On being
60…
Age has not in the past bothered me. Birthdays are good,
and generally speaking so is getting older. Life has got better with age
– particularly since passing 40 - and the last ten years arguably the
best of all. So turning 60 held no fears for me. But as I rapidly approach
the age of 61, tomorrow in fact, it hasn’t turned out like that. Listening to the radio or reading the papers, you would
get the impression that we are all going to live until we are 100, and the
crisis of our old age will be that none of us are dying. Currently it
certainly doesn’t feel like that. In the past two years I seem to have
gone to so many funerals of people younger than me. I still find it difficult
to understand how Hazel Beattie could have died when so young and, more to
the point, full of life. Richard Walkerdine was a
few years my senior, but only five years, and we spent so much of our past
life together – and of course ran the Norwich Marathon together. His
not being here makes no sense. At work last week we heard that the husband of a colleague
who I sit next to had died of cancer and the husband of another colleague has
been diagnosed with an inoperable cancer, both are younger than me. Every
time I hear of someone dying on the news I listen to their age – 61,
62, 63.... All these people who are not going to last long enough for the new
pension age. And now, for the first time in my life I sense the onset
of hypochondria. Should I be taking half an aspirin every day? Does a stiff
arm mean an imminent heart attack? Is that chesty cough signs of something
more serious? This deeply personal interaction between factual
statistics and real life is something many of us struggle with from time to
time. Of course I know the figures are correct; our life expectancy is
getting longer – particularly for men who can now expect to die less
prematurely than women. We are healthier, fitter and there will indeed be a
crisis of too many centenarians at some point in the not too distant future.
But statistics are not me, figures are not my family and friends, data not
the actual experiences of those around us. Now is not the time to give up on
long held beliefs that life is for living, and better to go with a bang than
a whimper. Hypochondria really is a waste of precious time. But even so, since turning 60 I am aware that my
confidence has diminished; I am not making plans like I always have, I
don’t assume to be able to do whatever I set out to do. I am doubting
my own abilities. Claire’s words to me, that she was so pleased Walkerdine retired at 60 so they had had that last five
years together haunts me. Perhaps this is what age really is, discovering a fear of
mortality which cannot be rationally explained or wished away. |
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Blog #15 |
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Comments |
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Joe Finnegan |
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Beware the daily low dose aspirin – it gave me gout! |
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Pete
Scales |
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I think the first thing to be said is that no-one gets out
alive. Everybody dies of something. All one can hope for is that
it won't be protracted unduly or unduly painful. I never knew my
paternal grandfather, he died of heart-related causes (or so I believe) when
I was one. My father died at age 59 of heart-related causes. I
celebrated my 58th birthday within the last week. I have asked myself
how much longer do I have? The simple answer
is that I don't know, and neither does anyone else. I refuse to worry
about it. I am going to make each remaining day count, that's
all. My plans this year include getting an HGV Class 1 licence.
Last year, I got qualified on chainsaws. I rather think I might like to
have an affair.... I don't expect I shall, but I can dream! As for the
aches and pains, they just go with the territory. Is my sore left
shoulder an incipient infarction? I doubt it, I rather think it never really
recovered from falling over in the snow and ice in a car park during the 2010
winter. Maybe I should get some physiotherapy. Maybe I
should get a cortisone injection. Maybe I should just do some damn
exercise. I do know that worrying about it is counter-productive and
unnecessarily stressful. I have one plan, apart from a lettuce and lentil
diet, to prolong my miserable and flatulent existence. It involves
losing some more weight. I am not planning to take this too seriously,
though, especially the lettuce. |
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Ken Bain |
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A thoughtful piece, Brian, echoing some feelings of my own
of late. However, first I have to take issue with your final thought, that age
is discovering a "fear of mortality". For my part, although I
recognise that I am clearly nearer the end of my life than the beginning, I
would echo Robbie Williams (of all people): "I'm not scared of dying, I
just don't want to". The one certainty in life is that we will die. And
I'm reminded of a discussion on the radio about the fate of mankind -
"we ARE all doomed, the only real question is when". I think maybe
my personal real "am I having a heart attack?" experience, with
trips to a walk-in centre and A&E in a state of some anxiety, has brought
me to this accommodation with inevitability. (I wasn't). So I guess yes, we should all be seeking to bring forward
the gratification that otherwise we might not get the opportunity to realise
because time can run out at any time. But hasn't that always been the case?
Many years ago I remember Gary Glitter (among others, but he's the one I
remember most clearly for some reason) saying "Life's not a dress
rehearsal" - but I didn't really take on the message. And is it
different now? Well, maybe. It's not the fear of mortality, it's the
realisation of mortality that might make a difference to how clearly we hear
it. But... Times have changed. When I started work, although
it was not to the forefront of my concerns, I expected to work until I was
60, at which time my time would be my own. But my time is still not my own,
and I will regard myself as fortunate if Jeanette and I can afford to live
without employment income when I reach 65, when I at least (on current
Government commitments) will get my state pension. Will my body be up to
seeking the gratification I have deferred? I reckon I've taken more tablets
and had more medical appointments in the last couple of years than the
previous 40. But that's ageing for you, and if I really want to think about
the Inca trail, I reckon it's going to have to be photos on the internet. Which brings me on to my despair for the fate of
young people today, with the prospect of having to work until they are 70.
Cynically, I regard the inexorable rise in the state pension age as a way of
addressing the conundrum of how to support an ever-increasing ageing
population: make more people die at their workplace. But if it's successful
(as I suspect, statistically, it should be), I suppose the retirement age
come down again... Bit like running a letter column again, eh? Hope you have
a fab time in Sicily. |
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It is, isn’t it? Thanks again to everyone for their
comments, here, on Facebook and personally. |
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If
you would like to comment on any of these Blog pieces please email me on: bjc@briancreese.co.uk