Reminders

Four words, one number, and a little perspective.

During a recent conversation with a healthcare professional about my lumbar stenosis diagnosis this past May, I was given a rather unforgettable piece of advice:

“Remember, you’re 70 years old.”

Four words and one number.

As it happens, that particular healthcare professional is no longer part of the pain management team I’ve been working with. And, quite frankly, I’m kind of glad they’re gone.

You see, I didn’t need anyone to remind me how old I am. I was there for all 70 years. I have the memories, the photographs, and a few aches and pains to prove it.

But something happened after those words were spoken. They stuck. And I mean REALLY stuck.

Now, those four little words have become an unwelcome companion, following me around from the moment I wake up until I finally crawl back into bed.

Before I get out of bed:

“Remember, you’re 70 years old.”

As I’m getting out of bed:

“Remember, you’re 70 years old.”

While I’m taking off my pajamas and getting dressed for the day:

“Remember, you’re 70 years old.”

And when I’m washing my face and happen to catch a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror:

“REMEMBER, YOU’RE 70 YEARS OLD!”

That last one is particularly cruel. I mean, seriously, does the mirror REALLY need to get involved?

The funny thing is, before that conversation, I was doing a pretty good job of being 70 without constantly thinking about being 70.

Now, thanks to those four words, I’ve been reminded of my age so many times that I’m actually beginning to… well… REMEMBER HOW OLD I AM!

And therein lies the problem.

There’s a difference between being aware of your age and allowing it to define what you’re capable of doing. I’m perfectly willing to acknowledge that this 70-year-old body occasionally has a few complaints. Some of them rather LOUD complaints.

But I don’t particularly care for the idea of waking up every morning with a number hanging over my head.

I have photographs yet to take, places yet to explore, music yet to enjoy, and memories yet to make.

Which brings me to something I’m very much looking forward to.

In just a few short weeks, we’ll be heading to Acadia National Park. And I’ve made a decision.

I’m going to leave those four words at home.

I’ll take my camera, my enthusiasm, my sense of adventure, and, yes, enough common sense to listen when my body tells me it’s time to take a break.

But that number?

I’m planning on forgetting all about it.

Just for a week or so, anyway.

After all, I’m 70 years old.

Or so I’ve been told.