I feel a twinge in my shoulder as I slide out of bed. I chalk it up to an old mattress. And then I reconsider. Did I slide out of bed as a kid or jump up?
Each year in my 40s seems to offer up a physical mark of aging, final sale, no returns allowed. Knee pain kicked off the start of this illustrious decade, followed by physical therapy, and consequently my very short-lived running career was curtailed. The following year I recall looking at the thermostat while wearing my contacts and wondering who had shrunk the numerals. That decline seemed to have occurred between getting out of bed in the morning and turning in that night. And then about a year later my core body temperature seemed to drop. I wear scarves for warmth, not style.
Several weeks ago I overhead three women conversing over coffee at church.
Two clutched their canes, as one fumbled in her handbag for a tissue, saying “Oh I know, I have my operation scheduled for next week.”
“The doctor recommended I see a different specialist for my colon.”
“My husband sees Dr. Cohen too.”
“No she said, colon.”
“What did you say Betty? I think my hearing aid isn’t working again.”
The first woman turned to include me in her final remark, “You know the 70s are the best decade and we took them for granted—still healthy enough to travel, plenty of time, few responsibilities. Remember that.”
Focusing on the present is easier said than done.
1 comment :
eh, what's that you said? I can't quite hear you.
Post a Comment