with the bad heart, and being brought back... isn't that unusual?  And those blood numbers, how long do people really survive with those?  Three, five, ten years, more?  That doesn't even count the time I went down a flood stage class five whitewater run out of the boat, or pulled the trigger with a twelve gauge.  Just... relax.  I can't kill me, my body can't seem to do it, the world doesn't seem like it has when given the chance, just... relax.  I'll be in before long and we will chat.  You can't save me.  Medicine can't save me.  I can't prevent my death.  God will eventually call a final time, or... something like that.  Chill.

Damn kids.  They can't see what is right in front of them.  I won't say I fully understand.  I don't even suggest there is a reason or rhyme, not in certainty.  It just seems as if there is more to it.  If a truth, whether the repairs would happen before, or after, means little.  Perhaps I simply must suffer, and struggle against that, for other reasons.  Or as seculars believe, for no reason.  Or there really might be a purpose, beyond my simple salvation, or penance, or... whatever.  My suffering, in any case, isn't wasted.  It is offered for those in purgatory.  Just... chill.  Have a little faith.