Torn

Just in case anyone is checking up on me (yeah, right!), the reason my post is late today is that I spent the entire morning sitting in medical centers.  That seems to happen more as I age, not just because a variety of minor ailments keep popping up but because now that I’m on Medicare, my doctor, the good Dr. G, encourages me to come in for regular check-ups.   From 7:45 to 8:30, I was at our local St. Jude Heritage Medical Group lab, where my doctor had ordered some blood tests.  Nothing new, just keeping track of Older Eyes’ blood pressure and blood sugar, both of which can run a little high without medication.   Then it was on to the x-ray center of the main St. Joesph Healthcare Center to have my wrist x-rayed.   The wrist I hurt in a fall back in January.  The wrist that hasn’t gotten any better in spite of an assortment of supports and braces.  After x-rays, it was upstairs to see my new orthopedic surgeon and hand specialist, Dr. B … after a wait in the crowded waiting room, of course.   With the exception of one boy sitting with his Mom, gingerly holding his wrist, everyone in the waiting room was old, even compared to me.  Canes, walkers and wheelchairs abounded.  Back in the days when my trips to the orthopedic surgeon were for my athletic if someone incautious son, Aaron, I don’t remember there being so many oldsters.  Could it be that doctors refer us older folk to particular surgeons, those with the disposition to deal with curmudgeons?  Could it be that only those on Medicare have insurance that covers such elective procedures as sprained wrists or broken legs?  Who knows?

Forty-Something

The guy who drives this body of mine thinks he’s forty-something.  He’s right, of course.  He’s forty-twenty-nine.  He is inclined to drive a bit too fast … not our car, our body.   He lifts things that are heavier than we should be lifting and contorts us into positions that a forty-twenty-nine man should not assume … say, reaching under the sink to tighten a valve … leaving us sore the next morning.  He reaches for things in the back seat of our car from the front seat, forgetting how we strained our back the last time we did that.   I know he thinks we’re forty-something because he’s arrogant and he never learns, even when life hits us up side the head to remind us … take it easy.