I have a recurring mental picture of the salmon swimming upstream from the ocean in the northwest rivers. They fight against the river's torrent to spawn. Then, from starvation, trauma and exhaustion, they die. We spend most of our lives in the same sort of struggle. Fighting and clawing against the currents of daily life is our youth. And, as we age - doesn't "maturing" sound better? - we realize that, despite all our fighting, kicking and screaming, we ultimately reach the same tortuous end. Some sooner (like my son, Danny, 1980-2002) than later.
After over a half a century of fighting the good fight, I have reached a sense of contentment. I have achieved far more than was rightfully mine to achieve. The only son of a mail carrier in a family that never went farther than high school, I was the first in our modest history to go to college, much less medical school. My family could never afford medical school so I accepted a free-ride from my old nemesis, the good old U.S. Army. I have published 3 books, spoken to the American Medical Association and the American College of Physicians. I have published medical research papers. The whole nine yards. I am proud of what I have accomplished. More importantly to me now is that it has made my parents proud. Now as they slide onward toward octogenarian-hood, they can still talk to their neighbors about their son, the doctor.
Truth be told, there have been many (many, many, many) failures and regrets along the way. I was never much of a father and an even worse husband. But I have made peace with these glaring imperfection and defects. Now, instead of regret and discontent for the errors and missteps, I am unabashedly happy. I have taken the conscious and innermost decision to rest in the backwaters of whatever remains of my life. Lest you get the idea I have given away all my worldly possessions and have gone to live in an Oregon commune, you couldn't be more wrong. I have all intentions to live life to it's fullest and enjoy whatever time I am given on this earth. It's just that I am, at long last, happy and contented. I am, in the trite old (is it?) phrase, "in a good place." Surely, it is not the absolute cloudless calm that I know death will be, but a conscious, deep sense of the sudden lack of conflict. It is a fine place to be.
I can speak, with some degree of experience, about the sensations of death. I recall, with great clarity, the "time I almost died." I venture that many have had similar claims to the almost-afterlife, but mine remains quite vivid with me. During a heart catheterization prior to my quadruple coronary bypass (it sounds more dramatic to say "quadruple" than simply a 4-vessel bypass), I had what pop culture would call a "near-death experience." [Why does no one refer to it as a "far-life experience?"] During the procedure, shortly after I threw up from the nausea induced by the dye injection, I remember what can best be described as simply falling asleep. But unlike the sleep of fatigue or after a day's work, it was a sublime drifting off into unconsciousness. I don't remember the "feeling" of dozing off in any of the many thousands of naps and nocturnal rests in my life. All I recall is laying down and, then, waking up. But this particular sensation was exquisitely unique and most memorable.
Article comments
1 - Shark
Nice piece, doc.
(Growing old still sucks, but consider the options, eh.)
======
Coupla points apropos nada:
re. "...I remember the daily annoyances that used to drive me absolutely berserk."
I think it's a combination of two inherent impulses of the young:
1) wild, preposterous ideals;
2) a young person harbors the illusion that s/he can 'change' the world;
===
For me, one of the main benefits of my -- hurumph -- advanced age is that I don't feel the need to 'compete' with anyone on any level; physical, career/status, monetary, etc.
(ie. been there -- done that; what seems incredibly important and exciting to a twenty-five year old seems meaningless and boring to a fifty-something.)
And there's a certain amount of psychological freedom that is impossible to describe to someone in the throes of a testosterone surge.
It's the first time in your life that you can honestly say: I DON'T GIVE A SHIT WHAT YOU THINK. It's a beautiful feeling that one has to earn through pure duration, introspection, and experience.
PS: That's why many old people are considered *abrupt, *cantankerous, *grumpy, and *overly opinionated.
* Shark
2 - dietdoc
Shark writes: That's why many old people are considered *abrupt, *cantankerous, *grumpy, and *overly opinionated.
Reply: I suppose so but those who fall into those categories are, IMHO, still "on the rage" (there is an "e" after "rag"). I just don't participate in those sort of conversations. I guess it would be best described as being "aloof." I know what I know and I believe what I believe and the chances of changing anyone's mind through discourse is either (a) not worth the effort, or (b) inherently impossible.
You are right, Shark, it is a very nice place to be.
Cheers,
Ron
3 - swingingpuss
Thanks for sharing such a beautiful post doc, to find serenity in death is as important as living a life without regret.
4 - dietdoc
Swingingpuss writes:Thanks for sharing such a beautiful post doc, to find serenity in death is as important as living a life without regret.
Reply: Thank you for the reply. I don't look forward to death but I really think it's time, at any age, to cease and desist any worry about that which is inevitable. It is something I have thought a great deal about lately and I have examined my feelings about it along the way. We claw and fight it for all our years on earth, from, primarily, fear, and we really should just live. Relish and taste every breath, love and be loved, and when it comes, it comes. Mortality is the one thing shared by us all and it is still yoo much of a taboo to discuss, even with our closest friends. It shouldn't be.
Whatever one's beliefs are about the end and afterlife, if there is one, are not to be feared or ignored. I am just having too much darned fun where I am now. I wish folks would become able to discuss it; I think we would have better depths of relationships if it were out there for us all to examine. It's not morbid, it's just a part of the process.
Thanks again for your comments.
Cheers,
Ron
5 - Cerulean
I don't want to rain on your parade. That was graciously written. I find that aging sucks. I just hate it.
6 - dietdoc
Cerulean writes: I don't want to rain on your parade. That was graciously written. I find that aging sucks. I just hate it.
Reply: Cerulean, no rain here, no umbrella needed. I would, however, like to hear you be more specific. "Aging Sucks" is a bumper sticker. What about it bothers you most? I am really, sincerely curious. I have seen a lot of your posts on BC and I am intrigued. What's up?
Cheers,
Ron
7 - Nancy
I wish I had achieved that level of serenity, but I find as I get older, I get MORE idealistic, more save-the-world, more enraged by injustice, etc. In a sense, I seem to be turning into a sort of W. Gladstone. What has developed is a lack of crisis every time my hair has a bad day, or an outfit isn't perfect, or I make a mistake on something. Unlike when I was a teen, every molehill is no longer a mountain. But I sure hate the bodily side of ageing: the aches, slowness, increasingly bad eyesight, et al., and the thought of death bothers and scares me silly, which is really stupid, because what am I going to do about it? Oddly, when I was 22 I did have a near-death, and I was serene for several years afterwards, secure in the knowledge that nothing really matters in this world, in the end. Somehow that wore off after awhile; even though I remember the thought, the feeling is gone. Hopefully, this will change, if I don't morph entirely into Will G.
8 - dietdoc
Nancy writes: But I sure hate the bodily side of ageing: the aches, slowness, increasingly bad eyesight, et al.
Reply: Yeah, the physical decline is definitely noticeable, but I like to think the deliberate, slow gait I display is one of grace, not decreptancy. It doesn't really seem to be a limitation as, at the same time, I find very little reason to hurry for anything any more. (grin) As for the need for bifocals, that is a bt of a drag and those damned little floaters I see when I change the position of my eyeballs - such as looking up quickly - is occassionally disconcerting as I feel like I need to swat at a gnat or something.
But, Nancy, as I wrote earlier, it's all OK. I am perfectly willing to swap the energy and agility of my youth for what I have gained in wisdom and perception of the world around me. Small tradeoffs, big dividends. Just watching everyone else going bonkers around me is entertainment enough.
Cheers,
Ron
9 - Eric Olsen
very very beautiful thinking and writing Ron - thanks so much and I am extremely sorry about your son. I still rage against the dying of the light and much else, but I too feel a much greater sense of calm and happiness than at points earlier.
10 - dietdoc
Eric writes: "...I am extremely sorry about your son."
Reply: Eric, thank you so much. I miss Danny a lot but, every time I start to feel sorry for myself, I think of his brother, my son Ronnie. They were twins, identical twins. I know Ronnie's sense of loss dwarfs mine by comparison.
Eric, you keep raging, young man. We need you and others like you who have that passion and that energy - to provide support for BC as you do and for all the other causes in your life. I enjoy this place so much for tolerating my BS and my occassional rants. It's a welcomed outlet for the occassional feedback that my writing gets and, even more, just to be able to "put it out there," in the public.
I appreciate all that you, Temple and the others provide here.
Cheers,
Ron
11 - Eric Olsen
thanks Ron
12 - Temple Stark
The Blogcritics' editors liked this one. It's a pick of the week. Congrats. Put the news up proudly on your site.
We've provided a handy button to do just that at the link below.
Here's a link to the rest of this week's picks and the reason why.
13 - dietdoc
Thank you, bhw. With all the wonderful writing on BC, I surely consider this an honor.
Cheers,
Ron
14 - Ed Strnad
Hi Doc...
I wrote "Getting Old Sucks." Thanks for the plug.
-Ed Strnad
15 - Grozdan Popov
This (comment) is so outdated that I feel as if visiting a cemetery of buried reflections on eternal topics. Suppose BC lasts forever, eventually beyond the age of Internet, visitors, human or alien, might like to communicate with you all who took part in this congregational, well, emoticon. We shall all have been physically gone but this, these words will remain as I sort of after life. The word, the recorded word is afterlife. The old chum from Stratford-upon-Avon sonnetized this commenting the fleeting beauty of a princeling or whatever. People so gifted as you above me need record their past tempestuous minutes for the sake of those who come if for nothing else then for the curiosity risen by this elegant pile of poetry, this digital epitaph on serene weathering into fragile and often humanely degrading old age.
Congratulations to all of you who so impressively heart-stormed this great line of thought initiated by Ron.
Gogan