Infirmity

I'm fortunate; with the exception of a bout of tuberculosis as a child, I've been relatively healthy all my life. I haven't been injured;  I haven't had surgery except for reproductive reasons. I didn't have too much trouble getting pregnant, staying pregnant or birthing my babies. I've had a couple of annoyances along the way--I've been nearsighted since junior high and my oldest child was born via c-section but on the whole, I've enjoyed good health and until the time I was married and started seeing a gynecologist, I didn't have a doctor. Until my youngest was born and I switched to a pediatrician who was also certified in Internal Medicine, I didn't have a doctor except my gynecologist.

Tonight I was in the adoration chapel and the one of the phrases we hear on Good Friday popped into my mind: "But the LORD was pleased to crush him in infirmity". Now, I don't want to give anybody the idea that my current infirmities are in any category close to what Jesus underwent on Good Friday but I saw the eye doctor on Ash Wednesday, on the Friday after Ash Wednesday and again on Monday (the retina specialist a/k/a torture specialist). Today I went to the orthopedist for the foot I sprained before Christmas. The lack of conditioning caused by avoiding walking because of my foot is becoming noticeable in daily life and I'm no gym rat to begin with.  Yesterday I was at the physical therapist for my foot, and she asked about the shoulder bursitis she treated me for last year (still hurts at times; the more I do the exercises she gave me, the less it hurts).

So is the Lord crushing me in infirmity? Why? A couple of us were joking the other day that getting old is no fun, but it does beat the alternative. Tonight the alternative crossed my mind. During Lent we are supposed to be preparing for the alternative (because it will the alternative taken one day by all of us). When young and healthy and busy it is easy to forget what the future holds and to be concerned about the here and now, or at the least, the future that is more easily imagined.

In the end both eye doctors seem to think that the most likely diagnosis is that I'm getting older and that there is nothing I can do about it; however both want to examine (torture) me again shortly. I was told that the foot was likely "just" sprained and that it probably just needed more time to heal, and I was given this lovely stylish boot to wear. Still, if watching my Dad's decline hasn't been enough reminder of my own mortality, these last couple of weeks sure have been.