Retirement Day #1173
Addressing an aging body’s issues becomes a game of Whack-A-Mole.
Last Sunday evening, as I virtuously flossed my teeth, I felt an odd openness in the upper left delegation. Suddenly, a silver filling attached to a molar plopped into my palm. Quick breath intake. What the heck? Do I call a dentist? Put it under my pillow? There was no warning, which was weird. There was no pain, for which I’m grateful. There was definitely a mini-freak-out.
My incredible I swear he’s 12yrs old dentist got me in the next day. Not sure how it happened, but decay sabotaged an old filling, and was already creeping on the neighboring molar. Long story short, I need to get 2 teeth removed, and will go through the implant process over the next six months. I consult with an oral surgeon this afternoon. “Bad teeth run in the family” – My Mother.
Hence, this blog. Surgery again!?! Scheisse! Merde! Caca!
My body started falling apart some time ago, but the recent cascade has been awe-inspiring: 2017: right knee cartilage transplant (chondromalacia); 2020: right hip replacement; 2022: left hip replacement. And the deterioration appears to be speeding up as 2022 sees another surgery pending.
At this rate, I’ll soon be bionic. Titanium anchors and an assortment of screws, plastic and ceramic will riddle my body, head to toe. Diagnosed with osteoporosis, that bane of post-menopausal women, I have added a medication & have become more disciplined about diet and exercise.
If this game must be played, moles be warned:
I have dreams to live.
