My friend Dave has a spreadsheet for everything. Fantasy football stats going back to 2014. Mortgage refinancing scenarios. He spent four months researching ergonomic chairs, joining three subreddits dedicated to the science of sitting.

Dave hasn’t seen a doctor since Obama’s first term. His diet? “Whatever’s closest to the microwave.”

Dave is all of us. And that should terrify us.

The Math Doesn’t Math

The average American spends 15 hours researching a car purchase, a depreciating asset they’ll trade in within six years.

Time spent researching health insurance during open enrollment? Eighteen minutes. Most of that is rage-clicking through password recovery.

We comparison shop for refrigerators like we’re acquiring nuclear secrets. We need the exact BTU output, the humidity-controlled crisper drawer, because God forbid our arugula wilts. Meanwhile, we haven’t looked at what’s happening inside our own chest cavity since that physical we cancelled in 2019 because we had “a thing.”

The thing was nothing. The thing was always nothing.

We are meticulous stewards of appliances and absolutely reckless tenants of our own bodies.

The Retirement Paradox

I know people who rebalance their 401(k) quarterly. They’re preparing, with actuarial precision, for a future in which they will be old.

What they’re not preparing for is the actual condition of being old. They’re funding a retirement they’ll spend in waiting rooms because they decided “stretching is boring” for forty years.

It’s like planning a trip to Paris, booking the hotels, learning the French, while refusing to buy a plane ticket. You’re never getting to the croissants. You’re stuck in Newark because your back gave out at security.

That retirement account means nothing if your body cashes out first.

The Excuse Engine

We know why we avoid this. Scheduling appointments is tedious. Remembering what screenings you need at what age feels like a part-time job. Following up requires executive function we’ve already spent choosing paint swatches.

Our body systems are designed for failure, and we’ve accepted that as normal.

This is exactly the problem Medome was built to solve. Our premise is almost insultingly obvious: what if someone actually helped you stay on top of your health the way you stay on top of your fantasy league? Personalized symptom assessments. Preventive care reminders. Health tracking that doesn’t require you to become your own project manager.

We’ve normalized treating our bodies like a subscription service we forgot to cancel, vaguely aware it exists, definitely not checking the statements.

Medome is the alert that says: check the statements.

The Real Reason

Here’s the uncomfortable truth beneath all the jokes: planning for your health requires admitting you have a long term. That you’re mortal. That the body you’re treating like an invincible meat suit is quietly keeping score.

Retirement accounts are abstract numbers on a screen. Preventive care is a mirror. So we do what humans always do with uncomfortable truths , we make a spreadsheet about something else and hope the silence means everything’s fine.

It usually doesn’t.

The Ending You Already Know

You know what to do. You’ve always known. You’ve probably got a Pinterest board about it somewhere, pinned between home organization hacks and recipes you’ll never make.

But here’s the thing: the only asset that actually appreciates with proper maintenance is the one carrying you to every future you’re so carefully planning. The kitchen gets remodeled. The car gets traded in. The body? That’s the one thing you can’t upgrade, replace, or finance.

You can keep comparing air fryers. You can get to that cardiology referral “eventually.”

Or you can stop waiting for a wake-up call that might come too late.

Medome is ready when you are. The real question is: what are you waiting for?

 www.medome.ai