MY AGING BODY
Yesterday I visited my family doctor, Alan Baumgarten. I like visiting with him and talking with him although we can’t talk much in the short time allotted to a wellness visit. He has been watching over Kathe and me for 30 years. He was a young man then and now he is about to retire. But he is always chipper and upbeat and cheers me on.
Usually he asks me questions. But I haven’t had a doctor’s visit during the pandemic and so this time I had a lot of questions. I was in for my Medicare four times a year wellness visit. A wellness visit is aimed at preventing illness, particularly for older people. My memory is tested by asking me to remember three words, “pen, dog, television,” and then distracting me by some other made up task, drawing the time, 11:10, on a clock on a piece of paper. I barely considered the watch, muttering to myself “pen, dog, television” over and over again because I had failed this test before by being distracted. I don’t know how my drawing of the clock worked out but I got all three right. This is what Trump was so proud of doing. This, however, didn’t, unlike him, make me a genius, it just kept me appearing slightly normal.
I asked questions about my aging body. Was the minefield of flakes and patches on my head skin cancer? Apparently not but I am being sent to a dermatologist anyway. Was my hoarse voice throat cancer? Apparently not but I am being sent to an ear, nose and throat doctor anyway. Were my hips that hurt at night when I sleep on my side and which wake me up often forcing me to toss and turn leading to hip replacement? Possibly down the line but as long as my arthritic hips don’t prevent me from walking around Paris nothing is imminent. My prostate is still expanding as are all old men’s but if I get prostate cancer at my age, not to worry, I’ll die of something else before prostate cancer finishes me. But it is the enlarging prostate, bad plumbing, with the urinary line running through it which puts pressure on the bladder and makes it harder to turn the faucet on and off. But that didn’t concern him either. Eczema, itching on my elbows, is caused by older drying skin and only needs moisturizing lotion. He listened to my heart and lungs, tapping here and there, and seemed satisfied. My knees and elbows still have an automatic jump when tapped. My ears appeared to be all right. I told him about my new hearing aids which were cheap and work ok. His cryptic answer was, “What you pay is what you get.” His expensive hearing aids apparently work much better.
Apparently I am slowly falling apart but still holding together. Everything is normal, if normal means aching from the neck down whenever I stand up, being able to remember three words for three minutes, and having hip pain whenever I lie down. (I slept last night in my Stressless recliner and had no pain at all, the solution to my problem. The reclining seat on the train for my overnight rides will be just right for me.)
So this is what old age means and what everyone who reads this has to look forward to if they make it this far, 85. The good news is that I am apparently not about to drop dead, the not so good news is that from now on it is simply grin and bear it, which, as everyone assures me, is better than the alternative. I read yesterday that doctors grew an ear with living human cells using a 3D printer and attached it to someone successfully. So I may be able to get new parts down the line. And someone else seems on the verge of finding a way to slow down aging, but this seems too late for me because it will only keep me where I am at 85. In the direction I am headed I don’t know how much longer I want to live in any case. When I can’t remember any part of “pen, dog, television” and can’t write here I’ll be ready to call it quits. I read yesterday that the speed you walk indicates how soon you are going to get dementia, which is the end of the line for me, so I will keep humping along as fast as I can and hope. Yesterday I also learned that coffee gives you a 30% more chance of staying alive, whatever that means. I drink three cups a day and will hang on to every scrap of hope.
Wishing all the rest of you good luck in the years to come.
BILLYBABA’S WANDERING 