I am happy to report that I have survived my first year as
an old man. K and I observed this milestone in the company of the oldest living
things on the planet at Humboldt Redwoods State Park in California, among
coniferous beings of sublimest age, silence, and elevation. Up to two thousand
years old and almost four hundred feet tall, Sequoia sempervirens represents the closest life gets to eternal on
this earth, before their root network detonates and they crash to the forest
floor and exist in ruin as long as they did in majestic life. Astonished,
awe-struck, agape, I admire, but short mortal that I am, I do not aspire. I
survived and survive, but not so grandly and silently, and not without comment. I consent
to pass on soon enough.
That is, while seemingly healthy and relatively resilient, I
experienced more medical intrusion and observation this year than in any other
year of my life. Some persistent, at times excruciating back pain, eventually
required an x-ray, which showed some vertebral and disc degeneration and bone
spurs, but nothing out of the ordinary for a
person my age. I sit up straighter at work, which seems to help. Later in
the year, an equally persistent cough, an unshakeable bronchitis, mandated a
lung x-ray, which proved negative for pneumonia. My lungs have cleared in time
without any treatment other than hacking and suffering.
But, most alarming, at least to my optometrist, during a
routine eye exam, some ocular bleeding was detected. Such bleeding could be
symptomatic of a number of things, two of them serious—a cranial blockage or
diabetes—and one, the most likely of the three, trifling. Owing to some family
history with atherosclerosis and diabetes, it was thought prudent to run some
tests, a blood draw and a carotid ultrasound; the latter was of particular
interest to me because of my long-term, slightly elevated cholesterol and, of
course, my age. How clogged do the arteries of a guy actually get in sixty
years? Otherwise healthy and fit, I granted that the slow accretion of plaque in
significant arteries can appear like a thief in the night to dispatch the
seemingly healthy and fit. So I had my carotids sounded. The results showed no
cause for concern, satisfying my physiological curiosity even more than they
relieved any anxiety. And the blood work showed my total cholesterol fallen,
rather inexplicably, into the average range. However, another indicator showed
me pre-diabetic. I have been flirting with a pre-diabetic blood sugar count for
many years now, so that my refined sugar jones has finally caught up with me.
It probably didn’t cause the hemorrhaging in my eyes—I recall bench-pressing
earlier that morning—but I can no longer ignore my dietary sins, especially
with K monitoring my vitals with the eye of a health professional. Partnered
people, it is said, live longer than the single. If so, in my case, it will be
because I respect her too much to die early and on her watch. So, out with the
white sugar and the simple carbs. I will miss them.
Colonoscopic thrills are scheduled soon, and K requires that
I prepare a Health Care Directive. Memento mori. Here’s to my continuing slow decline.
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| The future |
