Regular readers of this space know I am probably a health disaster waiting to happen. I lost track of the number of surgeries over the year, but it is 40 something, covering just about every external and internal inch.

I will be 75 on January 2nd and, according to national statistics, I have about .6% of time left.

On the plus side I have lived longer on this planet than my father (65) and my older brother (74).

Due to various metal supports in my body, I set off  security alarms at airports and deal with grouchy TSA agents for every flight.

I do not have any tatoos, but strings of stitches I am willing to show off, even those in weird places.

I should probably own my own ambulance with the number of rides accumulated over the decades and know the Newark-Wayne surgery group by name. They also know I want Lorna Doone cookies and apple juice upon awakening. They are also tired of my numerous surgery jokes such as asking for comment cards before and after surgery and stating emphatically that I do NOT tip for surgeries. 

I firmly believe I have accumulated enough kidney stones to make a necklace with a couple more already on their way.

Every morning I take a handful of pills and top them off with three more at night. I drink lots of water and other fluids that require hourly bathroom visits, and yes, even during the night.

Every weekend I give myself two shots and every other weekend I poke myself with testosterone to enhance my vitality... Yeah, It doesn’t. I also take a high dose of erectile dysfunction medication and hope for the best.

I suffer too often from hemorrhoids. A  doctor once removing them said he thought I was giving birth.

At age 13. I started a short journey of puberty, but a lifetime described chemical imbalance (??), that eventually led to me becoming an early Prozac kid with two attempts at early suicide.

Not knowing what to do with teens suffering from depression, they finally put me in a group of older people, all in  their 30s+ for talking sessions. Yeah, that fizzled fast.

Most people do not understand the ‘chemical’ imbalance and factors that lead to severe depression. I can always spot someone suffering from depression and I have lost three friends to suicide over my lifetime. From teen years on, I never had many close friends and preferred to be alone.

The happy face and humor many see in me, masks the inside. Thanks to updated and related medications throughout life, along with an understanding Wife Patti, and  am doing very well.  

Oh, by the way, of my dozen or so doctors, I have a Rheumatoid specialist that treats my daily muscle pains that I have pretty much learned to live with.

I cannot imagine what people did in the past when they had a body like mine, but there are others suffering far more than my whiney ass.

Now, for the plus side to all these maladies. Every year I get a break-down of what my medical costs are from my health plans. This year, along with just about everybody else, I will be paying much more on a monthly basis, but I still come out far ahead. My personal health plans paid out over $55,000+ to various doctors, procedures, surgeries and medications. This does not include co-pays, and medication payments of about $2000.  I need to reach my ‘donut hole’  level where the health plan takes over prescription costs. It also does not cover over the over the counter pills and heat and cold wraps required for movement.  Still, overall, I am a winner and join throngs of others and probably the reason why your health plans cost what they do.

Imagine for a moment the folks out there who do not have, or cannot afford my level of care.

I fear donating my body to science will be rejected and  I picture my body handlers probably wearing masks while flame throwing my remains.

At almost 75 I have a relatively good life and understanding family. I have a job I love and an understanding and  empathy for those who suffer both mentally and physically. Basically, it has shaped who I am today.