Psssssst......hey, you! Could you loan me some Advil till payday?
It never occurs to us when we're young that someday we'll be fifty years old, and that places on our bodies to which we have given little thought will begin to hurt. This is why we do stupid things, like jumping off roofs with an umbrella ("Look, you guys, I'm Mary Poppins!"). We shinny up, then proceed to fall out of, various types of trees (yep, I hit every branch on the way down). And when we're a little bit older, we are apt to experiment with substances that give us the idea that we're Superman, hence such behaviors as attempting to run through a wood fence (you should've SEEN the bruises after that incident) or doing cannonballs off the balcony of a second-floor apartment into the pool (no comment).
But that day comes, and then we have the nerve to act surprised. It starts out as a twinge here, a creak there, maybe a little hitch in one's getalong that becomes more pronounced when we are tired or have done the 'weekend warrior' gig a little too enthusiastically. But eventually, we reach a point where it seems we hurt in places that we didn't even know we had..........and in the case of nurses, many of whom are on their feet for eight, ten, or even 12 hours a day, being sore all the time is a pain in more ways than one!
As a nurse who got started relatively late in life (I graduated at age 38) and who has a habit of carrying her groceries on her hips, I'm no stranger to aches and pains. In fact, I take a certain pride in my ability to soldier on in spite of it all: My left knee, which has a way of collapsing under me at the most inopportune times, is about five years overdue for a replacement. My back hurts every day of my life thanks to injuries I sustained in my teens and 20s, and is getting worse every year. My fingers, wrists, elbows, hips, and ankles have ground glass in them. And as for my poor dogs, I continue to be amazed at what they do for me given the abuses I've heaped upon them: too many pounds, too many pairs of cheap shoes, too many long shifts on hard floors.
Yes, I feel every minute of my age and then some; yet in many ways, I'm better than ever and have much more to offer.......even if it does hurt.
I've noticed that sometimes when I massage my hot, calloused feet, I find myself thinking of patients whose backs I've rubbed, bringing them comfort and sleep in an atmosphere that was far from conducive to either, and I am glad that I've been given the ability to do so. My aching back reminds me that I'm blessed to still be able to move and go and do; many people who have suffered less severe injuries end up in wheelchairs, or worse. The arthritis that sometimes causes me to yelp when I bump an affected joint has, so far, spared me the indignity of needing someone to do such simple tasks for me as buttoning my blouse or zipping my jacket; I am grateful that I can not only do them for myself, but also for others who are farther down that road than I.
I've noticed that I tire more easily and need more time to recuperate from a bad shift than I did when I was 40. So what? No matter how hard a night I've had, I can still leave my patients in the hands of someone equally capable as I, go home, and sleep soundly so I can come back refreshed the next afternoon. Thank God I no longer feel the need to "have it all", for that means doing it all.......and after years of 24/7 responsibility, a career holds absolutely no appeal for me. I'm a much better nurse for having found contentment in a job that doesn't define me, especially not at the expense of family, church, and other interests.
I've also noticed that I can endure a great deal more physical discomfort than I once thought myself capable of handling. This has served me well, particularly during tough shifts when I literally cannot sit down for four to six hours at a time. It has also given me the courage to try to increase that endurance and push myself just a little harder each day. Who knows.......gritting it out and working through the pain today just might keep me out of a nursing home twenty years from now.
Now, in all honesty, this aging business isn't necessarily a lot of fun for someone who earns her daily bread by bending, stooping, walking, lifting, pushing, and pulling for thirty-two hours per week. There are times I dream of winning the lottery and spending the rest of my days pampering every aching muscle and tendon I own. But I made peace long ago with the fact that my life was never intended to be an easy one, and any concessions to my physical discomforts are limited to long soaks in the tub and the occasional 15-minute backrub from my husband. Oh, and aspirin..........the old-timers didn't call it the Wonder Drug for nothing!
