Friends, nothing says, “You’re old!” like a colonoscopy and a shingles vaccine. Happy holidays to me!
I haven’t actually had either yet, but at my recent wellness check, my PCP said it was time. Apparently, the Cologuard “defecate-in-a-box” test isn’t a great baseline measure and, per Dr. Millennial, “You really don’t want to get shingles.” Geez, why not throw in a complimentary AARP membership and make this a package deal? ‘Tis the season, after all.
But wait, there’s more! How about a new pair of cheaters? That’s right, at my optometrist exam last week, I also learned that the reason I can’t read at night is because I can’t, in reality, see. My eyes have mutinied in the past 12 months and now require a 2.25. Cheers, granny!
And the gifts just keep on coming. I’ve developed tennis elbow in my left arm, even though I’m right-handed and I don’t play tennis (or pickleball, because it’s stupid). Rolling out of bed each morning is potentially a torn hammy in the making. And if I sit too long with my legs folded under me, I can’t get up gracefully, quietly or sometimes, independently. Bah! Humbug!
Look, it’s one thing to feel the annoying aches and pains of aging. I can live with those. Everyone deals with creaky knees and sore backs and, yes, if we’re all honest, occasional incontinence while laughing, sneezing and jogging. But it’s quite another to have a relative stranger, albeit a licensed physician, essentially assert, “The end is near.”
So, what will I be contemplating as 2023 rolls into 2024? My mortality, it seems. Happy holidays to me, indeed.
Peace out.
