Help!

I am become pin-cushion.  In the last few weeks I have had blood drawn from me three times and various viruses (dead, alive and partial) pumped into me half a dozen more.  This week the nurse plans to deplete my ichor by a further 30ml whilst enhancing my vigour by injecting me with something that will stiffen my resolve in the face of pneumonia and shingles.  I am 65 years of age and the NHS is making me superhuman.  At the rate I am being pumped full of beneficial fluids, I will, should I make it to 100, be inured to all known ailments.

Now please don’t think, even for a second, that I am in anyway ungrateful for these recent ministrations. I most definitely am not.  Above all else I wish to be as well as I can be for as long as I might live, and I am quite happy to be pierced in order to get me there.  It all comes along at once, which is fine – viruses don’t form an orderly queue, do they?  They are bullies: they gang up on you.  They are like hyenas and estate agents, constantly looking for an area of weakness to exploit.  I’m very happy to accept aching arms if that’s what it takes to keep them at bay.  The little red, hot and itchy patches are my spider bites.  They are my River Styx.

Unfortunately, like my more revered fellow Styx-dipper, I do have an area of particular vulnerability.  My own Achilles Heel is that I am me: a walking bad decision.  If there is a wrong choice to make, I will make it.  If there is a worst time to do it, I will be counting down the seconds.  My capacity for unintentional self-harm is unrivalled in the modern world.  If there is something to walk into, I will do so.  If there is something to trip over, I will do that also.  If there is someone very big and very angry who is just waiting to be offended, I will find him.  I am an Exocet missile with ‘Home’ programmed into its GPS. 

One good thing about slowing down as you get older is that you don’t hit things quite so hard.  I’m at a loss to think of any others.  Falling over is a particular problem associated with ageing and it is of particular concern to me as it is something at which I am particularly adept.  I can find a patch of something slippery with my eyes closed.  I am notoriously unstable on snow or ice and I can perform the kind of gymnastics usually associated with pre-pubescent Romanians with just a few wet leaves to assist me.  Dick Fosbury had a flop named after him after leaping over a six foot barrier, I can achieve the same landing position with nothing more than a kerb to go at.

I am looking at science to come up with a vaccination against dyspraxic tendencies and I would be perfectly happy if it came combined with something to counter being a total liability.  Protection against giggling at inappropriate moments would also be appreciated… although I think that sixty-five might be a little too late for me.

When I was younger
So much younger than today
I never needed anybody’s help in any way
But now those days are gone
I’m not so self-assured
Now I find I’ve changed my mind
And opened up the door…  Help! – The Beatles (Lennon/McCartney)