JIM “PAPPY” MOORE: Golden Years or Downhill Slide?

By Jim “Pappy” Moore

I was in my mid-fifties when I started writing this weekly column. Now I’m in my mid-seventies. Whoa! How did that happen?! Age tends to creep up on you, one uncomfortable truth at a time. 

In your fifties you still have some reason for delusion. You’re still pretty healthy. No serious, life-threatening events. Yet. You can still run, or at least walk briskly, for miles at a time. Overall, you can look at yourself in the mirror and say “not bad, I’ve still got it.”

Time passes. Then you hit sixty. Things are getting a little tougher, but you still feel pretty good most of the time, and Sixty is the new Fifty. “I got this.”

Then you hit the mid sixties and it’s time to get Medicare. Somehow, your body knows. It knows that with Medicare on board you can make more trips to doctors, and you’re going to need those. As I like to say, “that’s when the warranty runs out!”

Suddenly, you find that your hard, brisk daily walks begin to bring on some chest pain. Is it the esophagus? Is it the bronchial? Could it possibility be the heart? You go see the doctor. He’s half your age. He thinks it’s probably acid reflux, not to worry. He doesn’t order any tests. You feel reassured. But the problem persists. You get a good over-the-counter med for esophageal issues and take the two week regimen. It doesn’t improve. 

You get some preliminary blood work. It’s inconclusive. The pain when walking too much continues. Now it’s really becoming a hindrance. How can I get my hour of walking in with this problem?

Finally, the doc says “I’m going to give you this nitroglycerin tab, and if the pain subsides, you may have a serious heart problem. Seconds after I take it, I say “I think I’m about to pass out.” When I awaken, I’m lying on a gurney being attended by two medics who tell me my pulse dropped to forty and I fell unconscious. I’m whisked away for my first and still only ambulance ride and am soon being carried into an Emergency Room. Tests are run, including an echocardiogram. 

Shortly, a doctor in his forties appears at my bedside. “Mister Moore,” he says in a positive, somewhat cheerful tone, “you have two arteries in your heart which are occluded; one is occluded 70% and one is occluded 99%.” Now, I’m no doctor but you don’t have to be a cardiologist to read these tea leaves. He cuts to the chase. “I’m going to put a stent in your heart today to fix that 99% blocked artery, and in a few weeks you’ll come back and we’ll do the other one.” Reassured by his manner, his confidence, and his very healthy appearance, I say “let’s do this.” 

The operating room is beginning to be dreamlike as my meds take effect and I hear him giving his pep talk to his operating staff. It is positive. I know that in spite of the risk for a sixty-six year-old man, I’m in good hands. Knowing there is a one or two percent chance things could go south, I say my thoughts in my head to God, the gist of which is “I’m in your hands. If this is it, I’ve had a good life. Let me look after and protect the little ones if it’s time for me to go.”  I drift off, to be awakened some time later. Not long after the doctor comes and reassures me. I feel fine. Glad to be alive, glad not to have any complications which were concerns. I was up and walking the halls within a few hours. That was my welcome to life with Medicare, and it sure kicked in just in time. 

I weigh about 60 pounds less now than then, lower than I’ve been in thirty years. Getting older has points at which you realize your body is on a programmed decline. You can do the best you can, and you should, but deal with that natural process as best you can. I find as much joy as I can in every day, doing ordinary things and enjoying the company of others I am close to. And, of course, remembering God is good, and with us in all things. Good luck with your journey. We all have to take it.

Copyright 2024, Jim “Pappy” Moore. All rights reserved.