Saturday, May 06, 2017
Crepito, Crepitas, Crepitat....
Ah, crepitus, he said, nodding sagely and listening to the snap, crackle and pop of my knees as he bent them back and forth. The doctor had sent me to physical therapy and the first thing I learned there was a new word.
Hmm, I thought. Crepitus. Maybe not entirely new. The word had a vague, déjà vu ring to it.
Any relative of decrepit? I wondered aloud. He laughed.
Actually yes, they both come from the Latin, crepitare. Aha! And Sister Margaret thought she’d lost me at “ut.” I was fine with amo, amas, amat, declining verbs, struggling to translate(badly) the works of long dead ancients but crepitare? Not so much.
But you’re not decrepit. I think he could have sounded a little bit more convincing…
Crepitus means rough, he went on. It happens when cartilage wears down and causes the bones to grind together (the sound track of my life.) It’s quite common in sexagenarians, he continued blithely as mere quinquagenarians are wont to do. Seriously? Was that supposed to be comforting? He was starting to sound like Charlie Brown’s teacher. I struggled to focus, to tear my attention away from the devastation of being referred to as a sexagenarian, and focus on absorbing all of what he was saying.
It didn’t work. I was already away, back on the beach at Lahinch, twelve years old, leaping like a Spring lamb from rock to rock, barefoot in the sunshine, glorying in my surefootedness, blissfully unaware that it would not always be so.
This should partially explain the large gap between posts – I’m reeling from the discovery that I am officially a sexagenarian. Had I thought about it I’d have realized it years ago but I didn’t. Denial perhaps? Or an aversion to labels? Not only that, but, in spite of the physical therapist’s assurances to the contrary, well on my way to decrepitude.
Up next (in a couple of decades) - the lowdown on how it feels to be an octogenarian. Don't know about you, but I'm in no hurry. Meanwhile, if a decrepit looking plant like our prickly pear cactus can spontaneously burst forth in breathtaking blossoms, this sexagenarian blogger might still occasionally burst forth with a blog post, crepitus notwithstanding.