Change: The Older We Get, The Faster It Comes

The nature of life is flux. Change – physical, emotional and mental – is an ongoing part of being human, and these changes accumulate as we use up our allotted time. 

Now that I’ve hit my 80s, I’m wondering if I’ve reached, or even passed, my best-before date. Somehow I feel ambushed by old age. Even though I continue my efforts to fend it off, I’m starting to believe our bodies weren’t designed to live this long.

Consider the changes humans undergo in the first dozen years of life. Beginning with total helplessness, through learning to laugh, speak, react, walk, develop and start to understand feelings, learning to interact with others. By the time we stroll into our teen years, we have a general grasp of the human condition.

I contend that in our part of the world, and barring unusual circumstances, the same thing occurs at the other end of life. Once we hit our mid-70s, time speeds up, as do the changes. Physical, emotional and mental.

The most obvious are to our appearance – our colouring and body shape – and to our stamina and strength. Things we could once do with ease now require more time and determination – I’m thinking here about the physical contortions required simply to get out of bed and start moving in the morning.

Our vision and hearing capabilities also change as we age, as do our senses of smell and taste. Some of us develop tremors, or become wobbly on our feet. A good number in my circle complain of sleep disruptions and incontinence. These two are often related. And haven’t we all been complaining and worrying about our unsettling memory lapses for years now?

It’s not just change in our own bodies and capacities. The people we counted on for support over the years are also aging and retiring.

My optometrist, Dr. Jack DiBerardino, is among them. He started his practice in Orangeville 38 years ago, intending to bring big city technology to our area. I won’t be the only one to miss him.

Dr. Jack, as his patients fondly call him, was one of the first optometrists in Canada to offer his patients the brand new GDx technology, replacing the hugely uncomfortable air pressure machine used to detect glaucoma. “It was a nightmare getting that machine across the border,” he recalls. “It took a full six months of phone conversations and form filling – but it was worth the wait.”

For the past 16 years, Dr. Jack has participated in the Ride to Conquer Cancer, the two-day, 250-kilometre, Toronto to Niagara biking fundraiser. “Every year I find the ride emotionally draining, and regularly tear up when I see the riders with flags (indicating they are cancer survivors). But I believe participating in the annual event resets my humanity,” he says. Jack lost his brother to leukemia many years ago.

Explaining his decision to retire, Jack says, “I do keep close tabs on my 95-year-old mother and my 90-year-old mother-in-law, but I need more time to spend with people I care about, including my new granddaughter.”

So who can begrudge him his retirement? But likewise in the recent past my general practitioner and my dentist have also retired. I miss them both, and I’m still adjusting to their replacements.

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And there are others whom we once counted on to enrich our lives in different ways. Ken Weber, for one, who retired two years ago from writing for this magazine. His much-loved history and puzzle columns are still talked about with nostalgia among my circle of friends.

We see a multitude of changes in ourselves, in spouses, family members and friends. We see changes within our local communities, many for the better, but not always. We anxiously watch the devastating changes in our climate, in our increasingly divided political landscape, locally, nationally and internationally, and in the way we communicate (or not) in this sound-bite world of ours.

As important as it is to stay engaged with the wider world, how we deal with these changes has a large bearing on how peacefully we sleep at night, and how much happiness and/or contentment we will experience in our remaining years.

We might have to squint a bit to find the right path, but if we put our psychological well-being at risk by focusing on these mounting number of changes, we leave little room for the positive side of the equation.

While we know that one day time will win, in the meantime, as Charlie Brown observed, “A good laugh and a long sleep are the two best cures for anything.” Right on, Charlie.