Thing 2 Rides Again

Thing 2: "Right here, this is where my heart is. I have to keep track of it, you know?"

Me: "Why, does it wander off if you stop?"

Thing 2: "Yes. Yes it does. And sometimes it even goes up into my NECK! For Real!"

Me: "Well, if it goes to your foot, let me know and we'll amputate."

Thing 2: "Mo-THER. (scoff) Now you're just being SILLY."

--

Overheards ...

"If you don't stop that RIGHT THIS MINUTE, I will kill myself!"

"Jesus H Keeee-rist!"

"Kids, don't do this at home!"

"OOoo, dang, I wish I'd never done this before."

"Help me, help me! No, I can't, I'm too scared."

"I hope that spider eats you."

"No, wait! Don't tell me, I'm going to fall!"

"Um. Nothing broke!"

The Aging Thing

The idea of getting older isn't bothering me half as much as it used to.

I mean, on the surface, I'm older than I look, and far far younger than I feel. I ache too much to be this age, I know too much, I've done too much. I hit 34 in two weeks. I'm not dreading it. I'm not cringing, or hiding from it, or avoiding it. It makes sense to me now.

I think I even welcome it.

It seems like I have finally reached some sort of balanced agreement with the way things are and must be. We all age. It's not a Wrong thing. It's going to happen. Even once you die, the years still pass, and your body follows along the proper path to return to the earth.

I'll pause sometimes when we're out, suddenly feeling like myself again for a fleeting moment. Small things can bring it on, sensory delights that pick me up and fly me away from what I've become. Then I have to take another step and I can once more feel the cane in my hand, and the spasm and aching that makes it impossible to walk without out.

Four legs, two legs, three legs. All tripod anatomy jokes aside.

BEING older no longer stings as much as FEELING older.

DG and I were talking about Esoteric's trip to Six Flags, and how old it had made him feel. DG shook his head and agreed that we were getting too old.

Too old. What the hell is TOO old, anyway?

Does "too old" for an amusement park mean I'm too old for the action figures on my desk? Does "too old" mean that I have to stop wearing clothes that I like and dress in some prescribed Old Manner? Does too old mean I have to give up the things I like and enjoy because I'm "too old" for them now?

There's no such thing as being too old for anything. If my body allowed, I'll be damned if I let age keep me from zipping down a slide or playing on a swingset if I felt like it. I may have to make allowances for comfort, but that's not age demanding it. I could be sixteen again having to spend money on shoes that support correctly, and not be too old.

So why the heck would that make me too old now?

I remember sixteen, vaguely. I remember sixteen and amusement parks. I remember riding roller coasters that I adore -- and then spending the next hour curled up next to a trash can, shivering and hurling and unable to stand while my sense of balance tried to recover. Ah, the burdens of destroyed inner ears. Vertigo, fun for the whole system.

Didn't stop me then. Didn't make me feel old then, either, to have to stop and sit and rest.

I do know my limits. The nice thing about the limits of my body, however, is that for now, they aren't constant. There are days when I feel like I could walk forever -- such as the day some time in the last month where I wore DG out and HE was the one to say we had to go home. And I can make alterations for days where I cannot. I don't *always* need the cane to walk, but I make sure I have it with me. I won't let that stop me, either.

I'm getting older. Big deal.

I'm just not getting Old.

Brand new doctor.

Walked in, the dude at the desk involved me in a talk about my nose ring. Had promise right off the bat.

Didn't have to fill out a lot of medical history new patient paperwork. Curious.

Was called back near immediately. Hmm.

Got weighed (UGGGH), and put in a room. Oh my. Room had TV with patient information network stuff -- remote at my hand. Computer across. Nurse sat with me, and input all the information directly into the system. Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING was taken down. Very cool.

Doc walks in, peeks at computer, tells me to hang on. She has another patient that will be a short visit, and since I'm new, she wants the other one out of the way so she can spend extra time on me.

Pick jaw up off floor. Pick jaw up again as the doc peeks in to check on me while she finishes the paperwork on the other patient.

If she'd been 6 inches shorter, I'd have sworn she was my baby sister. Perky. Talkative. INTERESTED. Intelligent. Discussed the fibro -- including the conventions she regularly attends. Didn't give me a blank look at the RSD. Had a FIT over the dual diuretic that I'd blinked over, switched me back to plain Accupril to go with the Maxide.

Blank shock on doc when she finds out that Elavil was the sole control for the fibro. A frown over the Neurontin, she might up the dose.

My right hand cooperated. Sure, alone, it was nothing. But next to the left hand ... whoa, momma. RSD verified happily.

The weird peeling and splitting and thickening of my skin is noted and on the chart. Not a worry yet, with no inflamation or sign of infection, but she's seen it and will keep an eye on it with me. An optional med added to see if it helps with the thickening and weird callouses for no reason.

I have Ambien. There is a God. Her suggestion, not mine. Her, annoyed as shit that the old doc wouldn't even consider it.

Another appointment in one month for a complete physical. Not throw drugs, see you in three months. No, I Will See You in one month. Total bloodwork, PAP smear, the works.

She cares.

Her office staff gave each other shit the whole time. They LIKE each other. They like her. These people SMILED, for God's sake.

I have a new doctor.

I'm still in shock. I'm considering tears.

Honey, I'm home.