While I promise I am not dwelling on it, I was asked recently what I thought about the concept of living a long life. I thought this would make a good post, and a chance to exercise my gallows humour. I hope you enjoy the walk down the corridor of doom.
What are your thoughts on the concept of living a very long life? I always thought I’d want to live as long as modern medicine will allow, but now I’m not so sure.
Not being much of a believer in the existence of a higher power—“like electricity or something” (cf. Not the Nine O’Clock News)—I used to find the prospect of dying scared me to death.
Not subscribing to any particular faith, it seems a waste that one day I will just slip out of my current conscious state into a void of nothingness and cease to exist. When the time comes, am I going to be an emotional wreck as I try to reconcile a lonely future in which I never see my nearest and dearest again? Obviously, I would only have to deal with these emotions for the length of time it will take me to kick the bucket of life down the corridor of impending doom. But what if it is a really long corridor?
I imagine having a low pain threshold doesn’t help either. The fear of suffering a slow and painful death—even a quick and painful one—would be second only to the fear of being an embarrassment to my loved ones as I cry and scream, desperately clinging to the leg of “Mother Life” as she tries to leave me at the childminder for eternity.
Prolonging life for as long as possible has therefore been my first preference. In contrast, others close to me are of the opinion that a one-way express ticket to Switzerland is the way to go, before old age sets in. A prolonged life spent in an infirm body or with an age impaired brain isn’t their idea of fun. This used to annoy me, as I couldn’t understand why someone I care about would want to leave me all alone as I wait for my own number to be up.
Then along came my friend Mr. Parkinson to make me rethink.
Taxi for Mark?
Having been diagnosed with a degenerative brain disease, I will now literally ‘shuffle’ off this mortal coil at some point. Actually, it’s more likely I will shuffle for a bit, then freeze, then shuffle a bit more, inhaling my last breaths in slow motion as I creep toward the “Taxi of Death” that’s been waiting for me at life’s exit.
Resigned to shelling out on the ‘inevitable’ taxes while alive, the cabbie better not charge me waiting time; I forgot to budget for it in the inheritance I’ve left under the mattress.
I worry more now that I will end my days stuck in a body that my brain no longer operates, reliant on people paid to take care of me. No longer being able to do for myself all those things I once did without thinking, w I see out my days in an unfamiliar place that smells like a library, but with more incontinence, fruit cake, gravy, and Rich Tea biscuits? My own personal Groundhog Day—but I won’t get to wake up with Andie MacDowell every morning.
So, what do I think now about living a very long life? I hope when my time comes, the taxi to my final resting place is waiting for me outside, engine running and ready to go. But until that time, I am planning to put plenty more miles on the bike (and eating a lot more cake).
Balls to Parkinson’s 