Bumps and scrapes

As one gets more advanced in age - or shall we call it becoming 'youthfully challenged' - one does start to take a rather close look at ones parents. Not only are they your progenitors, but also a glimpse into a possible future. You start taking note of what aches, pains and complaints they have, and study yourself to find indications of those same symptoms.

And somehow injuries seem to happen more frequently, and take longer to heal. No longer can you party until the wee hours and bounce out of bed for work the next morning. Perhaps we travel the full cycle, coming back to the idea of school nights where you have to be home and in bed well before pumpkin time.

Alas, being a natural adept at clumsiness as myself, does not make the road to aging any smoother.

This week I managed to hurt a joint in my wrist while doing the dishes. Yes, you read it right, I said 'doing the dishes'. I wish I could say it was done whilest rock-climbing, making a match-winning catch or fending off a lion. But no, I was swishing the spunge around the inside of a glass when something went pop... and no weasel in sight. At least the physio got a good laugh out of it while she taped my wrist.

And again: earlier this year I did my impression of a cartoon character falling down the stairs. Yes, there was the inevitable slip, the pinwheeling of arms, the yelp followed by the thud, thud thud
all...
the.....
way.....
to.....
the bottom.
Luckily I did not take the head over heels approach, but slid very ungraciously down the stairs on my butt. Needless to say, this resulted in severe bruising - and not just the ego - along with a sore back and legs. But injuries, I have now found, can be rather sneaky. As the bruising fades some aches linger, and only then do you find out what you really hurt.

After a few weeks of trying out the 'it should heal by itself' approach, I finally gave in and visited a physio and a chiro. Spasmed muscles were convinced to release and kneecaps realligned; and it worked so well that now my dance instructor threatens to send me for a few sessions before every performance. In fact, I won't put it past her to accidentally twist me into knots as motivation - she's a physio and would know exact pressure points to trigger ;-)

But, alas, things don't last as well as they did in my youth - a statement I now make sitting on my stoep complaining about the young people of today, the government and everything else wrong with the world. My knee kept aching - in fair weather and foul, so no win there - and I was advised that it was a physical manifestation of my fear of moving forward in life.

What? No! I'm trying to move forward, that's my point, and my knee ... won't... what, really?!

Yes people, apparently one's own body can turn on you when and where you least expect it. Not only is that little hamster in the wheel running useless laps in your head, but it's also found some interesting buttons to push. I wonder what other buttons are lurking up there...