Winston, above, with his hens, a role model for me of courage, determination and
recovery.
July 5, 2008 - Joseph Campbell says if you don't know where you really are in life, the mask will come off, and when it does, you will be in a world of trouble. I know what he means.
I am getting older, and approaching a point in life where many people my age seem to be wrapping things up, downsizing, gathering their pension funds heading to smaller places, in quiet communities. My good Mary Kellogg, who is heading for 80, laughs with me about this. She lives on a 30-acre farm by herself and can often be found chugging away on her tractor/mower.
I understand that there is nothing wrong with the choice to live a smaller, peaceful life, and I might well be disturbed or myopic in some way for not making it, for going instead, to a raucous and challenging farm in a rural corner of upstate New York with dogs, steers, barn cats, coyotes, flies, gnats, mosquitoes, manure, goats, cows and chickens.
I notice that some people, when they get older, talk quite a bit about their health -their medications, prescriptions, physicians, ailments. Many come to define themselves in that way. I have diabetes and many of the people who know me think they need to constantly ask me the second they see me how my blood sugar is, as if that the most important thing they need to know about me, or that it is really their business one way or the other.
When I see a diabetic, the first thing I think to ask is how their lives are, not what their sugar level is, although I understand this concern is nothing but well-meaning. When I lived in New Jersey, everyone who met me on the street asked me how my daughter was, even if they barely knew her. That's how they defined themselves there.
I've been having some pain and problems lately, and I finally, after months of procrastinating and bumbling around, called the doctor July 3, Wednesday, and he said to get in right away, and I did, and he sent me over to the hospital for several hours of tests given by good-natured techs who give nothing away.
(Do me a favor - please don't e-mail me sympathy or good wishes. I am fine. The tests were all good, and I am doing well. I debated about writing this, as I really dislike sympathy, but there is a larger point.)
My doctor also gave me a hearty lecture on the 100 things I needed to be conscious of as I move through life. He also talked to me about taking it easy
Lying on a hospital bed while somebody takes photos of your insides for hours, and you wonder if you are about to be struck down with some dread disease is great for perspective, and looking at the grim and embattled faces around me, here is what I got from that afternoon: I do not want a life of running from one doctor to another, taking one test after another, running to the pharmacy, testing myself every hour, monitoring 10 different conditions, one of them inevitably doing me in.
As I left the hospital, I went over to the supermarket pharmacy nearby, and was in a long line of people, almost all of them elderly, and they were talking about their prescriptions, the cost of things, and their conditions. My hospice work has given me a strong perspective on life, and on the importance of living it, as well as the need to end it well.
I told my doctor, who is a friend, that he would see me when necessary, and I was grateful to him, but that I intended to think carefully about how much of my life was going to be devoted to the care and well being of me.
Between therapy, diabetes and the aches and pains of a 60-year-old, that could easily be my life right there. I want to live awhile, and I want to live well, but I have no need of living forever. This is a personal, highly individual choice, but it is a choice, no matter what people tell you.
Going to doctors, taking medicines will not be my life.
When I got home from the hospital, I was exhausted, but I got the dogs and headed into the woods to take some photos of berries, and then we went for a four-wheeler ride into the woods, Lenore riding behind me with her head on shoulders. It was great, and I was energized instantly.
I cannot say for sure what the balance will be between caring for myself and living my life, but I will think about it and consider it, and be open about it, and I am determined to make this choice, not my doctor, or the health care system or anyone else.
I like being 60, and I know where I am, or am learning, slowly and painfully, but relentlessly. I do not feel old, and do not think much about my health, diabetes or otherwise. I am better at being older than I ever was at being young and I feel I am just beginning to come into my time.
So in a funny sort of way, my afternoon in the hospital was invigorating, reminding me to take stock of my life, and be grateful for it.
___
P.S. I am fine, or I wouldn't have posted this at all.
