When I was about to turn 30 years old, I had my first physical.
Leaving your 20s behind is a big deal.
They were the wild and crazy years.
I had three kids to prove it.
I thought I had better inventory my assets…in case they were considering becoming liabilities when they grew up.
The evaluation was comprehensive, the tests thorough.
The medical team’s goal was to “help me grow older in as good a state of health as possible”.
The written summary contained detailed information regarding my results, and ended with this paragraph:
“Your Health Age is that of a healthy, low risk 15 year old woman. Your Health Age and risk factors are as good as they can be. You will be interested to know that, excluding rare illnesses and uncommon events, a woman like yourself has a 50% chance of living to 80 and a 25% chance of living to 90. Remember to plan for this! The things you are doing are working and you are to be congratulated…we hope to see you back for retesting in about two years.”
Where to even begin?
All those years of trying to prove I’m a grown-up, and people saying, “When you’re older you’ll appreciate not looking your age!” were an epic fail.
When you are turning 30 but have a 15 year old body, is this a cause for celebration?
I looked sideways at Hubby.
“Do you realize you’ve been married to a minor? Is this even legal?”
The cradle-robber just smiled.
I had “a 99% likelihood of living at least another ten years”.
Well, I proved that one right.
When I reached 40, I went in for another physical.
(When you’re planning to live past 100, you don’t want to rush this whole “retesting” thing.)
Their happy little health summary came in the mail, informing me that once again, I had passed my physical.
With the body of a “low risk 33 year old woman”.
This is where I got mad.
According to the stats, my body is supposed to be as healthy as half it’s actual age.
If I’m 15 when I’m 30, then 40 should be the new 20, right?
I could find no cause for this fast-forward aging in the collected data.
The only thing that may have tipped the scales was the addition of two more children, neither of which had I mentioned in the doctor’s office.
This information was on a “need to know” basis only.
Perhaps my body shape didn’t exactly scream “I’m 20!”.
It more or less whispered, “Hey, not bad for five kids, right?”
Sometimes it whined, “Please, let’s trade in the Turbo Kick-box for a Yoga class!”
But the physical included zero jumping jacks, so where do they get off wrinkling me up before my time?
I’m going to give them one more shot at keeping their profession.
Much later – in the murky, distant future – I will go in for my 50th and see what they think.
It will be in everyone’s best interest if they call it at 25.
They don’t have to mean it. They just have to say it.
“You look great for your age!” does not qualify.
You will be interested to know that, excluding rare statements like that and uncommon patient kickboxing reactions to it, a doctor like yourself has a 50% chance of living to 80 and a 25% chance of living to 90.
Remember to plan for this!