I had some crummy news
recently: my left ear failed. My hearing on that side went overnight from clear
as a bell to alluvial mulch. My right ear also lost acuity, but not as much.
Now I am annoying everyone by asking them to repeat things, and to look at me
when they speak.
I
know what you’re saying: I never listened anyway, so what's the loss. And I
deserve that, for writing for a free circulation publication.
But
my malady turns out to be computer-related. Sort of. You see, something shut
off the blood supply to my auditory nerve, and it withered. That something
appears to be Type 2 diabetes, which I did not have at my last checkup six
months ago, but which was caused, I am told, by being overweight. And not
getting enough exercise.
Actually,
the phrase isn't overweight; it's
obese, which I resist. When I look at myself in the mirror, and
suck myself up to my full patriarchal form, I don’t see obese. I see a
fantastic guy with a lifelong love affair with Wheat Thins. And if they can be
called Wheat Thins after what they did to me, I should be able to sidestep obese.
How did it come to pass that my tummy should shut down my hearing? Was anyone aware of this connection?
Until the early 70s I was the proverbial rail. I ran, I frolicked, I burned calories instead of storing them as fat cells in case of future famine.
What happened? I got my first PC, that's what.
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Oh there were other things, like having two children and being
married to an impossibly beautiful woman and buying a house and having the
weight of its mortgage descend on my surprisingly unpadded shoulders, but shut
up, this is about technology.
I wasn't one of those guys who eat while computing, although the
Pepsi Syndrome did claim a couple of keyboards early on. The Diet
Pepsi Syndrome, he added defensively.
No, it was just so fascinating having this machine that could do
whatever I told it to. I loved writing on it, and tracking submissions, and
managing a business. It was my friend even when it was feeble. Then when it
bulked up, and the web and email arrived, I was a goner.
One day -- November 12, 1994 -- I stopped jogging every day. I
blamed it on the cold, and an arthritic knee. But the doughnut trucks kept
rolling. And how I loved those chili cheese burritos at Taco Bell. So
comforting, and so oozy.
It was not an overnight deal. I was not a professional pie-eating
contest entrant. It was that extra drumstick here, a quaff of delicious grain
beverage there. All I gained was a pound a year. But as Polonius says of his
wound when Hamlet stabs him behind the drape: "Tis
not so deep as a well, nor wide as a church door, but mind you tis
enough."
Well, something's as wide as a church
door. But it ain't the wound.
I know not all computer users are flabolas. But a lot are. And I
don’t mean techies, who are all flabolas, let's be honest.
(I remember a "What's My Line" segment when I was a kid,
where a not-thin gentleman signed in, and panelist Bennett Cerf -- whose son would invent the Internet --
guessed right away he was with Univac. Even then the writing was on the
wall.)
No, it's everyone who comes home after work, scarfs down a quick meal,
and retires to the serenity and intrigue of the online world. It's a virtual,
twinkling, incorporeal realm. And it is groovy. But the reality is we continue
to occupy non-virtual bodies, and they, like the dog that brings you the leash
in his teeth, need to move periodically.
How do you know you might have a problem? My doctor put it this
way: If you’re sitting down, and look down, and you can’t see your belt without
punching your stomach down like a batch of bread dough, by George you've got
it.
So I have to lose 30 pounds. They tell me if I do that, the
diabetes will go away, and high blood sugar will no longer destroy blood
vessels which feed vital nerves -- like to my feet, eyes, heart, and brain. The
ear is shot irretrievably, but I can still save all that other neat stuff.
So here I am, your worst nightmare, I'm your mom, sans spatula.
Someone with good advice and a true scary story, learning American Sign
Language online and warning you to stop and think about how you’re living.
I'm telling you to turn off the box, rise up from your swivel,
turn around, and go for a walk outside. That's right, he said cruelly, a brisk
one.
And that sandwich protruding
from your pocket? It's time to set it free. I know it's hard. But fly away,
little bird, fly away.
NEWS FLASH: Three months
later, I have lost 22 pounds, and my blood sugar has dropped below diabetic
range. How? I followed the South Beach Diet … joined Overeaters Anonymous … and
decided I could no longer do it all by myself, and turned the process over to
someone more competent and less compulsive.