Two weeks tomorrow since the accident, and I am still pathetically nervous walking around outdoors. I nearly tripped over my toes walking to the train in the city tonight, and my heart leaped to the my throat as I relived that terrifying moment when I hurtled downward to the pavement at speed, as if hurled from a great height. I’ve lost four pounds on this stupid diet, and my face looks different — haggard, careworn (though truth to tell, my battered chin is healing much faster than I could have hoped).
Like my fellow boomers, I was never going to grow old, and I have stubbornly tried to keep the years at bay, with some success until now. I have nearly always had fewer health complaints than most of my contemporaries, although perhaps I was just too proud to share them. But falling seems a well-demarcated border — I feel that I have now crossed a frontier into a new country. I am now older at least, if not officially old.
Just before the accident, I was finally starting to think concretely about retirement, probably later this year. It’s long been a dream of mine to visit India, a trip which requires ample time so I’d postponed it until my post-work life. And just recently, I’d contentedly begun to research a trip — one of my great joys; sometimes I think I like the planning and anticipation nearly as much as the actual travel. I am very thorough — I read books, I surf the net, I hang out on travel boards and read everything and ask questions.
One theme kept arising, on the part of older travelers like myself — ‘is this too taxing a trip for someone my age? At my age, must I book a full-service package to be sure I can manage the demands?’ And so forth. Three weeks ago I’d skimmed these questions with nonchalant detachment. Sure, I might have a touch of osteoporosis and might not be as flexible as I was a few decades back, but I’d never felt unequal to anything I’d assigned myself.
Now, inescapably, I do. The word ‘diminished’ arose unbidden and has lingered in my mind as the best descriptor of the psychological impact of my accident. I hate it, but there it is. Have I left India too late? No, that’s too bitterly disappointing — I’ve long cherished this retirement capstone as a deserved reward for all my years in the workforce. I must get over this. I will!
Linnetontheleaf 
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