I was pinched and pricked in back-to-back doctor appointments last week. Now all the test results are in: culture showed no bacterial or viral infection as the cause for the outbreak on my face a couple of weeks back; mammogram showed no apparent presence of breast cancer; blood work showed liver enzymes are in normal range since I didn’t party hard the night before the test; and my potassium levels are finally normal again! I should feel relieved, right?
I would go out and celebrate, but I can’t help feeling a bit out of sorts about all of these tests doctors love to do every single time I show up for an appointment. I suppose I could refuse, but somehow I’m usually just as eager to see the results of a test that proves that I am indeed healthy. I know it’s crazy, but it’s the truth.
Lately, I’ve been reflecting on how much effort I’ve put into making healthy choices over the years. It began when I was 22 years old, and that was a long time ago. I even called Lillie, my Grandmother, for a chat. I told her about how I feel as if every time I go to a doctor, something new is supposedly wrong with me. She said it was good that I’d tried to make wise decisions about my health, but that I needed to remember prayer. She said I needed to remember that God makes the difference in the end. I couldn’t argue with that. Message received.
Wondering how healthy I am or not inevitably led back to my decision to use cleaner personal care products. My diet is already as clean as I plan to make it at this point in my life: most of my meals are 100% vegan. I’m just not willing to give up anything else. I exercise a minimum of three times a week, except in a few cases, and I’m satisfied with this for now. Cleaning up my personal care products seems natural. I did it in my 20s. I think I can do it again without making it a big deal. It just makes sense. I try to stick with natural, organic products anyway. How hard can this be?