Well, it’s official – WE’RE HOME. Much remains to be done, both from a construction perspective (although I’m pretty sure it would only take, at best, two good days of work and they could be DONE with me) and an unpacking one. It boggles my mind when I look around at all my STUFF, quite a bit of which never even got unpacked at the apartment. My house has been considerably expanded, space-wise, but at this point I don’t have a clue how to effectively use my newfound storage. So I continue to languish among boxes and loosely organized stacks of papers and random items that haven’t found a home yet, plus clothes and towels and blankets in need of washing (my brand new washing machine evidently needed a new drain hose; the service guy came but neglected to bring a replacement, even though I was pretty sure I told the guy at the appliance store when I made the service appointment that the hose was cracked, because that’s what the plumber had told ME – oh well, what’s a few more days in dirty clothes?). Another major problem that has arisen is that all my bedroom furniture no longer fits in my bedroom. I’m going to end up putting my rotating armoire (with the mirror on the back) in my closet (and lose the mirror in the process), but that will have to wait until I have some assistance.
You see, one thing I discovered during the past couple of weeks, with all the cleaning and packing and moving, is that my body is no longer capable of absorbing the abuse it could in the past. There I was, schlepping boxes and smaller items of furniture, scrubbing tubs and floors and maneuvering the vacuum cleaner, day after day, sweating and shaking and fighting against the brutal wind with every trip to my car. And then I wonder: Why do my legs feel weak? Why are my hands numb and swollen (not to mention cracked and dry to the point where my skin just splits on contact with, say, a plastic bag)? Why is my back in such pain? Surprise! You’re officially OLD.
My stress levels have been through the roof, and a recent visit to my doctor revealed higher-than-normal blood pressure and blood sugar levels that were concerning enough that my endocrinologist called ME after getting the routine blood test results. Not to mention the 20-plus (more like 40-plus, but 20 would make a significant dent) pounds I need to lose – my doctor actually tried to prescribe some medication to help combat my tendency to binge eat, but even after insurance and application of the manufacturer’s discount, it would still have cost over $200 a month, so I’ll just have to lose weight the old-fashioned way. Exercise is a key, of course, but with my back out of whack and the weather not cooperating, power walking will have to wait another few days.
And as if my body wasn’t enough of a wreck, on Sunday morning I was fighting with my dog Munchie, who doesn’t yet comprehend that he has to be brought downstairs to go out for walkies. I had managed to get Gizmo downstairs but Munchie was hiding under the bed. In a huff, I ran up the stairs, calling him out for being a wussie, and SLAM!! I stubbed my big toe on the steps and fell forward. I knew it was bad – the extreme pain was a dead giveaway – but I didn’t know how bad until I took my boot off and saw that my right big toenail was the color of a ripe eggplant. So that’s caused me to limp around ever since, which in turn has thrown my back further out of alignment. I am a mess.
I know I’m blaming my advanced age for the deterioration of my physical self, but it even happens to young people, I’m afraid. My 21-year-old daughter is always complaining about being in pain, partly because of her scoliosis but a recent visit to a local kinesiologist has revealed an adrenaline imbalance and a tendency to retain lactic acid in her muscles, which causes excessive soreness after she works out (which she actually does, a few times a week – she’s even been WEIGHTLIFTING as part of her cross-fit training, which I find so impressive). He prescribed regular (expensive) chiropractic adjustments and special (even more expensive) supplements, and I keep asking her if she’s seen any discernible improvement, but evidently she hasn’t – yet.
I wish feeling healthy and sound and young again were as easy as taking a supplement. But no one has yet found the magic pill. We all get old and it sucks. I just got off the phone with my 84-year-old friend, who was told today that she may need to have open-heart surgery, and my daughter’s 95-year-old great-grandmother is currently in the hospital having her legs drained of excess fluid and putting up a major fuss because she just wants to go home. At 57, I guess I should consider myself lucky that I just have some generalized aches and pains and diabetes that I could control better if I just watched what I ate and started moving a little more. I confess that I’d like to live to at least 95, if this currently (but hopefully only temporarily) pathetic body is willing.