Racers are truly a tough breed. They’ll pour every spare minute they have into their cars and some even ante up their last dollars to get a set of tires to go racing. I’ve known several racers–male and female–who have raced with a cast on one of their arms. I couldn’t imagine trying to wheel a race car with one arm–let alone in pin. My pain threshold is pretty low; in the negative numbers, really. It is partially for that reason that I have never given birth to a child, and have long hoped to adopt a 30-year-old doctor.

Speaking of doctors, and I hate to stereotype, but men can be the most difficult when it comes to going to one! Slice your finger on a piece of sheet metal—just wrap it with duct tape. We don’t need no stinkin’ stitches! Break a bone? Hobble it off, until your wife MAKES you go to the doctor. Men are notorious refusing to go to the doctor and they wear that stubbornness like a badge of honor.

It took much convincing, but I finally had my husband, Toby booked for a physical. He’s in his mid-50s and has never had a full-blown physical exam. Honestly, as best as I can tell, the last time he’s had a check up of any professional degree was likely well over 30 years ago. That was a visit to remove a chunk of tire rubber from INSIDE of his ear. Don’t ask me how it got in there. Thanks to his aversion to doctors, I have a new role in our relationship: Health Officer and it is my job to haul his butt in when it warrants; only after he puts up a huge fight, of course.

Toby’s been going in a lot of different directions this race season. He’s primarily working with Ty Majeski on his superlate endeavors, which include the ARCA Midwest Tour, the TUNDRA Series, a few special superlate model events, and some action at the La Crosse Fairgrounds Speedway. He also puts some time in on Steve Carlson’s car at La Crosse and a few other racers on occasion. Busy is an understatement this season for him.

At any rate, he recently was at Wisconsin International Raceway for the Red event with Majeski. That afternoon, as he was stooped over the front end working on the car, he suddenly became light headed and had tingling in his left arm, as well as in his jaw. If you are remotely familiar with the basic warnings of a heart attack or stroke, you are probably freaking out reading this, much like I was when he finally told me about it—the FOLLOWING MORNING.

Yes, my husband who gets his medical insight from an imaginary volume entitled “The Book of Toby,” sat across my desk at work and informed me of this incident approximately 18 hours AFTER it occurred—in a rather flip manner, I might add. Obviously, I freaked out and insisted that we head to Urgent Care IMMEDIATELY.

In his infinite wisdom (or at least according to that swell, imaginary book) he informed me that he could just wait until the upcoming physical to get it checked. I actually had to call the Nurse’s Hotline and describe what happened to get her professional proof that we needed to bring him in to be examined. Of course, I was right, so off we went to Urgent Care.

It was at this point that I realized that he was likely more than just a little bit scared and perhaps living in denial. It has only been a matter of a month or so since his good friend, Bruce Mueller succumbed to a heart attack. That hit Toby hard, as Bruce was a very close friend and the pair, along with the team had dinner the night before he passed away. I’m certain Bruce was on his mind as he sat silently in the passenger seat of his truck, while I drove to Urgent Care. He did, however, grumble under his breath when the clinic staff put him in a wheelchair upon our arrival.

As I finished filling out the paperwork, they wheeled him back into a room, specifically for patients with potential heart issues. When I got back there, they already had his shirt off with the EKG monitors stuck on his hairy chest. He appeared to be in pain, so I was glad we were there. The nurse proceeded to ask him various questions, while she typed his responses into the computer.

Suddenly, he leaned to the right and emitted the most enormous blast of flatulence. This is commonplace in our home or at the race shop, but it took me by surprise in the Urgent Care room. It apparently took the nurse by surprise too, as she made a quick exodus. For the first time in a long while, his eyes were twinkling, delighting over clearing the room with his brand of weaponry. I will never fully understand the joy men get out of passing gas and the whole pull-my-finger ritual that they introduce to their offspring at an early age.

The stomach pain was severely overwhelming for him. After several hours of monitoring and a thorough questioning by the doctor on duty, they surmised that he likely has an ulcer. An ulcer?! They prepared a cocktail that was the loveliest shade of pink-purple which he dumped down this gullet, like a 20-year-old doing a shot of Fireball. We were told it was a concoction to coat his stomach and hopefully provide some temporary relief, which it did.

After it became apparent there were no serious heart issues showing, they released him. And like a trout diving back into a creek, he couldn’t get out of the clinic quick enough. My concerns were not quelled, as I knew that having his ticker checked so many hours after the incident was mostly fruitless. And after the effects of that GI cocktail wore off, he was still having abdominal pain. I wasn’t convinced it was just an ulcer.

But the racing never stops. So armed with his Prilosec, he embarked on a three-races-in-three-days jaunt. I was not feeling confident with this schedule, given so many unanswered questions about his health. That Thursday, he and Ty raced at Wausau. It wasn’t with a car that he had prepared and the run wasn’t exactly stellar, so I hoped that it would not be the tone-setter for the rest of the weekend.

I took the next day off work and traveled to Grundy County Speedway for the ARCA Midwest Tour event. Somehow, it felt more reassuring to be at the racetrack with him and at least keep an eye on him in person. This race went much better than Thursday, with Ty setting the fast time and finishing runner-up to Chris Weinkauf—a first time ARCA Midwest Tour winner, so that was pretty cool, even if the hubby’s driver didn’t nab the checkers. It’s funny how a good run in racing can make body aches and pains become less predominant. Toby didn’t complain too much about pain that day, but I could see he wasn’t feeling 100%.

As I headed back to La Crosse, Toby and the team stayed in the Rockford, IL area to sleep before going to Jefferson Speedway the following day for the TUNDRA Superlate event. I tried really hard to not worry about him. I did my thing at La Crosse Speedway, while he was at Jefferson, but the uncertainty about his health still had a stranglehold on my mind. Not in an ocean-waves-lapping-on-the-beach kind of way, but more like the torrential-splash-at-the-bottom-of-the-Log-Ride-at-Six-Flags way. I was having full-blown panic attacks that I tried to hide.

We both made it through the night at our respective tracks. I had the pleasure of watching some fantastic racing, along with some Thunderstox drivers wheeling their machines as if they lost their brains for part of the night. Toby brought home another second-place finish with Ty. I can honestly say I’ve never been happier than when he finally got home after Jefferson, because I knew that IF something should happen, I would be there. The added bonus for peace of mind was that we were now only a few days from the next doctor appointment.

Let me tell you, THAT was a doozy of a doctor appointment too. It was a no-holds-barred information-fest. We were overwhelmed with the results of all of the blood tests that had been done. Toby was deemed pre-diabetic and that was likely a contributor to the tingling arm and jaw. At least that’s the theory, because no one can be completely sure if it was heart-related, low blood-sugar related, or gallstone-passing related. I neglected to tell you that he informed me (in accordance with the “Book of Toby”), that he’s 98% sure he spotted a gallstone in the toilet after one of his “sessions.” I didn’t inquire how he discovered it. I really felt I had far too much information on that particular topic already.

Regardless, he was put on a medicine that we were told acts like a turbo-boost to the insulin that his body already produces. Of course, with a description like that, he was more accepting. This doctor was good. Apparently, he knew to create racing analogies. The doctor also finally made sure that Toby finally got a real physical.

That was fun. I offered to leave the room, but Toby insisted that I stay. It delighted me beyond words, only because it was refreshing for me to know–firsthand–that men have awkward annual check-ups too–despite the absence of stirrups or even a machine that will squash their private parts obscenely flat for imaging. My grandmother always used to say, “Someone always has it worse than you,” so keep that in mind gentlemen, as you lament your annual…or should I say anal…exams? And ladies, you haven’t lived until you’ve exchanged looks with your husband, as he’s bent over the exam table while the doctor is lubricating a gloved finger.

Toby survived it, and I assured him that his “ordeal” was nothing compared to the exams that women must undergo every year. But still, no matter how uncomfortable or embarrassed you think you might be at the very thought of any medical exams or tests; there is NO replacing the ability to detect health problems early. I would much rather endure a few minutes of awkwardness while a doctor rummages around in my nether regions or squashes my C-cups into a pancake, than have to battle for my life because I never took the simple precautionary measure to discover a potential problem, BEFORE it becomes a serious threat.

Honestly, if my “tough guy” can do it—anyone can do it. We all should. You do a tune-up and bolt check on your race car on a regular basis, so it doesn’t fail you on the track. You need to do the same thing with your body, so it doesn’t fail you in life. People are depending upon you—your spouse, your kids, and yes—even your racing community.

On that note, I’m pleased to announce that Toby is now scheduled for his first colonoscopy. I’m planning to celebrate the occasion by baking a cake. Sugar-free, of course, and in a checkerboard design. I’m fancy like that.

Originally published in the Midwest Racing Connection