That's all it is. Until I am at that psychological tipping point between birth and death. 40 is way too grown up. I had a hard enough time coming to terms with being married to a man in his forties, let alone allowing myself to consider being in the same boat. But its just a day older than I was when I was 39. The same as I was just a day older when I became 39.
A girl I went to school with bowed out of existence when she was 27, when she came off her motorbike at a busy crossroads. To my knowledge, she is the only one of my school year that is no longer with us. I found that too, quite difficult to comprehend. She was never the sort of person at school you would have expected to be a biker. We were reasonably good friends, having spent our entire school lives in the same schools and year. She was a sweet and kind girl, prone to be quiet, but still fun. I was shocked when I heard about her demise, having lost touch after school, I had only recently found her on a jaunt into Friends Reunited and sent her a message. I received a compassionate and gentle email from her work colleague who had been tasked with dealing with her email, letting me know what had happened. It was no more than a week after her funeral. It taught me a lesson in mortality that I was not prepared for. Of course I had already experienced death and the grief that can only be felt when someone you dearly love departs, but they were old, they had lived most of their lives, nowadays they would most likely have been able to extend their lives by 15 - 20 years simply because of the greater medical understanding that exists but they were not of an age where death would be unexpected at the time. 68/70 was not far short of the average life expectancy. 27 however... well that, for me, was a real eye-opener. For about five minutes until life went on as it does and all my best "seize-the-day" thoughts went out of the window while my husband and I battled with my secondary infertility as best we could.
I had another seize-the-day point when I was in my mid 30's and found a lump the size of a tennis ball in my left breast. How did I not notice it sooner? Because it pretty much still felt like breast until it got hot and inflamed. It wasn't obviously not supposed to be there. When it did become apparent and I went to the GP he was horrified, referred me to the breast clinic and had sleepless nights over the lump being the size that it was. He pretty much had me convinced I was screwed. The barrage of testing that followed the surreal wait for an appointment revealed that it was in fact a massive abscess caused most likely by the end of my career in breastfeeding causing a blockage. That week before I knew though, I was planning my funeral, thinking up ways to craft things for the kids to remember me by, crying irrationally and generally being stuck in a permanent panic attack.
The relief after that appointment was somewhat tinged with a sense of loss. When I thought I was done for, I felt there was a finite end in sight and whilst it was terrifying I could at least do something positive with the remaining time I had. I think I experienced my clearest sense of focus during that time, than I ever have prior or since.
When that was lifted from me, the focus went too. I had a plan for the worst case scenario. I hadn't even considered there would be an alternative outcome. I was elated but also confused. How could I handle this complete turn of events?
Several failed courses of antibiotics later and I found myself as an inpatient having surgery to remove the unpleasantness and have half a hosepipe wedged in the hole to allow even drainage as it healed. On the ward, I was the only one there for that sort of treatment. The other three ladies were there having cancer treatment. One of them, a young university student, was very very sick. But she kept a positive attitude. They all did. Every single one of those women put me to shame. The young woman, she had split with her boyfriend as he couldn't handle the situation, and was almost certainly facing her final days. But she faced them with dignity. She put on her make up every morning, kept going, got by. I came home from there filled with a new resolve to never ever indulge in self-pity again. I had so much to be grateful for.
But yet again, human nature takes over and these bursts of carpe diem cannot last forever. Part of me wants to throw myself into the whole life begins at 40 concept and do all that stuff where chasing after your youth and proving you are still alive is the priority. Albeit the unspoken one.
But that enthusiasm never lasts. So I don't think I will do that. I will instead, just enjoy the moment, not dwell too much on the significance, and move swiftly on. Sometimes a whole day is too much to try and keep a grip on. The moments will do.
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