Confession

For over fifteen years, I have resisted admitting my problem. 

I've tried three drugs for a few months to a few years each with no satisfactory result.  I've tried weight-bearing exercise (weighted vest anyone?), dietary improvements, and mineral supplements.  Of course I have gotten prayer.  These are good things.  But alas—sigh—this remains:  I have osteoporosis.

Doggonit.  It's hard to say that.  Why is it hard to say that?  It's not like it's a character flaw.  It's not from lack of attention to good health.  My mother has it; my grandmother had it.  They both had kyphosis, the grandma hunch back, in their last years.  The National Osteoporosis Foundation reports "Studies show that half of all women over the age of 50 and a quarter of men will break a bone in their lifetime due to this chronic, devastating disease."  Is anyone else stunned by that number?  Half! 

It makes me feel old.  That's it.  Who falls and breaks a hip?  Old people.  Sigh.  I thought I could beat the odds, but nope. 

And now, I seriously have to accept some kind of intervention so this doesn't get even worse.  (Thank you dear medical friends for not saying, "I told you so!")  We met with an energetic young endocrinologist this morning who seems to know his stuff and who has a clear recommendation.  I consulted with knowledgeable MD friend, Crystal, for approval.  And now I'll just have to take the medicine and pray for God's mercy.