Body Talk

As I have gotten older, I have noticed the increase in the willingness of my body to speak up.  I have also noticed that it has gotten quite persistent and noisy in its insistence to be heard.  At times it is boisterous . . . rambunctious . . . rowdy . . . and at times, downright blatant in its demands to be heard.  All the noise is making it difficult to ignore all this body talk.

It all started with the thumbs.  First the left, then the right.  In the beginning it was a gentle, lingering ache announcing its presence . . . like a long-lost friend showing up out of the blue.  The sort of long-lost friend you never liked and didn’t mind being lost.  Because it was sporadic in its appearance, such communication was easy to ignore.

 

That was my mistake.  There is no greater wrath than that of a jilted appendage.  The thumbs were not happy in having their conversation ignored.  They cranked it up a few notches.  From gentle, lingering pain they added sharp stabs of sheering pain.  It expanded its irritation and invited the rest of the hand to join in a litany of complaints.  Then it invited the wrists to join the party.  That was the worst.

 

The wrists didn’t just pipe in with pain.  No, the wrists threw in sharp, piercing—knife-like—stabbing pain.  They locked up and any time I attempted to bend them . . . well, it produced an intense pain that brought tears to my eyes and swear words to my lips.  It practically had me on my knees.  It hurt.  It really, really hurt.

 

The thumbs, hands, and wrists were playing hard ball.  They wanted their presence acknowledged.  I’ll admit, they were hard to ignore.  But . . . HEY!  I’m male and we men know how to ignore a lot when it comes to our bodies.

 

The wife tells me that it is osteoarthritis.  I can’t even pronounce it.  Arthritis.  A common companion to many over the safe of sixty. It’s been camping out in the thumbs, hands, and wrists for quite awhile now.  Thankfully it has not moved its show on the road to other parts of the body—yet.  But I am certain it is plotting a migration down the road.

 

My feet joined the chorus a few years ago.  They have been using the three-prong approach.  It started one night—my feet got hot.  Not warm—HOT!  I had to kick the covers off to cool them off.  It was a hot flash of the feet.  I noticed, but I learned that if I could fall asleep quickly, I could avoid the discomforting message.  Apparently, this miffed the feet.  Pushing the envelope to get my attention they added tingling and pin pricks to the toes.  Not satisfied they also threw in sore heels—much like a stone bruise.  The feet weren’t playing around.  They were banging on the door to be heard.

 

Neuropathy is what the wife tells me it is—nerve damage.  I’m told that it could be because of diabetes.  It could be caused by thyroid dysfunction.  I’m certain that it is not diabetes as I get tested periodically for it since it runs in the family.  I’m good there.  The thyroid . . . maybe.  I have been on thyroid medication for years when it decided to under-function one day.  Like testing for diabetes, I get that tested too on a regular basis.  It is good.  None the less, the feet are demanding to be heard.  I hear them as I gingerly tip toe around.  The more I move, the better they feel.

 

Occasionally the legs jump in the fray.  They are sporadic.  They make surprise announcements of their presence every-so-often by throwing a cramp or Charlie horse.  These sneak attacks remind me of their presence.

 

The eyes have piped in too.  With age my eyesight has started to go AWOL from time to time.  I’m up to trifocals now.  In the morning, they take longer to warm up and focus.  I have some fairly large floaters swimming around.  Cataracts are developing too.  At least that is what my eye doctor tells me.  I’m also told that my brain will adjust to the floaters, and they will disappear from my sight.  Basically, that my brain will ignore them.  I’m still waiting.

 

Speaking of the brain . . . it is still sharp, but not as sharp as it used to be.  It doesn’t multi-function like it used to.  One or two tasks maximum seems to be its limit.  More than that . . . well, it gets forgetful.  It gets distracted.  It enjoys exploring rabbit holes.  Sometimes it goes on vacation.  Most of the time it is one step behind.  It doesn’t bother me a whole bunch as I have plenty of people willing to speak and think for me.  No shortage there.  I guess I should be concerned, but for the most part it is functioning.  I know my name, address, and wife’s name and phone number.  I’m doing okay.

Hearing likes to complain from time to time—especially in crowds.  I’ll admit that I do not hear as well as I once did.  Building grain bins tempered my ability to hear.  Crowds and noisy situations make it hard to hear.  Yes, the television is cranked up.  So, yes, I’m certain I have hearing loss, but I like the sound of silence.  Despite organic hearing loss, the wife tells me I also have selective hearing loss.  True, it is another male trait, while at the same time a common practice.  Especially around politicians during election years.

 

There are other parts of my body crying to be heard.  The top of my head whines from time to time about it being cold due to the lack of hair.  Been that way since my young adult days,  Major defection.  My hair has been flying from the coop for years migrating to other parts of my body--the back, ears, and nose.  I guess I could let the hair on my ears grow and create a comb over for my head.  If God knows the number of hairs on my head, then God should thank me for making the number easier to remember each year.

 

The belly Throws in its pound—actually pounds—worth of lament.  It seems to have moved south as time flies.  It has settled quite well in the mid-section of my body where it is has set up camp.  More than once I have mistaken for the poppin’ fresh dough boy from Pillsbury.

 

Occasionally the back throws in a kink to deal with.  The lungs can huff and puff.  The ol’ bladder demands more frequent attention.  The plumbing flares up from time to time.  The nose likes to run more often.  My stomach is pickier. 

 

It is quite a conversation that the body is waging and engaging in.  One I should probably listen to.

 

Years ago, there was a Peanuts cartoon where Snoopy is jogging.  It is a nice, peaceful jog until the feet shout out, “Without us there could be no jogging!”  The legs disagreed and said so.  Well, soon other parts of the body were arguing as to who was the most important part of the body.  Louder and louder the argument got.  It was getting to be too much.  Then suddenly a voice shattered the noise: “Without me, you’re all gone!”  It was the heart.  The arguing stopped.  The noise dissipated.  Snoopy jogged on in peaceful quietness.

 

From time to time, I need to remind myself and my body that my heart is what makes it all function and work.  That it is in control.  That it is good.  It is strong.  It is filled with love.  That it is happy.  That it is functioning.  That it I good to be alive.  In those moments of silence and acknowledgement the body remembers . . . it is “all for one and one for all!”  Despite it all . . .despite the noise . . . all the commotion . . . life is good and we all still here despite all the aches and pains.  And that is good.