Is that rust?

The last couple of years have been a real eye-opener for me. As I have in turn stealthily approached, vaulted over (gingerly, of course - bad back) and looked over my shoulder (through bleary, squinted eyes) at the dramatic threshold of the age of fifty, I have noticed that my body is falling apart at a more rapid rate than I would prefer.

In the past few years I have:

Had lasik surgery to repair my failing eyes. This was a bit of a farce, as it turns out I have thin cornea. While I thought thin cornea only added to my boyish charm, apparently it makes lasik a nightmare. It did and I would rather wear a welder's mask for the rest of my life than go through that surgery again. 8 weeks of miserable recovery for mediocre results compared to the normal-cornead folks' 1-2 day recovery. I pass.

Been through physical therapy for my unreliable back, which has been known to throw me into a painful week-long lockup without warning for attempting to do nothing more strenuous than putting a fabric softener-sheet into the dryer. The stretching seems to help, but I am ever-wary that an E-Ticket to Mr. Toad's Wild Percoset Ride is just a hip-check away.

Had pieces of my skin removed, little by little, due to sun-damage. Thanks! When I grew up here in the beloved Valley of the Sun, we didn't have SPF sunblock - in fact, our sunblock was called "Coppertone" and hastened a dark and enviable tan. We played baseball outside all summer and I rarely wore a shirt. Now it's time to pay The Fiddler and he is taking his payment an ounce at a time.

Given up my ability to consume any food or drink that could be plated or poured. At some point, my iron-clad stomach, once the envy of friends and family alike has been replaced by the lilly-livered, soft-spoken, tender repository for nothing spicier than cottage cheese (room temperature, if possible). I still challenge this new, highly-calibrated stomach at every opportunity, but am inevitably slapped down by its milquetoast disposition and sent to have a seat while it clears its figurative table. I am ashamed.

Spent the night cursing a toothache. Yes, even my storied brilliant ever-whites have felt the ravages of time. My sterling smile and flawless overbite have succumbed to decades of chewing, brushing, flossing and grinning for the cameras and have become brittle and in need of a good shoring-up. Like the foundations of a beautiful bridge, my teeth are in need of an overhaul, with expensive repair work looming on the horizon. I watched a documentary on Joe Willie Namath the other day and was mesmerized by his dazzling white smile, embedded like an ivory bear-trap in his wrinkled, leathery face. Thought to myself Maybe a good whitening is in order as well - it will draw attention away from the bags under my eyes and the half an ear I'm going to have after the next visit to the skin doctor...

Gone on high-blood pressure medication. I can blame this on poor genetics, as the same side of the familial gene-pool that blessed me with the fair, melanomamagnetic skin, receding hairline and propensity toward obesity also saddled me with the likelihood of heart disease and high blood-pressure. Of course, my cocksure, patronizing physician told me that if I lost thirty pounds, I would most likely be able to forego the medication. I am nearly tempted to lose the weight, so I might not only be able to stop with the meds, but also punch him in his condescending mouth and have a decent chance of holding my own in the ensuing brouhaha.

So, we may feel young at heart as we grow gracefully, if not painlessly old, but most likely it is because we have the proper heart medication. Take it as it comes, I say, and enjoy what you have while you can, for it's only a matter of time before the nuts and bolts start to get loose and the rust begins to form.