By some standards, I’m already old. A white woman born in
America a hundred years ago would have had a life expectancy of 48
years. If she survived infancy, childbirth and infectious diseases
that were likely to shorten her life.
By some standards, I’m already old. A white woman born in America a hundred years ago would have had a life expectancy of 48 years. If she survived infancy, childbirth and infectious diseases that were likely to shorten her life.
From that perspective, at 57 I’ve already had nine bonus years.
But now, as I see my parents’ generation going into their late 80s and beyond, I know I can expect another 20 or so years, and I wonder what my future will be like.
I know a woman, now in her 80s, who watched one of her best high school friends lose her mind to Alzheimer’s disease. The friend, formerly an adventurous, fun-loving pal, became increasingly querulous and confused. She disparaged the help that her family offered, protesting when she was moved to a facility that could watch her around the clock and keep her safe.
As the woman I know watched her friend deteriorate, she often said “If I get like that, just remind me about Ebba.” Now she is “like that” and our reminders don’t sink in. She doesn’t realize she has retreated into a twilight where she can no longer make good decisions on her own behalf.
She and her husband are lucky: still physically strong, they are financially able to afford in-home care and they have adult children who help make sure they are well cared-for and safe.
A friend of mine worries about her parents, in their late 80s and still living alone in Southern California. The thrift they learned in the Depression now prevents them from throwing out spoiled food, and their self-reliance keeps them driving even though it’s no longer safe.
Another friend’s parents have been taken advantage of by a series of caregivers.
So I realize the time to prepare is now, while I still have most of my marbles.
I have no children, and my husband’s son lives in Illinois, not my idea of a retirement paradise. We have nieces and nephews who love us. But I think we’ll have to be fairly self-reliant.
I’ve started looking into retirement facilities. The choices are confusing. I’m leaning towards the “continuous care” type. In exchange for a large upfront payment and monthly fees, they provide not only a dwelling and meals but greater and greater levels of medical care as necessary.
There are catches, though: You have to be able to afford it. You have to enter while you’re still mainly healthy and of sound mind. And a lot of the places feature amenities that I have no particular interest in paying for, notably, golf courses.
Isn’t there an “Old Artists and Writers Home” somewhere?
I’d rather have my monthly fees cover wi-fi internet, visits to a jazz club and a yoga studio than maintaining golf carts and fairways.
On the other hand, it probably wouldn’t kill me to learn how to play golf.
I’m more worried about knowing when it’s time. While real retirement is still several years off, what else should my husband and I be doing to prepare? How will we know, who will tell us, and who will I believe, when we can’t take care of ourselves any more?
