It started with an innocent accident that left me with a bruised bone and a hematoma that forced me to wear a medical boot to all of my usual Christmas activities. I felt foolish for having disregarded common sense that led me to banging my leg against a table with such force that walking was almost impossible without the assistance of some ibuprofen and the shield of the horrific looking boot. 

I eventually got past that incident only to find that my always perfect blood pressure had become high. I had not even noticed the change because I only have my pressure checked when I visit my doctor or dentist. Nonetheless I soon found myself keeping a twice a day diary that demonstrated plainly that the higher numbers were not a fluke. That lead to a weeks long attempt to lower the diastolic and systolic readings with various medications that were accompanied initially by some icky side effects. Slowly but surely the numbers came down but not as miraculously or quickly as I would have hoped, and definitely not as low as they had once been when I prided myself in being a perfect specimen of health. 

One thing seemed to lead to another when a routine eye exam revealed that I had cataracts that would have to eventually be removed. I remembered that it had only been a year before when my primary care physician had boasted that I did not look or act like a woman in her seventies. I wondered how a few months could bring about such change without warning. Before long other issues popped up like suspicious mammograms and a clicking noise in my mouth whenever I ate. 

I soon found that my social life revolved around all of the medical appointments that I had along with those of my father-n-law who now lives with us and my husband who has heart disease. I began to think that I should rent an apartment in the Smith Tower of Methodist Hospital so I would not have to keep driving to the same place over and over again. I feel like a failure just for beginning to look and act more like my age. My sense of pride was challenged in ways that I never expected. I held myself responsible for simply beginning to show the natural signs of aging. 

I hated all of the visits to the medical center where I sat in rooms filled with old people who seemed so unlike me. I pushed myself to keep working as hard as ever in order to prove that I was not some weakling like everyone else. My false pride jerked me down with an unbearable spasm in my lower back and days when my knees screamed that I should be more than ready to consider replacements. It was all so distressing even as I watched my contemporaries enduring far worse illnesses with such grace. I decided that my pity party had to stop. I realized that I had been fortunate to get as far along as I am before beginning to experience a slight degeneration of my health. I saw that I was being ridiculous in refusing to accept the small changes that were coming my way. I reluctantly admitted that it was okay to cool my engines a bit and ask for help now and again. 

I have always modeled myself after my grandfather who was a very wise man. He lived to a ripe old age mostly because he understood when it was time to accept change at each stage of his life. He was never a crotchety old man who insisted on doing things just as he had always done. He knew when to stop driving his car, when to ask for help, when to sell his home and live with in a group home, when to adjust his way of life. I suppose that was his key to reaching the grand old age of one hundred eight without being a burden or a problem for anyone else. He grew old gracefully and with humility and gratitude rather than pride. He kept his mind and his body strong at a slow but steady pace. He found joy in simple moments and worked around the slowing of his energy and the ailments that mounted up over time. 

I suppose that I was a fool to think that I might outsmart father time. I’m simply settling into the aging process that will change the way I look and act as the years go by. I’m witnessing my friends endure far more serious problems than my own with stoic smiles on their faces. There is indeed a season for everything. I’m certainly not done yet but I’m won’t keep up with my grandchildren who are at the peak of vim and vigor and that is okay. It’s time for me to adjust the way Grandpa did so beautifully. That twitch in my back can be erased with a leisurely walk around the neighborhood where I will find joy in just witnessing life at every stage. I still have miles to go but perhaps it will take me a bit longer to get there than it once did. It’s time to act my age.