If you are between the ages of 50 and 65 and reading this blog, I would like to officially welcome you to the “Assassination Aisle” where your warranties start expiring, the check-engine lights come on, some mysterious diseases and unpronounceable syndromes will be assigned to you and your doctor starts frowning when he reads your lab results. Statistically speaking, this is the age when our bad choices start creeping up on us, our age starts counting against us, and the mortality curve suddenly skyrockets. This period is also known by what would be wonderfully funny names (if only it weren’t so terrifying) including: “the culling years”, “danger decade”, “drop-off zone”, and my favourite, “the twilight treadmill”.
At Zazen, our average age for end-of-life is 62. According to the Mayo Clinic, cancer has overtaken cardiovascular diseases in annihilating this age group in developed countries, with the most prominent of the cancers being lung, colorectal, breast (in women) and prostate (in men). The same research paper says that cancer deaths have increased by 6% in the past 25 years, whilst cardiovascular–related deaths have been reduced by 4%. (This is mainly due to this kind of disease being managed better). What shocked me about a recent UK-research paper I read was that it said: “It is estimated that 30–50% of all cancer cases could be prevented by avoiding known lifestyle risk factors.” It seems that we will knowingly keep choosing our vices over our health.
After cancer and heart disease, the primary killers are chronic lower respiratory diseases, cerebrovascular diseases (like strokes), diabetes and other metabolic diseases, and then nervous system diseases like Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s.
After all that, I’m not here today to quote statistics. The reason this topic is on my mind is because I thought I was in the midst of my very own “midlife massacre” last week. If you read our blog regularly, you will know that I recently I had a cholecystectomy (fancy word for a surgeon whipping out my gallbladder). I made a wonderful recovery until I found myself back in ER, doubled over in pain after a syncopal episode (I’m just throwing out the fancy words today – that means that I passed out dramatically like only a Leo can). After a serious pain meds and mentions of all sorts of fear–inducing words like “pancreatic issues” and “bile duct cancer”, I had another myriad of scans and tests and being pushed into dark tunnels, convinced of my approaching death. I’ll fast forward and assure you that nothing sinister has been detected, and it looks like with some good drugs and an expensive specialist’s help, I’ll be back irritating my staff in no time.
But I want to admit here that I was seriously scared.I realized that for a long time I thought I was immortal despite some close friends and family members dying in their 50s and early 60s. Unlike many of my friends, I also did not have to navigate difficult diagnoses or chronic disabilities. Maybe we all think, “Things like that won’t happen to me…” until they do. In that uncertain period when all I was experiencing was extreme pain and memories of patients with bile duct or pancreatic cancer, I did not think of any deep existential things like eternity and destiny. I thought of relationships (and as we are so honest here, my cat). In the end, our people, our family, our human connection is the only thing that matters.
There are a few particularly youngish people we’ve served during their end-of-life period that haunted me while I lay motionless in the MRI tunnel. Trevor was 51 and dying of pancreatic cancer. His sisters came from all over the world to be with him. His children made turns staying over at night. On his first days with us, he was still answering e-mails, completing work assignments and talking about getting better, despite not a single doctor giving him any hope that he would. We slowly saw him come to terms with his disease, and it was also clear to us all that he knew, instinctively, that the physical end of his life would just be a transition, and he stopped being concerned with the mundane and messiness of his life. It is such a blessing for everyone, not just those of us walking down assassination aisle, to have a gentle journey.
Many of our friends did not have an opportunity to gracefully walk this road. They were in noisy, impersonal ICUs or in hospital wards. My one friend passed away at home, which was her wish, but her family was completely overwhelmed and their loss has been compounded by the trauma of seeing her suffer without experienced people around to manage symptoms and fears.
There is certainly a lot to learn to accept here on the edge of the edge, but it is not all gloom and doom. It is a wonderful opportunity for us to start paying attention to the dashboard lighting up. We still have the chance to lower our BMI, to quit smoking, to get out and exercise, and get our 8 hours of beauty sleep. Apart from our physical health, we can focus on the people in our lives that matter, say the important things, forgive and atone, say thank you, live gratefully and gently. Maybe this is also the time to stop rushing through our hurried lives, take stock of where we are spiritually and where we want to go. Let’s all celebrate those we have lost too soon and honour them by living our lives into old age… a privilege they were not given.