This aging shit is killing me. You could view that figuratively, but I’m pretty sure I mean it literally. You know, I’ve written on the hazards of aging before, as have many others, but I look around and everyone is still doing it. Some better than others, but all aging – on and on, until they don’t, but that’s another story. I used to think I was of those who was aging much better than everyone else. Oh, what a deluded fool. There is nothing quite like your seventh decade (60’s) to really shake up all of your misconceptions and delusions about your health and your fast-approaching decrepitude. It’s a steep and slippery slope. You could also make a pretty good case that the decrepitude is no longer approaching.

I had an appointment with my cardiologist this morning. That may have colored my outlook. Everything was fine, but focusing on my visit and conversation with my cardiologist ignores the main crux of the problem: why do I even have a cardiologist? When did I become the type of man who needs to have a cardiologist? Don’t people with cardiologists use walkers? I don’t need a walker, although to be fair, I did see a pretty nice one in the waiting room. Sporty model. Back to the subject, when thinking clearly, I realize why I have a cardiologist. Two long-term episodes of Afib and two cardioversions tend to bring you and your cardiologist quite close. That’s kinda why I have a cardiologist. And a dermatologist. And a urologist. And an ophthalmologist. And on. And on.

New research on aging seems to show that, for many people, rather than a steady lifelong process, there are at least 2 rapid bursts when a person ages faster that at any other time in their adult life. (Thank your lucky stars that you’ve never had to wrestle with a sentence like that last one.) At least for males, these 2 periods are in the early 40’s and in the early 60’s. I have some problems accepting the universality of these findings, but we’ll see if subsequent studies arrive at the same conclusions. Speaking strictly for me, I didn’t age a day throughout my entire 40’s. It was quite a phenomenon. I turned 50 looking exactly as I did at 39. Didn’t look that good at 39, though, to be honest.

It was in my mid-60’s when the roof fell in on me. Right in the middle of Covid. At age 64, I was taking no medications. By my 66th birthday, I was on 3 drugs that I will never be free of for the rest of my life. My thyroid stopped functioning and once your thyroid goes out, frequently your cholesterol goes up, along with your blood pressure. So, bingo, bango, bongo, I’m on 3 lifetime meds. Couldn’t complain back then because Covid was going on. People were being put on ventilators. People were dying. How much sympathy was I going to get complaining about my thyroid? Not much. Believe me, I tried, but not much sympathy coming my way. Totally unfair.

So, I muddle on. Boats against the tide and all that. On the last day of this year, I will turn 70. No matter what kind of twist I put on that milestone, I’m old. I’m hoping that the findings of the new aging research are accurate and that my 2 “rapid aging” periods are behind me. The way I read the study, I won’t really age at all during my 70’s. Just sort of coast along like I did in my 40’s. That sounds good. On the other hand, when Irene Ryan first started to play Granny on “The Beverly Hillbillies” she was 61.

I’m older than fucking Granny!

Take care of yourself.

I am sitting here in my study in the beautiful Low County of South Carolina. I’ve got the new Van Morrison album playing and my faithful dog, Lucy, at my feet. (Actually, she’s not that faithful. Scratch her in the right spot and she’ll jump right in your car. Lot like my first wife in that respect.) So, ignore all the stuff above, life is pretty good.