He moved slowly, carefully placing each step as he made his way down the street. He was hunched forward, his arms leaning heavily on his walker, which creaked slightly as he pushed it along. His hairline had receded almost entirely to the back of his head; he had traded a youthful coif for over a half-century of professional experience. He had once stood a solid six feet tall, brimming with confidence and proud of his status in the community, but his reliance on the silver and grey support had cut him down a few pegs in each area.
He paused at a driveway that led to a large house and surveyed his surroundings. He searched in vain for a landmark or an address that he recognized. There had been a time when he could have navigated the suburban neighborhood practically with his eyes closed but lately he had been finding it more challenging to get from once place to another. He hated calling for taxis and relying on his younger neighbors to drive him; plus, he enjoyed walking. He enjoyed the feeling of independence that came with mobility but the emotion had become all too elusive in recent years. And now, after one last determined effort to reclaim that self-sufficiency, he had gotten himself lost. The pursuit of accomplishment had left him feeling confused and alone.
He glanced up at the SUV passing by. The driver was a woman with long, wavy hair. She wore a bright floral blouse and a look of concern. He turned slowly as she pulled over, stepped out of her car and walked toward him. Her concerned expression had been replaced by a kind smile.
“Excuse me, sir, but do you need help?”
He hesitated for a moment before answering, battling internally between his defiant desire for self-sufficiency and the reluctant acknowledgement that she had figured him out.
“That depends,” he replied. “Do you know where I live?”
Her smile widened.
“I believe I do, yes.”
His frustration melted into relief.
“Well, that makes one of us,” he answered with a chuckle.1
I walked into my supervisor’s office for our weekly check-in and sat down. She smiled and asked how I was doing. I told one story or another about my children, about work, about any number of things that have been going on lately.
“How has your arm been feeling?” she asked.
I paused for a second to think.
I woke up the morning after S’s surgery with a pain in my left shoulder so severe that I found myself woozy and nauseated when I tried to stand. After an emergency room visit, a few physical therapy sessions, an MRI and multiple doctor appointments, it turned out that the problem wasn’t my shoulder; I had a herniated disc in my neck that was compressing a nerve. I couldn’t pinpoint any specific actions that would have caused it; I hadn’t done any heavy lifting or awkward stretches. One doctor said it was possible that the stress of S’s surgery, combined with the pressure I put on my neck by staring down at my phone so often, might have aggravated the area.
I ended up getting two shots of cortisone in my neck to relieve the inflammation and calm the nerve. They were effective in eliminating the pain and, despite still feeling some occasional numbness and tingling in my fingers, I’ve been feeling much better.
“It’s… actually feeling a lot better,” I answered. “I haven’t been thinking about it, which I guess is a good sign.”
My neck problem was just one of a number of recent maladies that have come about for me over the last few months. Nothing has been particularly serious, fortunately, but there were a number of occasions where I found myself getting frustrated with my body. I felt like my parts were all falling apart a month after my warranty had expired. I’m getting older, of course, but I’m hardly “old.”
I’ve been thinking, though, about aging in a broader context. I’ve been thinking about the ways that the elderly are portrayed in the media. I’ve been making note of the challenges that many senior citizens face, from acknowledging that they need help to accessing supportive services to handling the stages of grief as their bodies and minds start betraying them. I’ve been trying to picture what today’s world must look like to people like my grandparents or how it must feel to find yourself in one place and not remember how you got there. Fear and anxiety are difficult enough on their own even before adding in confusion and unfamiliar surroundings.
There’s something to be said for the efforts AARP is making through their Disrupt Aging campaign. They’re working to dispel some of the myths and fears that many people have about getting older (and no, this is not a sponsored post). Their work is beneficial, encouraging and, if nothing else, necessary. But, despite the progress they have begun making in converting popular perceptions of aging, there are certain aspects of getting older that are always going to remain difficult, sad and sometimes scary.
I’ve come to realize, as I’ve progressed through my social work career, as my students have seemed to get younger every year and, especially, as I’ve become a father and watched my children grow, the importance of acknowledging the humanity of the people in our lives. It seems that, all too often, we consider people only in terms of how their behavior affects us. We do it with our kids when they’re making us late, we do it with our colleagues when they throw off our schedules and we do it with our parents when they reach the point where we have to start taking care of them instead of the other way around. We forget what these people truly mean to us and what they have to offer and focus only on the inconvenience of the moment.
The key is to approach everyone we meet with compassion. We need to remember that, as much as we might be reacting out of frustration, anger or fear, the people we are reacting to are often feeling those same exact emotions. The physical and mental breakdowns we encounter as we age are part of the human experience. Those breakdowns can be scary, to be sure, as they are reminders of our own mortality; but they can also be reminders of the connections we share with our family and friends and, if we let them, they can also help make those bonds even stronger.
1. This didn’t happen to anyone I know; it’s a scene from The Holiday. But I’ve heard a number of stories recently that sounded remarkably similar to this one.↩
Featured image from Pixabay
