There’s a fair bit of talk about getting old, usually in tones of horror and fear. It seemed to be called the ‘other side of the hill’ and I assumed this meant the not so good side eg the slow downhill slide into the dark. As you probably all know, I thought I would die at 42 like my mother — or at the latest, 50, because that’s round about the age most of my grandmothers, aunts, cousins etc, died — and by the way, I refuse to say ‘passed on’ because they didn’t pass anywhere, they stopped doing anything, they died.
I don’t have any religious beliefs, so while it might be nice to think my dead whanau were smiling at me and sending me race tips or saying that tomorrow I’m going to win Lotto, Rose, my mother, is the only one whose words still sit in my brain — there are no voices from outer space at all. And what Rose says are only echoes of things she said in the past which pop into my head at various times and in various circumstances.
No-one told me what getting old would mean. Oh there was plenty of advice from much younger people, exercise, walk, eat this or don’t eat that, sit and contemplate but its very easy to advise 70, 80, 90 year-olds from the lofty heights of 40. No-one said it would be fun some days and not so amusing on others. No-one said you might not be able to walk as far as you do now, no-one said that the medical profession had a ‘one decision/attitude/approach’ when it comes to patients who are old and definitely no-one said there’s a chance you’ll retain your brain and still be able to work so if you’re lucky enough to do that, you have to realise doctors tend to dismiss it as not worthy of consideration and besides even if true, it couldn’t possibly compare with a day’s work by someone younger. There’s a mindset which dictates what everyone does at certain ages. Generally speaking I suppose they’re right, but there are exceptions and just because you’re a certain age and your body’s creaky, doesn’t mean you’ve lost your mind. When I was diagnosed with macular degeneration no doctor or specialist gave me any advice on how I might cope when I began losing my sight — no telephone numbers I might ring for advice, nothing. Naturally they charged like wounded Rhino.
I can only hope that when these doctors and eye specialists and front of house people are old they get someone just like themselves to deal with their ailments.
Old age is not like you pass from one room into another so you’re suddenly in the Old Persons’ Room. Growing old is sometimes slow, sometimes fast. It has its annoying side because you become invisible but your sense of humour doesn’t fade and you can always come home and write out a description of the event, get it out of your system, have a laugh, play some Sarah Vaughan or Willie Nelson, maybe Pixie Williams singing Blue Smoke.
And there’s technology. A huge boon. You can keep reading books on an iPad, change to audio when it becomes impossible to read the words, get a voiced unseen assistant on the computer but its perfectly okay to just use a computer for online banking and emails. Those of us who use it every day for other things do not think you should be a whizz on the computers. A computer is a wonderful aid when you’re old but how much someone uses it is dictated by their need or by the pleasure they get from it. If you have a computer you use only for emails to children or grandchildren that’s your choice and no–one else’s business.
Sometimes eating becomes a problem. I mean sometimes I lose interest in food. I don’t stop eating but I have no interest in what I eat, I’m eating because I know I have to. I get various gut upsets, I get irritable but so do lots of people both young and old. I like listening to music, to various podcasts, most of all I like reading and alas that is going to go sooner than later.
Old age is inevitable for most of us. There is no one right way for dealing with it, no clear pathway to walk but hey, Spring still comes and you can still plant tomatoes (or ask/pay someone else to do it for you), you can still look at a line of washing flapping in the breeze on this sunny morning and think yes, it made my shoulder gyp when I hung it out but it still makes me smile and then you come inside, stick on East Coast Moon, listen to Maisy Rika while you make coffee.
So — and I speak for myself only — old age seems to be different for everyone and each one of us walks our particular pathway alone but whether we’re physically disabled, nearly blind or deaf as a post without hearing aids, and if we’re lucky enough to retain our brains, we can choose how we do it. We can sing (albeit only in the privacy of our own home) in between sipping the coffee or we can drink it in gloomy silence.
I vote for singing.
Renée
