I sometimes wonder if it’s because I’m alone most of the time and not using my brain or my body enough. The one thing that pushed me and kept me in shape was working out and cleaning my house but that was apparently part of the problem.

I’ve seen so many doctors lately. An orthopedist and physical therapist for my hip. A sports medicine and rehab specialist for hip and back injections. An ENT for coughing like a mule for almost a year now. COVID … who knows? All I know is I was sprayed with something in my nostrils to numb them but not before the nurse said, “This medicine tastes awful. I wanted to prepare you,” after which my nostrils were opened with a tool exactly like Dr. Slipakoff’s then some kind of something with a light or a magnifying glass or a camera at the end of this contraption only to find out, “You’re fine, thank God.”

I’ve also been to a dermatologist to see if there’s something I can do to save my hair. I used to have thick thick hair. So thick it was almost uncontrollable, but maybe that’s because we dried our hair on the unit outside. So I’m now taking a pill three times a week for the rest of my life. Speaking of, I had lunch with some classmates from Mt. Carmel recently and for about an hour and a half we talked about thinning hair, and last but certainly not least I’m now using topical gel on my knee to help prevent surgery for a meniscus issue. I looked it up and one of the causes is pivoting. Well, I pivoted for six years, but like I said, that was Before Christ.

I’m also melancholy way too much. I’ve always been melancholy but not like this. Sixty-five has caught me off-guard. It means my sister’s almost seventy and my brother’s almost sixty. We’re losing friends’ parents, parents I loved. It means some of my friends are ill, and some have died. It means Emily will be forty soon and Jacques’ beard is salt and pepper now. It means I feel empty when I think about this being our last chapter. The funnest and most exciting part of my life is gone and you can’t get it back. I was in the kitchen this past Saturday cooking up a storm. I turned my kitchen radio on and put the dial on KANE FM 107.5 They were playing all our hits from the sixties and seventies. I was alone so I turned up the volume and danced my heart out with a wooden spoon in my hand. I then I learned that Miss Nell Word passed away and she was part of my parent’s lives. We only have a couple of them left now. Then I read the obituary of Flora “Terry” Broussard who passed away. Bo said, “She’s the last of the grande dames of Main Street.” Then I turned the radio off and cried in the pantry. And get a load of this. I was at Super 1 and the cashier asked if I was a senior citizen, but nothing beats my hygienist recommending a product because, “That’s what I recommend for all my geriatric patients.” I immediately thought of the Geritol commercial and pictured a walker. I’m not aging well, I don’t think, but I’ll continue to give it all I got, and crying is cleansing I’m told, especially in the pantry where I’m able to grab a few Oreos to comfort myself.

PHYLLIS BELANGER MATA was born at the old Dauterive Hospital and grew up on Wayne Street. She is a 1974 graduate of Mt. Carmel Academy and is a chili dog “without the wiener” aficionado.