It happens to all of us. Old age creeps up like a spider on a fly. Slowly at first, stealthily, then pounce and it is on us. We never know what hits us until it smacks us right up side the head. Sure, we feel the little things. The eyesight starts to dim a bit, the hearing gets a little dull and the joints begin to feel slightly rusty but, in our minds, we are still young and healthy. It isn't easy to accept that things are not what they used to be. I am at the point of denial. I keep pushing this old body beyond the limits that should have been set several years ago but the brain does not want to admit that there should even be limits. I hop out of bed before dawn as if I am some sort of spring chicken but by the end of the day, the body reminds me that is more of an "old gray mare" and I ain't what I used to be.
This aging process that plays havoc on our bodies leaves the brain a tad confused. This afternoon after I broke loose of working with the grinder, a hike was in order. These tromps about the hillside soothe the soul. Mr. PJ (the old dog) and I explored a couple of new paths which elated him. He found more new scents to invigorate his senses. At first, his steps were slow and encouragement was needed to keep him moving but, once he picked up on the scent of the bobcat that recently visited the compost pile, he forgot all of his aches and pains. The instinct of protecting the place and me, kicked in and he stood strong and alert. Each sound pricked his ears, each slight movement caught his eye. The old dog was young once again.
Late this evening after four hours of being back inside the Little Bayou House, Mr. PJ awoke from a sound sleep to edge his way over to my side. He looked at me with concern, laid his head on my knee and I gently rubbed his ears. We had a mutual understanding. He had done good. Even though he is advanced in years, he still was needed. Natural instinct had given the old dog a purpose and that was to protect me from any danger. Growing old may not be to our liking but, given a purpose, we can still be important. This old dog and I....we will do alright.
Aging is rough. Sorry, youngsters, you get to look forward to some pretty aggravating things as you age. You might as well just suck it up, Buttercup, and get on with life. Aging ain't fun! But...getting old beats the alternative. As of this week, my new best friend is a finger splint. Nope, I did not break, mangle or otherwise mutilate said digit but it is painful. My old nemesis, arthritis, is flaring up again and causing all sorts of problems. Gardening, artwork, typing (yup, this blog) and even household chores are difficult if not impossible. The "ring" finger on my right hand (it would be the right hand...I am right handed) seems to want to lock in the clinched position. When it locks, there is practically no getting it free again. The splint keeps it straight and forcibly keeps it from closing and locking. The doctor called it a fun thing, "trigger finger", which made me giggle since I have not shot a gun in years! The doctor explained that the tendon that controls the movement of the finger is inflamed causing it to not glide smoothly through its "sheath". This can cause the finger to become locked and be painful. Well, he got that right! It is definitely painful. More so when you try to force the hand back open.
So, what do you do about said finger that now has a funny sounding ailment? "Well," said the diagnosing person with the medical degree, "You could try resting it to start." Now I like that! Just how do you rest a finger?? Go to sleep little ring finger...the rest of us have work to do." My friendly medical adviser grinned and asked ever so politely "Would you wear a splint?" I was not happy. A splint? Images of large body casts, crutches and, wait, a walker flashed through my head. I was assured that the splint was small and would not impede my hiking. Yep, the doctor knows me well.
Next advice from my trusted person with knowledge of health things "Try a pain reliever such as Ibuprofen, That sometimes can help diminish the inflammation and ease the pain." I reminded the doctor that taking pills is not something that I find delightful and queried if there was some herb that might do the trick. He just looked at me like I needed something more to help the thinking and not the hand. It is a good thing that I am on great terms with my doctor and he understands that I am not what fits in the category of "normal" patients. I was informed that herbs were not his strong suit and perhaps I knew more about those than he did. I plan to experiment but first will take a few days of the lovely pills. Ugh! I was not happy.
"If that does not help, we may have to do surgery." Ok, so let me get this straight. Since my finger insists on folding down like a clamp, you want to whack at it with a knife? Egad, Sir! Do not get any ideas here! I sort of need this finger. It adds a lot to the looks of my hand and, when it is acting properly, is rather useful. Without it gloves would be impossible to wear and reeling in a fish would be down right awkward! Again, I was not happy. Dr. Smith told me that I was difficult but at least he said it with a grin. He assured me that the finger would not be lopped off and discarded. Whew!
Surgery is not something that I relish. Mark purchased a splint and a bottle of Ibuprofen. (He is a good man!) At this point, the splint is looking mightily like a new body part. I wear it faithfully, I am trying to "rest" the finger (not happening, by the way) and I try not to think of the consequences of having a tight fist at all times. I am not happy about it but I can deal with it. The pills do help even though I begrudgingly swallow them. Research on herbs and possible exercises has commenced. I did find that washing dishes in nice hot water seems to give the greatest relief! Son suggested I learn to use the left hand more but that is sort of like teaching an old dog some new tricks. I tried. That, too, ain't happening. And I am not happy....but things could be worse. I shall try to find the silver lining in this dismal cloud. It has to be there somewhere. Oh, and just so you will know. It is really difficult to type with a metal thing clanking around on the keyboard!
I was looking back through a some of my older photographs and came across a few of Ms. Ez, the Bayou Dog. These pictures were taken during late fall several years ago. Mark had bought a doggy jacket for her and it was her first time wearing it. If I remember rightly, the morning's temperature had dropped to being a tad cool so we let her dress up for the occasion! She was so proud and pranced around the yard like a little princess. This was quite the comical thing at least for me. In all my days, I had never had a dog that wore clothes. Sure, when Ms. Ez had a terrible rash, we put a t-shirt on her to keep her from licking the medicine but other than that, no doggy clothes....ever. Now, I had a spoiled pup. She had clothes! I viewed the jacket as just more laundry.
My mind wandered a bit when I was staring at the photograph. I thought of how Ms. Ez was quite the spry little thing at that age. She loved running, jumping and chasing anything that would participate in the game. Now she is older and a bit less apt to do much running. When she does, it is an effort. Just a few months ago, some young lads were visiting the Bayou. Ms. Ez was in Heaven! She played like she was a pup again. The ball was retrieved again and again. She raced up and down the hill and then fished with the boys. The sun drained her. By the time they left to go home, Ms. Ez was exhausted...happy but exhausted. I fretted over her that evening but by morning she was back to her old self once again.
We are all aging but some of us refuse to believe it. We do not let go of the idea that we can do what we used to in our earlier years. Then our old bodies let us know. Aches and pains make us regret our actions at least until the next time we get an inkling to do something perhaps better left to the younger generation! Like poor, old Ms. Ez, we never learn! The body is pushed beyond commonsense and we continue to do the things that are required of us. Bayou Motto..."Just get it done!" I figure the quicker I get things finished, the sooner I can head fishing. Now THAT is a plan! (Ms. Ez, you can surely go with me. We two old fogies will sit on the pier and dream of our younger years!)
