Yesterday I had a doctor’s appointment in Tallahassee. It was the last in a series of appointments and procedures involving my cranky digestive system. Everything went well. While the doctors identified a couple of minor issues, basically I’m merely aging and falling apart piece by piece.
After paying an arm and a leg (heh) for the privilege of learning I’m old, I left the doctor’s office feeling poorer, but relieved. I’d prepared myself for bad news, hypochondriac that I am, and instead I just learned that my body is going through some changes.
Hmmm. Didn’t I hear the same thing back in sixth grade? Puberty was a piece of cake compared to this, though. Okay, so I didn’t like the pimples and period stuff, and the awkwardness and insecurities really stunk. Oh, and the growth spurt that propelled me to the top of my class’s height chart and kept me there through most of junior high and high school wasn’t much fun either.
On second thought, I wouldn’t trade my current issues for those I faced in puberty. To paraphrase one of my favorite movie quotes: “We don’t need no stinking training bras.”
Hooray for aging. Hooray for me.