The beginning of my 74th year has gotten off to a rough start. I’ve had to deal with a few medical issues, and as a result, I have spent more time going to see doctors or Physician’s Aids than I have most of my life. I’m the guy who everyone will say when I die, “He wasn’t sick a day in his life,” then the roof caves in. Watch out for falling reality.
To be honest, I have had medical issues in my life, usually self-inflicted. Like when I almost killed myself in a bike accident…twice. I had to have a knee replaced due to a life of believing that I was an athlete that I truly wasn’t. I tend to bump into things or fall off stuff I should have been more careful with, and I wasn’t a tottering old man like I am today.
My first issue began in August of last year when I thought I pulled a muscle in my left bicep. Being the careful type, I ignored the pain and kept playing. Why is my wife giving me a dirty look now? She thinks every time I have a pain, I should run to the medical clinic. I just followed my dads’s advice to rub dirt on it. Biting on a piece of rawhide is another way to deal with pain. Maybe I should have listened to her. Instead of getting better, it got worse. I finally caved and headed to see my doctor. After some poking and prodding, I was then referred to an orthopedic surgeon who poked and prodded some more before declaring that I had bursitis in my shoulder. The fact that the pain was in my bicep, I said, OK and consented to a shot of cortisone and agreed to take it easy, when translated into my language meant, “Don’t miss your next game.”
I did go to physical therapy a few times and was given a list of stretches and exercises to do in an effort to rehabilitate my arm. It did start feeling better, and I believed I was on the road to recovery. Once, it seemed the pain was gone, I was playing a game of softball, and when I reached down—yes, just reached—my bicep felt like it exploded. I did get two more hits before the game was over, but I moved to catcher to not aggravate the injury and more. Why is my wife shaking her head?
So, back to the doctor I went and in a hurry. They discovered I had torn my bicep tendon. Sounds painful, and I can confirm it was. So now I need to be very careful, and it will take time to heal. My doctor said, “Don’t do anything that hurts.”
Ok, sounded like good advice, so I went home, pulled out my driver, and took a few practice swings, and my arm didn’t hurt, so I guess I wouldn’t miss my tee time the next day. After that, I took one of my bats and took a few swings from both sides (I’m a pretty good switch hitter…and I heard someone out there snickering, so get your mind out of the gutter), and that didn’t cause me any pain. When I reached down to pick up the newspaper on the driveway, it felt like someone had stabbed me in my forearm. Fielding is out, but maybe I could be a designated hitter. We don’t use the DH in my league, so I guess I’m on the bench.
While going through this issue, I was also visiting the eye doctor at the same clinic because I have a lot of crap floating around in my eyes. The optometrist was not very optimistic (like the play on words). She used the statement I have heard all too many times lately, and it was a gut punch…“For a man your age.”
She assured me I wasn’t going blind…yet. She then rattled off a bunch of things that could happen and told me to come back in, so she could remind me, “For a man of your age.”
Every conversation with a doctor nowadays starts with that statement. When they say that, it makes you think that you have lived a good life, but it is soon coming to an end. Yup, I am that old.
I’m also visiting a urologist now because of a bathroom issue I am dealing with. I won’t delve into the issue I’m dealing with (need some privacy since I don’t get any when I see the doctor) and I am going through a whole myriad of tests that include blood tests, urine samples, x-rays and scans. As a result, I have as much radiation pulsating through my body as Chernobyl.
Since I have been going through the trouble of being radiated, I wondered if I could gain some super power. Look what happened to Dr. Bruce Banner when he was overexposed: he became the Hulk. How about Peter Parker? He was playing with radiation, got bit by a spider, and turned into Spiderman. Maybe if I took my cat with me while being scanned (would that make it a Cat Scan?…I kill myself…and I may, if I’m exposed to any more radiation) and was bit or scratched by said cat, (and the chances are pretty good) I should be invested with cat-like super powers. For example, I could leap to the top of a tall building with ease and lick my crotch all day. From there, I can hide in some remote corner of the house and sleep for eighteen hours straight. I wonder what kind of costume I will wear. May need to get to the gym first since the spandex will be showing off what little muscle I have.
I know we all have an expiration date printed on us somewhere, but I’m not ready to go yet. Before I leave the mortal coil, I have to see all my teams become competitive again, and at the top of that list is the Bears winning another Super Bowl. If that is the criteria for my demise, I may set the Guinness record for becoming the oldest surviving man. For a man my age, that isn’t much to ask for.
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