Jane Fishman: Sunning Days Are Over

Jane Fishman: Sunning days are over

It was a simple compliment, nothing more, a mere observation. I had just come back from a weekend at Ossabaw Island. I was relaxed, peaceful and happy after my simple commune with a hog named Paul Mitchell, several dreamy-eyed mules, some industrious armadillo, a star-filled sky, the occasional painted bunting and a sharp and relaxed Sandy West, who, at 97 is the island's longest and best-known resident.

"You look brown as a berry," my friend said.

"That's not what I was after," I answered without skipping a beat, a little defensive. "I really try to stay out of the rays. Those days of sunning are over, but the damage is probably already done."

She caught my drift.

"Everyone's so worried about health these days."

Isn't that the truth?

No matter our age, our bank account, our general condition, both current and past, when it comes to health most everyone I know is somewhere between anxious and concerned.

If we're walking for exercise we're worried we're not walking fast enough, far enough or often enough. If we're swimming we're concerned about the chlorine and what kind of effect it's leaving.

What, you still go to the gym? Haven't you heard about all the skin infections you can get? They're "spreading like wildfire," according to a recent article in The New York Times. Shower with anti-bacterial soap. Bring your own floor mat. Wash your hands after using the equipment.

What about shoveling compost? That counts for exercise, right? So does hanging clothes on an outdoor line. Good upper-arm exercise.

Doing push-ups are the best, someone once told me, because when you get old and fall you are strong enough to catch yourself without breaking a hip. I guess breaking a wrist isn't as serious.

Preparing to go to a doctor's office is the worst. One bit of advice: Don't go to your appointment reading an article about end-of-life decisions, the way I did recently.

It was one of those long New Yorker stories where there was not a particularly happy ending. By the time I went for my appointment, a general check-up, I had given someone a key to my safe deposit box, obtained a form for my will (which I still haven't done anything about) and lost a night's sleep.

It didn't help that I had just finished reading Bruce Feiler's "The Council of Dads," a wonderful account of what Bruce decided to do after learning he had cancer in his leg. One line continues to stick in my mind after Feiler, a very wry man, got the results of a questionable and routine blood test: "It's not like it's cancer or anything."

Speaking of doctors, have you tried to find one lately? I thought I might interview around and see if there was one out there who would suit my needs.

The first two I called - both recommendations from friends - nearly hung up on me when I said the only insurance I had was Medicare. "We're not taking any new Medicare patients right now," both receptionists said. "Don't worry," I said into thin air since both had already hung up. "It's not an emergency. I don't have cancer or anything. But thanks for asking."

When I did see a doctor, he recommended I take a baby aspirin daily to prevent heart attacks or strokes. His father does, he said. And he's healthy. What he didn't tell me was to look for bruises since aspirin is a blood-thinner. I haven't bought any aspirin yet.

I never used to pay any attention to my cholesterol numbers. Now I go over them like they were my SAT results and I was 17, or they were credit scores and I was trying to buy a house.

I've got results from the past 10 years lined up on the dining room table. I'm about to make a graph.

This year I insisted on taking the test twice. I hadn't fasted the first time, I reasoned. I wanted better results. They were pretty much the same the second time around, but in the meantime I did up my oatmeal quotient, the steel-cut oats variety, the expensive type, topped with some bittersweet, robust molasses.

I did start walking more. Even now, after I got my results (all fine), I still go online to see how I can lower them even more.

Then there's the dreaded colonoscopy. Not to worry, I tell younger friends. Whatever drug they use to put you out will leave you blissed out for hours. But now that I'm going in for my second recommended test, I'm nervous again.

Food? Everyone's an expert.

"We drink cranberry juice," I was telling someone in that I'm-smarter-than-you voice. "The pure kind. The $8.99-a-bottle kind. It's good in vodka, too"

"Forget about it," an out-of -town guest said, one-upping me. "Try pomegranate juice. It's an antioxidant and is supposed to lower blood pressure. That's the latest thing. It costs $8.99, too. Oh, and its' also good with vodka."

Don't forget beets. They're a major cancer fighter. Same with purple cabbage. Good cancer-fighting enzymes there, too. And turmeric. Cancer-fighting and anti-inflammatory as well. Double duty. Two for the price of one.

There is no end to advice - and to worry. Take sardines. They're high in omega-3, low in mercury but high in PCBs and so squiggly. Yuck. Water? You can't, it seems, drink enough. Just be close to a bathroom.

Whew. I think it's time for a break. Think I'll try some of these new beet and sweet potato chips. With a tall glass of water. But no sun-bathing. Those days are over.