Tag: getting old

Teeth matter

July 27, 2024

I’m getting old.

We say we’re “getting” old because we don’t know exactly when old happens and we keep pushing it back. I’m about two weeks from my 73rd birthday and still waffling on the definition of old. But along the way, I’ve gotten some physical bulletins that are impossible to ignore.

Unlike everyone my age I know, I will share my experience with you. You’re welcome.

The first heads-up was realizing that I need to take advantage of every public bathroom I see, whether or not I feel the need because when I do feel the need, it might well be too late.

Why didn’t somebody warn me about that? It seems like it would have been a neighborly heads-up between “getting old” friends. Just tell me, “You’re going to start leaking if you don’t pee in every nearby urinal or toilet.” That seems like a polite piece of advice, doesn’t it? Tell your friends.

A few days ago I had my remaining teeth taken out of my head. I now have no, zero, teeth.

The back story is lifelong, I’ve always had lousy teeth. Even as a child of the 50s, I had many cavities and horrific experiences with Dr. Clifford and his slow, smoke-emitting drill.

I’ve always brushed. I have occasionally flossed, (wink-wink). But while other people went in for semi-annual checkups I stayed away because nothing in my mouth ever hurt even as my teeth simply began disintegrating for no apparent reason.

I had one tooth break while I was eating soft, non-crunchy ice cream. A couple of years ago I found a broken tooth in my mouth while I was sleeping. WTF?

So, CarolAnn and I decided it would be best, and ultimately cheaper, if I would just yank ‘em all and get dentures.

As of three days ago, I have no teeth but expensive dentures that look like those wind-up chattering toys we’ve all seen.

So many things people don’t explain as you get older. And the websites don’t help because they’re written with AI prompts by marketing pros 50 years younger than you are. Some of them still have baby teeth.

The good news is that my dentist, periodontist, and oral surgeon, all enriched by my patronage, agree that the procedures thus far have gone perfectly.

The bad news is my gums are now swollen and painful. I talk like Daffy Duck, lithping and thputtering.  Trying to eat soft food like a banana with new dentures is the same as chewing with a mouthful of Legos.

Look, as I told my dentist, Joe Smith (yes, his real name), just yesterday, I don’t get all twisted over things I can’t change. It is what it is. I’m alive, reasonably alert, and happy.

The professionals tell me things in my mouth will get better. I paid to trust and believe them.

But you know what? Either way, I wake up every morning with my wife beside me, the dogs are ready to be let outside to pee, and then I make their breakfast and my coffee.

It’s a new day. Life goes on.

Getting old

by Dave Williams
March 9, 2023

“At old age, one realizes that life is truly a dream.”
— Michael Bassey Johnson, The One Ironauts Body

I was looking for a pithy quote about aging and this one struck me right.

How many times have I thought and written that the past comes back to me in fleeting memories as old black-and-white photos? I know the people in the pictures. I know the places existed and the captured moments actually occurred but they are no more real to me now than barely remembered bits of an old movie I saw a lifetime ago.

Photo by Bruno Martins on Unsplash

Recently I’ve thought a lot about getting old. I don’t feel old but as often as you insist, “You’re only as old as you feel”, the numbers are stunning.

Two of my friends turned 60 yesterday. That’s a significant number in the story of one’s life, I remember it well.

I turned 60 alone, in a high-rise apartment in Chicago. CarolAnn and the rest of the family were home in California. She was getting ready to join me in the Windy City.

August 6, 2011. It was a good day. I didn’t have a lonely birthday pity party. I watched some baseball on TV, talked with my wife and kids on the phone, and then walked to a nearby fancy seafood restaurant and treated myself to a birthday dinner. I went to bed that night wishing I could have celebrated with my loved ones, but knowing there would be next year and many more birthdays to come. And there were.

That was twelve years and seven months ago, and yet just a couple of weeks past. I’m 71 now and my newly 60-year-old friends seem like kids.

Suddenly it occurs to me that there may not be “many more birthdays to come.” My definition of “many” is now questionable.

I remember celebrating my dad’s 60th birthday. It looks like a fuzzy black-and-white picture that spilled from the shoebox.

I think of the older friends and family members I’ve had who lived into their late 80s and 90s. But I also have a list of very dear friends I lost when they were much younger than I am now.

Sharmayne was older than me but she never reached 65.

I always thought of Jerry Grisham as a second father. He died long before 71.

Dad was 72, almost exactly a year older than I am now.

Remember when you were a kid on the Ferris wheel? After many wonderful loops past the stars, the operator suddenly stops the wheel when you reach the bottom, and opens the bar. It’s time for you to leave. And you think, “But those other people got on before I did.”

That’s how it must feel.

At times I lean toward being overly morose about all of this but I shake myself loose thinking it’s just part of the never-ending process of growing up. And then I remember my school friends who died decades ago, some so young they never even had a chance to fall in love.

That shames me back to my reality.

I’m fine, I really am. I’m healthy and happy. I’m convinced that joy is the key to long life. No pity parties for me.

The only thing is, in my mind’s eye I can see the end of the road for the first time in my life. It’s not so much depressing as it is a curious wonder, a totally new experience.

I don’t have many new experiences these days, so this is good. I’ll wrap my head around it soon.

But yes, at some age it will occur to you that life is truly a dream.

I just thought you might like to know.