Whoever said that “50 is the new 30”, is so full of crap! For me, it’s more like ’30 is the new 50′.
This month I turned another year older. I don’t feel any different from I way I felt before my birthday. Aside from a few really cool gifts, the day was S.S.D.D. (same sh*t, different day) all around. Yawn.
My face and skin tell on my age, but beyond that, my body does not abide by the same rules of aging like normal people. And no – I don’t grow younger or older faster. There is no portrait in the attic.
What I’m talking about, is that physiologically speaking, I’m an anomaly (a.k.a. a freak of nature). All my life medical people have told me “Oh, you are too young to have blah-dee-blah” or “Oh, you are too old to be having doodly-doo”.
For example – At age 12.5 I began menstruating, probably the only thing that’s happened in a timely manner. But at age 14, I started going through menopause. My periods stopped. I grew a mustache, among other disturbing things. I had night sweats. My acne turned into volcanic cysts. The deep and scarring kind. The sit home on Saturday night kind.
My mom drug me to her gynecologist for an exam. Not a recommended way to lose your virginity, but at least I had a note from the doctor to show my future groom. It turned out the hormonal distress was caused by poly-cystic ovary disease. And too much testosterone.
My testosterone level was higher than my estrogen level. Was my body trying to become male? I started a self-inventory then. I had broad shoulders, and a muscular frame. My voice was not girly in nature. OMG! These facts plummeted my self-confidence. The treatment? The doc put on the strongest birth-control pill that existed – to bypass my own hormones. My acne got a bit better, but unfortunately, it was too late for my chest. Too late for my ovaries also, they speculated I may not be able to conceive. Ha! They should meet my beautiful daughter sometime…
When I was 29-years old, I got Chicken Pox. It nearly killed me. I had to start taking my short-term disability from work. My own daughter was terrified of me. I had so many scabs that I looked like a burn victim. A doctor in urgent care actually whipped out his camera and took photos – with and without gown. I hope he got recognition for his journal article. Somewhere there is a medical book with my scabby ass in it, I know it.
I never got ‘carded’ at a bar or liquor store until I was 30. Also in that decade, I broke out in shingles. Then I somehow contracted another childhood disease, which was a rash of super tiny bumps and a fever. My doctor at the time could not even remember the name for it. All I knew was I had that “kids rash thing”. I was also contagious. Try to explain that to your boss.
My 40’s were a blur of stress, depression, anxiety and addiction – that I won’t go into now. Believe me when I say it’s a miracle I even made it to my 50’s.
When I was 49-years old I was diagnosed with Type II diabetes. It turns out that I had Type I, but was misdiagnosed because I – get this – was not a juvenile.
If you have read thus far, Thank You. And please let me emphasize that my donation will happen after I die! It’s doubtful any of my organs will be healthy enough to transplant. Who knows, maybe my body will help a breakthrough in diabetes research, or something else significant. Either way, I won’t be needing it anymore.
I am NOT happy that small-pox is making a comeback! There are actually ignorant people out there, who don’t get their kids vaccinated. I was vaccinated when I was 6-years old. I don’t know the statute of limitations for a small-pox vaccine, but I probably need a booster by now…