Last week I clipped my fingernails almost down to the quick, where barely any of the white parts show. Why, you might be wondering, did I do such a thing? I thought you’d never ask. And I have a very good explanation for that. Pain. It has to do with pain. I’ll explain…
Bye bye nails
As you know, I’m dealing with this damn back of mine to the point I’ve not been able to exercise in over 4 months. Boo-hoo. As a consequence, my body now closely resembles the blubber in the movie, Flubber. Except I’m not green.
And as an added bonus, I’ve gained 5 pounds. Yep, I finally broke down and weighed myself with my super-duper-never-wrong-bathroom scale. I wish I could call it a liar but sadly, it’s honest to a flaw.
I know, it sucks, right? And my condition exists for one reason only: Hilary. Yep. She is totally, entirely and wholly to blame for my current predicament. I suppose you noticed I used 3 adverbs just then. That’s because simply one isn’t nearly sufficient enough to describe the depth of Hilary’s responsibility for this nearly 64-year-old-once-healthy-person now having the back of a 98-year-old.
How can I blame sweet little Hilary for this, you ask? First of all, she isn’t so sweet. Don’t let that smile fool you. But she IS little. Barely reaching a diminutive 5’ 1” doesn’t hide the fact that the woman is no pushover. Nobody messes with Hilary. But I must admit she does have a generous side she shares with her friends. Unfortunately, she considers me one. I’ll explain…
I’m driving along, again wondering what I should blog about this week. What can I write that you might want to read? So I thought, I wish something interesting would happen so I don’t resort to posting a previous blog out of desperation. Word of advice:
Recently I’ve undergone some procedures: a bone scan for oldies like me, a pap smear, mammogram…all the fun stuff. So I’m getting my pap when the doctor says, “I see you have osteoporosis.” What? Appears my bone scan showed I’d graduated from soft bones to full-fledged-about-to-crumble-bones.
Oh the joys of being short, small-boned and Caucasian (risk factors for osteoporosis).
Then the next day I had a mammogram even though, as I’m pushing 63, they suggest doing it every 2-3 years. They can suggest all they want; I get one every year.