2015: The Rearview Mirror

“Hello, Mark isn’t it. Please, take a seat.”

“Thank you.”

“How can I help?”

I told him about my ailment; he didn’t seem quite in the room. His gaze was slightly beyond me, not quite focussed on my face. It’s ok: nothing to worry about, just take these and all will be fine. He’s looking at me, or rather past me still, oddly.

“Do you mind if I ask you something; your parents, are they both alive?”

“My mum…but not my father.”

“May I ask how he died?”

“Heart attack.”

“I’m so sorry…and how old?”

‘Not quite 65.”

“And your mother’s parents reached a fair age?”

“Well, actually her mum died in her mid 60s...”

“Of…?”

“A stroke.”

“And your grandfather?”

“Mid 60s….”

“Of…?”

“A heart attack.”

“I knew it.”

His hands almost clapped together in self-congratulation, him softening the last few inches like a closing kitchen drawer, remembering that there was another interested party in the room.

“Knew what?”

“Well…”

Maybe I have something serious after all.

“It’s your earlobes.”

“My earlobes…?”

“Sorry, I mean, well, it’s like this. I studied early onset heart disease when qualifying and one of the many common traits with those genetically predisposed to early onset heart disease is creased earlobes.”

“Really?”

“Really. Yours are perfect in that regard, they really are quite textbook.”

“In…that…they show I’m likely to suffer from early onset heart disease?”

His glee softened another notch.

“Well, yes and no. Not necessarily. It is confirming what we already know from your father’s sad early demise, that there maybe a predisposition, but you don’t smoke and are not overweight…” (I involuntarily pulled my stomach in) “…and you are reasonably active, are you?”

“It varies…”

“I would suggest you get your heart rate up and properly pumping a good few times a week for extended periods. Run, the gym, whatever makes you feel good.”

They all make me feel bad, I thought.

“It’s better to know so that you have the choice to act, to up your chances of avoiding it. Whatever the genetics, they can be counterbalanced - and then some - with lifestyle and diet.”

I sat in the car and felt my earlobes. I couldn’t feel the almost vertical line that canyoned both, but the rearview mirror confirmed that it wasn’t his glasses that needed cleaning: there they were.

I didn’t know what was worse, knowing what I already knew - if the old man could go early, so might I - or that I was supposed to throw myself at the gym or running, both of which held only the ache of tedium. Along with all the delights any father can pass on, old bugger had infected even my most active organ - the one supposed to hold my love and affection - with the promise of a limited lifespan. I felt like one of the replicants in Bladerunner; a human-like robot with built in obsolescence, just in case it should get too clever for its creator.