Mithridates, He Died Old

"There was a king reigned in the East:
There, when kings will sit to feast,
They get their fill before they think
With poisoned meat and poisoned drink.
He gathered all that springs to birth
From the many-venomed earth;
First a little, thence to more,
He sampled all her killing store;
And easy, smiling, seasoned sound,
Sate the king when healths went round.
They put arsenic in his meat
And stared aghast to watch him eat;
They poured strychnine in his cup
And shook to see him drink it up:
They shook, they stared as white's their shirt:
Them it was their poison hurt.
--I tell the tale that I heard told.
Mithridates, he died old."

(The last stanza of "Terence This Is Stupid Stuff" by A.E. Housman)

This poem, like so many other things in my life, was introduced to me by Katherine when she gave me her copy of Sound and Sense to help me prepare for a poetry class.  It is still a little amazing my professors at Regis didn't introduce me to it as well.  I'm sure it would have made all the difference.

In a nutshell, Housman's poem gives us two speakers.  One is the title character who evidently writes downer poems.  The other is his bon vivant friend who asks him why, since he is obviously a good drinker and loves to eat and otherwise enjoy life, he insists on writing such depressing stuff.

Terence answers the guy in the second stanza (sorry I'm sounding like an English teacher) by suggesting that if it's fun and entertainment he's seeking there are better routes than poetry.  Terence himself has led a wild and crazy life as a youth.  He's looked "into the pewter pot/To see the world as the world's not."  And through all the drunken revelry of youth he details, he discovers that when sober the world "was the old world yet,/I was I, my things were wet. . ."  (one of my all time favorite lines of poetry).  Terence learned, as his questioner will no doubt learn, that the world basically sucks and the wise path is to prepare for it.  Thus the parable of Mithridates.

Let me explain.  You have to understand that I am a major worrier.  My worrying will probably end up being the most significant legacy I leave my three children.  Whenever I return home after some absence long like a vacation or short like a trip to the store, I can never turn the corner or crest the hill to my neighborhood without looking to see if my house has burned down or exploded in the interim.

If Kathie is late getting home from a day mentoring teachers in Castle Rock or some faraway place like that, I always panic and reconcile myself to the fact that her Infiniti has been hit by a truck somewhere on 85 (or whatever the number of that highway is).  I figure, like Mithridates, it pays to be prepared.

It follows that I would be something of a hypochondriac and I am.  I'm a lot like Yossarian who liked to make lists of diseases so he could worry about them.  My current focus is on Hodgkins Lymphoma.  The week before I was pretty convinced that this mole that is only visible when my hair is short was a sure sign that I had a brain tumor.  When my ears started ringing about a hundred years ago, I was afraid to tell anybody.  I figured if I didn't say anything about it the certain cancerous growth would just go away.

All this brings me to the point.  I had a physical two days ago.  Like always, I had to build up a little courage to make the appointment.  You know, when you're 67 you don't feel as good as you did when you were 30.  At least that's been my experience.  And the thing that's worrisome is that it's probably going to get worse rather than better.  I mean if things keep going at their current rate of decline,  I shudder to think how many times I will have to pee in a night.

Anyway, I made the appointment and showed up.  I was happy to note that Kaiser doesn't charge co-pays for Wellness appointments like physicals.  I sat in an almost deserted waiting room (I don't think Kaiser patients have discovered the office in Ken Caryl) and I didn't even have time to check Facebook before a nice nurse took my vitals and led me to the examination room.  Dr. Arroyo performed all the necessary tests (I'm especially happy to note that they no longer waste your time by giving you those awful prostrate tests) and assured me that I was the picture of health.  Go figure.  I've been paying through the nose for health insurance for almost fifty years and, just my luck, nothing has ever happened to me.

You know that scene in Hannah and Her Sisters where Woody Allen, convinced he has a brain tumor, goes to a doctor, takes all kinds of tests and finally hears that there is nothing wrong with him.  Where at first he slouched into the doctor's office, he now strides out joyfully, a smile on his face with "What a day this has been/What a rare mood I'm in. . ." lilting away in the background?  That was me walking out of Kaiser.  The sun was shining.  The temp was an invigorating 64.  I jumped in the car, put my elbow out the window and cruised home.

The problem is, I had this little cough when I woke up this morning.