Stick Figure Stumbling
The inexpediency of aging
I noticed the acetaminophen next to the meloxicam. Piggy backing double dose pain meds.
“That bad,” I asked?
“I’m managing it,” Jim said.
“Where this time?”
“Hands, arms, elbows. Nothing new.”
No, nothing was new. Even though we’d made every attempt to limit the physical demands of winter at 7900 feet, some things demanded effort. Getting the studded snow tires down from the barn loft with the extension ladder because we hadn’t had time to build stairs. Shoveling the walks. Pulling snow off the north roof of the house even with the new roof heat panels. Pulling snow off the north barn and shop roofs. Shoveling paths through the snow that shed off the south roofs. Putting the chains on the big rear tractor tires. It was all he could do to lift those chains with both arms and carry them to the tractor. There will be a time when he can’t.
Well, something is new. Five weeks since my first total knee replacement. Less pain than I’ve had in years but a challenge to loosen up after surgery and trust the metal and plastic alien that has taken up residence in my left leg. I’m trying to get up the courage to try cross country skiing but I’m waiting for the temperature to climb to 20. What if I can’t ski? I’m trying even more to find the courage to climb on a picnic table and get on my mare. I know she hasn’t had much exercise since the snow started. I know she may bounce and play. I know I don’t have a good place to warm her up before I ride and I don’t even know if I can stand in the snow and hold the longe line while she bucks and cavorts around me. But I yearn to know that I can.
Muscles sag and then seem to sublimate like dry snow in the Colorado sun, except in places where the fat seems to accumulate. How can the butt muscles just disappear? Doesn’t seem to matter how many trails you walk or weights you lift. All muscles, even the small ones that used to matter so much. And the ones that hold a smile.
Skin and most body orifices, make that all body orifices, dry out like sandpaper. Tongue glued to roof of mouth in the morning. Joints creak and crack, stiffen and ache. Skin that wrinkles, paper thin, sagging under arms, shredding at the lightest touch, an artist bent on red-rivulet accents.
Old lady hips, thighs, old man tummy, and love handles.
Hair thinning, graying, brittle. Trying to escape in spikes and spirals from 73 or 78 years of combing in the same pattern. Spots where the scalp is unprotected reddened and scaly.
Walking becomes a deliberate act, turning into a physiology test, a mental exercise to stride instead of baby step. Running is just flat out of the question. Keeping up with a three year old is the very limit.
And the brain. Oh the brain. Losing a word here and there weekly, daily. Planning better on paper. Multitasking requires a list. Execution of tasks slow, hit or miss, somehow less compelling. Remembering, remembering. Treasure the remembering.
Until all that’s left are stick figures with warts and bulges, frizzy capped, crepitant. Not yet drooling, just moving slower, more deliberately. Making an effort to look up, look forward, look to the next generation and the one after for that spark of meaning, of contribution, of still being needed and appreciated.
We were leaders, of men and women, of scouts, of baseball teams, of staff. Managers of the cases that represented animal well being and the hearts of the people who lived with them. When we lose our working identity — student, pilot, veterinarians, parents, what are we left with? How did we lose the energy to relish a new adventure, a night on the town, to sing on a road trip? When did we lose the faith that we were heroes to each other? When did we step down off the pedestal that we put each other on? When did we quit gazing in each other’s eyes and feel warmth and settle for holding hands?
I am thankful the other stick figure and I will share the years that are left as well as the memories of when we were on top of our game. We had it all. It doesn’t last forever, but as long as we can still hold hands from time to time, enjoy a careful walk over oak stubs, climb on our middle-aged horses and forgive each other our frailties, there’s a kind of balance.
