Tuesday, February 24, 2015
No, I'm not really talking about the weather--especially the weather we've "enjoyed" here in northeastern Ohio during the foulest February I can recall. I'm talking about a different winter. Mine.
Oh, I know: 70 is the new 40 (or 50 or whatever), but 70 has already delivered some unwelcome gifts, gifts that--I know--will keep on giving. This winter of my discontent (to borrow some words from the wordy Richard III) threatens only to deepen and darken.
I mentioned in an earlier post the ... instability ... I've been feeling. Dizziness when I change positions (or speeds) too quickly. My family physician--after doing some blood pressure tests on me a couple of weeks ago--concluded that it's just, you know, getting older. The fluid in my inner ear (like the rest of me) is less youthful. Less supple. More "sticky" (my doctor's word). So when I suddenly swing my head one way or the other, when I stand up too quickly, when I segue from a swift walk to a slower one, when I bend over to tie my shoes too quickly (or stand up after having done so), I feel a kind of vertigo. So now--for the first time in a long, long, long time--I have to think about what I'm doing--before I do it. Otherwise, I will slump to the floor/ground/couch/bed and sit still a moment until the discomfort dissipates.
And here's something that's become truly annoying, something that hasn't bothered me since I was a toddler. Getting dressed and undressed. In recent months it's become a hassle to put on and remove clothing. (I'm beginning to understand why some (older) folks wear simple track suits--though I've not yet decided to make that move.) I think I want my mommy.
Just think about all that has to go on--especially in the winter: underwear, socks, pants, shirt, sweater, indoor footwear, outdoor footwear, scarf, coat, hat, gloves ... Freud would smile right now, by the way: I just typed hate when I meant to type hat. It's gotten to the point that I dread dressing/undressing.
And on those days when I go to the health club to ride the exercise bike (ever more slowly), I get to do it all again! I think I expend as much energy dressing and undressing as I do cycling. Maybe that could become a popular new class at the club: Getting Dressed and Undressed. (No one under 70 admitted: Otherwise, other issues will ... arise.) Seeing other 70s undressed would certainly motivate me to get dressed and out of there as quickly as possible. Good cardio, right?
Anyway, other people have it much worse, I know. So I feel a bit churlish, whimpering about the recent changes in my life.
So I'll stop ... until the next somatic failure declares itself and I will once again rage, rage against the dying of the light.