Welcome to the age of ‘DOBS’

“This time, I’m telling my doctor exactly how it is.” I promised myself that we would finally work out why I feel so poorly. Here’s how the consultation played out.

Doc led with the standard invitation: “So, Charlie, what’s been happening since our last chat?”

I had rehearsed my spiel to make sure I covered everything.

I started with: “I know my left knee is stuffed but all my joints ache after a day in the garden.

“Even spending time in the workshop fires up muscles I didn’t know I had.”

Minimal response from Doc.

“My ticker’s pretty much given up  on sinus rhythm. I don’t have to overdo  it to trigger an atrial fibrillation episode:  it’ll just do whatever it wants, whenever  it wants.”

Surely this would raise an eyebrow.

“Does it race?” was the Doc’s searching question.

“Not really,” I responded, but how about this: “My eyes get sore and my vision blurs when I’m doing computer work for any length of time.”

“How long?”

“Six to eight hours typically.

“And my lower back locks up after sitting at my desk.”

“After six to eight hours,” Doc echoed.

“When I work on a ladder, I feel somewhat unstable and I’m not confident climbing backwards on descent.”

No response. But this should get a reaction: “I get tired when driving. I have to stop every couple of hours to stretch and rest my eyes, even have a power nap.”

At this point, I expected to see Doc’s fingers dancing across the keyboard requesting pathology tests and scans and preparing a prescription list. Instead, Doc leaned toward me with an engaging gaze and sternly announced: “Charlie, I don’t need to order any tests. It’s clear that you have full-blown DOBS.”

Drawing on my shock to add to the theatre, “I must inform you that DOBS is incurable, irreversible and terminal.”

“Bloody hell!” I wheezed. “So, what  is DOBS?”

A comforting smile came over Doc’s face, accompanying the calm explanation of the acronym: “Date of Birth Syndrome.”

Okay, Doc, that was a pretty harsh way of delivering a reality check, but I needed it.

This was the moment that denial made way for acceptance, with one critical caveat: acceptance does not mean capitulation. I can either succumb to DOBS and refuse to attempt anything that I know will cause pain or I can embrace the situation and use it before I lose it.

When I was 40, I could dig a 10-metre trench in two hours and be sore for two days. Today, it would take me three hours, with soreness for a week. But I can still do it. Recently, I bought a heavy crowbar to break through limestone rubble in 20 stump holes I dug for our deck. Over a period of a week, I went from needing both hands accompanied by Maria Sharapova grunts to picking the thing up in one hand while still kneeling.

A cricket coach once told us, “If pain scares you, you’re in the wrong game.” If I let DOBS scare me, I’d be in the wrong game. I could use it as an excuse to avoid inconvenience and discomfort, but I  choose to go hard and enjoy the glorious pain of achievement.

 Charlie Griffiths is a certified life coach and Neuro Linguistic Programming practitioner at charliegriffithscoaching.com