Hello again. On my way to writing about the pluses of getting older, both my husband and I were knocked over by a bunch of ailments so my days got filled up with doctor appointments, etc. We’ve both had so many blood tests it’s amazing we haven’t needed blood transfusions. We also have been X-rayed, CAT scanned, ultra sounded, scoped and MRId. My husband says Medicare is going to send a hit man after us—we’re skewing the whole system.
We’re both feeling better right now so there’s some time for analyzing the aging process. On the good side, we’re pretty happy most of our days. We’re able to do less and enjoy more. We get a lot of pleasure from our five grandchildren and are lucky they keep in touch with us. We’re fortunate to live in places of natural beauty too. But that old saying, “If you don’t have your health….”
My husband, whose middle name is GOLF, couldn’t play for four weeks this summer. Instead he was having his third bout with pneumonia in a year. Those of you who know Moe, know that almost nothing can keep him from the golf course. It was grim, let me tell you. And the only thing that could stop his cough was hot tea with honey. For three weeks at all hours of the day and night, I was making tea and lacing it with honey—sometimes I added whiskey.
Now here comes a PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT. We’d just changed primary care doctors and weren’t established at the new office so instead of seeing the doctor, we saw his PA. I have nothing against Physician’s Assistants as a whole, but the one we saw was the same one who missed my pneumonia two years before. Unwisely, I decided to trust her this time. She prescribed my husband Levaquin. Now I know it should be used only for infections that cannot be treated with a safer antibiotic. It’s unsafe especially for people over 65. It gave my husband hallucinations, which passed but it’s caused tendon damage, which may not be reversible. It makes it impossible for him to walk very far and it’s affected his golf. He is not a happy camper.
As for me, I’m trying to deal more wisely with my health issues while I help Moe with his. I’m also learning to be less of a perfectionist. Who really cares if our bed is made perfectly? (My mother, yes, but she’s been dead for twenty years.) Who cares if the walls aren’t perfectly painted? (After last year’s flood that wiped out half our house, those walls seem like nothing.) Who cares if the summer is hot and humid or cold and gray? (The seasons pass so fast now that summer was over and fall begun before I even knew it.) Who cares if I’ve gotten kinda chunky? (Well, I do, but I’m working on changing my attitude about that. I can’t fight gravity or aging or genetics. They all win so I need to give up the idea of being thin. That ship sailed.)
One thing I learned this summer is that we elders do need to be more careful about our health. I’ve always been one to push myself past my limit. Can’t do that anymore. And we can’t delude ourselves into thinking that our bodies haven’t aged. The truth is they ain’t what they used to be. I did that, walking four miles a day, and tore my meniscus in the three places in June. I’ve been suffering ever since. I couldn’t walk for two months—and walking is my favorite thing. I had five injections of SynVisc over the summer, which provides artificial synovial fluid in the knee to give some extra cushioning. I’m back to walking two miles a day so my sanity is restored. I’m going to investigate PRP and maybe stem cell therapy—I’ll let you know what happens.
Writing for me is another sanity restorer. I started writing this a month ago and got swept up in the chaos of life—both good and bad. Sitting here at the computer today, I feel I’m regaining my Self. It’s like a reunion.