Don’t stop till you throw up

I’m in a delicious state of busy right now. I’m talking banana split with whipped cream and two cherries on top delicious. I have that slightly giddy sensation that normally signals either sensory overload or impending aneurysm.

Bring it! … well, not the aneurysm part.

There are two things you should know about me:

  1. I don’t often get a sense of euphoria when there is half a rain forest’s worth of paper crushing my in-basket.
  2. I’m old

So the universe put it to a vote and decided that I was just having too much fun doing my job, and it could not allow the situation to go along unchecked. Last night, as I was dancing around the kitchen making dinner, something happened in my neck. We’re talking apocalyptic weeping and gnashing of teeth something.

Usually, at this point I would run, not walk, to the nearest gallon jug of vicodin … but I’m busy. I mean, I’ve got serious shit to do here, people. I might be called upon to drive, or pee, or do long division, any of which could have disastrous results if one is mentally impaired. Note to self: cancel company team building exercises. Me, my osteoporosis, and a zip-line were probably a bad combination from the start.

Lest you are at this moment reaching for an ice pick to shove in your ear, I am not going to bore you with a rant about the cruel realities of aging. I’m actually feeling incredibly grateful for the last six months spent relatively free of neck pain.

Bottom line, I still have that giddy work-related feeling, so I’ll run with it in spite of muscle spasms, pinched nerves, and an odd rash on my butt—probably unrelated. I may not be running on all engines, but I’m having fun doing it.

And for team building, I think a cribbage tournament will hold less risk of mind-numbing terror, broken bones, and projectile vomiting. We’ll save the zip-line for next year.

Fear of commitment

My skin care routine vaguely resembles Cher’s wardrobe: minimalistic at best. So why am I a club member for an expensive line of skin care products? Why do I have two unopened boxes of a 90 day supply of cleanser and moisturizer, which I fully intend to re-gift to family members this Christmas? Because I looked in the mirror one morning and realized that I look like Ed McMahon on a good day. I have a dark splotch on one cheek that looks like the Virgin Mary. Continue reading

I didn’t know my pelvic would be a written exam

The doctor asked, “What happens to our vaginas as we get older?” I just stared at him stupidly. A) Only one of us had a vagina. B) Didn’t he go to medical school so he could tell me the answer? The doctor then explained the aging process to me with graphs, charts, and sweeping gestures. He came just short of breaking out the hand puppets.

It turns out that we get drier, the tissue gets thinner, and it gets more sensitive. I only got one answer right out of three, so I hope he’s grading on a curve. I like my OB/GYN, but he seems to take a perverse pleasure in pointing out my aging anatomy.

He ordered the bone density scan that told me I had osteoporosis. I scurried back to work after that doctor appointment and made a beeline for the ladies room. I proceeded to turn one way and the other looking for any telltale signs of a dowager’s hump in the mirror. I swear, if I’d had a pimple on my shoulder I would have freaked!

It’s really disconcerting when your years of hypochondria start to pay off. Most of my life, even when I thought I was dying, my blood tests and x-rays came out normal. Then, about a year ago a doctor ordered an EKG for a simple blood pressure issue.

“Ms. Telega, we found an abnormality on your EKG.” the doctor announced.

“Pull the other one!”

“No really, you have an extended QT wave.”

“Where’s the camera? Did my kids put you up to this?”

The abnormality turned out to be a side-affect of a new medication I was taking, and my heartbeat went back to normal as soon as I stopped the meds. Nevertheless, it earned me my first trip to a Cardiologist.

So far, plummeting estrogen levels are responsible for: lower tolerance for some medications; broken bones; vaginal dysfunction (the other VD); and a mustache. I shouldn’t be surprised since they call it “the change of life,” but I had only mentally prepared myself for the facial hair.

With so many Americans entering their 50’s, newly old people will be flocking to all kinds of specialists in the medical profession. I hope the doctors all have a good supply of hand puppets.