Age: Fifty-two and
adding up
When I first turned fifty, I became a little paranoid for
the first time in my life. Age had not figured in my life. Never gave it a
thought. It was just a number. What the devil was I to worry about. Blahh… I look good, and feel fine, so what’s
the big issue right…. Wrong!
Months into the 50th birthday, disaster hit. I had a lung and kidney infection.
Both at the same time too … I don’t do things in halves… its
all or nothing.
I had a fever for 4 days running; was delirious and talked
nonsense for a while, according to my nurse-maid husband.
Poor fellow, he tried to take me to the doctor, but I
insisted that I had the flu and that if he pumped me with enough beechams and
anadins, I would get better eventually.
HUH!!
By the fourth morning, my patient and by now, quite frantic
husband could take no more, and disobediently dragged me to the doctors.
Admittedly, by that time, I was too weak to object.
At the doctor’s, I sat up straight and confidently in front
of him and spoke in a calm voice that it was probably some new virus or even my
tonsils. When did I become a doctor you
ask? That I should sit there and tell the qualified medical practitioner what
was wrong with me. Pompous. Yes. That’s
me.
Bless him, the doctor sat there and listened patiently with
a little knowing smile too. ;-s
I call that good bedside manner. His medical school training has paid
off. Good for him.
Besides, I must have fooled the poor doc anyway; as per
usual, when you’re ill at home, you suddenly feel better when you arrive at the
clinic. Sometimes, I think illness is
out to get us you know. Make liars out
of us. At home, you feel like you’re on your last breathe and by the time you
reach the doctor’s surgery, hey presto, you feel better. Then you start to feel wimpy and really
embarrassed for wasting the doctor’s time.
Within minutes, and in mid sentence, something happened; I
was told this (my husband’s words):
“your eyes rolled back into your head exorcist like, and you
flopped sideways on the floor. It was
quick. So quick. The doctor and I both panicked. It was unexpected. You were talking away one
second and gone the next.
The doctor hurried to your limp body and shouted for his
colleague and the nurses. Everyone was
in the doctor’s office in a flash. They
were trying to resuscitate you. Then they tried to put a needle into you for
something or another; but couldn’t find a vein.
They all a go, first one arm then the other arm but no vein. (Maybe I’m
an alien) Concerned, they called for an
ambulance, as they thought you were about to die. That came within minutes and the medics
managed to sort you out and haul you off on the ambulance to the nearest
hospital.”
Wow! Drama!! I was impressed with myself.
I did the Exorcist thing with my eyes rolling backwards… yee
haaa….I managed to create havoc in a doctor’s surgery… darn it though, I wasn’t
awake to see it. Darn. Darn.
Admittedly I did hear voices while I was “out” – don’t know
what they were saying but I felt amused
by the panic around me…. Hee hee ;-) but
apparently I was totally out of it. I
don’t remember collapsing but I do remember hearing voices around me … I guess
I must have been on the floor at that time. And I certainly don’t remember the
hitting floor or what that felt like.
Don’t even remember falling for that matter. Seems to me like I lost some seconds
somewhere.
Do you reckon that I lost time, when my brain stopped
functioning properly? Or maybe when my
senses broke down, as it were. Hmmm….
How cool is that?
Apparently, I was taken to ICU and they did stuff … I don’t
really know what… but whatever it was, after a few hours I was taken to a room
on another ward, as I had stabilized.
In the ward, mostly I remember sleeping … and wanting to go
to the toilet at some point … I had to struggle to get out of bed to get to the
toilet … seemed to take forever … and I still hadn’t managed to even move from
the bed; then a nurse came in and took me … I didn’t call for a nurse, she just
magically turned up … which is good … I needed the help, I must say.
The rest is boring … its mainly recovering stuff and taking
lots of tablets of sorts … I had to stay in hospital for 4/5 days … I guess
they needed to make sure I was ok before releasing me back into civilization.
Talk about hitting my 50s decade with a bang… didn’t I do
that with style eh ;-)
Since then, it’s been downhill all the way. I’ve been well all my life then I hit the 50
number and bang! It all goes to pot.
What?? What?? Why aren’t we warned about this ?
Don’t know when but at some point or another, my middle
finger, you know the biggest fattest finger on your hand, that one, it has
started to ache on my left hand. What?
Is this ? Rheumatism? Arthritis? No! bloody way. I kid myself, it’s just a little ache, I
probably twisted it somehow. I wasn’t
totally convinced by my own excuses
really, but…
Anyway, then the back starts to play up if you do something
unnatural, not that I am in the habit of doing anything unnatural mind you. And sometime later, after working non-stop
for 10 hours and climbing stairs etc… my knee starts to act up. So I do what
any normal person would do … I take it easy for a day … making sure it’s a
Sunday of course. But by Monday, it,
being the knee still niggles. And this
perseveres for months and months. And
it’s a mystery why and what made it hurt in the first place. Doctors are mystified, after having done
blood tests, x-rays and checks. I’m the
new mystery … hahahahahaaaa
OH and lets not forget the weight … once you reach 50 and
are a sedentary type like me; although I
prefer desk bound, which is more true in my case; you suddenly find that you are no longer a cuddly
size 14/16 but have somehow ballooned to a size 18/20 almost over night. But unlike a balloon, you don’t bounce gently
but you ploink around heavily … more like a concrete block.
But lets be honest, after 16 hours exercising my brain
cells, the body does quite feel motivated to aught else really. Some image conscious 50something health freak
may want to go to the gym or run 10 miles, not me though, I’m easy to please, I
would rather lay on the sofa and exercise my fingers on the remote
control. Hey, thinking is hard work you
know.
Seriously, you have no idea how you got to this size
either. You haven’t changed your eating
habits nor have you increased or decreased your physical activity in any
significant measurable way that is. So
it must be the genes. Yes, it has to be
the genes. You search for evidence from your family history.
Ahhaaa … GRANDMA, she was short and fat … very fat in
fact. And then there’s the mother –in –
law, she was huge. Oh, hang on, I don’t
have her genes.
Ok. Let’s try again.
Ahhaahh, mother, she has thunder
thighs and a floppy paunch too. Dad? No,
he had skinny legs. But grandma, yes,
yes, I have grandma’s genes. It’s her
fault. She gave me the FAT Gene. There you go, one problem solved. At least we know where the fat gene came from
now.
All kinds of other things sneakily creep up on you, a little at a time, so you don’t notice
it. You discover little anomalies, like
that bloating double chin, and the disappearance of the line that used to be
the divide between your face and your neck.
You used to have definition between the two areas. But no longer. Its now a republic.
And the sunken dark circles under your eyes, which no amount
of cream or foundation can erase or conceal.
I am now cousin to a giant panda.
Or the deep deep deep
lines that circumvent either side of your face from the nose to the
mouth. Seems to me that as you get older, you cheeks get heavy and start to
sag. I used to have a slim face and now I have a swollen face with deep gorges
to separate my nose from my cheeks. Down
with segregation!
And the boobs! That’s a whole chapter on its own. They are getting bigger but flatter somehow,
and they definitely hang like a cow’s udders.
One word description: SLOPPY
And how come I have a
beer belly that starts immediately beneath my boobs, when I don’t even
drink beer, ever! That’s not fair – not
fair I tell you.
Talk about boobs… well my boobs anyway, don’t know what
yours are like. Mine have never ever met. Yes, you read that right. They don’t
know each other. Even when I wear a bra,
they still cant see each other. They are
strangers to each other. Why? Well, One
boob points to the left, and the other to the right. So how can they possibly know that the other
exists eh. Cleavage??? What’s that?
Never Ever had one. Talk about
having a valley with two mountains on either side … huh! … I have only ever had
a landing strip bigger than 2 airport runways running side by side with no
mountains in sight. My mountains may as
well be in another country. Push up bras
don’t help either, the bra pushes up the boobs, but they still don’t meet. So no, I have never had sexy boobs. Men, even when I was younger were not
attracted to my boobs.
My arms know my boobs well, they keep bumping into them.
My boobs and my belly are the same size: 38D except that my belly is more generously
spread around.
Thank goodness, after a certain age, boobs cease to be
sexy. If you’re fifty and don’t have any
wrinkles on your chest, then consider yourself lucky. It could be worst. I will say no more on that subject.
Then there’s the water retention, the wind (not the gentle breeze that blows through
your hair type either) and the constant indigestion (the type that makes the
most horrendous sounds that makes everyone turn to glare at you).
The body begins to malfunction – slowly but surely. Oh yessirree.
And its always a surprise to you. You never seem to anticipate it. One day you’re cute and the next, you’re old.
HUH??? When did that happen???
If I was a car, I
would be thinking about getting a newer model by now and selling this
one off to the scrap merchant.
You begin a journey of many little discoveries about your
body that you never knew before. You
also realize a few home truths about your grandparents that you were mystified
about when you were younger, like how come grandma had a moustache, and why
grandma and grandpa had so much wind.
And why they always belched so much.
Why they always talked about constitution and eating of greens. And why
they always rubbed their knees obsessively.
I can now appreciate why they always talked about their
lives when they were younger. Methinks
perhaps they miss having younger bodies and the agility and health that came
with being younger.
Now I understand, why it was so difficult for grandma to
bend down. Her big belly blocked the way, preventing her from bending further
down.
Also, I think I understand why my father used to grab hold
of his paunch and shake it like it was an alien baby. I guess he was trying to shake it off
somehow.
And now I really see where my mother-in-law was coming from
when she said that “as ye get older, big breasts are a mighty nuisance” and
“what would I be without my corset”. A
square blob. She was a wise woman
indeed.
Saying all this, you may think I don’t like being older, but
I do, I actually do enjoy being older!
Yes, I know that sounds weird.
But think about it, I can change my lifestyle and get slimmer, eat
better to control the downward slide of ill health, and do lots of good things
to feel generally better.
So I can overcome some of the physical minuses of old age,
though not the wrinkles, or dark circles, but that does not matter really,
there is always good make up out there.
You know what the best part of being older is?
This is my list :
- It’s being able to walk
slower than the rest of the crowd and really see what’s around you,
especially when you’re on a zebra crossing, and the driver is in a
hurry. Or on a pedestrian crossing
and the lights have changed. Go on
I dare you to drive into me.
- Its being able to look at
a teenager pathetically until they give up your chair for you on the bus
or train
- Its being able to mutter
to yourself in public and no one would think of it as being odd
- Its being able to chat up
hot young men/women and they think you’re a friendly old person, and chat
back to you and even volunteer to carry things for you
- Its being loudly
opinionated in public, and everyone gently tolerating your “accusations”
because no one wants to hit an old person in the mouth
- Its being able to fart in
public and not feel embarrassed – your logic is that it is a natural
biological function afterall. You
spent years of your life holding in your wind, its now time to be
loud. Who cares?
- Its being able to pretend
to forget people’s names – just because you didn’t like them and blame it
on your age “ooo I’m sorry my dear, but my memory isn’t what it used to
be” – whilst in your deepest mind, you’re thinking “biatch”
- Its being able to sit with
your legs apart at last, even if you are wearing a skirt … sod it … who’s
looking anyway… your older age is your license to forgiveness and
tolerance.
- Its having the freedom to
talk loudly in public just for the heck of it, and blame it on your
hearing or lack thereof.
- Its having the luxury of
sitting back while your children, your grandchildren or anyone else’s
grandchildren (I’m not fussy) fuss around you and serve you with tea and
biscuits… oh yeah… that’s my favourite
- It’s the sweetness of
being able to talk for hours without interruption, because our young
people have been programmed to respect and listen to their elders … for a
change we get to talk and talk and talk and talk to our hearts content and
not be asked to shut up or be called talkative or self absorbing … yup I
like that
- It’s the fact that I don’t
need to colour my hair anymore because now my face and body have caught
up. My hair decided to age first
and before its time too.
- It’s being taken out by
younger family members to dinner and not having to pay for your share … oh
yah…
- It’s the fact that you
don’t need to follow fashion anymore because half your wardrobe is already
back in fashion anyway
- It’s the smug feeling that
you get when you look at young lovers and think to yourself – “just you
wait”
- It’s the gratitude you
feel when you return a child to its mum when you have made it hyper, knowing
full well that it will take the mother an hour to calm her child down
again
- It’s the almost evil tinge
of contentment that you feel when you see your most hated enemy get as old
as you but her wrinkles are deeper and her neck multi- ringed and dry as a
raisin past its expiry date. Old
age catches up with everyone…. Snigger snigger …
- Its having the
lusciousness feeling of knowing that you have been there, done that and
still survived it all … to tell the
tale and bore the hell out of everyone with your stories. Are you bored yet? Hahahahahahahahaaaaaa
