Being related to the medical field, there is a certain kind of disconnection that comes with knowing more than your average person. I don’t really mean the stuck up kind of disconnection though, I’m talking about how, despite the fact we know how bad some things can be for our body, we still do it anyway. In my line of work, it’s not uncommon for me to see people in the health care profession, people who should know better smoke, or be more than just moderately obese.
Maybe it’s that fatalistic thing we have going for us. We think we know better and as such we delude ourselves into believing we can control it before it’s too late. At the same time, because we’re in a profession where we deal with the loss of human life all the time, we stopped considering what it would be like for us to be on the other side of the bed. We have no fear of our own mortality, we laugh it off as a way to deny any real possibility that we actually are doing more harm to ourselves then the people we examine or treat, at least until it’s too late.
Recently, perhaps it’s the fact that I have begun to realise it’s a norm, or perhaps it’s the fact I’m finding out that there are foods that doesn’t seem to agree with my stomach; perhaps it’s the current monetary problems I’m having, or perhaps it’s the long time vanity of trying to look better, or perhaps it’s that little part of me that’s still human warning me of my own mortality, but I’ve begun to be a little self aware of my own health. Not to the point of sheer paranoia or fanaticism, but at least with the kind of scientific curiosity that has always served me well throughout my years.
So I’m going to try an experiment on myself, to see whether my love of food and my knowledge in medical science can come up with some personal dietary regime that would help me lose a couple of pounds. I don’t expect it to be strict and I do expect to bend the rules every now and again, but if all goes well, it shouldn’t put a bigger dent on my wallet than I already have and with a little luck thinner by the end of it.
Maybe by the end of it, doing this now won’t stop the damages my genes and my lifestyle have done to me so far, but at least I can maybe buy me some precious time later on in life, if not then at least I have the image of going out with people saying how healthy and fit I look rather than wondering how the hell did they fit me into that coffin. Yeah I know, it’s one of those morbid jokes, but like I said, it comes with the job, at least this time,
I want to do something about it.