Happy Birthday to Me

“Middle age is when you still believe you’ll feel better in the morning” Bob Hope

Ya gotta believe! Sooner or later someone’s gonna live to be a hundred and fifty.

And it seemed just like yesterday, some of us were gathered down in San Diego celebrating seven decades and a nickel of candles on my B-day cake. We harmonized the usual tune and when I clapped, the candles went out. I think, even before Covid-19, no one relished a slice of cake some old guy had just sprayed (whether he’s had his shots or not.) Frankly, I think Birthday cake hygiene has been overlooked throughout history. I’m still working on a cooler technique than clapping out the candles on your birthday cake. And suddenly, four years go by in a blink and here we are again.

But what happened back in 2022 wasn’t anything like what happened this B-day week; there were no trips south unless we’re talking about plumbing (not mine, my house’s). I know a birthday is just a number (In my case a word designating possibility and the end of an inning), and most of the time, I happen to like numbers. And it’s awesome when you get to hang out with friends, get gifts, eat ice cream and cake, maybe have a cold one, and celebrate the day by soaking up all the attention. But this year’s B-day week was all about the HOA, plumbers, wall restorers, claim adjustors, and State Farm Insurance.

WTH Charlie Brown! I’m aging much better than la casa adosada (townhouse) de Von Bulow, established in 1984-two years before Stand by Me. When I was 42-years old I was the tennis ladder champion at Santa Anita Park; a previous titleholder was Sven Davidson, a French Open Men’s singles and Wimbledon Men’s Doubles champion. Sven even let me practice with him without laughing! If I would’ve mentioned practicing dentistry for 46 years, now that would’ve brought "down the house" several decades ago.

The townhouse has a leaky circulatory system, missing insulation, and a localized osteoporotic skeletal design; its base is edematous and is showing puddles (like some elected executives). Just this morning, the upstairs commode suffered a blockage that will require bypass intervention. Last week, the flat roof suffered a subdural hematoma requiring hopefully sufficient palliative care leading to a September transplant. The transplant procedure is high risk; there’s a chance the temperature control center might also require invasive measures or a transplant after indulging recovery time in the garage.

When I was 42 years old, I hadn’t even had my second hernia repair. I was going to the same gym Michael Jordan visited when in LA/Pasadena, and a Hip-Hop instructor tagged me “Air Dentist,” as opposed to “No Air Conditioning Dentist.” Things change.

What I’ve discovered during the past week is too much reflection time spent cooped up in a room with tents and constant howling wind from power fans isn’t necessarily a healthy thing. And watching the NBA playoffs wearing my Beats in a roomful of crowded empty chairs looking at me is slightly creepy as well. And overthinking while under stress can land you in a zone, but not THE zone, the end zone, or a comfort zone.

I need structure, not solitary confinement, waiting for the next, “Dr. Jack, I have a question.” Me: “Oh no, not another leak?” I got so frustrated yesterday, I went outside during lunch hour and cleaned out the patio…and temporarily conquered my deadly fear of black widow spiders.

When Hacienda de Von Bulow was only thirty-three, it needed a synthetic facelift for $27K cash. When I was thirty-three, I had my first hernia repair; nothing superficial or cosmetic about that (but maybe a sign of future plumbing issues).

Almost three years ago, I started taking prescription medication for the first time. Now, I drop 10-mgs of a statin before my David Carradine “walk the land” meandering through and around Pasadena’s Madison Heights. And I was already “hopped up” on Superbeets, CBD gummies, ACV gummies, chewable vitamin C, and enough vitamin D to choke a hippopotamus with osteoporosis.

Oh, I almost forgot Dr. Gundry’s supplement, Total Restore, just in case I’m quietly suffering from leaky gut. Crap, just like my house! And my house is getting a total “restore” when its gutted walls and ceiling are replaced. I’m not sure if my house is imitating me or if the little voice in the back of my head wants me to impersonate the house?

I guess what’s next in my overthinking future is I’ll start noticing stuff my mom and Aunt Clara used to complain about, like knocks at the front door at 3am or answering scum bags who ask stuff like, “Are you still practicing?” or “How old are you now?” My mom once confessed to having told a lie when some old bat at the market persisted in asking her age. Rather than deliver a Sicilian knuckle sandwich, Mom shared, “I lied. I took off 10-years.” High five! And yeah, I’m still practicing and I’m healthier than a 42-year-old I speak with every day (Yeah, I’m talking to my house and asking questions, but fortunately not getting answers).

For the past week, people in their forties have shown concern when I needed to move a folding chair a few feet or drive at night. To make it worse, for the past three years I’ve become obsessed with stuff like intermittent fasting, checking my weight and blood pressure…twice a day, traveling at least 12,000 steps per day, and using CBD with one milligram of THC nightly to get at least 7-hours of sleep. Hey, you’ll do some strange things that make the voice in the back of your head crack a smile when you’re facing robotic surgery (hernia #3).

Another adjustment I’ve noticed lately is the way I’m addressed in public. Even though my Facebook self-description as “The foremost DDS-type/elite athlete/scribe in the San Gabriel valley” remains in full view, yesterday a bartender used a somewhat patronizing, “Another one, young man?” Instead of responding with the usual, “I got your young man right here” I smiled and thought about the 42-year-old I know…and all the plumbing issues we have in common and said, “Yeah, I’ll have another one.”

On Tuesday evening, I met with the local planning commission, the last major hurdle standing in the way of Impact Assisting Academy, LLC, a new business featuring Dental Assistant/Team Leader Extraordinaire Dani Williams, and I. The city treated me like a rock star. And I never thought a visit to City Hall would be therapeutic.

I've processed the week and I’m committed to empathy for my house; we’ll work out our differences and let plumbing be our bond. Shucks, age forty-two is probably 126 in house years. We’ve already been together for eleven years. I’m just hoping the humming going on in my head will be gone when the home improvement is done.

Happy Birthday to me, I'm already feeling better this morning.