Jawsercize

I always knew, intellectually, that I would get old. But somehow, I think I expected to get old in the same body. Imagine my surprise at all the things that are definitely not the same. Just for starters, I am not nearly as strong, as agile, as smooth skinned, as free of chronic “conditions,” as slow to fatigue, as quick to recover, or as sound of hearing and vision as I used to be. Heck, I’m not even as tall as I used to be. 

As I’ve slowly accepted this as a fact, I've begun to take it seriously enough to do something constructive about it. My frequent walks have turned into daily, nearly compulsory, and duly “brisk” daily outings. And I’ve resumed an old habit of hefting weights at the local rec center ... which also houses the local senior center, where I attend a “sit and fit” class as part of one of my volunteer gigs. Not exactly an aerobic workout, but good range of motion exercises can’t hurt.

Still, like others in my cohort, I face a steady trickle of health-related “events” that interrupt my life. At minimum, they add another doctor or dentist or PT appointment. At worst, they cause major disruptions in work or play schedules. As I heard someone say at the rec center yesterday (it was mid-day, when a fair number of “Silver Sneakers” folks were in the weight room with me), “You’re doing fine, and then something happens …”

I assume that on some deeper level, I’ll continue to be surprised by the reality of my aging body. But for the most part, I have come to accept it.

However, I was not prepared for the jaw thing. My jaw injury/condition is the residue of a car accident over 50 years ago, compounded by aging (reduced bone mass, reduced ligament elasticity). Even retirement may have contributed: I don’t talk as much as when I was teaching. Apparently, I suffer from the lack of what the fitness teacher calls “jawsercize.” So my jaw slips out of place for no clear reason, I can’t hold the phone to my left ear because it hurts my jaw, I can’t chew a sandwich except on one side and very carefully, and I have to arrange my jaw in a very precise position to be able to sleep. Bummer.

I must say, despite many warnings about the realities of aging, no one ever warned me to take care of my jaw. 

So, off to the PT I went. (PTs are magical in my book. They actually know things that are helpful). And I came away with a series of exercises for my jaw. “I can’t change your anatomy,” the PT said, “but we can bring in some muscle groups to help.” I trust her on this. I have to. So this week, I’ve been suctioning my tongue to the roof of my mouth and then opening and closing my mouth five times. Many times a day. Basically, every time I think about it. (I just now did it again.) I have a few other exercises that I won’t bother to describe. They involve distorted positions of tongue and jaw, and are also designed to do this “bring in some muscles groups to help” thing. “Make these your new nervous habits,” she said. Like I needed new ones.

I am less confident after 5 days of this than I was when I left her, but I'm persevering nonetheless. The other option, I guess, would be to talk more.

I suppose it’s a metaphor for aging in general. Whatever it takes to maintain this fading fantasy that really, life isn’t so different now. Just like when I was young, anything that’s wrong can be fixed, good as new.

It’s just that “new” is so long ago now.