I ain’t dead yet!

—“Well, you are 77 years old,” the technician said. “Over 77 years anything could go wrong. Your hearing may fail; any metal in your body? Bullets, metal shards in your eyes, facial steel, pumps, a tattoo?”
I was at Thompson Hospital in Canandaigua for yet another MRI, a brain-scan prescribed by my neurologist.
I guess an MRI machine has powerful magnets that could suck metal outta your body.
I don’t like being 77 years old, or perhaps more precisely I don’t like it being inferred I’m feeble and incompetent because I’m age-77.
At this point I hafta surmise what my aquacise-instructor might say, the lady who for some unfathomable reason, despite my many flubs and foul-ups, seems to continue wanting me to like her.
I base this on her reaction to that neurologist telling me my neuropathy — poor nerve-communication to my feet — is incurable.
“I love it when they tell you things like that,” she said.
I said something to that neurologist about “waking up the muscles,” a goal that aquacise-instructor pursues in her aquatic balance training.
“I projected negativity,” I said to her; “so I got a negative prognosis,”
Hooray, at last a chance to actually talk to my aquacise-instructor — thanks to COVID-19, which took away many of her clients.
After 60-some years of a slinging words (writing), Yrs Trly — a “failed writer” per my Facebook — decided, noted, whatever, face-to-face communicatin’ works much better than the written word.
With face-to-face: —A) you get immediate notice of missed communication, and best of all: —B) what you hear may very well be completely different than what you expected.
“That MRI technician needs to improve his bedside manner,” I told a Physical-Therapy coach.
Not long ago my doctor retired, and I told him he was the BEST doctor I ever had, and I’ve had many.
It was mainly because he could laugh; we always had a good time. He also didn’t get huffy when I asked questions.
The one who declares me a geezer is me, not some hoity-toity pup.
MRI finished I had to get up from laying down on the scanning table.
“Are ya dizzy? Are ya dizzy?” the tecky kept asking.
“NOPE!” I said. “I have the same problem getting outta bed in the morning. It’s wonky balance.
I know getting up drains blood outta my head, but that only lasts a second or two.”
“Is anyone here to drive you home?”he asked.
“Get over it, dude! I drove here myself, and can safely return home on my own.”
Looks like I gotta strike sparks with some of my pretty lady-friends to prove to myself I’m still viable.
“I ain’t dead yet!”

• Over 27 years ago I had a stroke due to a heart defect long ago repaired. It killed part of my brain. I recovered fairly well, but the MRI is to determine if any more damage is occurring. My balance may be being effected, although it’s also effected by age.