My health care regimen includes an annual DXA scan, a noninvasive, painless procedure that checks the condition of your bones.
Isn’t it bad enough that aging has brought wrinkled skin, thinning hair, and vile varicose veins? Now I’m told I’ve lost almost 2 inches in height and my bones are thinning. I know Mother Nature always takes back what’s hers, but as I approach my final year in the 70s, I must reluctantly acknowledge this includes me.
I am being realistic, but to avoid reaching my expiration date prematurely, I’m determined to fight back. Developing osteoporosis and a broken bone from falling is not on my bucket list. I’ve stopped wearing high heels, always use the stair rail, watch where I’m walking and avoid going out in icy conditions.
As all senior citizens know, fall is the four-letter word for old people, so I am taking this bone thing seriously. I take supplements, eat healthy, stay active. I’ve walked 4 million steps already in 2025 with a goal of exceeding the 5 million I did last year. Nevertheless, the test results indicate I’m slowly losing this battle.
In all honesty, the situation is not new. Three years ago, I was prescribed a generic form of Fosomax to slow down the process. I read the potential side effects outlined on the information sheet tucked into the pharmacy bag. I was hesitant but decided to give it a try. Within a week of swallowing one pill daily, my usually well-controlled IBS was raging. At four weeks, my jaw began to ache, click, and feel like it was dislocated.
I called the doctor. “So I’m taking this drug to fix one problem, but it’s creating a different one.”
He was both sympathetic and philosophical. “I understand, but sometimes it comes down to picking your poison.”
Right. The statin I take causes thinning hair, and a tiny pill to keep my blood pressure in check doesn’t mix well with certain adult beverages I enjoy. Both medications are well worth the side effects. I’ve taken them for decades to counteract my genetic predisposition to having a heart attack or stroke. So far, so good.
For some reason, writing this reminded me of a visit to my cardiologist two years where I agreed to do an interview with an intern. A lifelong educator, I was eager to help the doctor-in training reach his goal of a noble career in health care.
When he inquired about my exercise habits, I proudly mentioned my 5 million steps, adding, “I try to walk outdoors five times a week, but in winter I force myself to use the treadmill.”
I expected a smile of approval, but all I got was a nod.
“Good,” he said, all business-like while taking notes on his laptop.
“How about weight-bearing exercise?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, I regularly lift weights, too,” I said smugly.
“Tell me about that,” he replied.
“Well, I have a glass of wine a few times a week. A full wine bottle weighs at least two pounds. Plus, I often get my husband a beer at the same time so I’m lifting weights each time I repeat the procedure.” I took the strange look on his face as admiration and self-assuredly went on. “And my laptop weighs at least three pounds. I lift that on and off my desk several times each day.”
I wondered why he stopped typing, but I assumed he was practicing his listening skills. “And three times a week I transfer a load of wet clothes into the dryer. That laundry basket has got to weigh over 10 pounds.”
I expected some sort of really positive reaction, but he just leaned back in his chair and continued to gaze at me.
Wanting to cement the good impression I knew I was making, I finished with a flourish. “And when I put milk in my coffee every morning,” I said proudly, “I have to lift the milk jug in and out of the refrigerator. I know for a fact that a gallon of milk weighs eight pounds.”
I wondered if he was listening after all, because his response was to take out a prescription pad. He scrawled a few words, tore off the paper, and handed it to me. “Laughter IS the best medicine,” it said. I chuckled while he finally managed a smile.
“If that’s your idea of preventative care,” I said, “You are definitely on the right career path. Why don’t you come up to Otter Run sometime and lift weights out on our pontoon?”
“I’m sure it would be enjoyable but not at all ethical,” he said, using a very professional tone.
“Of course it wouldn’t,” I thought, “but that’s really too bad — it seems to me you could use the exercise.”
Kathleen Marsh is a lifelong educator, writer, and community advocate. She has published eight books, four on the history of Townsend, where she and husband Jon are happily retired on the beautiful Townsend Flowage.
