So if 60 is the new 40 and 30 is the new 20 and 40 is the new 30 and 50 is the other new 30 and 20 is the new infant and teenagers don't even exist, why the hell am I having to deal with middle age stuff now? I should be 32 or 22 or 2 or 12 or something, not actually really literally 42. What am I missing here?
When did this happen? I've always been a young guy. I've never been old a day in my life. Heck, not that long ago, I was a teenager, I still remember it quite vaguely. Yet here I sit, at 42 (which suddenly feels like the new 62) doing things that people do when they start being middle aged and I am more than just a little freaked out by it all.
When did I grow up? When did I get "old"? My father died when he was 49 years old. His father died when he was 41.[1] Suddenly, my odds don't look very good. But as the poet who talked about the poets who studied rules of verse would say, "those were different times". But at this very moment, I'm older than my grandfather ever was.
So what? Right. Lots of people have longer lives than their parents or grandparents. In fact, if we, as a species didn't have longer lives than our ancestors, then we'd have shorter lives than our ancestors. A species with offspring that persistently have shorter lifespan than their ancestors would eventually lead to the complete extinction of the species. Speaking strictly mathematically, of course. So what have I got to worry about? Nothing, probably. But I can't deny the reality and the facts as I see them.
So why am I bugging out so bad today? (Prednisone. Duh.)
But it's more than just the Prednisone. Earlier today, I went to the doctor's office to pick up a couple of prescriptions for lab tests he wanted done. The first test was simple enough. All I had to do was go in and get some blood drawn and go on my merry way. The blood-taking lady was exceptional. She hit the vein on the first shot and somehow I didn't even feel a pinch when the needle pierced my skin. Kudos to the young lady. Turns out she was also a friend of a friend and knew me on sight when I walked into the room. A friendly, familiar face is always nice when you're going to have blood drawn.
The second test was a little more complicated, and I won't bore (or sicken) you with the gory details, but let it be known that collecting one's own poop and putting it into a small bottle can be a very difficult and messy process. There's no elegant, simple, easy way to do it, especially if you've never done it before. All I can suggest is don't try this at home... unless ordered by a physician. Although, truthfully, I can't envision any situation where someone would even want to think about doing such a thing. This isn't the sort of thing you want to be well-practiced at doing, and performing this little collection makes ya feel like you've definitely reached "middle-age".
C-Diff is a funny sickness. There are times when I feel completely normal, like there's nothing wrong at all and that I'm one more hypochondriac making mountains out of molehills. But other times, I see clear evidence that something is dreadfully wrong and that I could be a whole lot sicker than I realize. Add to this the fact that the medication and isolation are clouding my thoughts, and you can clearly see that I'm incapable of objectively assessing the situation. I'm a geek by trade and data analysis is just a part of what I do. Now that my judgement is askew, I'm having a hard time separating feelings from facts. So I'm incapable of legitimately assessing my own health. I really don't like that.
I've not talked much about C-Diff, so let me give a little insight, at least to the best of my understanding. C-Diff is a bacteria that exists pretty much everywhere and is especially prevalent in hospitals and elder-care centers. It's basically the gastrointestinal equivalent of MRSA, a bacteria that tends to prey upon those with weakened immune systems. Although the C-Diff bacteria are in the body pretty much all the time, they are kept in check by the "good" bacteria in the gut and typically don't grow enough to become a problem. However, when the bacteria are activated, they grow in clusters within the colon. Because the antibiotics (or other autoimmune issue) are keeping "good" bacteria from growing and killing C-Diff cells, the C-Diff grows unchecked. The C-Diff colonies release toxins into the colon which result in cause abdominal pain, diarrhea, and bleeding for the affected person. Sounds like fun, no?
When I first contacted my GI doctor about my symptoms, he prescribed Flagyl and Cipro without even seeing me in person. I took the antibiotics as prescribed, but my symptoms worsened. I scheduled a colonoscopy, and was diagnosed with C-Diff and put me on Flagyl, which will hopefully eliminate the infection.
Confused? Yeah. So am I.
Here's where I go into conjecture mode. Flagyl has been effective against C-Diff (that's a fact, Jack!), but when combined with the Cipro, it didn't work so well because the Cipro was killing the "good" bacteria and even though the Flagyl was killing C-Diff., the helper bacteria were being killed by Cipro and they sort of canceled each other out... Or something like that.
But I've said all this before and it that leaves me where I started, which is pretty much the same place I've been all along. Confused, frightened, and not thinking very clearly.
All I know is that if 40 is the new 20 or the new 30 or the new whatever, I'd much rather have the old 20 back. I'd make a slew of different decisions... or not.
[1]My grandfather actually may not have died at age 41. According to the state records, he was born in 1911, but according to his tombstone, he was born in 1910. So he may have been 42 at the time of his death, and my ranting about how I'm older than he ever was may be entirely incorrect. I don't know when his birthday was, and his tombstone offers no clues, but it doesn't matter. The point is.... My father or grandfather both died in their forties. I'm in my forties. That doesn't make me feel very good. Although, upon further research, I learned that my paternal great-grandfather lived to be 65, and my great-great-grandfather died in 1938 at the ripe old age of 81.
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