Dang, getting old sucks. It isn't for the faint of heart and it's definitely not for sissies. Can I even say that anymore? Does that offend someone nowadays? Shoot, I'm too old to have to worry about things like that. Haven't we old folks earned the right to say whatever the heck our brains tell our mouths to spew? It may be the only perk we tired oldsters get because everything else sucks.
Don't get me wrong, being retired from working outside the home and being able to spend all the time my grandkids agree to give me is the best.
What isn't the best is what happens to our bodies once we pass the great 5-0. It gets worse when we hit 60+. Oh, it's gradual–at first. A little tweak here, a little twinge there. I find myself making funny noises when I get up out of my chair. Sudden movements make me pee a little.
Sometimes David and I sound like we're auditioning for the "The One and Only Genuine Original Old Fogey's Band," what with all the groans and grunts we make. Our grandkids find it quite amusing listening to our cacophony of sounds. Our theme song is "Snap, Crackle, Pop; Old Bones Are Crispy."
I've found myself muttering, for no apparent reason, "Oh, Lord," as I shuffle into the kitchen. There I will stand for a couple of minutes while my feeble brain wonders why in the heck am I standing in the kitchen, staring at the refrigerator? Then I remember; I was heading for the bathroom but apparently my brain translated that to mean, "I need a snack!"
Now that my colonoscopy is out of the way, the next appointment I need to line up is a hearing test. I've always prided myself on good eyesight, good hearing, and good bones. Between David and I, when we talk, some days we sound like an Abbott and Costello skit. We spend a great deal of the day shouting, "Huh?"
As bad as I hate to admit it, I'm going to be forced to schedule an appointment with an ophthalmologist for the dreaded (to me anyway) cataract surgery–the other old people's right of passage. My ophthalmologist claims he can make me see 20/20 if I'll just break down and have the dang surgery but I don't wanna for three reasons. (1) It would be an admission that I'm really, really old, (2) What if something goes wrong and I see worse than I do now? Or not at all, and (3) See number (1).
My husband had his cataract surgery years apart but I don't think I'll wait quite that long in between. I have always been afraid to get my eyes 'done'. Right now, I can see close up and David is farsighted. Between the two of us, we make a good team. I can read the fine print and he can drive at night.
Our 50-lb. Cocker Spaniel is as eyesight-impaired as I am so we tend to run into each other–a lot. More than once I've accused her of purposely trying to trip me and do me in so she can have 'daddy' all to herself. If I break my neck, blame Molly.
I don't think I'll be able to avoid it much longer. I've gotten to the point where I'm having a lot of trouble seeing the small print on the large living room television, and I can forget reading anything on our little bitty television in the bedroom. It's getting so bad that there are times I have no idea what show I've selected until the theme song comes on and sometimes even that doesn't give me a clue. The upside is I'm now very familiar with the opening theme song of our youngest grandson's favorite show we've recorded dozens of times–'Paw Patrol'. (Paw Patrol, Paw Patrol, We'll be there on the double!) Grandkids keep my mind young. Too bad it doesn't work on my body.
But I digress, as usual.
To let you know how bad my eyes have gotten, I have to have the font on my computer set to something like 10,000x just to see what I'm typing. The newspaper resets it to 12.
I have discovered a new mantra–"Grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked, the good fortune to run into the ones I do, and the eyesight to tell the difference." (author unknown)
If I'm having amnesia, dementia, and deja vu, all at the same time, how will I know? (author unknown)
The moral of this column is never go to any doctor after the age of 60. They will ALWAYS find something that needs removed, tightened, or lifted using the most invasive methods possible.