Poem in February

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Leave the door open
and
the smell
will fade faster
in the cold.


With no light
in the cold
we could not
see
the darkness.

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At My Current age... (a personal reflection)

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1

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At my current age, my Dad's father had been dead for two years.  Born in rural west Georgia in 1879, he lived in Savannah, Ft. Worth, Indianapolis, Los Angeles, and Seattle, where he died in 1950.

When he was my age, my mother's father, whom I knew as "Grandad," had thirteen years still to live.  He was born in 1875 outside Paris (Paris, Texas, okay?), lived in Pottsville outside Hamilton (yes, Texas!) and Cleburne (TX), where he eventually died in 1961.

And my Dad?  Well, at my age he was told he had inoperable cancer and had three-to-six months to live.  This was in 1977, and in fact, he was leading a relatively normal life until his peaceful death in 1980.  His was thought to be an unusual form of chest cancer, adeno-carcenoma, which responded well to an experimental drug.  I went with him once for a chemo treatment, and the doctor showed me the original chest x-rays.  Instead of a tumor in a lung, many wispy thin strands looking like Christmas tree icicles swirled around inside his chest cavity.  Dad felt a lot of nausea during and after the chemo.

2

I'm feeling pretty well myself, thanks for asking.

I've been retired for six years, eating wisely and exercising regularly.  I weigh almost 40 pounds less than I did while still working.  I get about the same amount of exercise now as before retiring, but much more systematically.  My wife and I walk outside every morning between 6 and 7 am for about twenty minutes, and eight or nine months out of the year I spend probably 20 hours or more each week outdoors, puttering around the yard.

3

I have several health conditions that my wife and I monitor carefully, and which are under control.  I have a cataract growing in my right eye that will need to be taken care of before long, but my ophthalmologist says the time for intervention is "not yet." And it won't be a big deal when the time is right.

I have a touch of asthma.  Before we moved, I had an annual conversation with a pulmonologist in our former hometown, but now my General Care Physician herself just renews my inhaler prescription whenever I need it.  I take two puffs before bed each night.

I took medication for osteoporosis for ten or fifteen years.  Our GCP in the 90s was trained as an endocrinologist and had me run the tests that showed my bones were thinning the way many women's bones do.  The old generation of meds for osteoporosis have now run their course, and I had a severe reaction to one drug of the new generation (FORTEO), so I am not taking anything now - other than outsized amounts of calcium and Vitamin D.  My bones seem to be holding up all right, and we'll keep testing from time to time.

The most significant of my health conditions is in my heart.  I have hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.  This is said to be a genetic condition, although I can find no one among my ancestors who seems to have had it.  The walls of my heart muscle have become too thick for the heart as a whole to function efficiently.  The muscular contraction of the ventricle - the DUB part of the ol' lub-DUB routine - can be so strong that all the blood is squeezed out and the ventricle doesn't have time to refill before the next contraction.  Without medication, especially after eating, if I walk fast upstairs or uphill, insufficient blood is pumped into my brain and I am in danger of passing out.

Fortunately, there is a whole regimen of drugs available to help.  The condition was under control for years in our former hometown where I had a great cardiologist, and - after a big scare just as we were moving 18 months ago - my great new cardiologist has found a new regime of drugs that is working fine again.

I used to have to be concerned about irregular heart beats (atrial fibrillation) and took medication for that.  Since my scare in April 2013 we have been just letting that go on.  Dr. M-------- put me on an old-fashioned drug (my favorite kind) which keeps the ventricular beats from coming too fast, down from 120 or so per minute to 75 or so per minute.  I take diuretics to combat congestive heart ineffectiveness...  And I'm feeling vigorous and robust.

4

I'm not addressing the one of my health conditions that may eventually become the most serious.  For decades I have been a little unsteady on my feet.  In his final decades, my Dad was too.  Shortly before I retired I finally consulted a neurologist about this situation.  After many tests, some of them having me walk across the room "tippy-toe," it was known that my cerebellum is very slowly shrinking.  That's a small segment on the bottom of the brain at the back.  Yes, my brain is shrinking.

This affects my balance but can affect much more if it advances far enough before I join my ancestors.  I don't seem to be much different today, though, than I was 15 years ago.  So, there's no real cause for me to be concerned.

5

Nonetheless, it would be silly to deny that I am living now in the final stage of my life.  I haven't counted the stages of my life I've lived through so far, but this one is my last.  It might be shorter or longer, but there it is.

Soooo...  what?

I mean, does recognizing this mean anything?  Maybe it should?  I don't know.

I heard recently that many studies have shown that what most old people want more than anything else is to be remembered after they are gone.  I have to say that strikes me as accurate; many people openly or secretly do seem to want to be remembered.  I never talked with my parents - or anyone, in fact - to know if they particularly wanted to be remembered.  It would probably have seemed silly for my Dad to have been thinking about "being remembered," since he was quite well known and had an important place in the history of the University of Texas, and in journalism education nationally.   Mother maintained a posture of great humility and would probably never have thought about "being remembered."

I hadn't thought about it but to be honest, I guess I would like to be remembered.  One thing I have always liked about writing is imagining, as I am putting the words together, someone's reading them at some time, at some place.

But maybe not.  I know my immediate family and close friends will remember me - the way I remember my own parents - but others...?

6

Perhaps a more interesting question, rather than asking myself IF I want to be remembered, is to ask HOW do I want to be remembered?

In other words, how do I like to think of myself (without indulging in mere fantasy)?

Well, I 'd say I'm smart, articulate, well-educated and interested in many things, from famous great paintings, history and literature, and classical music to sports, especially baseball.  I know how to enjoy myself, but work hard and exercise self-discipline.  I'm even-tempered and cool-headed, and I have a good sense of humor.  I speak and write well, better than most (if I do say so).  I'm pretty good with numbers too, by the way.

I'm a leader, sensitive to others' feelings.  I am responsible, morally and socially; family, friends, employers can count on me... and do. 

Is there any sign of realism in this goody-goody self-appraisal?  Okay: I'm short.  And at times my facial expression makes others think I'm feeling gloomy when inside I'm feeling fine or even quite content. I also experience some stress in perfectly ordinary situations, such as ordering something by phone, or calling a tech-support line, or even just interacting with people whom I know but with whom I don't often chat.  That's so silly, but I guess I've always been like that.

7

So - like most others, at least in my age group - do I want to be remembered?  Not especially.  It's not something I have thought about.

But just in case someone who has not seen me for a while does remember me, then I'd like to be remembered as a guy with some of the traits I have mentioned.

And if that doesn't happen, well, I won't know anyway, will I?


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