The excitement of aging never ends, does it? That was a rhetorical question. I guess it beats the alternative and makes life an adventure. (I didn't say it was necessarily a good adventure.) Each morning I get to play an exciting round of 'What will hurt today?' as I roll (literally) out of bed. I swear this stuff didn't happen to me until after I turned 65. Is that the magic number when the body says, 'To heck with it, I'm done playing nice?'
As I turned 70 recently, I found simply rising out of bed or my recliner has gotten harder as the days roll by. With all the surgeries I've endured in the last four years, I no longer possess the stomach muscles needed to perform such a mundane task so attempting sit-ups is out now. Not that I could do one before but at least I was delusional enough to think it used to be an option.
I thought I had given up quilting and cake decorating because both activities resulted in my hands hurting. At least I tell myself that's the reason I haven't done either one for a long time.
What happens is my hands seize up like I'm trying out for the part of the wicked witch in a Halloween play. They remind me a little of chicken feet when they curl up like that.
Now my problem is I have developed a condition with my iPhone/remote control thumb. When I grip my television remote control in my right hand and work all the buttons with my thumb, my thumb starts protesting and threatening to seize. Sometimes I can tell it's coming on, not that it makes a difference, but most of the time I'll be performing a simple task, and BOOM! my hand will draw in. It's very painful.
Thankfully, it lasts only a few minutes. If our grandsons are present, they are always quick to offer to grab the mustard and feed me a spoonful. I guess I can think of worse remedies and it's sweet that they care. Or maybe they're just amused by the look on my face when I try to swallow a large spoonful of mustard. They always grab the biggest spoon they can find, the little stinkers.
Now, I find old age creeping up my right arm, anytime I start typing, I can feel the muscles in my upper arm start protesting. Maybe if I'd go sit at my roll-top desk in my office, all proper like, instead of sitting in my recliner, it wouldn't hurt but I can't watch television in there anymore.
Several years ago, when I got on a workout kick, (I plead temporary insanity) I ran out and bought a treadmill and placed in my office, the only place in the house we had room for it. What's that got to do with television you ask? Well, I'll tell ya. When we decided to get our old, familiar satellite company installed in the new house, I had the technician put a receiver in my office. I connected it to my computer monitor the size of a small television so I'd be able to walk away the pounds while I enjoyed my favorite programming. Maybe it's just me, but it never seemed like walking on a treadmill did as much good as walking outside. Maybe it was the fresh air that made the difference.
That giant desktop computer is no longer used, and I gave my treadmill to our daughter-in-law years ago. It had turned into a catch-all and I got tired of having to perform like a contortionist anytime I needed to get into my cabinet holding the envelopes, spare computer paper, and photo paper. I guess the way I had to twist around to reach anything could technically count as aerobic exercise. I'm sure David found it amusing anytime he caught me attempting to retrieve an envelope. Maybe that's why he was always sending me to get one and why I ditched it. I think he might have a mischievous streak in him.
I absolutely refuse to give in to these aches and pains. I prefer to be a Pollyanna. If ignorance is bliss I must be happy, mustn't I?