The Middle Ages
I remember, in a bit of a panic in the weeks preceding my fortieth birthday, Googling when exactly middle age begins. To my tremendous relief, the ambiguous answer said somewhere between 40 and 60, With a twenty-year span to play around with, I decided that I was not, in fact, turning middle aged and that I was still in my young, tender prime. And then God laughed.
As my doctor visits have grown more frequent and my ailments more common, I am not so sure that I am outrunning this middle age thing any more (or outrunning much of anything with my bad ankles, let’s face facts). Several weeks ago, my tendinitis in my ankle flared up again without any real cause. I spent two weeks icing, elevating, resting, using essential oils—think of a cure and I tried it—and still, no relief. I went to the orthopedist and he gently explained that I am developing early arthritis due to breaking that ankle a few years back. Still, he assured me, I am “relatively young,” and so we can continue to treat this malady with cortisone shots from time to time without much worry. Relatively young? Gee, thanks.
The shot did its magic and I resumed walking without a limp. So young, so carefree! Not even a week later, after washing and drying my hair, my right hand began to hurt so badly I could barely move my fingers. The next day, it was swollen and even more painful, to the point that I could barely use a pen or hold a coffee cup. A quick check with Dr. Google revealed tendinitis in my hand and wrist. Are you kidding me? From using a blow dryer? I went to my local pharmacy and got myself a very attractive wrist brace and began convalescing my new injury. Relatively young, indeed.
Does this wrist brace make me look middle age? I mean, it doesn’t help.
As I searched for any kind of proof that I’m still in my prime of my life, my beloved, who rarely shows any kind of emotion, came excitedly into the room, clutching an Amazon package. “Lookit! My new socks came today, and they are game changers! They have grips on the bottom!” Um, they sure do. They look like an anklet version of the socks they give you in the hospital, with the sticky bottom to prevent you from accidentally falling and breaking a hip. Nothing says essence of youth like ordering yourself a variety pack of safety socks. I guess at least if I’m getting old, I’m not doing it alone. I’ll have Clint there with me, every sure-footed step of the way, thanks to his stylish-yet-practical new footwear.
There have been some other subtle signs (other than the fistfuls of medications and the splints and braces holding my body together) that I may not be as young as I once was, too. I' have become perpetually cold (I asked Clint Sunday if it was overkill to take my Hand Warmers with me to church). It seems that every single place I go, the music is too dang loud. This includes, but is not limited to: stores, restaurants, bars, and sometimes even stop lights (I’m looking at you, hot rod with the super bass). My favorite time of day has become the moment after my shower, when I get into my pajamas, ease under my heating pad, and sip my chamomile tea while watching some terrible TV for the night. Sure, we would love to meet you for dinner, so long as I can get home for tea time! If our friends are planning to dine later than 6:30, it ruins the game plan for me.
I suppose being middle age isn’t so bad. I mean, besides hating crowds, unkempt lawns, all my medically dictated dietary restrictions, unruly teenage boys’ hair these days, these microscopically short skirts on young girls (Y’ALL!), and the generally terrifying state of the world in which we live, I feel young, wild, and free. As long as I drink my water, get eight to nine hours of noninterrupted sleep (ha!), and don’t do anything to hurt myself like walk the dogs, breathe too deeply, sleep in the wrong position, sneeze violently, or turn my head too fast, I am in pristine condition. But, as my granddaddy used to remind me: getting older sure beats the alternative. Live long and prosper my friends. Just do it quietly and don’t involve me in it after 9:00 p.m.