Aging

During my last visit with my daughters, one of them sat me down to talk about my memory loss.  She and her sister were concerned, she said.  Of course I know that I forget things, and forget more than I used to.  As a matter of fact, I assured her I had spoken to my primary care physician about this because of my concern;  she had assured me that what I was experiencing was normal, and age related. I easily passed the tests she had administered at that visit.   When I mentioned this to my daughter she suggested with raised voice that I had a ‘lousy doctor’.  I gritted my teeth, gave her my doc’s phone number and called the doc myself when I returned home. Her assistant laughed when I told her what the two calls were about, and then put me through to her boss.  The doctor assured me yet again that I was in great health, both physical and mental.  I told her what ‘test’ I thought she had given me, and how I had responded.  I was right on the money: ‘exactly what I have in my notes’, she said.   She also told me I am a mental mutli-tasker, and that if I could focus on one thing instead of three or four, I would probably forget less.  One of the last things the doc said before we hung up was that she assumed my daughters were having difficulty with the fact that I am aging.  Old, no longer middle aged.  During this period my other daughter spoke to my partner, who assured her that I didn’t seem very different to him than when he had moved up here to live with me over six years ago. None of these conversations felt terrific to me, so I can imagine why the signs of my descent into old age–descent: interesting word–would be troubling to my children.  The awkwardness of talking to one another since that visit has passed, mostly. The last time I called the daughter who raised this issue in the first place, she mentioned in passing that her dad and I are now old, an idea I knew she had gotten from my doc. Does it feel good to hear?  No, of course not.  Is it real?  You bet.  The doc also suggested that it was really good we were talking about all of this as a family, and that doing so is unusual. Most families avoid this subject. When we visit the girls again in September, we are going to sit down and talk about how we can, as a family, respond to problems that might arise in the next decade.  I don’t think we can create a grand plan, because there is no way to predict what might happen, but I agree with my doc that it’s a good thing we’re talking about it with one another. What is surprising, even shocking, to me about all this is that the topic has come up at all.  Of course I am aging: we all are. But I still do everything I have done for years, though probably at a slower pace, and am healthier than almost all of my friends. That there have been changes that are noticeable to my daughters, who don’t see me every day, has certainly made me take notice.  My former mother-in-law once told me a great story.  She had been walking by Bloomingdales the day before and noticed the reflection of an old lady in the window and wondered who she was.  Then she realized it was her.  She laughed about it with me, which seemed a great response, even at the time.  I’m still not laughing, but at least I’m learning to say the words, “I’m old.”  Realizing I was middle-aged was a hell of a lot easier.