“According to your MRI results here, you have an incurable condition known as Advanced Haggy-Saggy Bags.”
I’m turning (ahem, cough, sputter, gasp, defibrillator) 49 years old in September. Do you think you’re also getting older? (I hear it’s a thing.) Here’s a few warning signs:
- Bread is too spicy.
- You think Abe Vigoda is sexy. Then when your husband tells you he’s been dead for a few years you yell, “What? Who? Dead? Who died?” Then when he yells, “ABE VIGODA!” you yell, “Heh? I don’t want to go to North Dakota! Are you nuts?”
- Everywhere you go, you have to drag along your lower lumbar pillow or it’s achy ass for days!
- Pinot grigio? Too spicy. And makes your ass ache.
- 9 pm is the ‘witching hour’.
I’ve known for a few soul-sucking years that my youthful days were over. But did I need a trusted physician to confirm this? My brain tells me I’m still 28 so why do I need others to shatter that illusion?
WARNING: Here comes the “oh my aches and pain!” portion of the post–grab the Ben Gay.
I’d been having this gnawing grinding pain in my shoulder for months. Naturally, I did what I do best, pretended it wasn’t there while complaining nonstop to my husband. Eventually, things got so painful, I could barely get dressed or drive my car. The dull pain was constant, all day and night. I barely slept at all.
Finally, I was driving down the road–using my only good arm–when it hit me. I can’t reach out to grab my Big Mac at the drive-thru without shooting pains running down my arm! Why bother living? So off I went to see the doc.
All sorts of diagnoses ran through my head. I could have a pinched nerve…tendonitis…a spinal cyst, maybe a tumor. That would explain why I suddenly blurt out inappropriate things to total strangers standing in line at Target like, “Can you help me hoist this jug o’ wine onto the counter because my friggin’ shoulder hurts so bad I think I have a spinal cyst!”
The doctor asked me about my symptoms and I rambled on and on like some loony old lady. It’s odd isn’t it? You get to a certain age and you say stuff you know damned well the person listening doesn’t care two shits about, but you just babble on and on. You think, oh dear, maybe I shouldn’t launch into that time I had severe diarrhea after eating bread, but oopsy doodle! the words just come flying out and next thing you know the doctor is telling you to shut it and listen up because they’re trying to help you get better for god’s sake so they can make tee time at the Lisinopril Creek Golf Course.
She had me do some lifting exercises, bent my arm every which way and said, “Hmm. Looks like a classic case of rotator cuff injury.”
“Oh! Wow! What caused that? Is it because I type too much at work? Or sit wrong at my desk? Or reached out for that Big Mac? Or is it due to a pinched nerve or some kind of…”
“Oh no, no, no. It’s none of those things. It’s because you…”
The room started spinning. My heart raced. I felt faint. Then her words slurred into slow-motion.
“…are gettttttting ollllllllllllder….”
I immediately thought of this scene from Parks and Recreation. He just found out about his shoulder injury and asked the doctor, “What’s the cure?”
“Get in a time machine and go back to when you were 25.”