After three months, I’m back for a blood and urine test to see if I should continue my anticholesterol medication. Fair enough. My husband and take a cab in an early morning drizzle and are quickly there.

Thanks to my senior privilege, no sooner have I gotten a number for my turn when the number appears on the monitor directing me to counter 15. The girl behind the counter asks, “Have you ever fallen?” “Do you ever get dizzy spells?” “Can you walk unaided?”

As I answer each question, I begin to feel truly thankful and confident my tests will confirm I’m indeed in good health—until I weigh myself: 140!

I made conscious efforts to eat smartly on our cruise in June; dieting on board was hardly possible. I thought those land tours would somehow offset those worthwhile calories. Worse, those 15,000 steps I took daily, give or take a few hundred, proved too much for my left Achilles tendon. Even before the trip, on a 6,000-step regimen, I had already felt some discomfort in my left foot, especially when I w as wearing flat shoes and climbing down.

Looked at when I got back, my condition was diagnosed as tendinitis. I had to stop walking altogether. After six sessions of physical therapy in the hospital and nightly cold-compress application and foot exercises at home, I felt better. But walking still had to be limited and done on proper, specifically high-arch-insoled, sneakers.

But how could I weigh 140, and on a 12-hour fast?

Personal

Distracted, I almost forget to submit my urine specimen in my handbag, and someone offers to bring it to counter 3, but I insist on bringing it myself, feeling queasy about letting someone else handle something so personal and still warm.

Back in the cubicle, I look my potential torturer in the eye and ask, “Are you a sharpshooter? I don’t want any novato intern practicing on me!”

“Oo naman, ma’am!” she says confidently. And she’s good: one prick, no black-and-blue traces of torture, and I’m quickly out of there, and off with my husband to claim our traditional reward—breakfast at Pancake House.

He has his usual waffles with country sausages. I remember my late Tita Ning, whose family used to own the franchise. When she saw the waffles on her plate, she lifted it with two fingers and said, “These are not waffles, these are wafers!” Maybe that’s why I order the fluffy buttermilk pancakes with crispy bacon.

Somehow everything tastes better after a blood test.

In six hours the results are in. My sugar is slightly higher than in the last test—still pre-diabetic. My good cholesterol numbers are up but the bad are not that much fewer. The ratio, in any case, is better—must be the medication. My urine is clear, bacteria-free.

Health is wealth, and as seniors we know it more than anyone else. Just as important as, or perhaps even more important than, physical health is mental health.

Vergel and I like to confront problems together and try to avoid stress as much as possible by learning how to relax and include fun and entertainment in our lives. Still, stress does pop up; I guess it’s part of life.

Adrenaline

To keep our adrenaline going, we keep abreast of events. We like to talk politics in intimate company and join street marches whenever we can. We naturally prefer the company of friends and comrades, new and old, who share our values and aspirations. But political differences don’t get in the way of health matters. We are quick to share tested cures and miracle formulas.

The latest formula for Alzheimer’s prevention comes from a 94-year-old lady obstetrician who still practices and walks her hospital rounds unaided. The main ingredient is virgin coconut oil, ingested, gargled for loose teeth, rubbed on scalp for falling hair, massaged for smooth skin, etc. It comes in the nick of time for me.

Last Sunday, I forgot my handbag on a hook in a public toilet at the mall. It’s a situation my pragmatic husband has seen before, and he suggests I don’t bring a bag anymore. Well, not before I’ve tried the coconut-oil cocktail.

My husband and I accommodate each other’s sleeping habits. We have no TV in our bedroom. We read alone or to each other, and sometimes we sleep later than we’d like, listening to our favorite artists on YouTube. If he has to read on and on, I wear a Lone Ranger mask without the eye slits.

Our appreciation of art and music and our passion for excellent writing are sharper. Lately we have discovered the joy of traveling. It has widened our perspective on life and the world. We see more than there is, we have a new appreciation of ordinary things.

But we had to grow old to get here.