All in Vein

Let's take a break from philosophical musings to ask the question of whomever designed us: what the hell?!

I managed to get through my 60th birthday with little to cringe about. I had decided if I couldn't beat it, I was going to meet it head on and celebrate getting here. My daughter and her family made sure it was a wonderful day despite it falling right during the heart of the pandemic, but it helped that I was pretty much what it had always been only with some gray in the hair and lines on the face and wasn't worried about any major changes happening to me without my consent. But in the ensuing three years weird things have started to happen. For no particular reason that I know of. Are these things happening to you? There's so much, it's not going to make it into one post, so let's start with the one that makes me the craziest during the summer - my legs.

For one thing, I've noticed any bug bites, cuts and scrapes take longer to heal these days. I know that happens to folks as they age - my mother-in-law was frightening proof of that a couple of weeks ago. I was caring for her by myself when she got a scrape on her finger  She bled like her finger was coming clean off, not just subjected to a minor incident most of us would shake right off.  But it bled and then bled for a few days off and on.  Not the time to discover you're out of bandaids, I have to add. And of course it's because her skin is like parchment due to her advanced age, plus I'm sure some medication side effects.  I had just gotten to the point of taking off the child proofing we had around the house as my granddaughter is past really needing it, but one wonders if maybe that isn't who really needs bumpers on corner objects.

Anyway, I'm not even close to that same camp, but I do understand that we head in that direction as we age. But still, starting last summer, my legs looked like I'd been in a fight and lost about half the time. I was doing some of the mowing last year and that's where most of the abuse came from.

Fast forward to now and I'm not able to mow as much since I'm with my grands Friday evening/Saturday, so my left leg looks pretty normal. The right leg on the other hand looks like a map of Middle Earth and Mt Doom is looming somewhere up on my inner thigh. 

I've always had visible veins; my Irish skin is sometimes so translucent the veins look like they're just right there barely below the surface. But trust anyone who has ever tried to take blood from me, looks can be deceiving, so maybe it's just how it is for people like me, and anyone with some actual skin tone has a better time of it, but it's certainly not attractive. So of course the first thing I do when I started noticing it was to Google it. Normally that's a recipe for panic. According to the Internet, every little possible change we see is our personal Armageddon. Except this time. When I wanted some reason to run screaming to a doctor to have the offending map removed from my leg, I find site after site saying usually there's no cause for concern. Or that it's a natural result of decreased levels of collagen. I should walk 30 minutes a day. Carly and I walk roughly 45-minutes unless I'm home alone with my mother-in-law in which case I still get the work in running up and down stairs trying to take care of her and work at the same time. Plus 45-minutes five days a week on my Peloton. Not sure how much else you want if I'm still going to hold down a job too. I should drink plenty of water, the Internet tells me. If 70 ounces roughly a day isn't enough for you, what is? I take a daily vitamin for women over 50, but maybe I should take Vitamin K. No wait, this article says Vitamin E.  How about a dose of STFU, Internet? Bottom line is, I think unless I find a pot of gold at the end of some rainbow to afford non-medically mandated surgery, this is the new me. I invested heavily in Bermuda shorts and light-weight full length pants for the summer and have more or less decided this is my new reality. 

Reality is overrated.

Mt. Doom - be glad it's fuzzy, it's not for the squeamish

Next time, I'll introduce you to Simon.