Things Change

One thing I have learned as I have gotten older is that things can change in the blink of an eye.

One day, I will walk around without a care in the world. The next morning, I swing my feet out of bed, stand up to greet a brand-new day, and discover that my right foot has apparently decided to go on strike.

That is how plantar fasciitis entered my life.

I had never heard of it before, which is probably why it sounded like something you catch from walking barefoot through a foreign airport. All I knew was that I could barely put weight on my foot. Naturally, my first thought was not, “I probably need better arch support.” My first thought was, “Well, this may be it. I may spend the rest of my life hopping around like a flamingo.”

As the day went on, the pain eased a little, but every time I sat for a while and then stood up again, my foot reminded me it was still in charge.

That afternoon, my wife and I went to our 1:30 yoga class. Our instructor, Rose, listened to my tale of woe and informed me I probably had plantar fasciitis. She also mentioned that it could last for several months.

Several months? I had been limping for one day; was I ready to look into wheelchairs?

When we got home, I did what every sensible person does these days: I went online and became a medical researcher. Within a few minutes, I had learned that the cure—or at least a good start—was decent arch support and a few foot exercises.

So, I went straight to Amazon. I ordered shoe inserts for better support and replaced my old house slippers with a pair that looked as if they had been designed by an orthopedic surgeon with a sense of fashion. Within a few days, the new equipment arrived. Within a month, the plantar fasciitis disappeared.

I hope it has moved on to bother somebody younger.

At 85, though, I know better than to think that was the last surprise my body has planned for me. In our retirement community, with nearly 450 residents and an average age of 82, you learn a person can be doing fine on Monday and discussing a new doctor, diagnosis, or body part by Thursday.

That is why I try to do my share to stay healthy. I am working to lose some weight, because my body has carried enough of it around for long enough. My wife and I try to walk 55,000 steps each week—about 28 miles. We take yoga twice a week, try to eat reasonably well, and attempt to get enough sleep.

Of course, “eating reasonably well” is a flexible phrase. It means a salad for lunch, followed by a small dessert because I do not want the salad to feel lonely.

We also see doctors regularly—so regularly, in fact, that I sometimes think we ought to receive frequent-visitor discounts. When I was younger, I might see a doctor once a year. Now it seems we see somebody every month: a primary-care doctor, a specialist, a dentist, an eye doctor, or someone who wants to discuss a test that requires preparation I would rather not describe in a family newsletter.

I occasionally wonder whether they are watching my health or trying to see how quickly they can drain our retirement accounts.

Still, I must give doctors credit. They have helped keep me in good working order. A few years ago, I had surgery to open a carotid artery that was 95 percent blocked. I have had double hernia surgery—proof that strenuous exercise can be hazardous to more than just your enthusiasm—and cataract surgery on both eyes.

Thanks to good doctors, modern medicine, my wonderful wife, and the grace of God, I can still walk, exercise, laugh, enjoy my family and friends, and occasionally order something from Amazon that I never expected to need.

My goal is not simply to get through another year. I would like ten more healthy years to enjoy with my wife, family, and friends. Is that asking too much? I don’t think so. I am trying to do the right things: stay active, eat better, keep moving, and listen to the doctors, at least after I have complained about the bill.

And I pray that when the Lord looks down on me, He sees a fellow who is still trying to do some good—helping family and friends, supporting His work, and appreciating the world He created.

Maybe He will say, “Tommy is still walking, doing yoga, and trying to behave himself. I suppose I will give him a little more time.”

Then again, He may look at my Amazon order history and decide I am already well supplied.

Growing older is a bit like owning an old car: something always makes an unfamiliar noise, but as long as it starts each morning, you thank the Lord and enjoy the ride.