Well, it finally happened. When I asked my very nice doctor why it just seemed that every damn day was another medication or problem I didn't have the day before, she kindly looked me in the eye and said "while you are very alert, and I hope I'm a much fun as you are when I'm older, you are, nonetheless----- OLD." Hmmmm. I started to object but evidently, she had a point. I won't go into the myriad BS happening to me over the last few years, but it's quite the list. Okay, I actually started my life with a month in the hospital, but it seemed like it could go UPHILL from there. The first thing I started noticing was that I was becoming invisible to other people. Younger people would actually WALK into me- fortunately, they apologized, so I didn't have to hit them with my umbrella and call them whippersnappers. Then they would literally back into me if they were in front of me and not even notice they were standing on me. Then it was the people who acted as if they could dilly dally in front of me. I'm the fastest person I know. It's a skill you get when you are short. And then, one of my surgeons called me "Dear"- you heard me. Dear. Like I was HIS grandmother. Which I wish I was because he is really nice and successful, but I'm not. I looked at him and said, "while I know you didn't mean to call me dear, I would rather you call me cute, and let me tell you, I hate that, too. But please, I have a name, Sonny Boy." I don't use a cane but I have one from when I got a PRP injection in my hip. I don't wear sensible shoes, but I have some just in case my Skechers start to hurt. And I don't wear stockings rolled down to my ankles but mostly because that would make my ankles look fat. So, it is clear, that I need to get better posting on this blog before I go "tits up" as my more crude and less urbane friends would say. Which is pretty funny. I don't want any readers to think I'm in an urn. Not yet, my friends, not yet. But it'll be a nice one when I do!
