I See My Doctor Less and Less
It’s a Choice
I’m not a doctor so zero medical training here.
I’ve concluded, however, that barring an accident or some strange unforeseen contact with a communicable disease, my body may very well be wired to die around a certain age.
Both my parents lived to their mid 80s.
My grandmother did as well. My chances are good to make it to the average lifespan, which has gone down in the last two years but for women is somewhere around seventy-seven. I’m seventy-one.
I also stand a pretty good chance of living beyond the average lifespan like my parents did.
I take no prescription meds, much to the shock of my supplemental health insurance company and my doctor. I probably could have been put on something like Lipitor a while ago, but I decided against it.
I’m able to do most things that I did in the past, to a greater or lesser degree. I’m highly independent. I get my annual physical. And of course, if I have a high temperature that won’t break or something that an antibiotic would take care of, I call my doctor. So far, that’s also a rare occurrence.
Otherwise, no more screenings.
I also would have to think long and hard about long-term medications. If I had an emergency like a bad cut or even a heart attack, I would go to the ER, however.
If I had a long-term condition, I would weigh the benefits of treatment at my age.
My number one goal in life was to live long enough to raise my children. I won! Every year after that has been icing on the cake. I have no problem whatsoever contemplating my impending death. There are times when I’m so tired of this old world that I think I would welcome it.
Most days, however, I get up and do the things that I love.
I drink my coffee, work in my garden, take walks, see my granddaughter, and talk with my friends on the phone. I eat what I want, go where I want, wake up without an alarm clock and go to bed when I’m tired. I refuse to spend time with people who make me feel bad. When night comes, I keep my fingers crossed that I’ll get at least six hours of uninterrupted sleep.
According to today’s standards, I’m doing well.
And according to my own standards I’ve exceeded expectations. My children are grown and capable. My wishes were granted. It’s a fine line from here on out as to whether I’d choose medical treatments or invest in the recommended screenings.
Whatever I do or don’t do now is largely determined by how good it makes me feel. Why not?
If I make it to the new average lifespan of 77, I only have six more years. So, I say why not do the things that make me feel good? If I live to the same age as my parents and grandparents, I have roughly doubled that time, about 14 years.
I’m good with either one. In fact, if I must lose my independence while living to 85, I’d choose to live less time, but quality time.
Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the medical profession. After all, the year I was born, they doubled the average lifespan. Think about that! I’m thankful for vaccines, trauma care, antibiotics, and scientific advancements. I would’ve preferred to die at a young age than witness the death of my child from polio or some other horrendous disease.
I was lucky to be born in 1951.
People who put the medical profession down have missed the whole point. There was a time when a simple cut killed people. I have no desire to go back to the good old bad old days. The woo woo crowd can have at it, not me.
But I also have no desire to live forever.
Believe it or not, I’ve met lots of people who seem to want to live forever. They resist the idea of their own death and will do just about anything to live as long as possible no matter the quality of their lives. I’ve never felt that way since my children have grown up. There are things worse than death in my opinion.
So, am I looking forward to dying?
Looking forward to it would be a stretch. But there are plenty of days that I don’t look forward to life either. Life is messy and complicated and a complete and total accident. I’ve had some good luck and some bad luck. I’ve had my share of trauma. I’ve experienced successes and watched my children grow up to adulthood.
But in the end, I made peace with my own death many years ago.
Whenever the world starts talking excitedly about extending the lifespan once again, I shake my head. We may already be living too long, especially if the majority of people insist on having children of their own. Do we really need more octogenarians let alone centenarians?
Yeah, but, but, but, what if they can increase the lifespan while also improving the quality of life?
Hmmmm. That’s better, I guess. But I’m still not convinced that most of us are needed for that long. In fact, in many cases, death is a blessing to society. Who really believes that if Hitler had lived to 120 that the world would have been a better place. I’m pretty sure that the bad guys would find a way to live as long as possible.
They’d have the money and the power to be first in line for the special treatments.
Naw! The world was not designed with our longevity in mind. Maybe just take a bow and exit stage left? You know. Free a little space for the next generation.
I wanted to live long enough to raise my children and that wish was granted to me. I’ve never asked for more.
Teresa is a retired educator, author, world traveler, and professional myth buster. You can find her books on Amazon.
