Health surprises as I get older.
As I get older, my daily health keeps surprising me—whether it’s excellent or something less than that. To be honest, I didn’t expect surprises.
For two reasons.
The first reason is that I’ve been a biohacker since December 2010. I know my numbers. I was tracking data back in the days when it meant manually logging everything in Excel spreadsheets. These days, it’s about discovering subtle patterns using AI tools and wearable devices.
The second reason I didn’t expect surprises is that I grew up surrounded by great-aunts, great-uncles, and great-grandparents in my community. I saw what aging looked like. I saw most of them begin a slow downhill slide sometime after 88, even if they lived well into their 90s. In my mind, aging was a steady, predictable decline—a long, slow slide from one’s prime to frailty.
But maybe I didn’t pay close enough attention. Or maybe, when they were feeling unwell, they just said so—and we stayed away, as they asked. I understand that now. Sometimes I don’t have the energy to deal with company, either.
What surprises me most, though, is that aging hasn’t followed that straight, slanted line downward. Instead, it’s jagged. A little worse here, a little better there. Sometimes it drops off a cliff. Other times, it spikes upward in ways I didn’t expect. I’d assumed there’d be more consistency.
A year ago, for instance, my blood sugar went completely haywire. I was doing everything “right”—diet, exercise, sleep, supplements. Nothing helped. It was like my medication just stopped working. No obvious trigger. I still don’t know why.
Two months ago, I had a checkup and my doctor praised how well I was doing. Some numbers were so good, he assumed I’d made major lifestyle changes. “You must’ve completely overhauled your diet,” he said.
But I hadn’t. I told him, honestly, even as a biohacker with detailed records—I couldn’t explain the sudden drop in my triglycerides. It hadn’t been new supplements or workouts, improved sleep, or an intentional change in heart rate variability. I had no answer.
Six months ago, I could barely walk—Achilles tendinitis that dragged on endlessly. I hobbled down the street like my mother did in her last years, over 90 and bent with pain. Then I started using a recumbent bike. Within a week, I could walk again. Within a month, I was back to a minimum 5-mile per day walk and dictating my novels and short stories while I soaked up Nature.
I’ve been able to manage my health reasonably well, thanks to years of self-tracking and biohacking. But even so, there are still mysteries.
Not all of them can be blamed on menopause, anxiety, or whatever default excuse lazy doctors give to women these days instead of running tests and actually listening.
I know how to investigate root causes and adjust my lifestyle for optimal health—but even then, I can’t always find the pattern. I can’t always connect the dots between cause and effect.
Maybe I just don’t have enough data yet. Or maybe this is one of the mysteries of aging—something my ancestors accepted with more grace and dignity than I’m showing in this post.
A Southern witch returns home. Secrets won’t stay buried. A chance to confront and heal—or face the consequences.
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