Denial?

As I said a couple of posts ago, I am beginning the transition.  I am morphing from who I was and what I have been doing for the last forty years into whatever it is that comes next. It is an interesting time. I left work today(Thursday) in the middle of the afternoon.  Some young guy (62) now comes in and takes over my office.  I walked out into the parking lot and there were still cars in it.  I drove home and my wife was still on the phone, working.

If I haven't said it yet, I want to make it clear that I realize that I am very fortunate, and that I can do this out of choice.  I am getting older, but except for the reality that I can no longer run very fast, play basketball with people who are thirty years-old, and that I have much more trouble remembering names that I rarely use, I am in good shape.  I am nicked and bruised and sore in spots, but I am healthy. My skin is saggy and my legs are bowed, but I am fine.

I  also have enough money to be able to survive quite well. I am not buying a yacht, but I could buy a small boat and I am happy with my kayak. I am in a good relationship with someone who is certainly still interesting, to say the least.  Also, and very important, my two children are grown, all solidly self-supporting, both married and also in good relationships, and they now have their own children who are, so far, healthy, enthusiastic little bundles of joy and enthusiasm, when they're not fussy.  And all of these people live within twenty minutes of me.

So, with the fundamentals, things couldn't be better.

Given that, I am still trying to sort out what I want to do, what I can do, and what is important to do with the time that should be available since I won't be spending thirty-five hours doing clinical work and another ten to twenty hours doing the shit work I have to do to get paid, write letters, file reports, make phone calls...... all the stuff that goes with trying to be professional and get paid.

Well, the first thing I learned upon not working as much and getting older is it seems that unless I make a concerted effort to do other things, life will be spent doing things to stay alive. That includes more of what we used to call "daily life skills" in our evaluations.  Who knew they could take so long.  Dressing, cleaning, flossing, shopping, cooking, loading the dishwasher, emptying the dishwasher, reading the paper, checking on-line to see if what the paper said was accurate.

The next big thing, is getting the exercise that I haven't gotten since i played basketball. Go to a gym in the middle of the morning and who is there, women with rich husbands and old people.

Then there is the big one, going to some kind of doctor. My wife, unfortunately, has a complex medical condition, so she goes to the doctor more than she ever did.  I went with her last time, and just going to the big medical complex can ruin any positive outlook.  We are near Boston.  We really have the best medical care in the world. The best doctors, the best hospitals, the best research.  But who is there: old, sick people.  People shuffling along, people on walkers, people looking sunken in and ashen.

Most of these people are my age, some are younger, some are older, but everyone knows this is the next step, and the step after this is worse.

That's where denial comes in. Foe me it seems best to just keep going and ignore all you can. My shoulder hurts a little, so I don't throw any down-field blocks.  My knees can give me trouble so I don't jump, and if I do I try not to land.  My tooth got chipped, so I'm getting that fixed but it still bothers me. Still -- just keep going.

I know that I have ideas of good and semi-important things I want to do, but I don't have to do any of them.  No one has called up (or sent a text) asking me when I will be finished.  I realize that what I really need to do is relax, play and have fun. But exactly how to do that is still a bit vague.  I don't think I can go out into the street and find six friends and play Ring-a-levio, like I did sixty years ago.  I don't my wife will call me in when it gets dark.

For years it was a lot of fun just to rest and relax after a week of hard work.  Right now, in the afternoon, when I am accustomed to still having five hours of work ahead of me, I'm not that tired. So having fun means...I'm still not sure....and it feels kind of weird.  Not bad exactly, certainly less stressful, but still weird.

It's a pity the grand-girls don't live here so I would have someone to dance with. I'm sure they would lend me a tutu.