What a shock! Am I Old!

You’d know this when you can’t walk past a bathroom without thinking ‘I may as well pee while I’m here! Or may be let others come out loud and clear for you. Want to know how?; Simply fall down- if people around you laugh you’re not an old salad yet and there’s some zing still left in you; if people panic you’re a bummer and burning out fast.

Five years ago I was whisked into the emergency room followed by a stay in a hospital for a good three weeks. Well…the diagnosis said I had a mutinous pancreas that’s on a wayward run. That’s incredulous! I was aghast. It was difficult to imagine that something unbelievable had happened to me. The ceiling had felt like crashing down on me.

Later with initial stupor over, countless IV syringes and saline and heaps of hastily drawn scratch book pills were lined up to smother my senses in days to come. I was sternly advised to press on with infinite medication and an endless string of consultations without skipping any one of them if I wished to live. The downslide didn’t end there; periodic visits to a cardiologist, an urologist and a physician in that order were meant to be equally upsetting. There was no way out; nothing rough-and-tumble to have a crack at. Besides, I didn’t know how exactly any of that was going to help me cope with an inflamed pancreas; except that I had evaded regression and had stopped slipping. Still it felt like I was a piece of cardboard taped over the broken window in a car, all the while hanging tight –bottom- side-up!

But in the process of being in and out of critical cares, I had an epiphany; a moment when it hit me hard-I am old!  Is that for real or am I hallucinating?

Weeks later I recall; the poker faced doctor had begun by asking me questions about my medical history. I shared that I lost my father early to a stroke and my mother had some hypertension related issue. But there was nothing that would clearly indicate that I had any genetic tendency to an endocrine disorder. I was pretty sure; that this mixed gland in me was as bouncy as ever and wouldn’t ditch me. I trusted my anatomy firmly so much so that I could feel the islets of Langerhans pumping happily down my guts.  Nothing seemed upended and not for a moment it occurred to me that someday somehow it will capsize- not at least till the end of time. Insulin, Glucagon, Somatostatin, Pancreatic polypeptide, just about each one of them was piping up…until one day for no reason everything flaked out.

Clearly I was failing when I tried to assure him that – my father’s passing away was merely due to importunate  lifestyle and my mother simply was ‘just old’. At that point, he asked their age when they had problems- heart related and otherwise.

After telling him their age when they began having issues, he smiled and asked, “How old are you?” And that’s that!

His smile said it all. ‘I felt old’

It probably sounds silly – but until that moment I had never considered myself “old.”

Ironically-I am and that’s the truth. The unreasonably snickering doctor was apparently enjoying cannoning this bombshell. So, I did something insanely fortifying – I decided to have a good laugh at myself! I am no doctor but I thought of it as the best way to cast aside my worries and calm my frayed nerves. Maybe that would blow away the butterflies for good.

At no time I was given to the idea that there was a magic pill somewhere waiting to be found some day and uncovering it would allow me a spin with Peter Pan syndrome- a timeless life. For me, it never was the silver bullet but the silver buckshot that curate a healthy happy living.

Was that good enough a consolation for this new found awareness? Jeez…It’s shaky but I did find some acuity in what many had shared about growing old before me. Oliver Wendell Holmes was a great help-“Old age is always fifteen years older than I am.”; and so was Bob Hope; “I don’t feel old. I don’t feel anything until noon. Then it’s time for my nap.” Eleanor Roosevelt’s one-liner was no less reassuring; “‘Today is the oldest you’ve ever been and the youngest you shall ever be again”.

So what the heck! …I accepted.

It’s only a graveyard shift; no more. And I saw myself more as a twilight trooper than a nocturnal nutcase. It was funny, cool and powerful and it worked for me fine- the thought I mean!  I wouldn’t think of me a midnight misfit anymore. A long life is a gift  and getting old is never so devastating that all my friends in heaven would miss me and think- “I didn’t make it’?

My old lady can vouch for as it has happened to me. Not long ago whenever we would walk out together, she’d know that a trip to restroom was not an option. Before leaving when I’d tell her that I’d better use the bathroom, she’d be acerbic, “Obviously”; but the concern in her voice will be unmistakable.

Today, I hope that life will fare out as good and happy I imagine it to and everything will work out just as fine for us. Together we will go on enjoying being “old “as one.

I am already feeling better as I say this!

As for you, I want you to laugh out loud if you feel you’re clairvoyance is backsliding and ebbing with age; “What was that guy’s name again?”—and don’t forget to tell yourself the truth about aging.

Look…At just about any age we are always mindful about just how happy we want to be. There are childhood days when we grumble to grow up fast so that we can do whatever we want to. In college we want to graduate in a hurry so we can find work and make money. And when working we dream of the day we‘ll finally retire. Wouldn’t it be cool and well-spent if we sit down and think about what it is we like about the every stage of life we’ve been in? It’s never too hard to uncover some jewel moments and doing that will make you relive them.

Just fill the bill and someday soon you’ll forget the commercials telling us ways to fight getting older.

Put up with your life and love to live the way as it is right now. To that end; slow down for a while, debark and list the things you like most about getting older. With notebook in hand and pen clicked and ready, it’s not long before the ideas would begin to flow. Trust me it’ll be difficult to stop even if writer’s cramp hurts after 15 minutes of furious scribbling. I couldn’t.  I had though kept on writing until my thoughts were exhausted. Honestly, It was one easy way to find my perfect happiness.

Having entered my sixties, I don’t care that I may not have much to contribute after I’m seventy. And I’m not sure I’ll have had much left to chip-in before turning seventy-five.

What the dickens! At 60 ain’t I still the bolting roost? And I don’t think I’m going to fade away that quickly or quietly. There’s so much to look and live for!

Geez…now that we’re living longer, don’t we have the time to write books about living longer?

Think about that…