A NEW ME FOR '23

It started out as a very good year last January when we arrived in sunny Vero Beach, Florida for a long winter’s nap. Mr. Wonderful and I reconnected with treasured friends, discovered the nearest golf courses and sipped Margaritas on the beach at sunset. Blissful.

Then in early February I fell flat on my face, planting chin, nose and front teeth into a cobblestone sidewalk during an afternoon stroll. 

CDC factoid: Falls account for over 8 million hospital ER visits.

Each year in the United States, one of every three persons over the

age of 65 will experience a fall.

A compassionate friend took one look at my bloody mouth and Hedda Nussbaum-esque facial bruises, then whisked me to his dentist who was an Angel of Mercy. She wiped away my tears, pushed my two white dangling choppers back into the upper jaw, arranged for X-rays, et al, at a nearby trauma hospital, then set me up with an endodonti$t and orthodonti$t.

When you’re poised to turn 80, sporting a mouthful of braces is not high on your Bucket List. Enough other stuff is falling apart, atrophying, heading south, gone-zo. It only took me a few days to learn that devouring spaghetti al dente at Mario’s Ristorante required a trip to the Ladies to remove pasta strands hanging from the metal.

Over the next few months, I was so busy waterpik-ing eight times a day that I failed to notice my friends were speaking WAY TOO SOFTLY, almost in whispers.

Uh oh. What’s with my hearing?

A good friend, Kathleen Kinsella, noticed that I was streaming “Can you repeat that?” non-stop. She called me in mid-summer, mentioning that she wanted to talk. I thought it might be to reminisce about her lovely mom Marilyn, a special pal, who had died the prior February. Instead, Kathleen added, “I want to give you something that belonged to my mom.”  

My first thought: could it be Marilyn’s putter? (She was so good on the greens!) Or a gold brooch? Opera-length Mikimotos? (Marilyn lived the good life.) What could the “something” be?

When Kathleen drove to the Wells woods and walked in carrying a large tote, she said, “Val, this is a little unusual but I hope you like what I’m about to give you.” Wth that she pulled out brand new blue-tooth-connected top-of-the-line Oticon hearing aids. (Honestly? The last thing I expected.)

“Marilyn bought these shortly before she died and never really used them,” Kath said. “I thought they might be, well, uh, a help to you.”

I was grateful but not sure I actually needed or wanted them, especially on top of the metal train tracks in my mouth, my stiff arthritic fingers, the falling flesh, the liver spots, etc. … so I put the tote in a closet …  a la Scarlett O’Hara. 

“Tomorrow” came in mid-November when I sat at a Garden Club meeting and watched people’s mouths moving but heard hardly one word they said. I went home, took the Oticon box out of the closet and drove directly to HearingLife where a specialist named Tricia gave me a hearing test. 

I did not ace it.

So I “adopted” Marilyn’s hearing aids which primarily involved tapping my Visa card. I now wear the damn things daily and am learning to negotiate hoop earrings and N95s with the little beige doohickey that hangs behind the ear. Amazingly, the other day I asked Mr. Wonderful to TURN DOWN the volume while we were watching “Yellowstone.”

CDC factoid:  Over 430 million people are currently living with

  disabling hearing loss. That figure will nearly double within 

the next three decades to over 700 million.

Hearing loss is especially a concern among seniors. 

Over 30% of people between the ages of 65 and 74 live with

hearing loss, while more than 50% of older adults above 75

face hearing-related challenges.

And my point is? 

2022 was challenging but survivable. It was a year of transition and a decade-turner. Today, I’m out of my braces and I can hear. I know that everyone faces uncomfortable, painful and tough issues. No one gets a free or easy pass, especially us Seniors. But we are still here (and not down there) to deal and cope with the challenges. That’s the good news, and that’s life. 

I recall my Dad telling me when he was in his 80s and suffering from advanced Parkinsons: “Val, growing old is not for sissies.” 

I also like the words of artist/writer Morgan Harper Nichols: “One day, you will look back and see that all along, you were blooming.” I hope to bloom big time in 2023!