You’re 64, slipping off socks to reveal nails thickened like old bark, yellowed and flaking, that stubborn itch a nightly…

You’re 62, glancing down at your toenails—yellowed, thickened, crumbling at the edges like forgotten autumn leaves. The embarrassment hits during…

You’re 58, eyes fluttering open to a dry mouth and a head that feels wrapped in cotton, the alarm clock…

You’re 59, squinting at the fine print on your pill bottle, pricking your finger for another blood sugar check, and…

You’re 68, staring at the bathroom scale that hasn’t budged in days, that familiar bloat pressing like an unwelcome guest…