There are certain warning signs to inform you that you are getting old.

No, grey hair is not one of the signs. There are plenty of older people whose hair is still brown – or a most unlikely and unnatural black or blond, and there are also those who go grey early in life. No, that’s no clue.

The first time I felt old was not when one of my teenage students told his mother that I was the grandmother he wished he had. Nor was it when I started to receive Seniors Discounts at my local hairdresser, not even when I received a Seniors Card for discounts everywhere. Not at my retirement.

No, the first time I felt old was when I had to buy a tablet container, with a section for each day’s pills. I went from not even having Panadol in the house to having a tablet container for a dozen pills each morning.

I was not upset by being diagnosed with a serious illness. No, what upset me was this tangible evidence that I was getting old – a tablet container. That's what old people have! A big sign.

When I broke my foot, I was not watching where I was going on a dark night in an unfamiliar area. I fell down some concrete steps and landed on my feet. I wasn’t upset about falling – I was pleased that I had enough balance to not break my arms or wrists, or even my glasses – as it was my own silly fault. It could have happened to anyone!

No, what upset me was that medical conversations often started with “Well, at your age, falls are not unexpected …!” And I could sense that family and friends were thinking, “She’s at that age now! Oh dear!” These not-so-subtle messages were another warning sign.

The next sign that life has caught up with me was the diagnosis of several eye problems, not fixable by surgery. It would be necessary to use heat poultices on my eyes for five minutes, morning and night, before applying eyedrops. For the rest of my life. Not too big a deal, but a sign nevertheless.

Then – more problems with feet. No more high heels. No more elegant shoes of any kind. Foot exercises, shock wave therapy – and worst of all, orthotics, to be worn inside rigid supportive shoes. Ugly shoes. “Old lady” shoes. Shoes that do not look nice with an elegant dress. Or any dress. No more sandals for summer. Not supportive enough. Old lady “clodhopper” shoes for the rest of my life. That was hard to take! That was a horrid glaring sign.

I am often on my feet during the day with my volunteer activities, and by night-time my feet are aching and burning. Cold packs are necessary. So, in the evening, I sit with a hot pack on my eyes, and cold packs under my feet. At the same time, I am doing my foot and ankle exercises.

Did I mention that my back is often aching as well? Another heat pack for my back. And I have a cup of tea, placed carefully so I can pick it up and set it down without spilling. Because I can’t see with my eyes covered! My trunk doesn’t know whether it should feel hot or cold. My brain is trying to coordinate everything.

If any grandchildren are over for a sleepover, I wait till they are in bed so I can organise myself and not scare them. I put some fine music on the radio, as I can’t see to do anything, and can’t move.

I think about my next story. I pat and stroke my dog (Sunny) who is looking rather confused. I practise patience, remind myself of all my blessings, and express thanks. I don’t have cancer. My disease is manageable. Medications are available. I can still see. I still have my legs and feet. My back pain is “normal degeneration … at your age!”

When I catch up with friends, we want to solve the world's problems - we don't merely want to discuss medical stuff (that’s a "no- no" because that’s what oldies do), but at times it’s hard to organise times to catch up for a coffee. Our social lives are just too busy? No, it’s trying to fit a coffee catch-up between all our various medical appointments.

Last week I lost a cap on one of my back teeth – requiring a visit to the dentist. His analogy was that this was like rust on an old car. Hmm. That means more “rust” will undoubtedly follow – on this “old car”! That signpost was unmissable!

Maintaining this old vehicle is getting pretty expensive. I’m ready to trade it in for a new one.

Of course, there are plenty of other signposts. Like allowing extra time to go to an appointment (probably medical) in a town I’ve lived in most of my life. Why? Because they keep changing it. Nothing looks the same. New modern look-alike buildings popping up in the name of progress. New road systems, new parks. The old has gone, and the new is coming in a hurry.

What's more, the latest fashion trend is apparently "dopamine dressing”. These young things wear very bright colourful clothing which makes them, and everybody who sees them, happy. That's the theory, anyway. Yet, if I did likewise, people would think I was quite eccentric, a crazy old lady.

Perhaps that is the reality. After all, does anyone else talk to their neighbours' dogs while standing on a box, on tiptoes, (good for feet and ankles!) looking over the back fence? That’s what I do, and yes, they listen intently. I now know that when they throw themselves at the fence, they want me to come back and talk to them. They become calm.

Does anyone else call out good morning to all the lonely dogs in back yards as they walk past? I do, and you know what? I’m old enough to do what I want, and I don’t really care what people think. That’s a definite sign of being old!

Meantime, I will have to stop now, and get organised for my next visit to the doctor. Besides, I don’t like talking about this possibility of being crazy. Nor all that medical stuff. That’s what old people do.