In response to a reply from the kind and thoughtful
@stormydaycuddle , and a misguided youth who simply doesn’t know better yet, I thought I would post something I first wrote for a men’s chronic pain support group I have worked with.
A little insight for the young, and a little “you are not alone” for my Brothers and Sisters of the Oooof.
—-
The Brotherhood of the Ooof.
Ages 0-14:
There was no recollection of pain. I sometimes had a scrape, but never a bruise. I sometimes had a cold, but never felt any aches.
Ages 15-19:
Puberty. Growth spurts HURT. (I grew 7 inches in 3 months during the worst of it. Actual, real, serious pain. Constant aches, cramping all the time, and as clumsy as I have ever been.) There were sprains and cuts and bruises, but they all healed very, very quickly. Sports was still fun and exciting, and if I got a bit banged up it didn't matter, I would be mostly fine the next morning.
Ages 20-25:
Golden time, physically. No more clumsy, no more aches from growing, no more weird hormonal fluctuations. Just me, and whatever I wanted to do. Hungry for a double chili cheeseburger? Just eat that. Jalapeno fries, 4 beers, and banana split? Yum! As strong as I wanted to be, and endurance for days. Never out of breath for longer than it took to take three deep breathes. No matter what I had done the day/night before, every morning I bounced out of bed, hit the shower, and was fine. Scraps and bruises were cosmetic, and had no impact on me.
Age 26:
First Testosterone Drop, and the bounce was something I had to summon up. It was no longer natural. I was experienced, and as strong as I had ever been. However, the aches and pains, and the scrapes and bruises were no longer cosmetic, and scar tissue was suddenly an impediment, and not just a way to impress women.
Ages 27-36:
Basically, everything is fine. Stretching and warming up before sports or working became a thing, but it was manageable. I could get through any aches and pains with a hot shower and a couple of aspirin. Slower than I was, but again, that experience at using my strength and knowing what to do made all the difference. From 20-36 I don't remember ever being sick. I mean, not even a sniffle or a fever.
Ages37-42:
The Second Drop. Testosterone took another leveling out. Stretching and warming up were a requirement. Without doing it I could look forward to a few days of limping around.
This is the beginning of the "oooof".
That feeling where standing up after a long day is suddenly an effort. Stairs are no longer a way up, but rather a thing to think about looking for an elevator because of. Scar tissue lets me know if the weather is changing.
Ages 43-45:
And, the first major illness/disease hit me.
(For those playing at home, please pray to whatever gods you have that you never develop epididymitis.) Ten days of true, stomach churning, soul killing pain. Maybe I want to just die pain. And, as a bonus, I picked up a nice case of MRSA from the hospital visit. Antibiotics and sulfates for almost 14 months.
Daily nausea. Permanent nerve damage. Chronic pain.
Ages 46-53:
True Meaning of the Oooof... Accepting that I will never fully recover from the antibiotics. At this point, pleasure is often simply the absence of pain. All those bruises I was shrugging off, barely aware of, or powering through from 15-36 are now constant companions.
Stretching is now a regime, and a large part of the morning for me. Hot showers are not about cleanliness, but about therapy. Jacuzzi is a sexy, sexy word.
And, here are three ways that I know I am truly getting older...
1) I can see the end of the horizon. 25 to 40 years away, but I am closer to the day of my death than of my birth.
2) Nothing is more important than a comfortable chair with good back support. NOTHING.
3) I swear to all that is holy and true, if offered a choice between anything and a backrub, I would take the backrub. And I mean, anything.
Be kind friends, because we truly don’t know what others are dealing with.