On Friday I started down the callejon (alleyway) where I live to go to the bakery three blocks away. It’s about a hundred yards to the street, then another hundred or so to the corner, then two blocks to the bakery. I only got a little way to the corner and had to turn back home. My legs were too weak to continue. Another notch in the progress of aging.
I was so upset by this that I sobbed for a moment in the alley. The weakness of course had been coming on and I shouldn’t have been quite so taken aback, but I was. Only that morning I called my doctor to recommend a physical therapist. The “walk” just confirmed the need, which you may not fully understand until you get a shock like this.
We all want aging to be quick and tolerable, and it never is. You know, then a quick heart attack or another kind of easy departure. How we bear up with the infirmities to come is the real measure of our strength as every day becomes a test of tenacity and acceptance. And a kind of decorum keeps you from talking meaningfully to others about any of this.
After an asthmatic childhood and youth, I got fairly healthy. Loved sports and athletics, then drinking, partying, women. Now even my taste buds are failing. The decline began in earnest not quite two years ago. I had a bad case of dengue which seemed to weaken my resistance and resilience. Before this I had contended with a series of simple plagues and nuisance torments—like IBS and anemia, now urinary problems—which after dengue seemed to get worse, even with treatment. Lack of exercise did not help.
Now I’m devoted to the computer and my music collection and politics—all solitary displacements to avoid thinking too much about health and wellness and, of course, aging. Finally, we oldsters seem to need such displacements to keep the wolf from the door. I can think candidly about death and dying but not about how my mind and body are wearing out.
At 58, I’m in as good a shape as I’ve ever been, but I know this can’t last forever. My wife and I, between us, still have four parents, from 87 to 95, and we’re witnessing the changes you describe, changes that most of us will go through and with no choice in the matter. Please keep writing.
Yes…please keep writing. John, I’m sure your doctor told you to walk more. I know you don’t want to but it’s the best thing for strength and balance. Just keep moving 😍
“How we bear up with the infirmities to come is the real measure of our strength as every day becomes a test of tenacity and acceptance. And a kind of decorum keeps you from talking meaningfully to others about any of this.”
You put this so well, John. Thank you. I appreciate your writing about this as so many of us are thinking about our own aging and the old and new aches and pains we face each day. There’s perhaps little sense in going on about our own “organ recitals”, but I appreciate talking about aging at least once in a while!
Also, about dying. Coincidentally in today’s NY Times there is an entire section titled : Let’s Talk About Death; From end-of-life care to burials and beyond, we answer your questions about death.
Meantime, here’ to life! And to one of life’s best features- friendships. With people like you.
Thanks again.
John – thanks for your candor, and Connie, thanks for your reflection. Onward.
Yes, John, you do put it very well. I would love to go for some walks with you. They can be at your pace and as short as you’d like to begin with.
I would be honored, mon.
Thank you for writing. Moving on one’s own is the independence we all hope to maintain — but alas we just crumble. Bit by bit. You keep writing. I’ll keep painting— despite my ailing shoulder. We’ll all keep reading. And talking.
And thinking. You put it so well, Jane.