Aging a hard pill to swallow
Lori Borgman | Monday, Mar 15, 2010
We knew
this day would come eventually – the day our bodies turned on us.
We were married for five years before we ever owned a bottle of aspirin.
Now all of a sudden we are people who “travel with medication.”
We were packing for a long weekend when the husband set out a prescription
pill bottle – an entire 30-day supply of an anti-inflammatory for his tennis
elbow.
“Do you really need to take the whole bottle?” I ask. “Maybe you could just
put four in a baggie.”
“What about airport security? Do they allow that?”
The husband is a very by-the-letter person, all about labels and being
legal.
“I think they have a special line for people with medications,” I say. “If
they don’t like how you packed your meds, they make you swallow them all right
there on the spot.”
The husband is only mildly amused, although I think I see his elbow laughing.
He turns the tables and asks how I plan on packing my medication.
He is referring to the fact that a bone density scan revealed that my bones
are far more aged than the rest of me. It was my destiny – Caucasian, small
frame and family history.
Sally Field is my new best friend. Or should I say was.
Do you know why she sits in the Boniva commercial wearing that T-shirt and
yoga pants with one leg folded way under the other leg? Because she is in
excruciating pain and cannot move. That’s what the drug did for me. I didn’t
feel old before I took it, but two days after taking it, I was ready to get one
of those medic-alert necklaces and do some on-line shopping for a walker. Every
joint in my body ached.
What I do travel with are calcium chews, vitamin supplements that are the
color of mud and flavored with a hint of Georgia clay. I pretend they are
Tootsie Rolls, as I am less likely to gag on them that way.
The doctor said that, unfortunately, obesity is actually one of the best
protections against osteoporosis. Finally – things were looking up.
“You’re saying I should gain 100 pounds?” I asked, perhaps displaying a
little too much enthusiasm.
“No, I’m saying you don’t want to lose what little padding you have. Your
weight is just fine; keep it where it is.”
“Write me a script for an anti-depressant, will you, doctor?”
“Why?”
“Because when I leave here I’m going to be depressed. The first time in 15
years someone says my weight is fine and I don’t have a witness or a tape
recorder.”
At least I am not alone.
When my literary agent hit 50, she said she weighed exactly the same as when
she was 18 -- but all of it was in a different place.
Another friend claims that for everything to be where it used to be, she’d
have to walk on her hands.
Aging is like skiing downhill. Once you start, it’s hard to stop
Here, have a Tootsie Roll.
