THE FACT OF THE MATTER
BY PAUL HOPKINS
At the time of going to press, the US Presidential debate on CNN is still some hours away and so I am not in a position to comment on it, other than say it’s bound to be feisty.
One thing does stand out, though – the ongoing debate as to which of the two candidates is showing, allegedly, the highest rate of mental decline. There was a time when such debate was considered ageist and wrong. Particularly with the Democrats, it is considered such will hurt Biden – who has had a few ‘off’ days – more than Trump. Even Trump, however, has not escaped criticism. Back during his first run for president, the words ‘narcissist’ and ‘borderline personality’ started being mentioned, with mental health professionals quick to point out it is wrong to diagnose others short of medical prognosis.
Since then, dementia has become a major part of Trump’s campaign to undermine Biden, and both men – 78 and 81 respectively – have behaved in ways that might give even the most cautious of American voters room for thought.
These are two of the oldest people to run for the highest office in America, if not the world (that’s for another day’s debate), at a time of unprecedented video manipulation and fake news. While it is not my place to judge if either or both are capable, mentally, off such high office, it seems it’s open season on ageism, particularly in public office. Even our own dearest Michael D has not escaped the occasional tirade.
We might like to think that those in the autumn of their years have never had it so good. Thanks to advancements in nutrition and medicine, not to mention those (no thanks!) elective cosmetic treatments, our picture of ageing has changed radically in the past decades. In my lifetime, life expectancy has risen from 69 to 78 years.
Then came Covid-19 and, all of a sudden, people aged 65 and older, two in 17 of us, were collectively labeled “high risk” — regardless of their health — and instructed to stay home, to cocoon in Ga Ga Land. Seemingly, this categorisation stemmed from the impact the virus had on residents of care homes. The reality is that our care homes house only a small percentage of those in their autumn years, and many of those are frail or have those ‘underlying causes’ to begin with, but we’re talking about just a small portion of the older population.
But we old were all lumped together. Still are.
There are some things that come with ageing. One is that wonderful, indefinable wisdom-of-sorts, of knowing that we all, whatever colour or creed, roughly experience the same highs and lows, ups and downs, ins and outs of life; that the number of human emotions can be counted on two hands.
Another thing, for me, is I no longer suffer fools so easily
However, there is another thing, relatively new in the history of Man, a more modern phenomenon, that of old age being the new demographic, a group getting steadily larger — alarmingly larger if you are in the business of allocating national expenditure. Witness the shortage of carers for a group dependent on such.
I am blessed that I am ageing relatively well.
We need to start thinking about both biological and chronological age. Chronological age is the years since birth, whereas biological age reflects physiology and how well a person is functioning.
Having said that, growing old — as we all must, if we’re lucky enough to make it thus far — can have its, eh, downsides. Hospitalisation. Cardiac problems, bowel cancer, breast cancer, fatal and non-fatal. Chronic immobilising pain in spine, knee, neck, foot. High blood-pressure. Not to mention car accidents and farm accidents. Then there can be dementia, Alzheimer’s or suicide attempts — or thoughts because life seems suddenly tedious and pointless.
I need to lie down now, that above list has me suddenly all exhausted.
And then there’s the prospect of being forced to live with people you can’t stand! I don’t think about it — okay, okay, I do … occasionally. And what I fear most is loss of autonomy, the kind of poverty that destroys autonomy. Unstinting boredom caused by an inability to read or hear. My deepest dread is of being reduced, simplified. Afraid that I’ll be robbed of the richness of who I am — my wonderful, individual complexity stripped away by forces beyond my control.
It hasn’t come to that… yet, thank God. But I am so not alone with this train of thought…
