It Sucks Getting Old

Yes, I said it.  Here you are, a thirty-something, minding your own business: raising your kids; working your job; date nights with your spouse; volunteering for everything...then BAM!  Your 46.  You have trouble getting up in the morning.  Your back aches.  Your tired...all the time.

This week I decided to bite the bullet and go see my doctor.  Mind you, I've chatted with him online when I need a med refilled, or when I was in the accident nine months ago, but for the most part, I've avoided him.  Yes, I went in for my mammogram this spring, after having multiple biopsies (everything is good!), but avoided that dreaded Pap because frankly, who the hell wants to get up on that table and be poked and prodded?  I don't.  

I didn't go in this week for the Pap...knowing full well he was going to yell at me.  (He swears he doesn't yell, he just looks at you like you walked in with a 60 oz Slurpee and a box of Krispy Kremes).   I did, however, go in for some swelling of my ankles, and sore feet in the morning.  Why am I telling you this?  Because if you aren't feeling your self, make a point of going to see your doctor, even if you know he is going to yell at you.  

After his stern talk of why they my ankles swell, I was give a strict talking-to:  Here's your Rx for the excess water; go down and get lab work done (even though it was done in September); explicit instructions to avoid sugary drinks (damn you Dr. Pepper!), and carbs (are you fucking kidding me?), and drink more water (three days later I feel like I'm floating away).  Seriously?  Please put me on a diuretic, and then tell me to drink a gallon of water a day.  I'm down.

That night tests came back with higher than normal blood pressure (dude, you just took away soda and carbs, what the hell did you think would happen?); an under-active thyroid (could we be on to something); and vitamin D deficiency (I'm stuck in a warehouse office, with no window...the only light I get is during lunch - which typically is 20 minutes - at the end of the day, or on the weekends). 

Could this all be leading up to menopause?  Maybe.  Let's not even get into the night sweats and chills.

After a trip to the pharmacy, and the list of potential side effects, I'll apologize now for any reaction out of the ordinary from me, until they get this shit right.

So here we are leading into a holiday weekend.  The worst possible time for life changes. Or is it?  I'm going to try.

It's July 1.  I solemnly vow to drink more water; to take the meds; to get out in the sun; to avoid sugary drinks (damn) and carbs (double damn); and to get up and move during the day, even when I should be hunkered down in my office.