Numbers

98/52. Oxygen 88%. Temp 100.2. I feel great.

BP 98/52. Oxygen 88%. Temp 100.2. I feel terrible.

Age 25: I am healthy and energetic, I have a lively social life.

Age 25: I have battled cystic fibrosis, and I struggle to breathe most of the time.

Numbers. Oh, interesting little devils, aren’t they? Numbers. Raw data. It’s supposed to be the end all, be all, right? Because numbers don’t lie. It’s factual stuff. It’s not made up. It’s a thing that can be seen. But, how about feeling numbers? That…oh, that is another thing entirely.

Being 25 years of age (just a random number for the sake of this post) is a wonderful experience for most of us (who have surpassed that age). In fact, that age will roll by on the calendar as many more days, weeks, months and years accumulate, until youth fades into memory and senility reigns supreme, or until you bite the dust from wrecking your Harley-Davidson on the way to Daytona Beach. Something like that. But that’s a number, isn’t it? For some, their twenties herald an unprecedented time of personal growth and opportunity, as teenage adolescence is shed and responsibilities of adulthood take full hold. And for others, their grasp of ‘adulthood responsibility’ began much earlier, when they learned about complex medical treatments, invasive central lines, and prolonged hospital stays. Youth was stolen by the medical juggernaut. Or perhaps they took on responsibilities of raising their younger siblings because dad was in prison and mom was on the street jonesing for crack, and they got a raw deal from society at large.

Numbers are really only as good as how one feels when it is associated with them. Numbers are objective, though they elicit subjective experiences. A blood pressure of 98/52 is someone’s normal; for another, they’re feeling lightheaded and might clonk out on the floor. For someone with COPD, an oxygen saturation of 88% is desirable, and they feel ok; for someone else, they’re struggling.

Chronological age is a funny thing. It is oh so tired of an aphorism, but that’s why people still say it: age is just a number. No matter where you are, my dear reader, at your station in life, no matter how many trips you’ve made around the sun, please keep it in mind. You are not bound by the number that appears on your medical chart, or your value measured by how long it takes you to scroll backward to find your birth year while filling out an online form. You, dear reader, have more than just potential. You are potential. And no number can reckon with that.

Done and done.