Glimpse Into The Future?

The words "physical therapy" used to make me cringe. Thanks to various ailments over the years, I can honestly say I've spent as much time in physical therapy sessions as I have in the grocery store, the park, Disneyland and Barnes and Nobles combined.

In the early days it was depressing-- The "typical" P.T. office was mostly filled with ailing seniors recovering from broken hips and the likes. I was always the youngest person in the facility and it felt like a glimpse into my future.

One such facility looked like a torture chamber and sounded like a heavy metal nightclub. The staff was young, the clientele old, and the music was head-banging. The two didn't mix and I always made the staff kill the music for silence, or Frank Sinatra, which ever they preferred. The seniors always thanked me as the therapist ground their knuckles into the painful spots in my neck and back.

But my current P.T. joint is the greatest. It's a huge facility with multiple treatment areas to suit your every need. And because the place is so big, you can also visit a wide range of other doctors in the same place, at the same time. For example-- an allergist, acupuncturist, chiropractor, massage therapist (my fave), Pilates, x-rays, cosmetic dermatologist and even a Russian speaking podiatrist.

Recently, when I limped my way into Pilates for my twice weekly stretching for fibromyalgia, I was surprised to see every babushka-wearing Bubbie in the greater Los Angeles area lined up in the waiting room-- Not a sight I usually see. Apparently it was toe nail cutting day and the podiatrist had several Russian speaking staff members chatting up the Bubbies and helping with their insurance paperwork.

One Bubbie, in particular, caught my eye. At about four feet tall and three feet wide, this 90+ year old was all "gussied up" in a leopard print skirt, a red and blue plaid jacket, blue Nike's, a bright orange babushka and a pocketbook the size of New Jersey. Odd as it sounds, the "look" worked on her. But something was missing....

When this Bubbie was called for her appointment, she fished through her pocketbook and pullout out a perfectly pressed handkerchief with something wrapped inside it. Ahh yes, her false teeth, which she popped in her mouth, smiled brightly, then strutted off to get her nail clipped.

Although I hope I have my own teeth when I'm her age, I wondered if I'd glimpsed into my future again. Note to self: Avoid purchasing leopard skirts and orange babushkas.

What do you see in your future?

Welcome to The Fifty Factor - Joanna

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