wings and things

Middle-aged? No way – I’m only 54!

I’ve just realized that not only am I, technically, middle-aged, but I have been for some time. Shock! This realization has been due to a series of health mishaps in the last month.

1. A gastric virus that had me bedridden/bathroom-ridden for two weeks, and a subsequent suspected cracked rib;
2. A rotten tooth that had to be extracted, culminating in an ongoing dry socket infection.
3. An eye test that revealed I need glasses for both distance and reading, and that I have early signs of macular degeneration, and that my strabismus (squint) is quite pronounced due to the fact that I can only use one eye at a time.
4. The flu (the sniffy, coughy, fevery one).
5. Confirmation of cracked rib today due to re-fracture.

Okay so this morning I had to take Anthony to our doctor for the routine burning off of multiple skin cancers but I made a double appointment so I could discuss my ailments as well. As a result I am on two courses of antibiotics for my tooth infection and the flu. Then I took Ants out to brunch. He was fairly mobile at the doctor’s but by the time we got to the restaurant, he needed the wheelchair. Hoisting him out of the car into the chair and racing into the restaurant because it was windily raining, then twisting us both into the far-too-small disabled toilet, then getting us to a table, I must have re-cracked the rib because, as we ate our meal, I experienced an increasingly severe pain to my right side every time I bent or turned. Once it was just to get Ants’ feet off the footplates of the wheelchair and I think that was the clincher. By the time I got him back to the nursing lodge, it was agony, so I raced down to the walk-in chiropractor (my brother is a chiro but he is away at the moment) and he confirmed that my rib was indeed fractured.

The doctor, optometrist and chiropractor all used the phrase “at your age” which I found alarming until I got home and googled “middle-age”. That’s when I made my discovery so I am sitting here quietly now, absorbing the fact that I am middle-aged.

Oh well, I guess I don’t need to stress about any wrinkles I have anymore because you’re allowed to have those when you’re middle-aged. And that’s a great relief!

This photo was taken before I was middle-aged. The little alien on my lap is Ming, now 19.



I can’t wait to be 55!

For the whole of last year, I thought I was 54 and that I would turn 55 in January this year. I was really excited about turning 55 so it was a terrible disappointment to find that I was still 54 (I got the maths wrong).

So this year, now that I know I really am 54, I am counting the days before I can turn 55. As of today I have 267 days to wait and it’s hard to be patient.

I don’t want to be 55 because I have an OCD or spiritual connection to the number 55 – oh no. And I don’t want to be 55 so I can feel comfortable about going from size 12 to 14 in jeans, because I already did that this week. Turning 55 may help me to embrace the smile lines I seem to have suddenly developed, I suppose, but it’s not that either.

Okay, I will tell you why I want so much to be 55. No, wait a minute – let’s make this a guessing game. I could do with a bit of fun!

Why do I want so much to be 55? The best guess will receive a free wrinkle.