Fifty and Falling Apart: My Body's Warranty is Expiring

Does anyone else have a theory on why, once you turn 50, your body decides it's going to fall apart?

Someone warned me when I turned 40 to "watch out" because ailments and illnesses sneak up on you. I laughed it off. But now?

Now I'm living proof that they were absolutely right.

The "Medical Mystery"

My husband has coined a phrase for me over the years: "medical mystery." I seemingly get illnesses, attacks, and injuries that most adults don't experience. I have no issue being self-deprecating about my ailments—at this point, it's either laugh or cry, and I'd rather laugh.

To be fair, I didn't exactly start with a level playing field. I was born with one leg slightly shorter than the other, which probably explains why I'm also ridiculously clumsy. I can trip over my own feet on a good day. I like to say I got the "Kmart version" of a body—you know, where many of the parts were faulty from the start. But even with that head start on body dysfunction, what's happened as I neared and went into my fifties feels... excessive.

Let me take you on a tour of my body's greatest hits.

The Early Years: Setting the Stage

When my youngest daughter was just six months old, I ended up in the hospital with mystery seizures. Leading up to it, I had debilitating migraines that could make me fall to my knees and weep. After two hospital stays and more tests and theories than you can imagine, I slowly got better. Eventually, the seizures became fewer and farther between until they just stopped.

Doctors told me at the time, "There are some things we know, but there are a lot of things we just can't explain."

I guess I fell into that bucket.

The migraines were managed, but my back decided I was due for some torture. For years, I dealt with painful lower back issues that would strike out of nowhere—literally, I'd just be putting my pants on and zing, my back was out. (The leg length difference probably didn't help matters here.)

In 2020, it got so bad that I finally saw a back specialist and eventually had a discectomy (for a bulging disc) and a laminectomy to relieve pinched nerves. I ended up with some permanent nerve damage in my leg and foot, but nothing that stops me from doing what I want (except wearing high heels!).

Unfortunately, I was diagnosed with a genetic degenerative condition, so I have to deal with it going forward. This past year—yup, in my 50th year—she decided to rear her ugly head again. My spine is slowly collapsing so now I went on to getting infusions in my back. Honestly, I have the best doctors and surgeons, and I always feel taken care of, which makes dealing with something like this manageable.

About three years ago, I woke in the middle of the night with such horrible pain that I was sure I was on my deathbed. I couldn't even get off my bathroom floor. My husband called 911, and I was carted off to the emergency room where—after a bunch of painkillers (thank goodness!)—I was diagnosed with kidney stones.

Lucky me, there was a giant one lodged in my ureter, and I needed immediate surgery to remove it. Again, great doctors and short downtime, but I will tell you that I drink A LOT of water these days to avoid that ever happening again.

I had one of my daughters without an epidural (not my plan...she came too quickly), and this pain was far worse than that.

The Fifty and Fabulous (Not) Era

I've done all the things I should. I've lost over 60 pounds in the past three years. And yet, the hits keep coming.

Remember the "not frozen shoulder" I mentioned in a previous post? I'm doing better after some cortisone shots, and now I'm in physical therapy. (Anyone else silently curse at their physical therapist? Sorry if you are one!) I'm on my way to having it be more manageable.

There's that word again.

After a lovely cold that made me feel like I could take a 48-hour nap, my daughter pointed out to me over a FaceTime call, "What is wrong with your eye?"

At first, I was like, "Nothing." Then I went and looked in the mirror. Yikes.

I had a burst blood vessel. After self-diagnosing and determining it would get better on its own, my concerned family convinced me to go to the doctor. Yup, it's just that—like a bruise on my eyeball that should get better in 2-3 weeks. Ugh.

So, Is It Just Me?

After all this, tell me: is this an "it's just me" thing, or have others gone through this? Is this a curse of being 50+, or is it just my dumb luck?

Because if this is what the next decade looks like, I'm going to need a lot more wine. Or water. Probably water, given my kidney stone history.