“This sickness is such a bore.”

            My friend has a point. Our chums are falling apart. Each day a diagnosis, surgery, compound fracture. Who isn’t awaiting a biopsy result! We tiptoe through time as I do walking Henry in our driveway – gingerly, not to step in it. Each shocking bulletin isn’t really surprising. “Age-appropriate” – a sour adjective north of seventy. (I hold my breath as Biden strains to look youthful. No more biking, please!)

            It is boring, sickness – the waiting – for healing, appointments, results. Is home care required? Who takes Medicare? A specialist refers us to a subspecialist who’s alas, fully booked. One orthopedist does shoulders, another fingers, another knees. Convivial meals commence with organ recitals. Did we know so-and-so had passed? Gosh, no, we hadn’t heard.

            Boring to endure, but interesting to observe. Our friends are as smart as they come, yet amazed when something happens to them. We live as if we’re the exception who’ll motor cheerfully to our centennial. I figure I’m good till ninety-five at least. You can do a lot in twenty-three years. (How many years did Keats have? Or Schubert?)

            Life: predictable in general, surprising in the particular. I wake with a chart: From Nullity to Nullity: the Human Arc. I attach to each phase an -ility label for mnemonic convenience. (Increasingly I depend on sonic associations to fix language in mind.) I scribble my phases into my bedside notebook not to forget. (It’s an ugly hour. Not even Henry feels like getting up.)

            Here’s what dawn discovers:

1.     Nullity

2.     Viability

3.     Ability

4.     Stability

5.     Inutility

6.     Fragility

7.     Nullity

We start as sperm and ovum, too small to see. We’re born. Will we make it? In ancient Rome, up to a third of newborns didn’t make the cut to toddlerdom. It’s better now, but still dicey.

From toddlerdom to adulthood, we hone our abilities. We strive to be the best athlete, student, video-gamer, whatever. Fearless of injury or obstacles, we hurtle ahead. I observe my grandkids’ progress slack-jawed. How do they grow so fast!

Now grown, we must construct our home, family, career, love life, savings, to withstand the storm of time. What we’re good at isn’t the point anymore, or what we’d prefer, it’s how we perform. Do we rise to the top of our profession? Have we banked enough not to burden our kids? What about the mortgage, life-insurance, long-term care insurance (speaking of boring)? Stability glimmers like the Promised Land.

Then suddenly the world doesn’t need us anymore. Here’s your inscribed clock, now get lost. Some rue this deflation of prestige; others (my lot) whoop it up. We’re free! What mightn’t we fashion out of this windfall of time! Or maybe – why not – just dance!

Then, clank, the portcullis drops, debility strikes. A lump. We trip. A tumor – out of nowhere! Our doc doesn’t like some reading (though it could be – almost surely is – nothing). Fragility, an eventuality no longer, has arrived – with no plans to depart. No, we’re not helpless yet – not by a long shot – we could go decades – but we’re alert, attentive to niggling pains which could prove much more.

Now we frequent doctors’ offices – too frequently, granted – but better safe than sorry, no? We discuss our health with friends, even though it’s dull, because it’s on our minds. We’ve got plans, you bet, but taking care comes first. We buy trip insurance.

No, we don’t fear nullity – not we! – but let’s postpone our return as long as we can. Sure, sickness is a bore, but compared to the tedium of eternity?

(No. Don’t go there.)