aging gracefully | Cabin Mama Humor

I hope never to become one of those people who gets together with friends and does nothing but talk about their ailments. To me, it is the epitome of getting old. With all the things there are to talk about in this world — politics, family, work, books, movies — who needs to be reminded that our bodies are falling apart? I feel like an old log cabin, leaning to one side, propped up by timbers so I don’t fall over.

But yet, I’ve found myself spending more time laboring over personal upkeep than ever before. I’ve actually started a list entitled, “Laurie’s Health” where I itemize all the doctor appointments I’ve gone to, my blood pressure numbers and prescriptions I’ve been on. I know, I know, it’s an obsession!

Just last week I had three appointments. (My social calendar should be so full.)

First came the orthodontist. Yes, yes, I’m sporting a mighty flashy set of braces which I talked about in this article.

And I got bad news. I’m not progressing as quickly as he’d like, so I will have to wear them longer than he had originally planned. (Sigh) On top of that, he replaced my wires with a heavier gauge metal which tightened up my teeth and caused sharp new edges to rub the insides of my mouth raw. So not only did it hurt to bite down on a sandwich, but it caused a searing pain on the inside of my lower lip. Whaaa! Don’t you feel sorry for me yet?

You wait. I’m just getting started.

Then came the skin doctor. She wielded that liquid nitrogen bottle like a machete and froze patches off me in places I can’t see, much less reach. Then she numbed me up and cut off a growth I’d been sporting for months. Being blonde haired (mostly) and blue-eyed has its drawbacks. So I walked out of there feeling like a pin cushion and looking like a giraffe.

A glutton for punishment, I headed to the electrolysis lady on Friday. I have a standing monthly appointment with her because I don’t want to grow old looking like Mrs. McGee in grammar school. She had a chinful of long bristly hairs that made her look like Santa Claus. All the kids made fun of her and I wondered why she didn’t hire someone to pluck them out.

I have this fear I’ll end up in a nursing home where no one will care to keep up with my grooming habits. Coincidentally, my electrolysis lady said that’s the number one reason she hears from women who seek out her services — we all worry about those nursing homes. This is the curse of being mostly German, we are all fuzzy folks.

I’ll spare you the story of what I had done to my toe. That’s taken six weeks to heal. Earlier, I took a tumble coming out of church and tore my meniscus, which eventually earned me a steroid shot in my knee. Then there was the tooth implant that didn’t go well.

Good grief! Now I am one of those people who does nothing but talk about her ailments. Only I’ve been able to do it in writing, which means I can’t be interrupted. (Are you still with me, or did you get up and leave the room?)

Actually, I’m quite thankful I’ve been blessed with good health. There are many who struggle with issues far more serious than my minor complaints.

But I’m holding onto the walker we got for my Mom when she broke her pelvis last year. You just never know when you’re going to need one — at the very least, for a conversation piece!

So here I sit with a mouthful of metal. Two days ago I got braces.

“What?” you ask. “Aren’t you a little old for tinsel teeth?”

“I beg your pardon! One is never too old for a prettier smile.”

But oh the torture! If I had known how painful it would be, I would have thought twice.

As it was, I vacillated on this decision a number of times up until the moment I was sitting in the orthodontist’s chair watching him lean in for the big procedure.

I can still back out of this, I thought. It’s not too late! I can mumble through the contraption they put around my mouth to keep my lips out of the way. (Wish I’d gotten a picture of that!)

“I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to do this!”

But I didn’t say a word. I lay there in that chair and let them put metal brackets on the teeth of both my upper and lower jaw. I was so nerved up my mouth was quivering.

And at first I thought, well this isn’t so bad. But then the doctor had his assistant wind wire through those brackets which tightened things up a bit. Quite a bit.

And I got my first taste of what metal feels like scraping across the inside of your cheek. The assistant said it would take five days for the pain to stop. I’m assuming that’s how long it takes for scar tissue to form around the inside of your mouth.

And eating! What a mess. I’ve been eating only soft foods (and drinking what I can), but it’s still quite a complicated process. I figure the only benefit to all of this, beside a better smile, is maybe I’ll lose some weight. I ponder how hungry I am and whether it’s worth the tooth brushing and water-pik procedure that follows to make me feel human again.

How long must I endure this torture? They said nine months. That’s not as long as some I’m told, but it feels like a decade away. My mom joked, “You could have a baby in that amount of time.”

“No, no Mom, I won’t.” You can bet on that.

But there is some hope. I’m starting to get used to the feel of metal in my mouth. At least I can sleep with it. I’m learning to be careful when I chew, making sure my scraped up cheek is out of the way before I chomp down.

I have taken pleasure flashing my sparkly smile at people who wouldn’t expect to see me in braces. There’s usually a look of surprise and I can almost hear them thinking, “What, at your age?”

But at the end of all this I’ll have teeth that don’t overlap or turn inward. And maybe I’ll throw a party to celebrate the “coming off” process. You’ll see me smiling even more than I used to.

In the meantime, kissing my husband is a whole different adventure. I think he deserves hazard pay!

Find Out Why I’m a Glutton for Punishnent

Aren’t You Too Old for Tinsel Teeth?