The Story of Sixes

It's not a terribly long story, but it does play an integral part in my behavior patterns over the past several years.


Everyone in my immediate family is long gone (except for my daughter and granddaughter, of course).

My brother was the first to go. The year was 1966. It was a motorcycle accident. He was 23 years old.

My mother was next. The year was 1976. She was 66 years old.

Dad was next. The year was 1986.


My sister (four and a half years older) and I both DREADED 1996. Which of us would be the next to go? When January 1, 1997 came around we breathed just a humongous sigh of relief. The "curse" (or whatever it had seemed to be) was broken.


Well, Peggy (sister) died at age 66. That left me. I'm now 70 (soon to be 71), and the year 2006 has seen its heyday. What the devil?!?


Since retiring from full-time driving last September, I've had time to go through bunches and bunches of papers and such, and guess what I discovered?? Peggy was only 65 when she died!!!


Ye Gods! Heavens to Betsy! (along with any other of my favorite expressions that you've seen me write over some of my many posts)


Not that I've been living the 'life of Riley' or holding up banks (having some sort of death wish) or anything else of that nature. I must admit, however, that I wasn't optimistically looking forward to much of anything. Not that I was unhappy. I've always been a pretty happy gal. I have a LOT of interests, and am quite content with my own company. But ... looking forward?? ... no. Maintaining the status quo would be a more apt description.


I think that any of you who have read my posts over the last few months have come to know me just a little bit. You know how much I love/like/dislike/hate this or that ... well, at least as much as I have chosen to confide in you.


I really dislike 'managed' health care, but last year I finally came to the conclusion that, as I was probably going to be living a whole lot longer than I had initially thought almost ten years ago (when my sister died), I was simply going to have to try and do something about maintaining and even extending the lifestyle that I currently enjoyed. (Not that it's a whole **** of a lot, mind you, but it's mine, it's familiar, and it's comfortable ... not 'monetary' comfortable, but more like an old couch comfortable, if you know what I mean!)


So, last week I took the bull by the horns and made an appointment to see my 'primary care' physician, a doctor by the name of David Bauer. (I had chosen his name, initially, because it was the only name I could pronounce amongst the listed primary care internists. Is that a sign of the times, or WHAT?)