Random Thoughts on Aging
Who did I think I would be at 72?
Maybe, after all the work to build the blue bicycle brand,
it is now it is time to let it carry me.
June is my birthday month. In a couple of weeks, I will turn 72. I am not sure how that happened but this year (has it only been five months?) makes me feel every single year of that 72 years. Despite this, I am proud of how my body has managed to keep up—except for my shoulder.
The thing about the shoulder . . . I was a teacher/professor for 40+ years and wrote on the chalkboard—then whiteboard—almost every day. I don’t have anything but anecdotal evidence that teachers end up having more shoulder surgeries than the average person. Still, I am sticking with that being the reason my shoulder often complains. No, I haven’t gone to a doctor—certainly not right now.
The last time it acted up was when I painted a potting bench. This time, it was pushing Scott around the hospital in a wheelchair. It is getting better. So no, this probably will not be addressed by a doctor anytime soon. I am very doctor-avoidant and come by that honestly.
My dad was in his late 90s before he took any medications. When I would take him to a new doctor, the nurses would settle in at the computer to discuss his list of medications and ask me if I brought the pill bottles. I would say, “He doesn’t take any medications.” They would ask, “What over-the-counter medications?” My response? “None.” And they would ask, “Advil or Tylenol?” To which I would answer, “No.” Then I would say, “Oh! I forgot he occasionally takes an antacid.”
I had to give them something to end the tortuous inquisition.
What do I attribute this to? Growing up on the farm, healthy eating, and genetics (almost all his siblings lived into their 90s). I got the genetics part and I believe that is what helped me dodge some of the impact of my extensive trauma history. Scott also had decent genetics with parents who lived to their 80s and 90s, but his trauma history is part of our current story. More on that later.
The interesting thing about turning 72 is that I have always said I would retire at this age. Not sure if that was a Social Security thing or if I was sure I would be done by then. Right now, that seems like a realistic take on things even though I ended up retiring at 62—in the best health I have ever experienced. That was definitely precipitated by my trauma history. Yet. I excelled at post-retirement—for ten years!
Am I done now?
What would retiring even mean at this point? I was slowing down before the transplant. For over a year, I had so many premonitions about Scott’s health. There were so many confusing symptoms both physically and mentally. It became almost impossible to schedule anything because I never knew what a day would hold. At first that made me angry—not at him, just at life—but then I realized that I couldn’t have kept up the pace anyway.
I think his illness helped me to become more comfortable with being an aging human.
While Scott was never a great conversationist—preferring silence—the failing liver made sustained conversations between us almost impossible. I took it personally until I realized he couldn’t track (a symptom of ammonia buildup in the body). I had no idea how hard he was working every day to be a functional human. All I knew was that each day brought us something he could no longer do—try as he might.
Watching this process in reverse as he picks up the pieces again is life-giving. It also makes me wonder what I will do with the time that will no longer be devoted to his care. What will 72 look like when we can return home and resume our lives? Did this journey finally bring me to retirement?
Should I throw the party I never had the first time I retired? Probably not, that sounds like work. I do think I am retiring but after my epic failure at retiring the first time—though it was a fantastic way to fail at something—I doubt that I will sit in a rocking chair and knit. No offense to those who do—it just doesn’t seem like something I would ever do.
What Scott and I have managed to live through cannot help but change us. What that means exactly is not clear—yet. It is hard to imagine living without the walker again. Honestly, it is quite handy for taking things from room to room—like a tray on wheels. I occasionally have borrowed it for that purpose.
What will it be like for Scott to feel comfortable driving again? And how will his immune compromised system impact us? There are many precautions. One thing we know, he will be taking pills every day at 8 a.m. and 8 p.m. Always and forever. He will always have a list of medications when he goes to the doctor, though high blood pressure meds, anti-nausea meds, and diabetic meds did not return to the list.
That begs the question . . . how many diagnoses are actually symptoms of a dysfunctional liver that drags the kidneys along with it? And what will life look like for a 69 year-old-man with a functioning liver and healthy kidneys? Time will tell.
As for me, I know the following to be true:
While I will always treasure the seven years in which I published four books, served on the ATN board, spoke at conferences, and had the opportunity to be on dozens of podcasts as a guest, I never can nor want to return to that fast-paced life.
While I strongly believe many things about our current political and religious climate, my involvement in preserving decency and freedom in America will be confined to my writing and support of the organizations I have worked with in the past. This is enough.
I am less and less enamored with social media. I have several accounts out there that are languishing from lack of attention. I may close them. And my website needs an overhaul! I am aware that my books continue to make an impact and my voice still matters, but I am not attempting to build a platform any longer. I enjoy Substack and am ready for this to be my focus.
I will be even more grateful to return to my cottage, enjoy my back porch, and engage with my neighbors and small town. Sadly, more chickens are off the list. I am glad we were able to enjoy that experience before we couldn’t.
Now that it will be possible to schedule things again (in the fall) I plan to have more Zoom conversations. I would have the world visit my back porch if I could. Nothing I enjoy much more than a great conversation! It also helps Scott if I am not too isolated. I have way too many words.
There has always been a part of me that rises from the ashes with incredible determination and tenacity. It is how I lived my life and what a life it has been! Right now she has decided to curl up in a blanket and rest. She deserves to rest. There are ways to occupy while resting, simple, quiet ways. That doesn’t seem much like me, but maybe as 72 approaches, it can be. Maybe choosing to live more quietly will be my greatest and most welcome challenge.
We shall see.