I need to start out here with a little advice: if you are in the Boomer generation or older, you might not want to see the movies “Amour,” or “The Quartet.” Actually, “Quartet” was mildly optimistic about aging. But for heaven’s sake, spare yourself the pain of watching the other one. Because as the spectre of death gets closer and closer, we don’t need for it to slap us across the face and then drown us in tears. We don’t. 

My husband and I have spent a lot of time talking about this, lately. Well, we went to those movies. Anyway, we have decided to take a very proactive and upbeat approach to our impending old age, and I feel that it is innovative enough to share with the rest of you. 

First of all, we have decided to step up our fitness regime. He does stretching and golf. Laughable. So he blew up the great big exercise ball I bought ten years ago, fell off once, got rug burns, then relegated to the closet. He enrolled in an exercise ball extravaganza at the YMCA on Tuesday. I told him to wear padding. 

I go up and down the staircase fifty times (one count is an up and down) three times weekly. And I do weights. But that menopot isn’t going to go down without a fight. So now I am doing some sort of squat thingys. 

Our most exciting push against the grim reaper is joining a boutique medical practice. Sound fun? You can’t EVEN imagine how great this is! Our doctor, (for a hefty yearly fee, but isn’t one’s health a precious resource?) is available to us 24 hours a day, seven days a week. I am not kidding. If I get some sort of night sweat, I can call his cell. And he will answer. We tested this not long ago, when the husband had nasty (and I won’t share) side effects after surgery, and we spoke on and off with the Doc all night long. 

Here’s the thing: if I need someone to go to my colonoscopy with me, my Doc will go. He will do house calls. If we get cancer, he will go to our chemo with us. This is worth the cost for us, as all of these old people horrors are waiting in the wings. We feel their breath! So this boutique medical set-up is a Godsend, we think! 

I met our Doc in the grocery store just the other day, and he looked almost my age. So I told him that he can’t afford to get sick or old. We need him too much from now on. He smiled and said he is bringing in a younger doc as a partner. Even better! We have it covered until we are at least 90.

 In the meantime, while looking over the deli cold cuts, he advised me to stand on one foot as much as possible—you know, to improve balance. And to cut out sugar and salty foods. I told him he might want to start a blog for all of us, with a daily medical joke and a brief message about vitamins or a run-down of the evils of Genetically Modified Foods. He lit up at that suggestion. But then admitted that he doesn’t know how to type. Oh yeah—they can’t handwrite, either. Prescriptions! 

I also proposed this: for an extra $200 a year, I wondered if he would come over on Thursday evenings for pizza and game night. We need a third for Pictionary. 

He’s thinking it over. 


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