I turned seventy
five years old about two weeks ago. I don’t think I’m old, but since I turned
seventy things around me have got weird. For instance I feel some doctors think
they’re wasting time healing a guy who’s going to die soon anyway. So I have to
keep reminding them that my grandfather lived almost to one hundred and two,
and Mom lived ninety nine years. Also, young people don’t seem to see me. I’m
just an impediment between them and the cute, hot people on the other side of
the room. So I get out of the way. Worst thing about living past seventy is
your body starts breaking bits and pieces before the things that broke the
month before can heal. If you read my earlier blog posts, you know of my
problems. Now that they yanked one of my kidneys out of me, it turned out that
the kidney had a cancerous tumor. Well, son of a bitch. I now have twelve weeks
of chemo-therapy ahead. All I ask it that my hair doesn’t all fall out again. I went
through that thirty seven years ago, and clumps of hair washing down the shower
drain creeped me out.
