Birthday Thoughts

I recently turned the big sixty-five, and there is possibly no other anniversary more important for a resident of the United States. As an official elderly person, I realize I have plenty left to say, but it isn’t “get off my lawn!” or even “today’s music is terrible.” No, there are too many topics of far greater substance. Some of them are personal, some are collective.

My overall sentiment is that I have exceeded my expiration date. There is a certain degree of envy for those who have already passed, and thereby relieved of continued suffering, which includes watching others suffer, species going extinct, the brutality of imperialism, White Christian Nationalism, global capitalism, religious wars and terrorism, and climate change. I would rather not continue bearing witness, thank you.

If I do not find a way out of my current town of residence, surrounded by people mostly older than I am, more sickly, arguably more unhappy, and clinging desperately to “the good old days,” and a culture that no longer serves us well, then I will surely die sooner rather than later. I thrive when surrounded by younger generations with energy and creativity. Few people here have any respect for the natural world.

Turning the magic age of Medicare eligibility is not the reward you might imagine, either. One of the shocking revelations is that Medicare is definitely NOT free healthcare. Parts A and B cost me about $200 per month. Friends have told me that they have that taken out of their Social Security benefits. Because they raised the official retirement age to sixty-seven, I am not yet receiving that income. I would be left with little after the Medicare payment anyway.

Oh, and I still have to find a “Medigap” plan, through a private insurance provider, to cover what Medicare does not. Naturally, that still won’t cover dental, vision, or hearing. I did secure prescription drug coverage, but will I meet the deductible?

What concerns me most is my mental health. At best, I am not nearly as productive as I should be. I loathe writing, now. It isn’t that I don’t have something to say. I simply don’t have the energy and desire to execute the keystrokes to put it down. I may go back to longhand and then transcribe it, like I used to do.

My mental state does not even entertain the idea of engaging with anyone in my community, in person. I see my in-laws on the regular, for dinner out almost every Saturday. I attend meetings or events of the local artist group my partner belongs to, maybe three or four times a year. That’s it, pretty much. Oh, the homecoming game at my partner’s high school.

The most awful notion, right now, is the idea that I need to put my life in danger in defense of vulnerable people, at a time when I am the most vulnerable myself. I’m the physically weakest I have ever been, have even shrunken in stature. I do take long walks regularly, and perform a handful of upper body exercises twice per week, but that is not enough. The rage that once fueled me to protest vigorously, has subsided greatly, though my partner might tell you otherwise. I feel ashamed of my physical cowardice, when I could not be more aligned with those who need protection.

Finances are yet another worry. Overseas travel is highly unlikely. I regret terribly that I did not visit other countries when I was younger. I have been neglectful of too many friends here in the states because I cannot be everywhere at once.

The funny thing is, I can easily envision a better world for everyone, for every species, in fact. It involves the abandonment of global capitalism, corporate control of infrastructure, pursuit of continued colonialism and empire, and instead embracing a borderless landscape. We need a “ruralopolis,” a seamless network of smaller cities, with agricultural corridors in an otherwise sparsely developed environment. International commerce would be a rare, but guaranteed treat. Currency would be something nearly intangible, almost unnecessary. We would reach consensus quickly concerning what we truly need and want. Most of those items would not be products.

Am I optimistic? No, not currently, but apparently I do have hope, and that vision, to keep me going. I do, after all, want to live long enough to see the Indigenous take back control of what is rightfully theirs.

One Thirty Over Eighty

It took a little longer than average, but I am officially old now. My physician finally prescribed high blood pressure medication. As one ages, blood vessels naturally become a little stiffer, but I dare say there is more to it than that. There are other factors at play, some of them beyond our control.

Image does not equal endorsement of the device pictured.

My good vascular health is the product of circumstances that not everyone is fortunate to have. Good genetics. Opportunities for physical exercise in terms of time and location. Financial privilege that allowed me to withdraw from the corporate workforce earlier than usual. Fewer pressures from external sources means lower pressure on my internal organs. That is what a modest inheritance can do for you, but there should be more avenues for escaping the rat race.

U.S. manufacturing is booming, if you count stress as a product.

My doctor would still like me to be on a low sodium diet, and less sugar and fat couldn’t hurt, either. Sorry, doc, but I’m not going to sacrifice the few things that still give me comfort and delight. Do you know how difficult that is to do, anyway? My partner cooks recipes passed down from generation after generation, and I guarantee you that salt content was not a consideration. If anything, such dishes may have originally met with “could use more salt” criticism.

Diet might be the least impactful element anyway. U.S. manufacturing is booming, if you count stress as a product. We are programmed by our culture to be living machines of productivity and consumerism, with precious little reward for either. We are hardly recognized as having any value outside of an economic definition. This is unhealthy, to put it mildly.

Indeed, we have allowed every aspect of our existence to be framed as monetary transactions. Even your personal health is a commodity. Problems, including those created by business enterprises, are viewed as “opportunities” for additional profit. We have the industrial-legal-medical complex whereby law firms specialize in either defending corporations, or representing individuals who are harmed physically or emotionally by those entities. Not paid a fair wage? No problem. Try the lottery, sports betting, other forms of gambling, and frivolous lawsuits. Apply for another credit card, or take out a loan. You can always use the debt consolidation services later.

When I went in for my annual check-up, a year-and-a-half or so late, the one that resulted in the blood pressure meds, I presented my insurance information first thing. When I departed, I asked the receptionist if I needed to pay anything, and was assured that my insurance would cover it since there was no specific “complaint” that would trigger a co-pay. I did have the on-site lab take blood for testing, since I didn’t know when I could get back to the clinic again….

I don’t think it was even two weeks later that I received a bill for nearly $1,000.00. The invoice also asserted that they had no insurance information on file. Wow. I called the number and, to their credit, reached a representative in a timely manner. He took my insurance information again and told me they would issue another statement once the matter was resolved. Awesome.

I don’t think another two weeks elapsed before I received another bill for over $400, likely related to the lab work since it was from a different division of the hospital. Again, they claimed they had no insurance information. I called again. Pretty certain I got through to the same representative (a comforting East Indian accent), and he took my information once again. So far, fingers crossed, I have not received another bill. Good thing I got those high blood pressure meds before the bill, right?!

I will be turning the magic age next year, and am procrastinating the debacle that is negotiating Medicare. Assuming Medicare still exists going forward. If I have to submit my insurance information multiple times as it is now, what am I in for next? Talk about needless stress, so insurance companies can profit from Part C, or whatever.

I have seen multiple posts to social media suggesting that we should be making personal friends with doctors, so that when the system collapses, we at least stand a fighting chance. I don’t think this is hyperbole, but it is a sad state of affairs. Oh, the diet thing? It really would pay to make friends with farmers, so that when the food supply chain goes south, you can at least eat. Stressed out yet? Yeah, me, too.