Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm sixty-four?
Well I'm way past 64 - I'm 71 to be exact - and until this year truly believed I was 26. Every year I just got to be a better and wiser 26. Oh I didn't look 26 and I didn't try to, but I felt 26. I guess I could describe it as feeling like a 26-year-old trapped in a slowly aging body.
This past year several things happened and now I'm feeling - and it's been sudden - like an old woman, nearing the end of her life. No need to list them: a litany of life-events that will happen to you too some day, if they haven't already, provided you live long enough. I'm still clinging to the notion that the medication I've been taking for psoriasis - methotrexate - is the cause of this unpleasant shift in perspective, and at this moment the Gods of Socialized Medicine in Israel are deciding whether I can switch to another, newer, much more costly, and possibly more effective treatment. Assuming they approve my request, there are two big unanswered questions:
1) will the new meds keep my psoriasis under control without nasty side-effects?
2) will I return to feeling 26?
The third question, the one I'm really afraid to ask or count, is: what if the answers to both of those questions are negative?
Tune in next week.
And what about Naomi? **
**Can you remember the source of this quote without Googling?