It's A Sign

As I approach my mid-50's I am reminded of my father and these words of infamy "It's hell to get old". Was he by necessity correct? Essentially, perhaps,  this could apply across the board eventually. I think not having such a hopeless outlook behooves us all. And my shoulder keeps reminding me perhaps I am not taking the best care of myself. Ignoring pain is like ignoring God. Or more like ignoring our very natures. Or maybe the two are so closely intertwined we can ignore the difference. There is a reason. Having watched my dad go eleven years ago due to a stubborn attitude about "medics", it seems prudent to stop dilly-dallying and get the information I need concerning my shoulder.
I am reminded for some reason of the book "Left To Tell" by Immaculee Ilibigiza and her heart-wrenching tale of horror while caught in the middle of the Rwandan genocide. If she could come through all of what she endured with a renewed faith in humanity and a newly-discovered attitude to her Lord, can I not overcome a few genetic strains of displeasure concerning visiting the doc when needed.? Even if it seems ridiculous at the time?  There seems no end to the medical systems' demands upon one, once they've headed into their waiting arms. Many are the well-touted technological advances awaiting the ones lucky enough to partake of them. But in the back of my reptilian mind, perhaps, some cowardly commentator keeps reminding me...what do you call the worst student graduate of the worst medical school on earth? Doctor.
Pessimistic? hmm....