israeli lifestyle
LIVING ON THE FRONT PAGE by Andrea Simantov
andreasimantov@gmail.com
Body Talk
T
he novelist Catherine Aird is probably less noted for her novels than for her pithy barbs, one of which states, “If you can’t be a good example, then you’ll just have to serve as a horrible warning.” Oh, how I yuk-yuked at that one, cutting it out of the paper and hanging it on the door of one particularly recalcitrant and generally uncooperative male child. I was reminded of this recently when, after a few months of feeling generally low energy and listless, I was finally convinced by my savvy husband to get a blood test. This isn’t to say that my regular physician, Quasimodo Birnbaum, wasn’t frequently ordering tests for me as a matter
20 www.SDJewishJournal.com l April 2014
of sound medical practice; I’m a crummy patient and kept losing the prescriptions, forgetting my appointments, postponing and wishing away any routine health care. When I could barely comb my hair last week and only put lipstick on the right side of my mouth, my husband pushed me into the car and drove me to the blood lab. He’d already made an appointment for me with my doctor for the next evening to discuss the results. Well, lo and behold, a full day before the dreaded post-bloodletting appointment, Dr. Quasimodo B. called my office to say that I had a hemoglobin count of 6.7 and needed an
immediate blood transfusion. The words “I told you so” were unnecessary; between the blood tests, electrocardiogram, repetitive questionnaires and beeping machines that guarantee sleepless nights for any Jew in a four-mile radius, I felt duly chastised. However, my husband’s mood became greatly uplifted when he observed me dive under an examination table before a prophylactic rectal exam. Oh, the mirth! The gaiety! The lighthearted fun! Only 24 hours after arriving at the Emergency Room, I was moved to the wards. In the interim I received several liters of life-saving blood, listened to curses in several indigenous Middle Eastern languages and enjoyed an upper endoscopy under superior sedation. Since ending the last fast, I’ve been allowed to eat anything that doesn’t contain fiber. My spirits are still good. My two boys are coming to spend Shabbos with me and I’ll watch them make kiddush over wine, eat egg-andhoney challah and dine on roast chicken and kugel. I’ll be ingesting a sumptuous meal of clear jello, chicken broth and weak tea. Because while other Jews celebrate the departure of the Sabbath with a party called a Melave Malke, I’ll be having a colonoscopy. (I can’t decide if I should wear pearls or not.) On the truly bright side, I’ve discovered that anemia, enemas and jello fasts offer a helpful boost to the Weight Watchers Quick Start Program that I recently joined. I’ve already promised the doctor, the husband, the children and the new boss that once I break out of this joint, I’ll keep my appointments, take the meds, rest when tired and stop trying to personally cure all of the world’s ills. And what am I looking forward to more than anything? Getting on the scale at the next Weight Watchers meeting. A