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i want to grow old.

with 4 comments

Yesterday, I went for my barrage of routine tests. Drink this, lay here, breathe in – from x-ray to ultrasound to bone density it is a lot like speed-dating. You are handed from nurse to technician -each of them fondling you or fiddling a machine for an allocated number of minutes before palming you off to the next brisk talking staff. At this centre, they even give you a white card to check off as you play.

I, of course, showed up late missed my appointment and as punishment found myself in the abyss of hospitals – the waiting room. Sitting there holding my book but mostly craning my neck to see if my queue number was up, I didn’t notice her till she stood up. An elderly lady in bright red capris, a floral blouse and her hair piled glamorously upon her head in a bun.

It is hard to say why some people intrigue us over others – but I smiled at her and she smiled back. And then my number was called and I threw myself at the receptionist – desperate to get myself into the circus and out as quickly as possible.

But these things are never quick and so between my first and second prodding – waiting in that modesty challenging blue gown – I found myself sitting next to her again. In a huff, she had sank onto the cushion – spitting out: “Mammograms are so awful. I am still shivering from the pain.”

I laughed at this familiar reaction and offered; “It must have been invented by a man.”

She seemed delighted by this and we got to talking.

Now 75, she had been diagnosed with Stage II breast cancer 6 years ago -so she need only endure the humiliation of this conveyor belt twice a year. With her husband sweetly trailing behind and carrying her purse as she moved from machine to machine – she seemed interesting. I wanted to be her friend and be invited to her house for hot-pot and bubur cha cha. I wanted to be her. Old. Instead I settled for a long conversation where she told me she had been a stock-broker most of her life and this diagnosis came out of nowhere and we discovered we shared the same oncologist.

Then, suddenly, abruptly – she sighed; “Life can be so miserable.”

Without hesitation I found myself replying; “At least we’re alive.”

She smiled, nodded. Then a nurse summoned and in the maze of hallways and waiting rooms – I didn’t see her again.

Today, I collected my results. There is a shadow on my liver. Tomorrow, I will know more.

And all I can think is; I want to grow old too.


Written by xmarksmyspot

August 1, 2013 at 9:32 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

4 Responses

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  1. I’ll be thinking of you babe. forecasting can be worse than knowing, almost every time.

    Bernie Utchenik

    August 1, 2013 at 9:58 pm

  2. Think positive. Think ‘blobs of fat’. x


    August 1, 2013 at 10:09 pm

  3. You will grow old babe! We will be fat cranky bitches at 75, pinching boys’ butts.


    August 1, 2013 at 11:06 pm

  4. I hope you grow old.


    August 13, 2013 at 1:50 am

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