The
Old Coot stubbed his toe. Again!
By
Merlin Lessler
I
was walking barefoot on the beach the other day. The surface was at a slight
slant and I wasn’t paying attention. Next thing I knew, I’d stubbed my toe and nearly
toppled over. It’s not the first time this has happened, but it’s the first
time I accepted it wasn’t an anomaly, that it was happening more often than it
should. Darn! Another of those things, that if I ask my doctor about, I’ll get
the same response I always get, “You’ve got to expect that at your age.”
Now,
I don’t ask, I figure it out on my own. Yet, these growing old challenges, and
the need to adjust to new limitations is always a surprise. If you are in your
20’s and 30’s reading this, and thinking, “It will never happen to me,” you’re
mistaken. I had that same cocky attitude when I was your age. But, old is in
your future and the challenges it will impose. You’ll have to confront them.
Or, rather, they will confront you. Sooner than you think. If it hasn’t already
started.
I
was in my late 20’s when it first confronted me. I learned I could no longer eat
3 sandwiches, 2 pints of milk, a slab of cake, a bag of chips and an apple for
lunch. My teenage metabolism had “left the building.” It wasn’t until I stepped
on a scale and discovered my lanky, teenage weight, of 165 had pushed over the
200 pound line. I could no longer eat everything in sight. Then, in my forties,
I was forced to buy reading glasses. Something I should have done in my late thirties,
but my male ego and its denial properties wouldn’t accept that my visual
capability had diminished. It wasn’t until I could no longer read the newspaper
because I couldn’t hold it far enough away for my eyes to focus that I admitted
I needed glasses.
I’ve
adjusted over the years, but only after periods of denial. I’ve stubbed my toe
on the beach a half dozen times before I accepted the fact that my muscle and
tendon structure had sagged a bit and wasn’t up to the task of pulling my foot
up high enough to clear the ground on an irregular surface. So, I no longer can
walk along and focus on the scenery; I have to watch the ground and constantly
remind myself, “Pick up your foot, dummy!” It’s a challenge to think and walk
at the same time. It limits my ability to gawk and affects my memory. My brain
is fully occupied with walking and gawking, and has no neurons left to operate
my memory. If you see me walking along the street (or on the beach) don’t say,
“Hi,” It just might send me toppling to the ground. And, into the hospital.
Comments?
Complaints? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com
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