“HELP, I’VE FALLEN and I can’t get up.” It wasn’t too many years ago that I viewed that commercial as humorous. No more.
A few days ago, my wife slipped on a curb and fell. No serious injury, just a cut on her lip and a scraped leg. But she couldn’t get up. Thankfully, my sons were there to help. I couldn’t do it on my own.
My wife’s arthritis makes it difficult for her to walk long distances or climb stairs, hence our move to a one-floor condo.
I still play golf a couple of times a week during warmer weather, and I hit the ball reasonably well for my age. I easily pick the ball off the green, but reaching to the bottom of the cup is challenging.
I like to drive my car. I find it relaxing. Given that we can’t travel to Europe, we’re planning another road trip, this time to Florida. After driving several hours, getting out of the car is a mini-project. There’s a general stiffness that takes a few minutes to wear off.
For all of the above, there is one thing in common—aging. It wasn’t until a few years ago, when I reached age 75, that the aging thing started to kick in. Now it’s a daily reality.
I’m raring to go at 5:30 a.m., but by 3:30 p.m. a short nap is no longer a joke but a necessity. Well, not a necessity, but—if I stop moving—a fact. It’s just automatic: I sit, I sleep.
Don’t get me wrong, we try to keep active. We both track our steps every day—I love my Apple Watch. We usually log two miles or more. While I was quarantined—both times—I walked two miles each day inside our condo. The view was a bit boring, I’ll admit.
There’s no way to escape aging. Well, there is a way, but not a desirable one.
Read the rest of my story and the many interesting comments on the link below.
Source: Elderly as Insult – HumbleDollar