Live with it.....

Getting used to living in an older body is very much like walking around in an unaltered suit….it just doesn’t fit properly.

All my life I’ve fought insomnia and, for the most part, lost the battle.    It’s always been a toss-up whether or not assuming the position and gently turning off my mind would summon sleep for at least five or six hours. It only makes you appreciate a good night’s sleep even more when it happens. 

It seems much longer, but just a year ago I was going down the three steps into our family room when I stepped on something and lost my balance; my left shoulder stopped me from falling by coming into hard contact with the solid oak mantle.  Needless to say, oak being stronger than shoulder, I came out on the losing end of that little exchange.  I thought at the time I’d bruised it and was happy I hadn’t ended up ‘arse over applecart’ down the steps.   I was wrong.

 If I were twenty I’d have bounced off that oak mantle and considered my clumsy flailing around as a possible new dance step.  At this age the fact that I can no longer raise that arm over my head is something I must get used to living with.  One thing I’ve learned: as you get older there is always something you need to learn to live with or learn to live without.  And so it is that the left shoulder of this old suit doesn’t seem to fit any more…and now the domino effect is in motion.

If I could look back in time and peek into my crib I bet anything I would see a baby sleeping in this position:

 

This “left arm up, legs in a human swastika position” is the way I’ve slept all my life.  I have no memory of waking in any other position from a restful night of unconsciousness.   Now I find myself trying to find another comfortable position in which to sleep because my left arm no longer seems to be a team player….impossible. 

My nightly routine doesn't vary much; I toss, I turn….I tuck some of the nine pillows on our bed around me to form a comforting cocoon and snuggle there waiting for sleep to find me.  Evidently restful sleep doesn’t recognize me in this ill-fitting suit of old age and this unexpected position because it finds me less and less frequently.

To accommodate my wakefulness we have a clock that projects the time on the ceiling of our bedroom.  That means I can watch the bright red, pulsing dots between the numbers as the seconds become minutes, then hours.  Time marches on, even as I force myself to be still.

This morning, like most, I’m up early waiting for the caffeine to kick in as I wait for the sunrise.  Somehow by the third cup of coffee the scattered minutes of sleep seem to meld together….a mental defrag if you will….and I am ready to take on the day.  

As the sky lightens I am grateful for another morning.   I guess as ‘old suits’ go this body isn’t really all that bad.   For the most part it still works….but it is still rather badly wrinkled.

 

                                                             Life is good