Growing Older May Require Adjustments, but It Does Not Require Surrender

Good morning, readers.

Before we begin, did you take your medication today?

Go ahead. Run and do that. I’ll wait.

Good. Now that’s done, and your glass of ice water is sitting beside you, it is story time.

This morning, I stood in front of the mirror looking for anything new.

A wrinkle, perhaps. A blemish. Some change in the tone or texture of my skin.

No, it was not a vanity check. It was part of growing older and learning that not every new spot, lump, or change should be dismissed as “just one of those things.”

We are very good at that, aren’t we?

It’s just a bump.

It’s just a mole.

It’s just been there a while.

Maybe it is nothing.

But maybe it is the thing you should have had checked six months ago.

That raised spot, that dark patch, that lump that feels different, or that place that simply refuses to heal may be asking for more than another shrug.

Pay attention before “probably nothing” grows teeth.

Isn’t growing older grand?

I tell you, it is not for the weak.

Bones ache. Muscles ache. And caffeine, once your hyper little friend, slowly becomes your arch-nemesis.

After all those years as your partner in crime, caffeine turns on you.

First, it starts showing up at the wrong hours. Then it abandons you by late afternoon. And if you dare cut back, it rewards your loyalty with a headache.

Some friend.

So you reach for an over-the-counter pain reliever.

Just before you put it in your mouth, a referee appears in the corner, throws a red flag, and calls a timeout.

What now, for land’s sake?

A contraindication with one of your daily maintenance medications.

You know the ones I mean. Every time we visit the doctor, we seem to come home with a brand-new bottle of something, usually with a name that requires three attempts and a working knowledge of Latin.

The medications prescribed for us may be perfectly appropriate, but they often arrive with instructions.

Do not take with ibuprofen.

Avoid certain cold medicines.

Take with food.

Do not take with food.

Avoid grapefruit.

Do not eat catfish on Tuesdays beginning with the letter T.

That last one may not be real, but some of the warnings feel nearly as peculiar.

The point is, interactions matter. If your doctor does not explain them, ask your pharmacist when you pick up a new prescription.

Prescription.

That is a generous word for it.

At this stage of life, it feels more like a subscription service with a monthly user fee.

Now that the medications are sorted, it is time to move on.

Achoo!

A sneeze comes out of nowhere, your back pops, and your lower spine immediately files a formal grievance.

The night before, you unloaded boxes and stacked them five high for more than an hour without incident.

Then one sneeze nearly takes you out.

I stood there recovering far longer than any reasonable person should need to recover from a sneeze.

And now I have to go to the bathroom again.

That handled, I gather a clean T-shirt, underwear, washcloth, and towel. Time for a shower.

My stomach muscles still have not forgiven me for the sneeze.

And, for the record, none of this was on the agenda.

I check the tub for my non-slip mat.

Yes, I use one, and you should too. You may thank me later.

I turn on the water, let it run, and step inside.

I know what you are thinking.

“Braxton, you need to get undressed first.”

Ha! I had already done that, but thank you for not noticing.

The water is ready, and just as I turn the knob to the shower, I remember something important.

The water sitting in that shower line has been cooling all night.

Too late.

Icy needles strike my skin, and I jump.

Jiminy Crickets!

My foot slips just enough to remind me that gravity is always lurking nearby, but the mat catches me.

See?

I told you.

A non-slip mat may not look heroic, but every now and then it saves the day.

I grab my washcloth and that nylon body scrubber thing, whatever it is called.

The grands call it a body kiss.

I use soap that is just soap. Nothing floral, mystical, exfoliating, energizing, or scented like a Norwegian forest at sunrise.

Just soap.

I wash my polished dome, my face, and under my arms. And yes, I can still bend over and reach my feet, but I am too old not to use my head.

Bending over in the shower leaves us vulnerable. Maybe we get dizzy from one of our many medications. Maybe we lose our balance. Maybe the body simply decides this is the precise moment to become unreliable.

That could be catastrophic, not only for the ego but for the hip.

So I use a shower chair.

I sit down safely, lean forward, and inspect my feet. I look for sores, blisters, discoloration, or anything else that was not there yesterday. Then I wash thoroughly, including between the toes.

I also have a handheld shower head, which lets me get up close and personal with the bottoms of my feet.

Because soapy feet will not merely allow you to fall.

They will arrange it.

Before you know it, you are sliding out of the shower and wedged between the wall and the toilet, waiting for the local EMS crew to rescue you from yourself.

That is not how anyone wants to meet the afternoon shift.

At last, I am finished.

I turn off the water and look down to make sure I remembered to place the bath mat in front of the tub.

I did.

Small victories count.

Using the handrail, I steady myself as I step out of the shower and plant both feet firmly on the mat.

Then the overhead air conditioner kicks on.

Jiminy Crickets!

Now I am wet, naked, and freezing.

For one brief moment, I understand why Hansel and Gretel were willing to walk into a stranger’s candy house.

At least the witch had the oven going.

I quickly grab my T-shirt and pull it over my head.

It sticks.

Of course it does.

I peel it back off, grab the towel, dry my polished dome, and work my way down.

Yes, I forgot to dry off because I was too busy trying to escape the household winter storm.

Finally dry, I put the T-shirt back on.

Then I grab my briefs, lift one leg, and try to slide it into the opening.

My balance shifts.

My foot snatches the briefs out of my hands and slams them to the floor while I grab the sink counter to keep from joining them.

Dagnabbit.

I take every precaution I can think of, and somehow putting on a pair of briefs nearly finishes the job.

Balance, people.

We need to work on it.

And until we do, lean against a wall, hold on to something sturdy, or sit down when putting on underwear, socks, or pants.

Safety first.

I know that.

I just keep forgetting it at exactly the wrong moment.

I finish shaving my face, more or less, trim my beard, and walk into the bedroom.

This time, I sit on the bed while I get dressed.

Slowly.

It only takes me three attempts to remember everything.

Socks.

Shoes.

Ready to go.

I march toward the front door and stop.

I forgot something.

Good grief.

I wear dentures, and today I left them sitting in their jar, probably wondering why I had run off and abandoned them.

So yes, this has been a humorous look at what we go through from day to day.

And yes, every one of these things has happened to me.

But underneath the comedy is something worth remembering.

We need guardrails.

We need reminders.

We need handrails, bath mats, shower chairs, sturdy counters, and the good sense to sit down when balance becomes questionable.

We want to remain upright.

More than that, we want to remain active participants in our own lives.

Growing older may require adjustments, but it does not require surrender.

P.S. I went back and put in my dentures.