Who Da F Are You?

en-theos — god inside. Enthusiasm is a beautiful word and a beautiful thing and something of which I am bereft at this moment in life. September is upon me and it’s bringing stuff that sucks the enthusiasm right out. Doctor visits and a big rock concert.

The rock concert? Sometime in the spring I saw The Who was coming to Denver and in a moment of irredeemable enthusiasm, and since I’ve never seen any of the giant bands from my generation perform live, I bought tickets. I like The Who very much, but I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t thinking that it will mean to drive to Denver, that whore, and then go up all those steps at the auditorium, so I’ll be taking my cane. There’s a certain poetry in that — a bunch of codgers on the stage will be making music and at least one codger (I suspect more than one) will be in the stands with a cane. My friend and I are making a “day of it” and meeting up with some of my old friends for lunch in Denver.

The day after the concert, since I’ll be up in the populated regions of Colorado, I’m going to see my orthopedic surgeon and have my bad (worse) knee looked at. He will give me advice about surgery. It’s the third time in more than 10 years I’ve had it X-rayed by some doc or another, so I know what he’s going to say. I’m ambivalent. It doesn’t hurt, but it also doesn’t work that well.

I will listen to this doc that I trust and then, I expect, spend the winter, if there’s snow, Langlaufing then, come the first of the two truly tedious seasons of the year (spring and summer), I’ll go get a knee replacement which, hopefully, will be recovered enough that I can Langlauf again in winter 2020/21.

A week before that, I get to go to another doc in a distant town to have a skin cancer dealt with. And NEXT week I get to find out about getting meds for high blood sugar.

Seriously, folks, the illusion I had that “things are going to get better” has been completely dispelled. They’re not going to get better. The best I can hope for is maintaining the current status quo. There’s nothing wrong with that and I’ll be happy to succeed. It’s a good status quo.

BUT this has been the story of my life since the mid-2000s, pretty much one thing after another. I’m not one of those people (and I had a friend who WAS one of those people) who like medical attention. I don’t. I have white-coat syndrome so strong that my BP, usually around 115/65 hits 180/120 at the doctor’s office.

I (and probably every other “senior”) just want to live my life without constantly dealing with broken down parts. It reminds me so much of driving my 1988 Ford Ranger when I KNEW his time had come. I didn’t WANT to drive anything else. I didn’t have money for a new car. Besides, I loved that truck. I felt loyal to the many adventures we’d had together, and I thought he was beautiful (he was red). Finally…

When my mom died in 1996, she left me enough money for a new used car. I should have been happy to have a Ford Escort Station wagon that was only two years old (it was red, too), but I was just sad to say good-bye to my truck.

Young folks will recognize this as the theme from CSI, but it’s a lot more than that. It’s a question that we never answer in our whole lives and one I’m struggling with now.


22 thoughts on “Who Da F Are You?

  1. I remember when “Tommy” came to the movie theatre. A group of friends and I sat in the pitch dark with the music so loud I knew I would never hear again. God, that was so much fun! Get the skin cancer checked, Martha. I waited a couple months, thinking everything would just go away. Bad decision. Nothing wrong with the status quo. We take a lickin’ and keep on tickin’. Yes, we do. Battle scars and all. Rock on, Martha!

    • I shall do all of this. I see it as the gauntlet that leads to winter and skiing. I was thinking last night that when they plant me (or whatever happens with this old truck) its definitely going to look like it’s done some stuff. 🙂 I hope you’re safe and dry down there.

  2. I would love to be at that concert as well, would bring some good memories back. Otherwise getting old is not as I imagined. When I was younger I just classed the older generation as not being so fit as they were. Now I have learned that it is combined with all sorts of strange illnesses and aches and pains that arrive which I never imagined. Life seems to now be just one big repair work.

    • Yes! It is definitely one just repair job.

      I used to think, “You’re just not trying!” with some of my older friends and, in truth, some of them weren’t, but it’s not just that. I hate myself for envying the people our age who can walk well, fast, gracefully and downhill ski and all that. I KNOW they just have different genetics than I have. Who knows what other horrors their lives have held?

  3. And I feel the same by just going shopping and see others that use the trolley for their bought goods, and not for support like I do.

  4. Things don’t get BETTER, but if we are reasonably lucky, we can keep them from getting worse. That’s not a given either, but if we fix things before they get really terrible … and we keep moving … we might feel better, even if we aren’t “better, better.”

  5. When you have your blood pressure measured try not to tuck your legs and feet underneath your chair. It compresses the blood vessels a d raises your pressure. Try having them a little out in front of you. I’ve found it helps (although I’m not promising! X)

  6. Lucky you! Closest I ever got to a rock mega- band was Stevie Niks when she split for a while from Fleetwood Mac. And Sarah Brightman on her La Luna tour. Also saw the Moody Blues once when they almost needed walkers to get on stage. Living close to LA has some small advantages.

    Wife and I occasionally go to the Hollywood Bowl and get nose-bleed seats. Such a PITA, especially since they don’t keep the escalators and moving walkways in good repair.

  7. I sympathise, Martha. I imagine it is bad enough to go to Denver for a hopefully fabulous rock concert, but sucks when you have to combine it with the dreaded doctor’s appointment. I guess it is better than going back a second time though.

    When I get my bp taken, I imagine the time I was on the balcony at a lovely little cafe in beautiful Bright in late winter. The coffee and food was brilliant. Prepared by young indigenous teens gaining hospitality skills. We were the only customers. The sun was shining on my face. I don’t think I’ve ever been more relaxed than at that moment. Since I’ve learnt that trick, bp readings have come down. Maybe you have your own space you can go to in your head?

    Take care.

Comments are closed.