Being known to have a number of chronic diseases in your sixties may automatically expel you from the club of living in some societies, but they are wrong! I feel lucky and thankful to be around in my eighties. When I was around 75, all of a sudden my health started breaking down. I suffered one minor stroke, followed by a couple of hospitalizations for heart problems. It all happened in the same year. My brain started failing me a bit, and driving became difficult. I started believing that I was on my way to saying goodbye to this world. My doctors took control of my life and took care of me. In about a year, I recovered bit by bit and was able to get control of myself.
I have had many specialists, as well as many prescriptions to swallow every day, including a prescription to sleep. While trying to sleep, I inhale oxygen through an oxygen generator all night. I take over a dozen pills every day. Shortly after taking certain pills, my mood turns sunny and optimistic. I become full of energy, and the feeling lasts for several hours during the day. Then my mood goes back to where it was, and it is medication time again. But faking and self-deception take over from time to time. I start feeling like I am sixty again. My aches and pains do not go away (I had them in my sixties too). The only difference is that I can’t take medications for arthritis anymore because of my heart and lung problems.
We all have problems in our lives. A point comes when we can’t handle your problems anymore. We reach out for help. To deal with my issues, I have seen a clinical psychologist every two weeks for the last six years.
You guessed it, right? I have a pretty good life, don’t I?
But I feel lousy every day of the year, day in, day out. That’s when I began to think about writing about my relevant experiences of old age and how I feel. Does it matter? Yes, it does. Maybe research will be done on old age medicine. It is longevity with quality of life that matters. I want to challenge myself all the way till the end of my journey. Recently, I have started feeling that my family and friends are wondering why it is taking me so long! Their continuing heartache for me cloaks them in a shadow of unhappiness! They believe that long life isn’t worth it. I believe I can read their minds, and I pretend I am exactly as they think. I pretend as if I see and hear nothing. I am good at pretending. I keep them happy, and they do their best to keep me loving them. It is as though I am playing a game of deception at the end of my life. The question is: How long can this go on? One of my buddies actually told me once after I had wished him a long life: “What do you want to live long for?” Well, he left in his mid-sixties, and I feel like I am getting ancient in my eighties.
I am not going to give up. I am still fighting and being positive and productive.
I am writing and will keep writing.