Just on life’s plan

I hate being sick; hate it, hate it and again hate it! Which happens not very often and nor more frequently than to a person with normal, non-nagging and possessing common sense traits, that gets on with life and age. 

First it was my right knee, which after a magnetic assessment, (fifteen minutes inside a cave-like tube, accompanied by unbelievable loud clatters, blasts and head-blown noises), was not my best experience of a medical exam. The scan showed an age-erosion of knee parts, lubricant missing, -both termed as being ‘normal’ owing to getting older, and some of the medical jargon I was served with that I couldn’t pronounce let alone understand. The bottom line was that I’d need a knee-replacement-operation eventually, but not for some years to come. For now, a lubricant-kind injection should be adequate, the doc said. Fair enough. I forgot to tell him about the accidental stumble I had on the pavement tiles a month ago, which mildly hurt my knees, and for which, the loose tile was responsible for, and not any ageing wobbliness.

Then, out of the blue, I woke up one morning covered with lentil-size red spots all over my body, except my head and backside, which my skin doctor termed as an acute, generalised allergic dermatitis, and for which I was to be rigorously medicated. Now, the 8^th day on since the medication, I am not completely ‘cleared’ from the spots, but, at least, there is no itching and tiredness to suffer. On my asking, the good doc said obligingly that this has nothing to do with age. It could have happened to anyone; only for me, it was the first time happening and, my wits had credited it to age, at first! Funny how the increasing awareness of ageing would interpret body signs as a result of wearing.  

Third, age, you see; and, the reckoning with the so-called ‘healthy’ habits, immune system and luck rushes over to occupy mind and body alike.

Yes, luck; can’t but remember my great grand-mother, who was somewhat of 103 when she died. Perhaps she was more if we were to dis-believe her age on her papers, as some women, then, pretending younger than they were, used to ‘change’ their birth year for what was worthy. She hadn’t been to a doctor ”for as long as she remembered,” as my mama often said, despite her turbulent life and the hardships she had to endure during wars, displacements and poverty. I remember I was eight years old watching her eating almonds, her favorite, grinding tiny pieces from each with her one front tooth and telling me how good nuts were for being healthy. Loved her; I was the only great-grand-daughter, (and she had several), she let to hold and feed her pet with lettuces, a turtle she kept under her bed. 

Of course, I’m not yet near to 103, and most probable I would never reach three fourths of this, but, still, time flies and health issues remind all of us of its passage. 

February’s weather has been a darling here; the almond tree in my neighbour’s yard has blossomed; it doesn’t smell of spring, as yet, though. And, I have nearly done with my novel, -a few chapters remain, despite the hindrance of my ailments. 

D.