Another Year Older, Definitely a Little Wiser

It’s my birthday!

I’ve never had a particularly hard time accepting that with time comes increased age, perhaps because I’ve always felt as if I occupy a body and brain older than my own. And yes, I’m sitting in a wheelchair, admiring my latest embroidery project, drinking a Boost, digesting some pudding, and planning my next cup of tea as I write this. Where’s my flannel nightie?

I won’t claim to be fully immune to weird feelings about how quickly the years pass and how little it sometimes seems I have to show for them. I’ve developed pretty effective coping strategies, though: a dash of denial, a pinch of acceptance. Stir in the fact that I start mentally preparing by thinking of myself as being a year older starting on January first, a good nine months before I technically reach that age, and you’ve got yourself a senior-friendly digestive cookie.

Last October, I moved from the general hospital to the rehab facility a few days before my birthday. It was a period of great excitement. It was also, however, tiring, stressful, and confusing. I’d had it in my head, I guess, that a magical transformation would take place in the ambulance transporting me from one hospital to the other—that a paramedic would say “poof,” and I’d arrive in the new unit able to participate in physical therapy in the form of rigorous calisthenics in the physio gym and brisk walks through the grounds.

Needless to say, there was some misalignment between reality and my delusion. Calisthenics and brisk walks? Try gentle stretching and rides on a Hoyer lift. Even that was exhausting.

And so between the thrill of the move, the stress of adjusting to a new environment, and my general state of still-not-great health, I wasn’t exactly pumped about the idea of doing anything major for my birthday.

This year, then, feels like the first “true” opportunity to properly celebrate. Not that I’m aiming, or want to aim, for anything over the top. Indeed, I’m perfectly content with a quiet but joyful acknowledgment that I was born—a gentle reminder that I’m here for a reason. That it’s a privilege to be alive. My husband I will have a fancy dinner, go out for frozen yogurt, and watch something together. I’ll wear my best sweatpants and read a book. Sure beats a hospital gown and a day-long nap.

Here’s to the year to come. I’m confident that it’ll be my best in a long, long time.