When You're Old and Grey

16 days post-op. M is improving but exhausted from the pain of surgery and the (I suppose necessarily) sadistic tortures provided by visiting PT's and OT's. The Physical Therapists, in particular, have their measuring tools ... "gotta get to 100 degrees" on bending the newly-born knee towards kicking yourself in the ass. I have a secret theory ... Kind of like the old Kung Fu bit with Carridine ... 

"Grasshopper! When you can kick yourself or PT in ass, you must leave!"

or

"If you meet the PT on the road? Kill her!"

Actually, the visiting PT, OT and RN are great but each day with therapy becomes exhausting and pain-filled for M. And, not to complain (I did get 50 years out of M before her parts wore out ... used to be a transmission was rarely good for more than 40,000 miles ... Lord knows, how many miles are on M's chassis!). But, shit! Why not complain? This Blog started as a Kvetching Platform for Old Foagies ... well? for me! and anyone else who dares write in about the vagaries of aging in the Age of Donald to-the-dump-to-the-dump-to-the-dump-dump-DUMP.

Yesterday, Howard the Nurse cooked from 430 to 630 AM for 6PM incoming Spawn and Grandspawn ... saw 8 hours of visitors in office. Monitored the crazy barking Gdog while professionals were with M (not the Vet! the Vet wasn't there to see M) and coordinated through PT/OT/Visiting Vet (for failing Pretty Girl le Chat), serving dinner with guests and not sleeping. 

It's no longer a stale/impersonal feeling for me in worrying about Caretakers. Poor Howard! (LOL)

Found myself humming a rather nasty Tom Lehrer dittie about spousal aging:

Since I still appreciate you,

Let's find love while we may.

Because I know I'll hate you

When you are old and gray.

So say you love me here and now,

I'll make the most of that.

Say you love and trust me,

For I know you'll disgust me

When you're old and getting fat.

An awful debility,

A lessened utility,

A loss of mobility

Is a strong possibility.

In all probability

I'll lose my virility

And you your fertility

And desirability,

And this liability

Of total sterility

Will lead to hostility

And a sense of futility,

So let's act with agility

While we still have facility,

For we'll soon reach senility

And lose the ability.

Your teeth will start to go, dear,

Your waist will start to spread.

In twenty years or so, dear,

I'll wish that you were dead.

I'll never love you then at all

The way I do today.

So please remember,

When I leave in december,

I told you so in may.

We're coming on our 50th and 51st Anniversary, depending on how we count. Still, I think both M and I thought Old Tom was kidding when as a relative youngster in the early 60's, I suppose, he penned and sang these words. Check it out, Oh, Ye Players in the Last Quarter ... you'll soon be humming along, too ... maybe a duet?

                                                   www.youtube.com/watch?v=8NOZH0y7VxE

Hats off to your prescience, Tom!