It’s a Phase

Now in our sixties and seventies, my family, friends and I have entered the Age of Scary Tests. Someone is always scheduled for an EKG, an ultrasound, an MRI. Getting multiple vials of blood drawn for lab work is as routine as going to the grocery store – maybe even more routine than groceries, what with pandemic measures and curbside pickup. It’s not the lab work but waiting for results of the big tests that tries our souls. Which one will reveal the glitch in a heartbeat that will change everything? Which test will require further tests, engendering greater fear? Which will bring a diagnosis requiring treatments, even hospitalization? For decades, medicine meant one annual doctor’s visit and one OB-GYN visit, forgotten immediately until the anniversary date rolled around. Then came annual mammograms, colonoscopies, and now, the rounds of tests seeking answers for various discomforts. “ Consider the alternative,” quips one friend. “Now we have a doctor for every body part,” says another, whose weekly lunch group has to begin with an “organ recital” before they begin to settle the state of the world. It seems as if there’s always another life phase ahead. This is the age of scary tests.