Several years ago I woke up one Monday morning and it felt like someone had painted my right eye shut; only a sliver of light made it through the dark red that now consumed my eyesight. After a much panicked call to my ex-wife Arlene she gathered the kids together, picked me up, and drove me to the hospital.
In the mid-eighties the company I worked for decided they wanted to keep their employees in tip-top condition. With that in mind they built a fitness center right in our building. There were treadmills and free-weights all designed to keep us from dropping dead at our desks. The only caveat was that in order to join the fitness center you had to be fit; each employee had to pass a physical.
I tend not to go to the doctor when something is wrong; I will muscle through the pain until it goes away. Do not mistake this for some strong-stoicism because I will complain every minute that the pain is there. It was this anti-stoicism that landed me in the hospital just a few days before my son Alexander's third birthday.