The AARP Generation

Last October, I told the story of the kid at the Subway sandwich shop who asked if I “did the senior discount.” To which I gave a gentle, but firm, reply: “no!”

Fast forward to yesterday, approximately ten months later. This time, at the local (Greenbrae, CA) Noah’s Bagels store, a modified version of this scenario played out…

I typically visit Noah’s here (as I did the Noah’s on Hawthorne when I lived in Portland), on Saturdays and Sundays, to have an egg mitt and a cup of tea – and read the morning newspaper. Yesterday morning there was a veteran behind the register taking orders, along with a trainee. The experienced Noah’s employee explained that I was a regular and that she typically didn’t charge me the “gourmet bagel” premium on my egg-mitt order, and that since I am such a good guy, she gives me a “family discount.”

Or at least that is what I thought she said.

Senior Discount?!

As I received my cup of hot water and took a seat to wait for my bagel, I glanced at the receipt (at left)…only to find that I had received a 10% (54-cent) “Senior Discount!”

This is the first time, I believe, that this has happened. If anyone else has ever accommodated me in this fashion, it certainly has slipped my attention.

Or maybe from my memory? (I’m not as young as I once was, you know!)

This all comes at a time when I’m about to turn over my life odometer this coming Friday, and am contemplating, every day, the fact that I’m soon about to begin my seventh decade on this planet.

Soundtrack Suggestion

When I get older losing my hair
Many years from now
Will you still be sending me a valentine
Birthday greetings, bottle of wine?
If I’d been out till quarter to three
Would you lock the door?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I’m sixty-four?
You’ll be older too
And if you say the word
I could stay with you
I could be handy, mending a fuse
When your lights have gone
You can knit a sweater by the fireside
Sunday mornings go for a ride
Doing the garden, digging the weeds
Who could ask for more?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I’m sixty-four?
Every summer we can rent a cottage in the Isle of Wight
If it’s not too dear
We shall scrimp and save
Grandchildren on your knee
Vera, Chuck & Dave
Send me a postcard, drop me a line
Stating point of view
Indicate precisely what you mean to say
Yours sincerely, wasting away
Give me your answer, fill in a form
Mine for evermore
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I’m sixty-four?

(“When I’m Sixty-Four” – Lennon/McCartney)

Your Mission On Earth

The Messiah’s Handbook (Richard Bach, 1977, 2004) advises us:

Here is the test to find whether your mission on earth is finished.

If you’re alive, it isn’t.

I’ve had this quotation on my refrigerator door for several years now — as if I actually need a daily reminder that there’s always something (big and bad) coming at me right around the corner (and ready to throw my entire known universe into utter chaos).

This time the issues are all about my health… which probably won’t surprise anyone who has kept up with (or browsed) these Musings very much at all. I’ve been writing about what I first labeled “peripheral neuropathy” since at least last March. Then, later in the year, after my move south, I found a doctor who seemed to have some kind of clue about what was going on with my body, and labeled it “chronic myofascial pain.” And, as you know, I have chronicled such avenues as low-dose naltrexone and acupuncture in my quest to address this predicament.

The latest development is that I seem to have entered some kind of acute phase (or an “eruption,” as my chiropractor likes to call it) with respect to the constellation of my pain issues…enough so that my physician has ordered me to stay away from work. This is a real first for me, so it’s taking a total mental adjustment to accept that I am in such a serious state. The theory is that I can take some time away and calm both myself and the symptoms. I’m scheduled to return to work in a month.

In the meantime, the latest label for my woes seems to be headed in the direction of fibromyalgia…a widespread syndrome that afflicts women much more than it does men. (As usual, in my life, I’m finding myself in the minority.)

I will be seeking much assistance in the coming days, weeks and months. I know I have lots of support out there, and that is very comforting.

Here is what I know I need to do right now:

Breathe.

Take it a day at a time.
Breathe.

Go for a walk.
Breathe.

Keep showing up.
Breathe.

Keep writing.
Breathe.

Take a hot bath.
Breathe.

Go for a drive.
Breathe.

Take a picture.
Breathe.

Keep trusting that the universe will provide.
Breathe.

Appreciate life.
Breathe.

Indicators

I’ve previously written about my struggles with “fitting in.” This has been another one of those weeks, and especially one of those days, when I’ve re-engaged with that issue. I’m in a pretty much “glass-half-empty” kind of space tonight as I contemplate a few indicators of a life that’s not working all that well at the moment. So, here they are: how you might tell your life could be in better shape…

• Losing a job that you’d had for nearly a decade. Being ignored, unappreciated and unceremoniously dismissed in the process.

• Spending the best hours of every day on the downhill side of life working and looking for work. (Well, and writing the occasional blog entry.)

• Worrying about health. Worrying about safety, security, and stability. Worrying about worrying to death.

• Finding work that is merely temporary. Being treated like a temp.

• Having (or at least taking) no time to stop and smell the roses. Having no time to produce art. Having no time to read a novel.

• Barely enough energy to get out of bed, lots of times, just imagining the difficulty level of the day ahead.

• Constant, chronic myofascial pain, accompanied frequently by headaches and symptoms of irritable bowel syndrome. Other strange aches, pains & afflictions and occasional infections.

• Coming home after work and always finding that it’s another evening alone. And, consequently, anticipating that dying and death will also come very alone.

• Spending part of every evening taking a hot bath, trying to soak away some of the pain. Easing into the hot water, being overwhelmed with hopelessness. Feeling, fighting, the inclination to sob.

• Feeling the large part, of most every day, like a misfit.

N-Zone Update

Here are the latest developments regarding my experiment with low-dose naltrexone (LDN).

I’ve taken my medicine every night for 12 nights now; I have a 30-day supply, so I’m nearing the half-way point of this trial period. I was cautioned to not expect any improvement in my CMP symptoms too quickly, and that certainly seems to be wise advice. There has been no “miracle cure” here, for sure.

I believe I am experiencing small, but perceptible changes, however. The most problematic areas for me have been the tingling & numbness in my left foot and the pain my lower back. Although it’s somewhat difficult to tell (due to the “good-day” / “bad-day” nature of the disease), I’ve been starting to think that there is a little improvement. The primary way I have of gauging this is that, at some points during some days recently, I have realized that I’ve not been thinking about the pain. This is pretty incredible, given that most all of the time (in recent days, weeks, months and even years), awareness of the pain is always with me.

I’m hoping that there is some promise in this treatment, but there’s a long way to go. Especially, since I’ve developed additional pain symptoms recently. Given all the time I’ve spent at the computer in the last two to three weeks to address the problems with my former blog, and then getting this version ready to go online, I’ve developed pain in my right forearm and wrist that is consistent with my 1990 tendonitis diagnosis. Amazingly, though, the Trigger Point Therapy Workbook offers me hope that I can treat this with trigger-point massage therapy (and that this may not, after all, be tendonitis but rather part of my CMP condition).

The bottom line of my thinking for today is that there may be some hope for me and my CMP woes as I combine the self-massage and LDN therapies.

End of Life

I received word a couple of days ago that one of my high school classmates does not have long to live. Several years ago she was diagnosed with breast cancer but was able to survive the experience back then. The most recent memory I have of her is from a class reunion where I observed her smoking a cigarette. I must admit, I had a judgment about this. I thought: A cancer survivor. Yet she’s smoking. Incredible. She must have a death wish.

Linda was someone I shared rides with to school in the morning some days (via a carpool). I can’t say that we were really friends, though. We were acquaintances, mostly; we lived in the same neighborhood of our small, rural northern-Wisconsin town and our parents knew each other. She was at least one notch, probably more, above me on the social scale. She was a good looking teenager (rather hot, actually) and dated the jocks. I was extremely average looking, small, non-athletic, academic — and nerdy with a rather rebellious wild side. I didn’t fit. She did.

Now she’s in hospice care. So, again I’m left thinking: what’s this life all about, anyway?