How Long is Living Too Long?

By Tom Anselm

This news just in… according to a recent study done in 2016 by Nature magazine, the risk of dying gets substantially higher with each passing year. No? Really? Duh. However, to be fair, there is a corollary to this report. The rate of risk flattens out a bit at age 80. Okay, that helps a bit, I guess

Still, let’s consider this. If a person makes it to age 80, they probably are pretty healthy. I mean, they’re 80. Or, at the least, they’ve faced and beaten some conditions or illnesses, or are being treated successfully for such conditions. That makes sense.

They have not kicked it from heart disease, cancer, stroke, car accidents, lightning strikes or the any of the myriad other catastrophes that can befall one over the course of a lifetime.

And also according to the study, that octogenarian has a good chance to roll out of bed intact for another 10 or so years. So they’re looking at 90… not bad.

But another study indicates that this plateau marker may be more like 105. And then, heck, according to this group of experts, if you make it to 105, that means your could go for another 5 more. So that’s 110. Hmmmmm.

My left knee and right ankle are looking at each other and saying, considering this news… are you kidding me?

I can’t imagine hobbling around for another 20-25 years. It’s bad enough that I hippity-hop around as I close in on the

7-0 marker. And no way do I want to be rolling the Schnucks produce section in a geriatric grocery cart a couple decades down the road. Beep-beep… look out for the 105 dude!

Sure, sure, I know we must respect the elderly. And I do, especially those who are older than me. And my nursing home music gigs only reinforce that respect. But I sometimes wonder how many of the folks who are hanging around that I never see would like to just go quietly into that gentle goodnight?

Please be assured, this is not an endorsement for euthanasia, or youth on any other continent. (This is a small joke… get it? Youth-in-Asia? Ugh.) Nor am I advocating that people fail to take care of themselves so they don’t have to think about that 80 number, or 105, depending on which study you would like to reference.

Knocking on wood and running the risk of jinxing myself, I have had, to date, zero surgeries, my childhood tonsillectomy notwithstanding. Hospitals and doctors and all that, wow, what amazing things they can do. Just not for me, unless I’m next on the Grim Reapers cell phone calendar update.

How many times do you hear someone going in for a relatively routine operation and not getting out alive? Well, maybe not a lot, but one is too many for my taste. I am such a pickle-head about this that I had my one and only colonoscopy a few years ago sans anesthesia. Yeah, the nurse did a double-take when she was putting in the intravenous line for the sleepy-time meds and I said, “uh, excuse me, I’m not getting any anesthesia.” It went fine, actually. A bit, well, pushy-feeling, nothing that made me scream “Mommy!” But, alas, I digress. Just suffice it to say I am a skeptic when it comes to some aspects of the medical world.

Now let’s just say that living a long, fruitful life is not altogether in our hands. A lot of being old is covered, not by Medicare Part B, but by The Big Doc in the Sky. Of course, being blessed with good genes is very helpful, as is avoiding them longevity-killers like obesity, high blood pressure, smoking… you know, stuff like that.

So if I manage to make it to January 8, 2054, I promise I will write a column about what a hoot it is to be 105.

If I can see the keyboard, that is.

Share on Facebook

Tweet

Follow us