43 Is The New “Dude, You’re Old”

At least if you’ve taken consistently shitty care of yourself your entire adult life.

So I was having arm problems that I whined about at length in earlier blogs. I got an MRI a couple weeks ago and today finally was sat down and told what it means. I took The Missus and The Man Cub because frankly, I needed a keeper and we couldn’t get a sitter.

The doctor was a good-looking young intern, charming, straight out of Central Casting. It was when he opened his mouth to speak that things began to go wrong. Words like “degeneration” and “wear” and even (gulp) “arthritis” were thrown around. Not to mention “weak” and stupid.

No really.

Okay, what happened was, after I established the boundaries – none – the doctor jumped in with both feet. When The Missus posited a question he apparently found quite brilliant, he indicated her and said, “Ah I see. She’s the smart one.”

Come to think of it, maybe he was just hitting on my woman. But then, it was me he was fondling. Maybe that’s what he meant when he said I was weak. But what could I do with my wife and child sitting right there?

Anyhow, the upshot is, yes the bones in my spine are either degenerating or growing extra prongs which is squishing shit together in my neck that shouldn’t be squished together, but its their opinion (the dazzling young intern and the humorless senior physician who joined us later) that I should wait to see how long it is again for the next period of weeks of agonizing pain to occur before doing anything.

Because in this case, doing something means surgically poking around in my neck with hammers and chisels. And as I understand it, some kind of industrial-strength sandpaper.

So although the news was not good, it was not especially bad, either. And we did have a really good time goofing around with the intern. All in all, really, if I had ever thought I was going to live into my 40s, I might have taken better care of myself.

Another cautionary tale for The Man Cub.