I freely admit to loving my (limited) experience of the ‘fifties, which is just as well as I intend to stick to my maxim that the best part of old age is denial – no matter how much experience I clock up. The most noticeable tribute to passing time is the slothful approach my body adopts to the snappy mental commands I issue from time to time ; for example, “get up from the pool paving and fetch another drink” tends to be interpreted as “roll over soonish, when no-one is looking hoist your bum in the air and get one leg under you – ow, not like that – and p-u-u-s-h ; ag, just ask Kimberley to fill your glass”.
Less obvious to the casual observer are the unforeseen twinges. Like the one I’ve had in the base of my left thumb for a few days. We are having a cold front but the twinge persists even while washing dishes in hot water. So far I’ve borne it stoically but my response reminds me strongly of my grandfather. Who else remembers the Reader’s Digest’s endless series of publications in the ‘Sixties and ‘Seventies? In this context I refer to their health books. Pa became hooked on them and so early on I discovered the dangers of reading too much about symptoms and possible causes. I do not criticise as Google still tells me things I don’t want to hear and are not easy to forget.
The first explanation for the offending hand to occur to me was probably triggered by experiences of friends and colleagues. I prefer a more poetic approach : despite my fortitude, the inclination to bitch to all and sundry points to carp-all tunnel syndrome. This layman’s diagnosis is reinforced by the all-consuming attention it seeks, possibly making it carp-all tunnel vision?
Fortunately my brain was quickly able to talk itself out of this first diagnosis by recalling the remedial procedures undergone by the erstwhile colleagues and late friends. If the latter were removed from this mortal coil because of blocked passages, the chances of these being both manual and digital rather than arterial is remote. On the other hand (unintentional, I assure you), the finger in which the cat excavated two years ago remains pain free. Considering the abysmal state of my medical aid, this does give food for thought. But I would need to have a whole host of drinks before undergoing that again. Unless it was the rabies shots that did the trick.
The possibility of tendonitis has occurred to me but at this stage the rather isolated symptoms have narrowed it down to a colloquially “blerriesorefum”.
As my ‘thirties were spent inexorably approaching and then recuperating from a divorce and I cannot imagine what I did with my ‘forties, I’m revelling in my ‘fifties and neither they nor I are going to be remembered for being a pain in the thumb.