The Body’s Signals

My body is sending messages of its desire to quit working in the way it has in the past. And that is frustrating, scary, puzzling, and disconcerting.

Some days this strange bundle of bones refuses to allow me to stand up to my full height, bending me over so I’m looking through my eyebrows. I don’t remember being able to see through those spikey hairs in the past.

Then if hunched over like a malformed pretzel isn’t surprising enough, my knees seem to make strange noises when I get out of bed, or maybe those sounds are coming from my hips that don’t seem to function like they did just yesterday.

Trying to get dressed is another hazardest act. Why can’t I stand on one leg while I get the other one into my pants? This is not a pretty sight with your bare back pressed against a wall, one arm holding onto the dresser, the other one trying to zero in on the right leg hole, and your spouse is laughing his head off.

I don’t have a spouse, so I don’t hear anyone snickering, but I do know it would be happening if he hadn’t saved himself from living to the age of 80-plus. If he could hear me I would mutter something like, “You coward, you knew what was going to happen if you lived another 20 years.”

Meanwhile, I’m still trying to get clothes on, my teeth brushed, and fix a cup of tea while I attempt to walk in a straight line. My drunken stagger gives the impression I have been imbibing way too early in the day.

Doctors attempt to offer suggestions to improve or halt the aging process, such as take more vitamins, enroll in a Pilates class, or walk eight miles a day. Come now, I’ve heard brownies infused with marijuana is a much better remedy to this getting old thing. I’m not clear whether it improves your health or you just don’t care if your joints sing to you and a permanent outline is left on the wall where you get dressed.

Each age has its challenges, I just didn’t realize turning 82 isn’t the new 40 or 50 or even 60. Darn.