Cracked Teeth and Getting Old

The first time I threw my back out it was while I was hitting an overhead shot in tennis—it was a sports injury. I felt a “pop” and down I went. Sports injuries are noble.

The second time I blew out my back I was playing platform tennis. I was running in towards the net to get a drop shot. Again, it was a sports injury—again, it was noble.

The third time I blew my back I was bending down to shave my legs. I heard a “pop” and down I went in the shower. This injury was not noble at all. My back went out because I am getting old—my discs are deteriorating.  Increasingly, my muscles keep my spine in place.

I cracked my tooth once eating an un-popped kernel of popcorn. Teeth are not intended to do such rigorous chomping. But a week or so ago the lower corner of my front incisor cracked off—I was eating a chicken cutlet. My first thought was thank goodness this didn’t happen on Wedding Weekend. My second thought was—what the hell? And although my smile didn’t quite look as if I resided in a trailer park, my tooth needed immediate attention. It was not a good look.

So I went to the dentist.  The good news was that we would try to bond it first before resorting to a cap. The bad news was why my tooth broke off in the first place—it was because teeth age. Teeth deteriorate over time even with the best dental care.

Sometimes I feel like a house with termites. Externally everything looks well attended to---but it is merely skin deep. I am rotting from the inside out. My back aches, my knees ache, my vision and hearing aren’t what they once were and now my teeth are crumbling.

I have modified my physical activity. As the last orthopedic doctor I consulted with told me—there is a fine line between rehab and re-injury. I know this to be absolutely true. An old Henny Youngman joke simply states Doctor Doctor it hurts when I do this and the punchline is So don’t do that. That is my new philosophy. Loosely translated it means don’t do crap that your body tells you not to do.

I do not play tennis and golf anymore-- I walk on occasion instead. And when I shave my legs I do not bend all the way forward—I genuflect like I am in mass. And now I guess I will have to modify biting into food too—I would prefer not to cap my front teeth if I do not have to.

 My father would say it beats the alternative—that is: dead. My Uncle John liked to say if in the morning there isn’t a crucifix over your head, a spray of roses at your feet, and you are not lying on a bed of satin, it is a good day. I suppose they are correct. Things could always be worse—but it doesn’t mean that getting old still doesn’t suck.