Later Life Talkback - 51

 Do you really want to live to 150? 

It’s getting scary. Not long ago I heard a scientist on the radio saying that someone who is alive today will survive to the ripe old age of 150. Judging by the jubilation in his voice, I think he hopes it will be him, and he’s welcome to the privilege (if that’s what it really is).

Because living to 150 would not be just a couple of injections or a few pills followed by a nice lot of extra healthy years to add to the existing lifespan. It is far more likely to involve replacements of failing hearts, livers and other organs, perhaps stem cell procedures (which could mean chemotherapy and steroid treatment), possibly being hospitalised for long spells, becoming vulnerable to infection, and, presumably, relying on a high degree of medical supervision after these procedures.

Think of the cost (though only for the seriously rich). And the anxiety, living under the shadow of the possibility of one treatment after another failing, not to mention the hostility of the young who resent scarce resources being spent on older generations. And becoming a bit of a freak, with most of your friends and relatives dying off. And watching a world reliving its mistakes again and again while you are powerless and marginalised, the way the elderly are, no matter how wealthy or healthy they are. (And possibly that’s how they will want to be, having got disenchanted with the ways of the world.)

Of course I may  be entirely wrong, and living to 150 might become the norm, with some elixir of life or simple medical procedures available for everyone, which work efficiently and carry little risk. Maybe we will then survive to be healthy and fit and programmed to suddenly drop dead at 150 plus one month, having suffered deterioration only in those last few weeks.

That wouldn’t be a happy ending either, though. We’d still want more when it came to the final crunch. We don’t want to die, and the truth is that we are in denial about old age and illness and the finality of death, until it actually happens to us. Learning to grow old gracefully and honestly is not easy in a society that is overtly ageist, making us ashamed of our wrinkles and grey hair and imperfect bodies.

But sooner or later – and we all hope it is later – we do have to accept. 

We have to accept that doctors and scientists cannot make us immortal, and nor can good diet, exercise and taking daily multivitamins, though they can help prolong a healthier old age.

Discovering our mortality is very difficult indeed. As we continue to live longer and with greater vigour, we find it increasingly difficult to accept the label ‘old’. With 60 the new 50, and 80 the new 70, when does old age actually begin? We cope by saying forget birthdays, it’s how you feel that counts. We tend to regard our contemporaries as older in looks and manner than we are, and if we are all doing it, then some grand illusion is going on.  And who knows - this may be a necessary condition of survival.

When my parents died, aged 98 and 99  (yes, yes I know – good genes) they fought all the way until the end, when they finally had to give in and accept their destiny. One of the nurses said, ‘Old people do that in the end, when they see that they can’t fight any more.’  Part of me wishes that they had made the last months happier for themselves and for their children by acknowledging more and fighting less. But another part, in retrospect, admires them for their battle to retain independence. 

It’s good to resist old age, but it’s also good to greet death gracefully, whether we live to 150 or no more than three score years and ten. 

But we can’t do it alone.  There’s got to be a revolution, some of it in the form of respect. We need respect from society at large, so that we are appreciated for our experience and judgement and wisdom. We need it from the medical profession so that our final days are handled with dignity and sensitivity. We need to offered choices about how and where we die.

Putting off the agony till we reach 150, should we ever do so, is too late.  We need to start the revolution now.