As I sit here, approaching my 50th birthday, I find myself reflecting (oddly enough) on the idea of getting old. Just as young women are assaulted by a marketing machine designed to make them feel deeply imperfect, which then offers them easy remedies in the form of hair color, the right clothes, the right mascara and the right shape bodies, (so they can get the right man), so do I find myself bombarded with images of “guys,” (they never seem to call these people men, always “guys.”) facing a myriad of problems brought on by aging – problems my father’s generation simply lived with. These “guys” have to pee all the time – so they take a pill, and head out deep sea fishing. They can’t seem to get the same quality of erection that they did when they were 20, or 30 – not as often, not as hard, not as durable – so they take a pill. They have high blood pressure and/or high cholesterol, so they take a pill, and everything is all better.
It’s not the supposed easy fixes these “guys” have at their disposal that bothers me. I’ve seen more than my share of lives improved and saved by medication. And it’s not that they are encouraged to “ask their doctor,” if these pills are right for them. It’s that these aging guys are being told that their aging bodies are merely a collection of problems to fix. Getting old ain’t so bad, as long as you can still get it up. What? Can’t get it up? No problem, we can fix your imperfect self with a simple pill (never mind the extensive list of side effects which, to my mind, are far worse than an uncooperative penis.)
I’m getting old. I’m not only getting old, I have what a therapist called “aging-plus,” the double whammy of aging and ms. My 75 year old father and I compare notes on how hard it is to get up the stairs. At least he’s still out mowing his field, cutting his own firewood, and going on walking tours through Tuscany and Morrocco. I’m lucky to get a few blocks in Portland. I’m getting old, and I’m imperfect. Some of my imperfections I could probably “fix,” or at least stave off with one pill or another. (Some of my imperfections are personality flaws, but let’s not go there now.)
Other of my imperfections are at best permanent, if not merely a waypoint toward complete collapse. Getting into the shower, I have to lift my leg up with my hand. I have to sit down once I’m in there. I’ve recently had a left-foot gas pedal installed in my car. I walk with a cane, and slowly at that, and never, if I can help it, uphill. None of that can be fixed with a pill.
I’ll never be one of those perfect older “guys,” sport fishing or bike riding or hiking through the redwoods. There aren’t any pills to fix, or even postpone what is going on here. And I have to say, it offends me that I live in a culture that despises imperfection, that expends vast amounts of energy and resources to “fix” perceived imperfection. I have always felt that way about the way young woman are assaulted and marketed to. But it is just recently that I have found myself being marketed to in the same way.
Personally, and for the most part, I love getting older. For one thing, it beats the alternative. And for another, I have long respected the role of Elder, and I look forward to being able to assume that mantle. Aches and pains I can deal with, and I can mourn and get over the fact that I can’t ski or cut my own firewood, and that 8:30 looks like a reasonable bedtime. It is part of the human condition, and I for one cherish he fact that I am a human,
2 Comments
July 3, 2008 at 1:32 am
I’m staring down 40 very soon. Mentally I do not feel even that age, but physically it’s a different story. With MS and RA, I am still mobile however often slow, stiff, and wobbly. My 58-year old mother who has lupus, scleroderma, raynaud’s and more, is out mowing the yard almost weekly. And my aunt who also has lupus seems to be ridiculously unaffected when it comes to energy. She puts me to shame. But no matter what, I am so thankful to be slow and stiff, to be off-balance, and to still be getting out and about. Even if I tend to find many of the benches along the way.
July 4, 2008 at 6:03 pm
This was simply a beautiful post. Yes it is hard to deal with our imperfect bodies who seem to betray us. It is hard enough getting older but when you add on something like MS…it seems to speed the process along and unfairly. Yet we have made it this far and…perhaps one of the reasons why is to share our experience of being oh so human….as you are doing here. Thank you for writing and sharing.
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