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!
