golden girls…

It’s that time of our lives when most of us, my fellow Charitians and NDCFG batch 88 (Hope, Constancy,  Faith, Loyalty) will be turning gold.  Some already did, and soon everyone will follow —- ahhh, that’s domino effect!  I think Muffet started it all!

It’s that time of our lives when our PCP writes down all your recommended tests be done just because you are in your BIG 5-0!  There’s colon CA screen… breast CA screen… cervical CA screen… vision exam… BP checks… osteoporosis screen… blood works… immunization, and the list just starts to go on, and on, and on.

The Golden Girls is a TV series back in my teen years, as far as I can remember I was still watching the show up until College.  It’s the story of four women living together with all the joys and angst of their golden years.  There was the strong-willed Dorothy, lusty Blanche, kooky Rose, and motherly Sophia.

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So what is in store for me ahead my golden years????  Will I be Blanche? Or Dorothy?

I really do not know.

Blanche is portrayed as a promiscuous woman, with her initials spelled out as BED.  She spends most of her time with men which amuses and irritates her roommates.  In spite of her promiscuity, Blanche was actually conservative in many respects. She was a Republican, plus she had a hard time accepting her brother’s homosexuality (wikipedia.org).

Dorothy on the other hand was a bookworm and an overachiever.  She takes care of her mother, Sophia, who resents that her daughter is now her caretaker.  Dorothy navigates money concerns, returning to a substitute teaching in order to provide for herself and Sophia (wikipedia.org).

I used to be a Blanche when I was in my twenties… In my late thirties,  I was more of a Dorothy.   I was carefree then, I knew I will turn 50— even planned of dying at 50.  But never really thought about becoming a golden girl! 

I thought 50 was just a number!  Nahhhh, it’s not. 

I would oftentimes cringe when I see a patient who is in her/his twenties or thirties, thinking —- oh boy!  I am old!  Once, a little boy asked me “Doctor how old are you?” which his Mom reacted to, “guess how old do I look?”  I replied.  Without hesitating the little boy said “50! because my Mom is 50”.  I looked at his Mom who looks young at 50 and told my little boy, “okay, I’m almost there”.  When they were in the lobby the little boy announced— “my Doctor and my Mom are old!”…. I cringed more.

“Back in St. Olaf…”

I think I am more of a Rose now…. simple minded and something of a pushover who rarely stands up for herself.

Sad.

G.

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