Thursday, August 17, 2017

so this is what it's come to?


Aging. Until you’ve reached your 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s or 90s, you think you get it: Getting older will be challenging and somewhat/sometimes difficult. But, truly, you have to reach those ages to understand. To totally and completely comprehend what’s happening. What’s involved.

I can remember, when I was a teenager in high school, thinking that 30 was going to be old. THIRTY. Oh, Lawdy. Sheesh.

40? I didn’t hate it. However, two months after I turned 40? I was diagnosed with breast cancer and had to have a modified radical mastectomy of my left breast. Chemo. Three implant surgeries. (I then had two more implant surgeries over the next 12 years. I’m fairly certain I’ve needed a newer-model-fourth permanent implant for at least seven or eight years. I cannot bring myself to go down that road.) Therefore, 40 ended up being a BIG stumbling block.

When I turned 50? I said to myself: Geez, Self, this aging thing is getting REAL. Really scary. Really annoying.  

(All the while I’m aging, My Sweet Hubby—MSH—is, too. He’s ten years older than moi. He’s been willing and able to prepare me—somewhat—for each new decade I’ve reached. Although he can be fairly negative about it all...)

60? Again...with much greater emphasis..SHEESH. That one hit me. SIXTY. Yikes. Two months later? MSH=SEVENTY. Double Yikes.

Now I’m 63. I’ve lost 33 pounds in the past 6 ½ months. I’m getting healthier than I’ve been in years. Maybe than I’ve been all my life? I’m walking better than I have in at least five years. I’m dealing with/accepting wrinkles. Aches. Pains. Saggy things. Etc.

So yesterday morning, I went to town to my GP’s office for my annual bloodwork. I’d seen her for my actual checkup last week. She was PROUD of my weight loss. Anxious, like me, to see what my numbers are going to be—specifically my cholesterol levels. (They’ve been deteriorating for the past five years. She hasn’t put me on meds yet. For which I’m grateful.) I’ve been prepared, however, each year, for her to say: “Sorry, ELC. It’s time for more pills.” (I currently only take ONE prescription medication! Now, listen up, Kiddos: That ain’t bad for someone of my years.

I fasted after midnight Tuesday. Skipped my Diet Dew and Premier Protein Shake. Became surprised how NOT HUNGRY I actually was—at 8:15 a.m. The nurse took one vial and I went on my merry way.

Also, yesterday was the first day of the new public school year in our hometown. I needed to drop some clothes at our Cleaners and chose to drive down the street where the high school and “intermediate” school is located. Intermediate was 4th, 5th and 6th grades when TLC was a student there. I’m not sure if it is still those grades—since she’s our youngest and we’ve had no grandchildren that have lived or grown up in our town.

I felt…hmmm…melancholy. A bit teary. I could remember so very much about TLC’s school years. From literally FOUR years of pre-school to kindergarten through to 12th grade. Teachers. Friends. Bad stuff. Good stuff. Then I thought about our two oldest grandchildren who are headed to college. Our five others at different “school” stages in their sweet lives. Our third oldest grandchild will be in 8th grade. The next? 3rd grade. The next? 1st grade. Little Leighton (aka LL aka Biscuit) will be starting kindergarten at a church school next week—but TLC plans to hold her back one more year. (Not sure when Biscuit will understand this decision. Hoping it won’t upset her—down the line—when she realizes she’s technically a year behind.) Baby Elle (aka Belle)? A year away from beginning pre-school. We’ll all blink and that time will be here. We’ll blink again and she’ll be graduating from high school!

This aging Grammy? Sad. Happy! Fearful. EXCITED! Praying MSH and I continue to be strong and healthy enough to actually participate in our grandchildren’s lives! Praying we have MANY MORE years on this cRaZy, and, frankly, too-often frightening, Earth!

Now one of my 63-year-old REALITIES:

It's happened. I have to have help shaving my legs. (Not all of each leg. 95% of them.) I kid y’all not. This is NOT an easy thing for me to admit. (TLC will be mortified when she reads this. It is what it is, TLC. You’ve known most of your life I’m not afraid to talk about lots of subjects!) I simply cannot move my body, back, neck, hips, legs, and arms sufficiently “around” to get my ankles shaved. Not without cutting myself. Which I did three times last week.

So here’s My Solution:

MSH simply has to assist me. Last Thursday was his first day. I wasn’t thrilled about asking him. Hey, after over 40 years together? It’s certainly not the worst thing he’s ever had to do for me. Or the worst thing he’s ever seen! (And vice versa.)

Please do me a favor, You Younguns:

Pray he can continue to see WTHeck he’s doing! Because TLC is surely going to try to NOT inherit his obligation if HE starts cutting my ankles.

My BEST wishes to each of you, from My Texas Country Casa, this Terrific Thursday evening! Enjoy every single second you are under the age of 40. Or 50. Or 60. Or 70. Or 80. Or 90. Whatever age seems “OLD” to you! ‘kay?

Hugs,

ELC

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