Compression Hose, Chin Hairs, Varicose Veins. Oh My!

Is this an homage to my husband's favorite ad?

No it's not.

Here's what really happened.

I was at my friend's parents' house. We were talking about all kinds of stuff. She's a 48 year-old new mom. I'm a 49 year-old mother of a teenager. Her sister was there, another mom to a teenager. Their older parents were there. My friend's vascular surgeon husband was there. So three middle-aged women, older parents and a doctor - really nothing was sacred in terms of discussion topics.

We were talking about things like facial hair (women's). We were talking about compression hose (had no idea). We were talking about pacifiers. 

That's how it was going. 

I confessed to the group that I had recently discovered a vein on my calf I wanted to have fixed. Hint, hint vascular surgeon. I so thought we could handle this "amongst friends" if you know what I mean, and I think you do.

See what happened was...one day...in the daylight...I saw this vein. 

Okay before that, let me say that I got lucky. My mom has good legs. My grandmas both had good legs. So I got lucky in the leg department. Like this summer I was walking through the mall and this older lady -- I'm going to say 80? -- said out loud to me, "You've got great legs." Of course I was by myself and there were no witnesses, but I swear she said it.

And I said, "Thanks doll!" Cuz that's what old broads call each other. Doll. Sugar. Hon.

But the thing is, I've only seen the front of my legs recently. Then I caught a glimpse of the back of my legs. And without my knowledge or consent, something had happened to one of my good parts. One of the parts I thought was still standing. 

This weird vein that's a dot - like the skin is smooth and then there's a dot of a vein about the size of a small pea - well that just appeared overnight. That's not right. That pea-sized vein dot is not right.

And I thought, "I have a what on my what what?"

What the hell?

Oh the horrors of getting old.

Death Becomes Me

I'm exaggerating. I'm not dying. I mean I am technically -- but not right now. So this is just my high-larious death blog, sure to win over readers and the other 99.99999% who have absolutely no idea who I am.

Today my doctor told me I have high blood pressure. Now I have a couple of theories about that. One is that I don't like my doctor and going to see her makes my stress level go up. The other is my stress level is already pretty high, so it could be that she's right. I'm not on medication or anything. Yet. 

I have to start regularly exercising again and drinking water (blech). I don't like water. I'm sorry. I think it's because in the South, water comes in glasses filled with shaved ice like a snow cone. Now that's a water.  

For a youngish person, I am sort of obsessed with aging. When I was in high school, I had a job working at a nursing home for retired Jesuit Priests. The Campion Center in Weston, MA. According to their website, they are now a Renewal Center. I guess the priests have to go elsewhere when they retire. It's funny to me that all these places are now called some BS name like assisted living or skilled nursing center. 

Here's a good BS name for a retirement home. Putnam Ridge Rehabilitation Center. Tagline: A Refreshing Alternative. Or the Country House in Westchester. Website copy: Our beautifully appointed and spacious common areas provide an elegant backdrop for a vibrant and refined lifestyle. Really?

When I worked at the Campion Center, I figured out that older people are exactly the same as younger people. Some are grouchy, some are letchy, some are kind. Some are forgetful, some remember everything. Some hide whiskey in a pickle jar in their closet. "Oh Father Hegerty," I would say, "I think I can tell the difference between vinegar and whiskey." 

But the body fails us all, eventually.

This week I received the first email from our high school reunion committee. Get psyched for our 30th it said. Mmmm. That really doesn't seem possible. I don't think it could be 30 years since I graduated from high school.  Next year my son will start high school. A frightening proposition. Other friends have kids starting college. Even more frightening. It appears I am getting older in spite of my absolute conviction that I cannot be 30 years past high school days. 

I have decided to remain calm about this high blood pressure diagnosis.  I  took my blood pressure this morning on a home machine. It was actually low - like 100 over 70 (my original theory about hating my doctor may be accurate). I've been drinking plain,  non-snow cone water per my doctor's instructions. And before work, I took my dog Daisy for a walk. I was feeling pretty smug about the whole getting old thing. What am I thinking? I'm not getting old.

Then I called my dog Nancy. "Hey Nancy," I said to her. She looked up at me like, "Who the hell is Nancy? I'm Daisy, old lady."

A Very Short Blog About Osteoporosis and Brad Pitt

As part of my annual physical, my doctor ordered blood work to check on all my vitals. I was pleasantly surprised to learn I am in good health with one exception. I have a slight Vitamin D deficiency. I assumed this was the result of living in a semi-permanent state of sunshine deprivation. Apparently it is also an indicator of potential problems with bone density.

I am trying to be mindful of my posture so I don’t end up hunched over as I get older. But I don’t know that I am winning the fight.

This past weekend I saw an older man I see all the time who takes a vigorous walk along a busy street here in town. He walks very quickly and he carries a short stick that pumps up and down as his arms swing from side-to-side. He’s the picture of health except for his posture. He’s got the distinctive curve in his back that is a sign of osteoporosis.

I was driving down that busy street with my husband when I saw the older man. I said, “Look, it’s a glimpse into my future. You know, when I get older.”

My husband said, “I’m not getting older.”

“Really,” I said. “That’s interesting.”

My husband said, “Look at me, hon. I’m Benjamin Button. I’m getting younger.”

And that, in a nutshell, describes the difference in our worldviews.