Nobody ever tells you...

...how much you will change when you get old.

Oh, you think you will be able to do all the things you used to, and I guess you always will, except you will do them slower a lot slower.  Take walking up steps.  I hate steps.  I've never been tall enough to take them two at a time, but I was always able to keep up with those who did.  Now I avoid them, they make me huff and puff.  At first I thought I must be ill with some horrid disease that I couldn't do steps any more, but since I'm not dead and still around to take steps apparently that is not the case. I'm just too old to take steps.  I worry I'll stub the toe of my shoe against the edge of one and nick my shins to heck and back.  I also worry, if I don't spend the whole time looking down at the steps I'll lose my balance and tumble down, down, down.  Look out broken hip, here I come!  As a result I avoid steps at all costs.

By the way, I not just talking about flights of steps, there can be as few as two or three, every dang step presents a hazard.  There are two flights of steps around my house, one has two the other has three.  Boy, am I careful.  I don't wear one of those necklaces that I could push and help would come, so I'm careful when it comes to my steps, especially if I've got an arm load of laundry, or a handful of mail.

I never worried about or used handrails either, assuming they were for old people. And banisters? Weren't they made for sliding?  They were in every movie I've ever seen.  Now, I grasp them as though my very life depended on them....hmmm, I guess they do. It is safe to say my step-climbing confidence is gone, gone, gone.

Of course, there's the getting in and out of the tub thing, too.  I used to do it with such ease, one foot and leg over the edge, followed by the other.  NOW, I have a short list I repeat over in my head each and every time.

1. Firmly grasp side of shower door.
2  Lift leg high and over edge of tub.
3. Plant foot firmly on bath mat.
4. Repeat for leg, two.
5. Exit tub by...firmly grasping side of shower door.
6. Lift leg high and over.
7. Plant foot firmly on floor.
8. Repeat for leg, two.

Seriously!  This is what my life has come to.  I've even thought about buying and installing one of those walk in tubs.  Two things stop me...their price tag, and the fact I believe you have to be actually sitting in it as it fills, and you have to stay in it until the water drains out.  That's a long time for an old wrinkled, always cold body to be sitting naked.  Not a pretty picture to be sure.  Oh, the people in the commercials seem absolutely delighted with their tubs, warm seats and all...I guess I must be missing something...because they seem quite a bother to me.

Finally, there's walking.  I used to love to walk.  I did it with great confidence, admiring my surroundings, taking in the smallest details of trees, clouds, people and animals.  I overheard some authority say old people should not look down when they walk, because that's what causes us to fall. I don't exactly remember his theory on this, but I think it had something to do with balance.  Young, stupid whippersnapper!  There is no way this old person can do that, I have to look down...especially if it is dark.  After years, and years, and years of being told one in three old person will fall each year, and the number of broken hips are involved in these falls, there is no way I'm not going to look down when I walk.

Last time I didn't look down, a root of a tree reached out, grabbed my shoe and I went down in a perfect 'belly flop'.  So, authoritarian, mind your own 'bees wax'. That's also the last time I went on a leisurely walk.  What if I'd been alone, what if I had broken something, I could have lain there for hours.  Scary thought, right?

And, there you have it, just a few more instances of things nobody will tell you about getting old.  It can be ugly.  My theory is, I can adjust and accept my infirmities and even laugh about them or spend my days sitting in a safe, well padded corner sucking my thumb.  I think I prefer to spend my days doing the things I used to do in my youth except, more slowly, more carefully, more safely.  I'm (hopefully) years away from the necklace with the button.  That's for old people.