The Upside of Going Downhill
By Cheryl Carson
I am “only” 61. That’s relatively young, for an old person. But the prospect that everything is downhill from here does not cheer me. I’ll admit it: I sometimes struggle to maintain a joyous outlook while experiencing the inevitable decline of an aging body. People over 65 have about half as many acute illnesses as those between 17 and 44. However, people who live a long time tend to accumulate chronic conditions and suffer sensory loss.
Looking for inspiration, I thought of Louise Lake, who contracted polio when she was 30 and spent decades in a wheelchair. Each morning she would do her “exercise in gratitude,” beginning at the top of her head and working down. She was thankful for her hair—a lot of people don’t have any. She felt grateful for her eyesight, for her ability to hear, and so on.
I decided to duplicate her exercise, only in reverse. Beginning at the top of my head, as she had done, I listed all the things that are wrong with my body—especially the ones that currently affect my “quality of life.” I felt quite sorry for myself. Self-pity is the best kind, because you always know that it’s sincere.
However, one woman, suffering from a terminal illness, learned that “self-pity is a cancer in itself, just eating away at one’s spirit until the strong, optimistic person that once was is no longer distinguishable.”
For everything that’s wrong with me, a lot of me is working just fine. I have come to realize that the most significant affect on my “quality of life” is not my physical condition, but my attitude.
We are all aware of the declining physical powers that accompany the aging process. But far more important is what happens within us as we age. Will we grow bitter and hate the broken-down cages we live in? Or will we be able to maintain a sense of humor and preserve an attitude of gratitude despite our failing physical capacities? Humor and gratitude—these are the things that will make a happy final chapter in our life stories.
For example, because of a craniotomy for a brain tumor, I am totally deaf in my left ear. In the other ear I have a 50% hearing loss, which requires the use of a hearing aid. With the price of hearing aids, I can be grateful that I only have to buy one! I also look to examples like Thomas Edison, who was grateful for his deafness, because it allowed him to concentrate better on his work.
Laurie Thornton spoke of her blindness. She mentioned an advantage to being blind: “Everyone I’ve met since I went blind is just gorgeous in my mind. What a person looks like isn’t important to me. Sometimes people let appearance stand in the way of seeing how beautiful a person’s soul is.”
A few months ago, I was diagnosed with sleep apnea. For the rest of my life, I have to wear a mask over my nose whenever I sleep, even for naps. The nose mask is attached by tubing to a machine on my nightstand.
But I laughed when I read the comforting words in the booklet that came with the mask: “The pliable headgear features a colorful backstrap to complement your sleeping attire [contributing to] a more feminine approach to therapy.” I am so glad! All I’ve ever wanted was to die in my sleep (at the appropriate time, of course), peacefully and painlessly. If granted that glorious wish, I can now be assured that I will at least look fashionable wearing my breathing mask when they find me. “Oh, look!” they will say. “See the colorful bright pink backstrap on her headgear! She always did have a sense for fashion!”
I am concerned with my increasing memory loss, as I find myself searching for names and simple words that I have used all my life. This is frightening, since I am genetically predisposed to mental decline with age. But this, too, I can see with a sense of gratitude. My hearing loss, combined with my “senior moments” (or AAADD, Age-Activated Attention Deficit Disorder, as someone called it), have provided much entertainment for my family.
Thankfully, my two teenagers (born when I was 41 and 44 years old) truly think that I am “cute,” “adorable,” and hilarious when I have lapses or when I miss or mishear things, and we laugh together at my comical misinterpretations of the conversation. I am pleased to be the source of such merriment within my family!
The man who suffered from severe stomach trouble had a sense of humor, too. He held up his bottle of medicine and read the label (back in the days before medicine labels were printed so small that a magnifying glass is required to read them). The label read, “Relieves dyspepsia, flatulence, hyperacidity, ulcers, cramps, nausea, and indigestion.”
“Well, I’m in luck,” he said. “I’ve got ‘em all.”
People appreciate someone who can be cheerful despite his suffering. After the death of one aged man, the physician was amazed to find that his body was full of scar tissue and evidence of past diseases on most of his internal organs. “But he wasn’t sick a day in his life!” said those who knew him. His wife added some insight. “Some days he didn’t feel so good…but he would always say, ‘I’m sure I’ll feel better tomorrow.’”
If a life is filled with pain, that is the size of the person’s life. But he can choose to go on, to enlarge his life with other good things. While the size of the original pain may not diminish, at least it will be smaller in proportion to his life as a whole.
Someone once said, “Aging begins at birth and continues relentlessly. The only difference is that some stay at it longer than others. So, be glad you are getting old; it is a privilege denied to many.” Since I cannot elude it, I may as well enjoy it!