Feeling My Age, and Then Some

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This getting older lark can be a pain in the bum. Literally.

Next week I am 48, although most days I still think I am 21, at least in my head. But today I feel more like 100.

I have arthritis, which is a sucky condition for anyone to have, but when it hits a young(ish) woman, who still has the youthful mentality of Tigger, it is doubly cruel.

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I won’t go into the whys and wherefores of it developing – it’s all here – but today it is getting the better of me. It mostly affects my spine, and most days no one would even be able to tell there was anything amiss. Today, you would have to get down on your knees to look me in the eye, as trying to straighten up brings me out in a sweat.

Fortunately my dignity is kept somewhat intact by the fact that I work from home, and therefore I don’t have anyone to witness the fact that I am bent almost double over my keyboard, looking for all the world like I am trying to hide porn on my screen.

(I don’t have porn on my screen – Jesus, even the thought of it makes me want to weep! Sex, that is, not porn. Although porn would just make me jealous of the positions they are able to contort themselves into!)

Luckily, the powers that be, when they decreed that I should have a crumbling spine, decided to let me keep my sense of humour, which is pretty much as warped as my back.

But today, it is getting the better of me. Every movement is like a blade slicing through my back, and trying to straighten up is like a dawn chorus of Rice Krispies – honestly, the sound is deafening, and quite stomach churning. I have Space Dust in my back.

On top of that, I have tennis elbow. When I first mentioned it to the specialist, she asked me if I play tennis. I laughed. Then she said it was probably from ironing. I laughed even more. I gave up ironing a long time ago, when I realised that I was getting ironed clothes in the wash basket, where the kids had just dumped them on their floor after ironing, and then, rather than hanging them up when it came to my monthly ‘tidy-your-room-and-don’t-come-down-til-it’s-done’ outburst, they found it easier to just stick them in for washing again.

I get it in both arms, and it is usually dealt with by way of steroid shots. But, for reasons best left for another day, I cannot have any more at the moment. So right about now I look like Quasimodo – hunched over and with an arm I cannot straighten without swearing. A lot.

Stress triggers a flare up. Needless to say I am under a lot of stress at the moment, hence me sporting a very ‘Notre Dame’ look. Except, I would be screwed as Quasi, as there is no way I could manage all the steps to the bell tower. What I need to do is reduce my stress, which is difficult when it is happening close to home. But, I can’t change someone else’s behaviour, so I will have to work on changing how I deal with it.

Failing that there are (prescription) drugs. And wine. Not together though. Obviously. Ahem.

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Today I am feeling middle aged and sorry for myself. Getting older sucks.

 

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