Dread...

This post started to form in my head under the title of, "Kissing Mortality," but that isn't quite right. I'm OK with being mortal, and though I am not in a hurry, I don't have a particular fear of death.  So I had to think about my subject line a bit more.

What brought this all on was the fact that I had two doctors appointments today.  The first to see an orthopedic person because I'm having pain and weakness in my left thumb joint, and the upper joint on my little "pinky" finger became alarmingly bent a few months ago after being very painful for a few days. I use my hands, hard, and need them to work properly. The doctor looked at the x'rays of the finger and quipped, "Well, that joint is toast."  A very correct medical term, that.  As for the thumb, if it gets worse I can try cortisone shots, surgery is a possibility, too, but she didn't seem too enthusiastic about it.

 Upon entering and leaving the physicians building for this appointment, I saw old people in wheel chairs, being shuttled to appointments by family or hired help.  Old men sat in the waiting room, hunched over their bulky winter coats, looking hopeless.  I felt myself stand straighter, stride with more confidence.  I don't want to be those people.  The kind of people who go from one medical appointment to the next, gray and weary, looking for solutions to problems that, ultimately, cannot be solved.

The second appointment of the day was to have a routine mammogram.  As the technician tugged and patted and arranged my breast on the cold glass tray she asked, "Do you still work?"  I felt myself bristle.  Of course I still work!  Don't I look like a person who works?  And there I had it... despite my self image of someone who is still vital and strong and active, I am circling the drain of aging.

And I don't like it one tiny bit.