This is 49

I woke up to use the bathroom at 4 AM. My ankles ached with throbbing pulses. How does sleeping injure my ankles? Sometimes I rub cream on them, sometimes I take some ibuprofen, sometimes I do both. I crawl back in bed searching for a position that won’t result in injury. This is 49, acquiring injuries in one’s sleep. Every morning my knees and ankles ache and squeal for oil as if I’ve become the tinman overnight. They don’t hurt during the day when I’m walking and standing on them. Even the 3 ½ mile ruck walk where I walk with 20 pounds on my back doesn’t affect them. Sleeping, that is when the injuries happen at 49. I know a fellow 49 year-old who has woken up with an injured back at least twice in the past year. I know another one who wakes up with shoulder pain. Sleeping is precious and hazardous at 49.

I can see my skin changing. It is thinner. The veins and tendons show through. Perhaps our skin does this so we can remember what is working below the surface to keep us alive. Perhaps it is an opportunity to be grateful for all the moving parts. It’s worn and thin like my brown paper lunch bags on Fridays. It was crisp and fresh on Monday. After a week of traveling to school and back, holding the food, being opened and shut, folded and flattened, it is barely hanging on. It will not hold anything substantial after Friday. I have new moles and mole-like things seemingly forming daily. The dermatologist calls them all age spots. These spots form on my skin because I am getting older. They are badges. Each birthday comes, I acquire another badge on my skin, a reminder of the toll my skin takes, a permanent tattoo of the victory of another day.

Over the past 5 years, I have gradually been gaining weight. It could be the hormone therapy from cancer. It could be the busy winters which made it difficult to regularly exercise. It could be the drop in estrogen that happens at my age. It could be the lack of sleep I get because I am in pain all the time. It could be all of the above. It doesn’t matter. I had to redo my wardrobe. All of the previous clothes no longer fit. I went up 4 sizes. I found clothes I could comfortably wear at my new size. I had to accept this new version of myself. Maybe I’ll lose a bit of weight again. Maybe I won’t. At 49, there are no guarantees, you must accept what you have.

My hair has almost lost all its vibrant brown color. One by one, grey hairs have infiltrated the thick brown crown I wore. In the beginning, they were highlights of silver, streaks of metallic, rebelling and making a statement. Now, it is all grey. A few brown hairs have tried to hold their ground. I see them. To others, they are too insignificant to notice. My grey hair is my crown. I have seen things, I have endured things, I am victorious, I am still here. I highlighted my hair a couple of times in my 20s. I dyed it a few times in my 30s. It was too expensive and too much work, so my hair has been its natural color for most of my life. I’ve watched it gradually transform. Even the grey hues have changed over the years. A short bout with a new medication turned the new growth neon green for a few months. I’m still looking forward to the day when the last of the radioactive hair is cut off. When it catches my eye, I feel like I’m terribly sick or a relative of Shrek. I will keep letting my hair grow long. It doesn’t matter what color it is, I will not chop it off and perm it like so many grandmothers have done since the 50s. At 49, I’m proud to have hair. I wear the grey hair with honor.

I wear glasses now. I adorned my eyes with my first pair at the age of 44. I couldn’t see small print. The tiny words became blurry, and I knew it was time. I don’t mind glasses. My eyes have served me well. I’m an avid reader and writer. I teach young children, I must read their messy handwriting, read to them, and see every detail. My eyes were bound to get tired at some point. I’ve decided glasses are a piece of jewelry. I let myself get nice looking ones. I keep my prescription up to date, so I don’t wear my eyes out more quickly than is necessary. It’s okay to wear glasses at 49. I’ve seen many things. I’ve used my eyes. They need a bit of assistance to keep doing their job. I’m grateful they still work. I try not to complain about them. They are helpful. Without them, the small world is blurry. I can’t see the words or the pictures clearly. Without them, I miss out on many things I love.

This is 49. My body is aging. My body is breaking. My body is getting worn out. It’s possible my mind is having a few issues too, but I don’t know if those are because I’m 49 or because I have MS, so I won’t address them. I can still hear the complaints of the 49 year-olds from when I was young. I didn’t want to be them. I didn’t believe it would be the same for me. It is. I don’t do a lot of complaining, but it is the same. The body works very hard. It has no choice but to get run down. An old car won’t run as smoothly as a brand new one. It will have its quirks and scars. We can’t expect our bodies to be any different.

For those of us in this 49 year-old state, we have learned to live with these things. The doctors ask about pain, I laugh. Which pain are you referring to? The pain I feel every minute of every day or the pain from this new injury acquired while dreaming. We walk around in pain. We sleep through pain. We moisturize our old skin. We wear glasses. We fix our hair nicely. We buy new clothes. We live with this. Pain and inconvenience are companions we have learned to cooperate with. Every once in a while, they are too much to endure and we take action, but most of the time we live in harmony. This is 49.

You see, we are here. We are living. We are aware that it is a privilege to grow old. I first heard this statement from Kate Bowler. She understands. She was diagnosed with Stage IV colon cancer at 34, the same age I was diagnosed with my first bout of breast cancer. We know each birthday is a celebration. We know, even though this pain is difficult, it is better than the alternative. We understand what it means to be 49. It is a time of gratitude. Yes, my body hurts every day. Yes, I need to invest in glasses. Yes, I must buy new clothes because I have grown out of the old ones. Yes, my hair shines like metal. I will take all of it. I will wake up with my sore knees and ankles, clean my glasses, pour myself some coffee and begin my day. I will use purple shampoo on my grey hair, slather lotion on my skin, slip into clothes that are the largest sizes I have ever worn, and enter into my day being the best version of myself I can, grateful for each moment, each gift I get to have at the age of 49.