By: Teri Petrocco
With Halloween approaching my thoughts turn to skeletons. Not the skeletons gracing my neighbors’ front yards; rather my own. In the past, the state of my skeleton never entered my consciousness. But in my mid seventies, my skeleton has found its voice. Even though I routinely admonish it to use its quiet voice, every morning it screeches its opposition.
My knees and back conspire to keep me prone. To their dismay, I hobble out of bed with my morning mantra: motion is lotion. I swallow two horse pills containing glucosamine, chondroitin, and methylsulfonylmethane because I read somewhere that these supplements tame the skeleton. At times, I add Tylenol, Voltaren, and heat for good measure. And then I walk, I cycle, I aqua jog, and/or I cardio drum.
Eventually I lower its volume so I can go about my day. I simply ignore its whispers. Yet, it still intrudes.
Staying at my daughter’s, she thoughtfully put the boys in one room, so I could have my own. Since there was no way I could sleep in a crib, I had to make do with a mattress on the floor, no anchor to help me up or down. For four days I did the impossible. I slept on the mattress, even though I had to use the restroom at least three times or more each night. I never mentioned my ordeal to my daughter. Stoicism is a virtue, isn’t it?
Since I had my knee replaced, my artificial appendage refuses to support my weight on the floor, so getting down on my knees is no longer debatable. Prior, with my grandsons I would be on the floor for all of forty-five seconds before one would proclaim, “Nona, come over here.” I would get up and sit down for maybe a minute before my local would be relocated.
Unfortunately, now at 75, the floor is not an option. Luckily, my grandsons are empathetic and I can easily move the chair.
I doubt, no matter how many supplements I nearly choke on, my skeleton will never suddenly become mute. It found its voice and it intends to make up for lost time.
On reflection, I know I would prefer a skeleton that is still above ground. So we have come to an understanding: I will ignore it as much as possible and continue living life to the fullest. It will continue to hold my internal organs in place.
As Emerson once said, “For everything you gain, you lose something.” The benefits of age dwarf the loss of a muted skeleton.
