Life generally takes an unusual turn beyond the age of sixty. This has been true in my case. But many others might not suffer similar woes. Maybe their problems vary, because the human body is the most complex machine ever designed. Some of the facts recounted here, however, might strengthen the resolve of many people to face similar predicaments in their own lives. And then, of course, the race to the finishing line ahead for all human beings remains the final stage of existence. There is no distinction here.
I will record here the peculiar set of circumstances that generally tended to hack at my self-esteem periodically.
When I was around 55, I suffered very strange feelings of discomfort around my skull. A plethora of tablets and frequent hot showers had very little effect. However, I continued to ignore the discomfort. One senior radiologist, Brigadier Murthy (if my memory serves me right), asked me some baffling questions after scrutinising an X-ray image of my skull.
“Tell me Rajamani, how many times have you been changing your head gear?” I blinked, trying to figure out why such a question was being posed. While I remained tongue-tied, the doctor spread the X-ray sheet on the screen and said: “See this firm line marking the outline of your skull. It is unusually thick and your skull bone will continue to thicken. You probably have Paget’s disease.”
Changing size
I had to go through a medical dictionary to understand the nature of the malaise. However, some months later, it was clear that none of my older berets fitted my head! A neurologist friend measured the girth of my head over two consecutive years to demonstrate what Paget’s meant! He also pacified me when I expressed alarm at the rapid disappearance of many teeth on my upper jaw: “Sir, this is due to your disease. Don’t worry, it’s a benign problem. Just go to a good dentist to fix the upper jaw as your lower gums seem perfect.”
There was a party where many of my relatives and neighbours had assembled. A close friend approached me and whispered: “Raja, you are so glum-faced today and not smiling at all. What is the matter with you?” I forced a smile without opening my mouth. He was perplexed. I told him while driving back that I had only two teeth left in the upper jaw. Luckily enough, my daughter-in-law is a good dentist. She bridged the gap and I now manage to smile alright, but still half-heartedly.
Hearing issues
A few years later I found that I had to often ask my wife to repeat whatever she said. A stage came when she became exasperated. I realised that I was going deaf in my left ear. I had to get a hearing aid for Rs. 5,000. My life at home improved somewhat because there was no need to annoy my wife anymore by asking her to repeat her statements. But this period of truce was brief. The deafness spread to my right ear too. Her words became unintelligible, leading to more quarrels at home! Thanks to technology, however, today I wear excellent aids in both the ears and peace prevails at home.
Some years after my retirement, I got an assignment as the manager of a guest house at Kodaikanal. Some friends considered me very lucky and a few sounded envious of my position. I enjoyed my work and savoured a modicum of independence that I had never experienced before. My output was good but my boss was yet to allow my wife to come and stay with me. Perhaps he wanted to put me through the mill and test me for a few months more.
It appears that Dame Fortune did not favour me. One day late in the evening, when it was biting cold, I found the room spinning as if I was placed on the edge of a high-velocity merry-go-round. All alone, sitting on my bed, it was quite a baffling experience. There was no help. I shouted for the watchman who was about 50 metres away. I wondered what had hit me. Somehow I groped in the darkness and moved along the wall to open the door for the watchman. An autorickshaw was arranged and I was taken to a small hospital in driving rain and amid piercing wind.
It was late at night when the doctor came to look at me. He whispered: “You had a bout of vertigo and good thing you came. I had your contact number and tomorrow by noon your wife will arrive from Coimbatore.”
Leaving Kodaikanal
I heaved a sigh of relief. We had to leave Kodaikanal and rush to Coimbatore. At a big hospital there, the specialist approached me: “Sir, I have examined your papers. You have Paget’s disease already. Probably the bones around the cranium and the inner ear are affected, leading to deafness as well as vertigo.” I was discharged with a long list of medicines. I continue taking them because the very thought of that terrible night sends shivers down my spine. Sadly enough, that was the end of my Kodaikanal assignment.
I was approaching 70. One night I developed excruciating pain around the nasal region. The doctor said my ears were all right (except for the constriction caused by Paget’s) and that I must go to the dentist for an examination. It took quite a while for the dentist to declare there was
nothing abnormal but I should consult a bone specialist. I was being led along a long path to despair.
It was almost two years while I learned to live with painkillers till an excellent orthopedic surgeon invited me to his clinic. After going through my papers he said: “I will prescribe a nasal spray. Continue inhaling it twice a day and see me next month. You have a bone problem. It is an extension of Paget’s disease causing pain in the region around the maxilla.” I was surprised that the search for a cure ended only after three-odd years! I continue taking this nasal spray. The pain has vanished.
Matters of the heart
I think there are many of my age whose hearts are subjected to constant examination by cardiologists. My cardiologist told me after an angiogram procedure: “Colonel, you are seventy three and have to get your aortic valve replaced within the next three months. I feel that your case calls for surgery at once instead of taking a chance and waiting till you are ninety three!”
This was the very frank view of a doctor… an old-timer. I can’t say anything about other doctors of today.
Accordingly, I underwent a valve replacement procedure in November 2013. The surgery was a memorable experience. After I was moved out of the operation theatre I could hear many voices around me; those of my surgeon, the nurses and some young interns. Most seemed to shout, “Colonel, wake up, wake up, you are doing well.” I could even hear a storm outside with heavy raindrops falling on the hospital roof. Suddenly the surgeon whispered in my ear: “Move your fingers, I’m holding them.” But I found it impossible to react. My body wouldn’t respond to any stimuli whatever. Some time later on that fateful night, a young intern took over and boldly opened my eyes and held a powerful torch near my pupil. I think my eyes must have flickered. The surgeon who oversaw everything shouted: “Congratulations Colonel, your operation is successful! We will move you out to the ICU.”
Frankly, I never understood this twilight zone after my cardiac surgery. I asked many of my doctor friends but still feel dissatisfied as no explanation sounded satisfactory. My doubt is: ‘Is this how a dying man feels before his end comes?’
I feel that life’s path after 70 is quite tortuous for many. It might scare some who read this. But I am confident a person’s will to live is very robust and there is really no need for him or her to fear. I am, however certain that my military training did contribute a great deal towards facing the realities of my life. Is it because we are trained to face death in the battlefield that our will to live is strong? I don’t know.
Colonel (retd.) Rajamani served in the Madras Sappers for 33 years, and saw action in the war of 1965, with 5 Engineer Regiment in the Sialkot sector and with 9 Rapid Engineer Regiment in the Battle of Basantar.
