This last Monday was my body MOT time. In particular presenting my teeth and eyes to the dentist and optician. It seems my denial of being 62 continues to be challenged as I kick and scream against it.
The dentist was fairly straightforward, it was time for my regular check up. I know the patter used by my young dentist. She knows I know, so without any kind of a pause, she opens her door and says “Please come in how are you nice to see you please sit in the chair when you’re ready and tell me if you have any dental issues”. This is all without taking a breath, inserting a pause or taking any notice of anything I might say.
She then feels around my neck and jaw, looks inside my mouth and under my tongue. All good, no sinister lumps or bumps.
Just as she was about to start, I said I have chipped a tooth. She said she’ll come to that in a minute as she started her normal process of checking each tooth by dictating its condition to her assistant with “number eight white filling, seven has a buckle and six is clear, five, four and three are clear” and on it goes.
She discussed the chipped tooth and its options. Leave it alone, repair it, cap it, extract it – the choice was mine. Knowing I’d like it to last another 30+ years I asked what she’d recommend and she thought capping it with root canal treatment.
“Okay” I said “I’ll make another appointment at reception”
“No, I will need to refer you. I can’t do that”. And so starts another protracted process of waiting for ages for said appointment, needless to say I’ll need to chase it, been there before.
I consoled myself knowing that at least I have an NHS dentist, although I have often wondered if I have done the right thing. You see, I had private treatment but when I retired I decided on the NHS in order to save a bit of money. That would also allow someone else to ‘have my NHS place’. Now I’m not sure I did the right thing.
And then to the opticians
In no time at all I was in the opticians having my annual eye test. I never feel quite so nervous and it’s always so predictable. That is, until now.
Once I’d settled into the hot seat, the optician asked what letters I could see on the screen with lines of progressively smaller letters. Then he asked about my driving and how I get on with my glasses.
“Well sometimes I wear my glasses but to be honest I’m not sure they make any difference. In fact at night they make things worse”
His reply? “You must wear your glasses when you’re driving – all the time. Your vision falls significantly below the legal requirement, so you must wear them or else you’ll be breaking the law”
So, I’ve been told.
In all fairness to him, my vision is worse at night, I reckon, because my glasses are so smeary and grubby. He recommended new glasses with an anti-glare coating. Hopefully I’ll get these over the next few days. He confirmed grubby lenses make things worse, as do the cataracts which are at a very early stage. Apparently mine are bang on time with most people at my age having some stage of cataract growth. Grrrrr.
I do admit to being the most reckless person with glasses. They are forever being stuffed into pockets with my keys, coins and the odd screwdriver. Even worse I occasionally sit on them.
On a positive note, the central serous retinopathy which I have is behaving itself and is somewhat better than the above image taken a few years ago. That darker area is the damaged part of my retina (in my left eye). If both eyes were like this I wouldn’t be able to drive at all, even with glasses.
Trying to be rational
As I have blogged quite a lot about this denial recently. I like to think I’m still 22, not 62. Hey ho.
And then the rational side of me kicks in, perhaps a tad late. This is the undeniable situation. Let’s deal with it, step by step. In spite of these age related issues, I really do have so much to be thankful for, I really do.
Perhaps it’s a retirement thing but this is consistently the happiest time of my life. There’s a lot of truth when people describe a U shape curve and say we are generally happy in our early twenties and this levels out through our thirties and forties. Then as retirement looms, things pick up again. I can certainly identify with that and perhaps I can explore that further in another blog post.
Overwhelmingly, despite wonky eyes and a chipped tooth, I’m so happy and optimistic!
Related – What is being 62 years old really like?
Thanks for your reassuring post! I am nearly 61 and sometimes feel like I’m falling apart. I wish I had an NHS dentist – mine costs an arm and a leg. Plus I am almost blind in one eye due to a damaged retina – but having one good eye still allows me to drive .
Thanks Sally, onwards and upwards!