Thirty-something speaks
With age comes...more procedures
Mike Maddock

By the time the next issue of The Columbia Star hits newsstands I will be 38 years old. My birthday is coming and the thought of inching that much closer to 40 gives me indigestion. Of course, just about everything gives me indigestion now so I guess that's no big deal.

I can tell I'm getting older, because a lot of the guys in the rock bands I listened to growing up are either dead or they're starting to look like Hank Hill. It's depressing when the heroes of my youth who used to fill stadiums, look more like the guys in the stands wearing wigs and pig noses at the Washington Redskins' home games. But those aging rockers have got their own issues, and I know I've got mine.

I'm quickly learning that trips to the doctor just aren't what they used to be. Needles were once my biggest fear, but now I'd be ecstatic if that was the only thing poking me at the doctor's office. Nightmares I never dreamed possible occur with unfortunate regularity these days. Who knew latex could be such a terrifying thing? I used to walk out of the doctor's office complaining about the soar spot on my right bicep. Now I'm happy just to be able to walk out of the doctor's office at all.

My wife is unsympathetic at best. She says women get it far worse and much earlier in life, and I should just be happy to be alive.

That's easy for her to say. She doesn't have eyebrows trying to take over her face. She doesn't have random and freakishly long hairs protruding from the top of her ears. She doesn't even have to put sunscreen on the top of her head. I'll give her the fact that no one should have to experience something called a Pap smear, but I'm catching up fast in the invasive medical procedure department, and I've got enough random hairs and a sun burnt head to earn a little whining.

Yes, I'm very thankful for my health. I just wish it didn't take such extreme measures to ensure it. My mom says the irony of all this prevention is that she spends so much time at various doctors' offices getting checked for potential health hazards, that she has very little time to actually enjoy being healthy. Add that to the time I spend grooming ear hair and runaway eyebrows and suddenly the aging process gets pretty darned time consuming.

Is that what we have to look forward to...grooming and doctors with cameras on long, flexible tubes? Happy freaking birthday to me! I thought we were supposed to look forward to retirement, relaxation, and all the rewards of a life lived well, but I guess we'll have to squeeze all that in between visits to the doctor and sessions with the trimmer.

I was worried about wearing Madres shorts and black socks with sandals, but I guess I should be more concerned with backless hospital gowns and slippers.

Life is short so I guess I should stop complaining. It doesn't sound like I'll have much time to anyway.