Lately I am continually taken by surprise that someone I know is so old, and in thinking that, realizing I am also so old. It's a little disconcerting. When I look at favorite old movies or tv series and see that they are current to me, and yet 45 years old, I am stunned. MASH, the tv series, was on when my children were born, in 1972 and 1974. Colonel Henry Blake "died" very close to when my second son was born, April 30, 1974, and my son recently celebrated his 44th birthday.
My friends are aging quickly. And so, surprisingly, am I. I complained to an older friend about my "mild" arthritis and told her I just hated the doctor saying I was "of that age." She was silent for a moment and then said, "Jeanie, how old are you?" Well! I am only 69, I said back, rather peeved. Like saying I was only 9.
I will be 70 on my next birthday. It amazes me. And how quickly parts of my body will slink past my attitude of denial and remind me that they are also almost 70 years old. I mean - that's 20 years longer than being an antique, if I were a piece of furniture.
I occasionally speak to college nursing students about my journey with Polycystic Kidney Disease. I tell them at the start how old I am because the older you get, the more experience you get in dealing with the various stages of insurance, and Medicare. When I said it the first time, during my first talk, I almost got myself off track because my mind was saying, "yeah, and these 'kids' are 20 years younger than my own children." Do college age students really pay attention to someone who is older than an antique?
Oh! And to add insult to the aging process, Medicare allows annual "wellness" checks, which includes a series of questions to determine if your doctor needs to talk to your children about putting you into an assisted living facility. A friend just went through this with her mother, who is 84. That is only 15 years away for me!!! Then there is the "clock" test. You draw the face of a clock, put the numbers in, and make the hands show 11:10. And there are no real clocks in the exam room.
When I am sitting comfortably, drinking my coffee, I imagine my day. My "to do" list includes washing all the cupboard doors in the kitchen, finishing off with scrubbing and polishing the floor. Clean the bathroom including the toilet, scrubbing the bathtub, washing and polishing the floor. Cleaning the living room and making it simple and clean looking, with no clutter on the coffee table, no stacks of books to read and books to take to Goodwill. Then I get up and can't stand up straight because my lower back is killing me. And I solemnly note that I can't even begin to do that "to do" list. I think I can barely manage to sweep the floor.
Now the bitter sticky part. My seven years on dialysis damaged my back (sitting in a recliner for 4 hours a day, 3 days a week), and two vertebrae are tipped into my sciatic nerve. I have severe stenosis of the S1 vertebra. (I had to look up "S1" and "stenosis" and I'll leave it to you to research that for yourself.) Two years ago I received my new kidney, for which I am always, always grateful! However, I discovered that because of the stenosis, I couldn't begin to get back to regular living stuff. I can barely stand in one position long enough to do the prep work for dinner let alone washing the dinner dishes. I am most comfortable laying down or sitting.
Now I am scheduled for major surgery to fuse L3, 4, 5, and S1. In two weeks!!! During the pre-op exam, my EKG showed I have something wrong with my heart and now I have to see a cardiologist, who will decide if I can go through with the surgery. It is overwhelming, daunting, and further chipping away at my self-confidence and my way of life. So, now I'm worried all the time. Will I die during surgery? If I don't have the surgery, will the pain just get worse and worse until I MUST go to assisted living, or worse, a nursing home? In my mind, I still dance to music on my stereo. I still run in fun runs. I still move boxes and furniture like I was fit and firm only a few years ago.
Today I even looked up counselors in my area because I think I need to talk to someone. (They ask that in the Medicare questionnaire, but I refuse to answer - I always say I am fine, thank you very much; just fine.)
Getting older doesn't make you wiser. It just makes you realize you can't do things any more. It makes you realize there are very few years left. Maybe 20-21 years left for me? It is somehow sad.
I miss my life - somehow, part of me didn't keep up with the rest of me and went off on its own merry way.
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