It seems that the older I get the more I worry about my health. That may sound like a “duh” statement, but bear me out.

I just spent a couple of days recovering from . . . I don’t know what. Something? Anything? Obviously something, but I could not come up with a self-diagnosis. Friday morning I was tired as heck and even had a hard time keeping my eyes open at work for the first few hours, which actually is abnormal. I felt kind of draggy all day, but just before my lunchtime the big boss in the company came to me for some information on a job we were producing as we spoke, and the information would not be available if I didn’t move quickly on it.

I paged the plant supervisor to ask him about the status of the job and he came to my office and told me they were just finishing it now, and if we hurried out to the plant we might be able to catch it in time. Now, he’s younger than I am and in much, much better shape, but as we walked way to the back of the plant I tried to keep up with him. What a laugh. I was practically running, and with these ol’ knees that’s not an easy thing to do. By the time we were eighty percent of the way there I had to start falling back. By the time I got the information I needed and got back to my office, my heart was pounding and I felt a bit lightheaded. Christ, I am out of shape.

The rest of the day I just did not feel well. Not anything definitive, just “off.” Later in the evening I had what I can only describe as a fleeting panic attack, where all of a sudden I felt like the world was going to end and I didn’t know what to do. It passed in only a few moments, but was very disturbing and concern over the episode lingered.

As usual, I went to sleep in my armchair with the television on. I woke up around 3:00 in the morning and reached for the remote control to turn the volume down and a wave of what can best be described as nausea swept over me. Not the kind of nausea that makes you want to puke, but the kind that makes you feel like the blood has drained out of your body. It was very, very weird, and I started wondering if I was having a heart attack.

This is where we get back to my opening statement. When I was a young man, I would have figured that I had a touch of the flu or something, but now that I am older, every little ache and pain that cannot be diagnosed specifically is translated into “Oh, oh, am I having a heart attack?” It’s like I’m just waiting for it to happen, as though I know it will. This should be no surprise, given that my mother dropped dead from a heart attack and my father went through two by-pass operations for his heart.

Every time I feel this way I battle with myself over whether I should go to the emergency room to have myself checked out or if I am really only suffering from something like the flu. I don’t want to delay having it checked out like my mother did and then die because of that decision, but I also don’t want to be an idiot and go have my heart attack diagnosed as indigestion.

The problem is that I just cannot seem to figure out the best way to handle this. Living alone adds to the concern. If I suddenly become unable to call for emergency help there is no one else here to do it for me. That puts the pressure on me to try to diagnose whatever I am feeling ahead of time to hopefully avoid that situation.

Maybe when I really have a heart attack I’ll know for sure, but the information about heart attacks says that not everyone experiences all the symptoms and not necessarily in the same way. This only adds to my indecision when I’m feeling crappy. I only hope that when (and note that I’m not saying “if”) the time comes, I’ll be able to figure it out in enough time to save my life. Of course, fate will play its little joke on me and I’ll be killed in a car accident and all my worrying about a heart attack will be for naught. At least I won’t be able to kick myself for having wasted time worrying.