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Pink Egyptian Starflowers |
These amazingly fragrant and abundant flowers are showing up everywhere I walk these days. It seems I just went through this neighborhood last week, and there wasn't a single pink flower here, but look at today! (Okay, yesterday.) And this is one another of those flowers whose scent I know well, but am I actually smelling them today or just remembering that smell? As my old reliable nose and memories collide, and as time continues to deteriorate my senses, I wonder about it. Who knows?
I learned that the diminution of the ability to smell certain things is known as hyposmia, rather than anosmia (complete loss of smell). I've been dealing with this issue since I first began taking lisinopril many years ago. I didn't notice the lack of smell for quite a long time, as it was very slow to develop. And some things I have always been able to smell, such as the scent of roses and a few other flowers. But slowly I began to realize that other people could smell fragrances that were not available to me. I soon realized that I cannot smell certain biological smells, such as poop and farts. Now that isn't such a bad thing, but it means that I cannot assume that my farts are not toxic to others. I discreetly slip out of the room if I have to let one go in public places.
It has not led to any loss of taste, however. Although I use hearing aids, I don't thave severe hearing loss (thank goodness), but one by one my senses are growing dimmer and less available as I move into late elderhood. Sometimes I wonder if it's a normal aging process to lose these abilities, in order to get one accustomed to finally losing them all. As I get older, I find that I am less distressed by these senses beginning to dim. I remember so much of the joys of living with these senses that I am not sure I am not simply filling in the gaps with remembrance. And if so, does it really matter?
Probably the hardest sense to lose is the one of sight. That has been a real distressing part of aging for me. But even that is quite doable, with all the new technology we have available to us, such as audio assistance, and my favorite new toy, magnifiers. I have amassed quite a collection of them, and I am always looking to find others to help me cope with my degrading vision. With my inability to see beginning to fade, I am learning to find other ways to enjoy my continuing abilities.
And it's not like I can't see at all, but that my central vision is going. In my right eye, it's completely gone, but I have good peripheral vision, so if I want to see a detail with my right eye, I get out a magnifying glass and look at it sideways, sort of. Or use both eyes to figure out something that I am looking at. The cost of these eye injections is awful, too: not only do I have to endure a ten-second jab, but I now also must pay more than $400 for the privilege of having that stuff injected in my left eye. They aren't even bothering with the right eye, since that central vision is gone and not coming back. When I mentioned in another post the cost of the treatment, people wondered why Medicare doesn't cover it. Well, they cost $5000 per shot, and that is my "co-pay." And the injections don't actually prevent the disease of geographic atrophy, but simply slow its progression down.
I am just going to let nature take its course. In July I will get another injection, but then I will stop. I don't have that kind of money and it also doesn't help all that much. Nobody knows how much it might slow things down, but I've grown quite able to accomplish much of what I've always done. Looking at photos of scenes that are mostly dark are hard to see, and once I figure out what I'm looking at, my brain manages to fill in the rest. I can still drive, carefully and not far, but it's still possible to be safe if it's sunny and bright out and I am familiar with the route.
I also have still not begun to join the Senior Trailblazer hikes again, since I fell in February and really did a number on my right hip, the one I injured in 2000. I have been through plenty of trauma in my eight-two years of life, and now most of it is because I still often forget my limitations and come up against them. But there are plenty of people out there who are not as agile and strong as I am, so I will count by blessings and remember how much I can still accomplish. For one thing, I'm sitting here in a dark room staring at a white screen, and I can write here without much difficulty. I notice how much easier it is to see when there is plenty of light.
wveral miles without difficulty, and gradually my hip and right leg are getting stronger as I continue to walk a few miles every day, and I am able to manage up to five miles right now, with more ability to come, I'm convinced. It's a long ways from here to being totally disabled, something that many people learn to deal with. Maybe that will be me one day, but not today.
I managed to oversleep this morning, so I don't have as much time as usual to compose this post. John will be coming to get me for our usual Sunday breakfast, and I need to get my exercises done, and my meditation as well, before he comes in his chariot (er, truck) and transport me to Fairhaven. He had another event last week and I was surprised at how much I missed seeing him. Here it is already another Sunday, and I am glad he will be coming soon. But that means I need to finish this up quickly and get out of bed, get dressed and start my daily routine. This Sunday morning post is part of it, and I'm so glad that there are still so many wonderful ways for me to enjoy the day ahead. And, of course, I have my dear sweet partner, still sleeping next to me, and I have you, my dear virtual family, whose posts will have to wait until later today for me to read them, but they are there, and I'll find out how all of you are faring on this late spring (or late fall) day. Until we meet again next week, I wish you all good things. Be well.
12 comments:
Some Drug companies offer programs to help with the cost of co pays. I would contact the company directly or at a minimum ask your Doctor as the drug reps should have given the office info on all their available programs. It is worth a try. Those pink flowers are beautiful! I hope you have a wonderful week. We both still have the crud here, mainly coughing and being tired. Hope we both turn the corner this week as we are both on antibiotics again.
DJan,
The scent of blooms still stirs your mind,
Though fading senses fall behind.
A memory's whiff, a fragrant trace,
Still brings a smile to your face.
Your farts, unsmelled, are stealthy feats—
A gift, perhaps, in crowded seats!
Though sight may dim and sounds may blur,
Your words still dance, your thoughts still stir.
With magnifiers, heart, and wit,
You’re aging like a poet—fit!
The trail may slow, but not your grace,
You still light up the human race.
So Sunday calls, and John draws near—
May breakfast come with love and cheer.
And when you read these lines today,
Know we admire you all the way.
John
I'm suddenly at a loss for words, having read John's latest poem! Funnny and kind, and clever as always. :^) Well DJan, I read today's post and couldn't get "you take the good, you take the bad" out of my head. You face the realities of aging head on, but still look for all the goodness that life still has to offer, like your pretty starflowers. I hope your breakfast with John and day and week ahead all have joy.
I too am impressed with John's poem... so in tune with your post today.
As for your aging senses, I guess by our 80's we all have to endure this to some extent.. I agree that 'sight' is a very important one and would definitely be harder to lose. I read so much that losing sight would bother me a lot more than losing hearing does. I did lose my sense of smell and taste for about 3 weeks after my covid attack last July... but luckily it came back.
But your focusing on what 'you do have'... and not what 'you once had' is healthy and realizing that we simply (maybe not so simply) have to adjust to this new stage in life. I guess what I'm trying to say is that we made it this far, we just need the strength to hang in there. Hugs, Rian
John's poems are quite remarkable. He has a gift.
So do you, for making the most out of life. I hope I am turning that corner again too. These last four months have been hard, and my mobility and the state of the nation and the world are not better either, but I hope to get to the bright side more often again.
Happy Sunday! The sun is shining through here this morning.
Loud applause for John.
Thank you for the gift of those starflowers and for your attitude. Thank you so much. And hugs.
I enjoy John's poetic comments. Hearing is my big loss. I can cope with it. Other people can not deal with my loss. The sense I miss most is balance. I started noticing balance issues in my mid 50's. It's steadily got worse.
It just struck me, as you said, it is late spring. Good grief! Time is disappearing at an alarming rate. Age does that!
Have a great week, Jan. Enjoy what is!
We don’t know what others sense or don’t sense. For example, my spouse has a much keener sense of smell than I, and she also sees brighter. I wonder what other of our senses differ without either of us knowing. Well, she does hear a lot better, and we see differently, I better near and she better far. Now, I wonder about touch.
I looked up the starflower because your photo looks like a clematis I had at a previous house so I was puzzled. The photos I found online of the star flowers show thicker leaves and smaller flowers. Maybe a flower person can say for sure?
Such pretty flowers! I say--yes--let your brain fill in the gaps. Absolutely!
Collect whatever you can find to help you adapt to whatever changes lie ahead--yes. You have much precious time left to live. :) :)
It does my heart good to read how you are dealing with the diminishing capacities that will come to us all, if we are lucky. At nearly 78, I'm having a season of recognizing mine: need hearing aids, a mild glaucoma diagnosis, perpetual peripheral neuropathy which means it's hard to push my walking exercise to more than 5 miles, insomnia. Yet I feel as if I'm in great shape compared to many age peers. And your resilience is being a model to me ... Meanwhile, as you know, I keep on fighting the good fight I've engaged in all of life, working for a kinder, more gentle America. At this stage of life, that struggle is habitual. Be well.
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