So I woke up the other morning and I realised something that I have been denying for awhile now. I’m getting old. Sure my hair is turning grey/white faster than I am changing the oil in my car but apparently for men that can be a sexy thing so I am hoping that this sure sign of ‘oldness’ will work for me. Then there is the creaking and the groaning as I lift myself from bed and begin to move around – acting out the part of the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz. However, long ago I accredited that to my past career in the restaurant business, physically destroying my body over all those years.
But I have run out of excuses for this latest onslaught of oldmanititis. With much prodding from my wife I relented and have now filled my vacation next week with medical appointments. I have appointments to deal with my feet and their flatness, which translates into an aggravation of my pinched nerve in my hip, which then transfers to locking up my shoulders, to tensing up my neck until I am contorted into some amazing pretzel attraction for everyone to look at with fear and trembling. “This could be you one day if you don’t take better care of yourself!”
That appointment will end with a few hundred dollars having left my wallet and two pieces of moulded rubber that I have to place in every shoe I wear. I did have a pair of orthopaedics a number of years ago but they were unceremoniously thrown out with the pair of old worn out shoes that they were lining at the time. We shall be more careful this time around…
Then there are my eyes to deal with. I have had to wear glasses for as long as I remember – including taped glasses in quaint nerd style while in highschool because of my clumsiness and my parent’s refusal to cater to said clumsiness. So it is not glasses I have to get used to now – it is the frequency in which I am having to take them off and then put them back on again in order to see – anything. Well, when the dust settles on understanding this dilemma I am sure I will now have to embrace the politically corrected ‘progressive lenses’. Growing up they were always referred to as bi-focals but now that the baby boomers rule the world we have had such ‘old’ language updated to progressive lenses. I’ll take what I can get when it comes to dignity around health issues.
And to that end I wish there was something more politically correct then my third appointment to deal with my umbilical hernia. A large protrusion erupting from where my belly button once lived, now having to wear what can only be described as a man’s girdle in an effort to ‘keep everything inside’ while I wait for surgery to stitch together the apparent hole in my abdomen that is causing said ‘everything’ from wanting to come out instead of staying inside.
So, with the sunshine outside and forecast to stick around next week during my vacation I will instead have the enjoyment of sitting around in several waiting rooms, anxiously listening for my name to be called for the privilege of having people in white jackets holding pens and clipboards confirm what I have been coming to terms with over the last while – I am getting old.