I had my annual Medicare “wellness” visit, and I found the whole business rather depressing. I know it’s a good thing, but it feels like the documentation of my decline.
At some point she asked, how is your stamina? I’m thinking, why? Does it look like I’m dying?
But I said, oh, you know how it is for us old folks. I walk 30-40 miles a week, I play golf twice a week, I do boatloads of stretching and strengthening exercises, I’m surviving the second Trump administration and I have been taking care of Dale and everything in Dale’s house since he broke his pelvis last Christmas … while recovering from a broken arm.
Backwards and in high heels.
She laughed. I think it was just a form question, anyway.
The documentation of my decline seems pretty defeatist. After all, a check-up doesn’t necessarily mean something is wrong. It can just mean it’s time for some scheduled maintenance.
I’ve already suggested we should be more like cheese, aging well and becoming more interesting with time. But apparently cheese is taken. So I’ve decided to reframe this experience and from now on think of myself as a car.
When it comes to cars, I like a nice ride, but nothing too fancy. Simple, functional. Reasonably attractive. I keep it clean, but I’m not a fanatic.
I also take my car in for scheduled service. Nothing bad. A few fluids and adjustments to keep the machine running smoothly for the next 100,000 miles.
With people and with cars, mileage isn’t the same thing as decline. It doesn’t mean the vehicle has failed. Sure, we aren’t new anymore. We require maintenance and sometimes need repairs. But we’re not done yet.
And I always hold onto a car as long as it runs.