Category Archives: #Aging

Climb every mountain as long as you can…Reflections on Rosh Hashanah

6 Replies

Are the trails getting steeper? Or am I getting older?

These were my thoughts as Larry and I climbed Shrine Ridge Trail in Summit County in early July. We had been in Colorado for ten days before we attempted the hike, so I believed I had acclimated my body to the altitude. But we started at 11,000 feet and would peak closer to 12,000. As I huffed and puffed up the trail, I never doubted I would finish. The bulldog in me would never give up. But could I do this next year? In five years? Who knows?

Larry and I DID finish our climb on that beautiful summer day. We got up to the top and took in the colorful wildflowers and the amazing vistas, grateful we could still climb mountains at our age. 

In the weeks that followed, we often chose an easier three-mile hike that we accessed with a short walk from our rental. In early August, however, Larry and I met our friends Sandie and Howie for a more challenging hike up the Herman Gulch Trail in the Ranger District of the Arapaho National Forest. During our four-mile hike, we encountered a couple of around our age descending. I posed my “Steeper or older” question aloud. 

“Neither,” the man told me. “We are experiencing geographical uplift, a phenomenon in which the earth shifts to steeper inclines as we age.” 

Okay, maybe Earth is NOT in fact shifting. But our lives have. Before we left for our summer in cooler temperatures, a close friend, a non-smoker, had just been diagnosed with lung cancer. Another friend’s cancer had returned. And a third friend, who had biked 86 miles for his eighty-sixth birthday, died a week later of a heart attack while on a shorter ride. “He was doing what he loved,” people said. But I doubt that it was sufficient comfort to the family he left behind.

Our time in the mountains changed as well. Friends we looked forward to seeing every summer developed health issues and/or “aged out” as they could no longer handle the high altitude. One of Larry’s pickleball buddies had told us last summer that he and his wife were opting out of summers in Summit County and renting a place in a mountainous region of Arizona, reducing their elevation by 4000 feet. Dear friends who had been part of our summer plans for over ten years, whether eating out, hiking, or playing cutthroat games of Mexican Train, also had to give up their beautiful home in Dillion, Colorado, and remain in Charlotte, North Carolina, at a more comfortable 671 feet above sea level. 

And then the “life can change on a dime” phenomenon hit our own family very hard soon after Larry and I returned to Florida. Two days after coming home from an incredible cruise through the British Isles with my brother, sister-in-law, and a friend, my sister Laura was hospitalized in Upstate New York with breathing problems. Doctors were trying to determine the exact cause of her symptoms when she took a turn for the worse. Diagnosis: a rare form of pneumonia. Grim news followed: Laura was on a ventilator in the intensive care unit. We had two days of optimism when she was taken off the ventilator. She was looking forward to her life after hospitalization and rehab: a highly anticipated move to San Diego, California, to be closer to her children and grandchildren. But her 83-year-old body failed. She passed away on Friday, August 29. 

The four Cohen children had been fortunate indeed. Whereas some of our friends have strained or non-existent relationships with their siblings and/or their spouses, we all had remained close—maybe even closer as we had all realized how life can change on a dime. And now one of us is gone, leaving the three of us to grieve with other family members and friends who will miss her so much.

“On Rosh Hashanah, all who enter the world pass before Him,” reads a passage in the Mishnah. One Jewish interpretation is that we march single file like sheep before God to determine whether we will be written in the Book of Life. Another interpretation is that we march like soldiers. But my favorite interpretation, reflecting on my summer in the mountains, comes from Resh Lakish, a third century BCE scholar. The rabbi envisioned this march taking place before God on a mountain, each person walking cautiously, single file, along a narrow, treacherous path. 

As I observe the High Holy Days this year, warm memories of my beloved “big sister” will be forefront in my thoughts. Prayers for those we lost and those who are ill will take on even greater significance. Will I be climbing mountains in 5786? Hopefully, I will tackle Shrine Ridge and Herman Gulch with the same vigor and determination I did this past summer. But thanks to Resh Lakish, when I am in one of those narrow and knowing me, not-TOO treacherous paths, I will hope that God is looking down and giving me the strength to move forward in my life, no matter where the path takes me. 

Sources:

Liben, Rabbi Daniel. “Sheep, Mountain Hikers, and Soldiers.” Temple Israel of Natick, Massachusetts. Rosh Hashannah 5756. https://www.tiofnatick.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/12/rh_sermon_2015.pdf

McCullough Gulch. Not sure if we will hike this one again!

Can you hear me now?

Leave a reply

It’s genetic. It’s a life-time achievement award. It’s inevitable. 

Choose all or some or one of the above. Along with cataracts, high cholesterol, worn-out knees, and numerous aches and pains that come with age, we can add hearing loss.

According to a 2021 study by the National Institute for Deafness and Other Communication Disorder, approximately 28.8 million American adults need hearing aids. Unfortunately, only one in six does something about it. My husband decided to be one of them. 

Larry’s problems began a few years back. His inability to hear had become a source of irritation to me, for our family, for our friends. He had to crank up the television, and his listening skills had diminished. After almost fifty years of marriage, maybe his “selective hearing” had become more attuned. But he was missing words and phrases. A recent test at an audiologist had come back showing he was on the verge of needing them. 

Finally, when we came back from Colorado in August, 2023. he decided it was time. Choosing a hearing center that many in our community recommended, Larry underwent a thorough one-hour examination and got the expected news: he had “moderate” hearing loss.

Two weeks, Larry was fitted with a pair of hearing aids. He adjusted fairly quickly, and his “selective listening” didn’t seem to be as much as a problem.

While his hearing improved, mine tanked. The volume of Larry’s voice, which was always on the quiet side, went down a couple of decibels, meaning I was constantly asking him to speak up. Also, with his new bionic ears, he could turn down the television volume so I could’t hear it. He began to complain that the music on Alexa was blaring. He suggested that maybe I needed hearing aids.

I fought it. First of all, I had been tested eighteen months earlier by the same audiologist at the same time that Larry had, and I was told that my hearing was “borderline. “

Besides, I already could not keep track of my iPhone, my Apple Watch, my Kindle, my keys, my Solivita pass, and my purse. I could not imagine adding another thing to my life that I had to find.

What concerned me most was that I remembered all too well my father’s experiences with hearing aids. When those blobs of plastic were in his ears, they buzzed. At least once, he ruined them when he jumped into a swimming pool. When he took the out, goodness knows where we would find them. On his dresser? Next to his favorite chair? Under the clothes line? 

I especially recalled the day that Aunt Pearl, who lived in Long Island, came up to visit Mom and Dad in Clifton Park. Both of them wore hearing aids, and my mother was on her way to getting them. Brian, my cousin who drove Aunt Pearl up to Saratoga County, escaped to another room while the three of them yelled to each other to communicate. Despite the distance, Brian and I heard the distinct buzzing of a hearing aide coming from my father.

“Dad, do you need to turn down your hearing aids?” I asked. 

“No,” he replied. “The damn things don’t work. I put them in my pocket.”

Oy! This is what I had to look forward to? 

But Larry was due for his six month check-up, and he strongly urged me to make my own appointment. 

“I am sure I don’t need hearing aids,” I said. “You just talk too low.” But for Shalom Bayit, for peace in our house, I signed up for a consultation. 

I thought I would breezed through the test, but I was shocked to find out that my hearing loss was “moderate to severe.” For the next two weeks, my prescription was being filled, I felt sad and—well—old!

Amazingly, I adjusted very quickly. I immediately noticed the difference: I could hear! Okay, maybe a little too loudly. But the world became hearable. My constant refrain, “Could you repeat that?” was gone. I could go to a movie or show and actually hear what was being said.

My fear of losing them also proved groundless. Between the over-the-ear microphone and the tiny receivers that go fairly deep into my ear canal, I haven’t lost them. They also are a little more waterproof than I anticipated as accidentally wearing them into the shower or even into the pool would not be a disaster

Finally, being a woman has its perks. Larry doesn’t have the hair to cover them, so they are pretty obvious. It takes a much sharper eye to detect the tiny wires in my ears when it is covered with hair.

Rather than being embarrassed or ashamed, I am grateful that my hearing is correctable, that we have the resources to make the purchase,  and that hearing aids are so much better than those huge things my parents wore.

Lifetime Achievement Awards

9 Replies

For the past two years, Passover has—well—passed over us. In 2020, My husband Larry and I had a seder for two, a quiet affair to say the least. In 2021, thanks to Zoom, we were at least able to share a Haggadah and the holiday with members of our synagogue. 

Now we are back in the game. Our first night will not be that much different, in that our congregation has opted for a Zoom service for hopefully the last time. But on the second night, we will drive to Sarasota, where we will share a table with two of my siblings and their spouses. How lovely it will be to sip wine and eat matzah and charotzes with family!

And, as always, I am entering this holiday with the same feeling of gratitude I have managed to maintain since COVID closed down our world. True, Larry and I have missed much—especially a year away from our children and their families. We spent two years avoiding crowds, passing up on movies and plays, getting our boosters and wearing masks. But I feel that the worst parts of this pandemic have passed over us. It is as if our doorposts were marked with a blessing that prevented illness and sadness from touching so many that we love.

We may not have suffered all the effects of this scourge, but we have unfortunately not escaped from another inevitable issue: Aging! In a recent article in the New Yorker article, David Kemp suggests that his newly formed US Citizens for Age Forgiveness demand an “executive order that will degree the last two years do not count towards the age of an American.” 

Of course, Kemp’s essay is tongue in cheek, but I agree! Any setbacks that were caused by almost two years of hunkering down should somehow be erased, given back to us as a gift from God. This is especially true regarding what Larry has affectionally called “Lifetime Achievement Awards,” all those hopefully bearable “inconveniences” that are a result of surviving into our 60s and 70s. 

First example: Cataracts. I cannot turn around without bumping into someone who is in some stage of this common eye surgery. Conversations revolve around which doctor to use, which lens to be implanted (there seems to be a range from a no-frills basic version to the top-of-the line deluxe version); which drops therapy is used, how long between Eye One and Eye Two; and how long one can return to normal life. We have come to accept the fact that people are walking around with one lens popped out of their glasses, not exactly a “Lens Crafter” advertisement. 

Unlike other surgeries, there is a definite benefit. After years of dealing with glasses and contact lenses, we Baby Boomers are looking at the world through our own eyes. My own journey to cataract surgery goes back almost 20 years ago when I spoke to my eye doctor about getting Lasik surgery to repair my severe myopia. He suggested I wait. “Most people of a certain age [he kindly avoided the word ‘old’] require cataract surgery,” he told me. “I can almost promise you will get the vision you want without the expense if you just wait it out.” He was correct. I patiently waited until my cataracts, first imperceptible, then ripening, then, in my mid 60s, ready to fix. My glasses went to the Lion’s Club, and my contact lenses and all the required accessories went into the trash. It took me months to break myself of the habit of reaching for my glasses the minute I woke up. To this day, if I feel something in my eye, my first thought is that something is lurking under my contacts. 

Because I had been wearing contacts since I was in my 20s, my appearance didn’t change after surgery. Larry, however, had been wearing glasses for over 30 years until his recent surgery. I am still getting used to the “bare nakedness” of my un-bespectacled mate. So is my granddaughter, who burst into tears when she saw her Zayde for the first time without his usually dark frames. My sister-in-law was actually grateful that she still needs to wear glasses after cataract surgery. “I like myself better with glasses,” she told me. “They hide the lines.” (She doesn’t have wrinkles!)

Eyes are not the only body part that falls under the “Lifetime Achievement Award” category. Many of our teeth, which at one point held under the strain of hard candy and even carrots, seem to be crumblings, resulting in crowns, implants, and bridges. Hips, shoulders, and knees are being replaced at an alarming rate. Some  of us have so many fake parts we rival Lee Majors’ Bionic Man. 

Unfortunately, the standard devices do not imbue their owners with any super power, including super hearing. As a matter of fact, based on the number of ads for hearing aids found in AARP magazine, the inability to pick up normal conversations is one of the most prevalent signs of our aging bodies. Both Larry and I are on the cusp of needing some help. We no longer can have a conversation when we are in two different rooms. Heck, we have problems hearing each other when we are sitting next to each other on the couch doing crossword puzzles. “What did you get for 41 across?” Larry recently asked me 

“Heeded,” I answered. 

“Needed? It doesn’t fit. 33 down is OGH.” 

“I said, ‘Heeded.’” 

“Seeded?” 

“No! Heeded. H as in Harry!” 

“As in ‘Larry?” 

No wonder it is taking us longer to do these puzzles 

A friend’s pilates instructor had a different, but still flattering,  spin on those of . She regards us as “classic cars,” older, still viable, very much appreciated, even if we are restored. 

Unfortunately, Lifetime Achievement Awards often come in more serious forms. Cancers. Heart problems. Diabetes. Cognitive issues. Family and friends are dealing with many of these issues, a result of living a long life or of just plain bad luck.

A recent broadcast on NPR stated that with key COVID metrics trending rapidly downward, the pandemic’s third spring is already looking very different. Passover 5782 will hopefully usher in a time of hope that COVID-19—if not conquered but at least controlled. I also wish that this be a time of a “refuah shlema,” a complete, speedy healing for those suffering from all those lifetime achievement awards: And as we gather at our more crowded Seder table, let us add Rabbi Naomi Allen’s pandemic-inspired prayer, “On this Passover Night/We pray to you, God/Let it Pass Over us/Hear us God/Heal us God. Amen.”

A version of this article originally appeared in the Jewish World News, a bi-weekly subscription-based newspaper in upstate New York.

Photo Credit: iStockphoto.com