The Choices of Growing Older
The trials of getting old, in polite company it is referred to as ‘aging,’ are ignored by most of us, until we suddenly find ourselves there—in the throes of aching, stumbling, forgetting, breaking, with lots of time to talk about these ailments.
If you are over 70, or perhaps its 75, you know if you join a group of like-aged folks, you will soon be discussing what doctor you saw yesterday, what specialist you need an appointment with, and asking what did you say?
The conversations can go on for hours, with breaks when someone says, “Can we talk about something else?” That suggestion lasts for about as long as it takes to sip on cucumber water, and the conversation begins about how cucumbers are a health remedy, according to the nutritionist you had an appointment with last week.
This leads to a lengthy debate about which vitamins are appropriate for backaches, hair loss, blindness, indigestion, and all other ailments common to those of us over puberty. Everyone at the table raves about the supplements stuffed in their medicine cabinet and can recite from what website they obtained their information.
Where once we talked about the pitfalls of motherhood, our lousy bosses, and the politics of war, we now enjoy chatting about bowel movements, or the lack of, the need for walking sticks, long term care options, and what infirmities Medicare will and will not cover.
Obviously topics change with ages. As children we know someone will pick up after us, prepare our food, give instructions, and be responsible for us. As young adults, we realize we have responsibilities for our own wellbeing, and in our middle-ages, we are the ones responsible for the very young and very old. So, what is our job when we reach that ‘very old’ category? Seems to me we are going to become childlike, and I’m not certain how I will like that scenario.
To have someone pick up after me, fix meals, tell me not to worry seems like a nice life. But I resent someone telling me what and when I have to eat, dictating my sleep patterns, and controlling my health options.
When will I relinquish my decision making power? When will I have to turn my life over to someone else to manage? When will I know it is time to relax and let my life play out on its own axis?
It is a mystery, and I hope I can gracefully let go of my need to control without bringing bodily harm to a caregiver. I would prefer not to be jailed because my phone when thrown across the room, connected with the back of someone fleeing from my wrath at having pancakes for breakfast rather than waffles.
Just remember, children have temper tantrums too, and I dare you to try and spank me.