Been There, Done That: Nine Decades And Counting By Alice Herb: What I Can No Longer Do

By Alice Herb

With my 93rd birthday approaching, I am finally able to face my rapidly disappearing abilities that I previously took for granted for so many decades. For so long, I tried to pretend this wasn’t really happening, but here it is all in front of me -and in back of me and all around me. Some are prominent abilities that most of us take completely for granted and that have been deeply painful to have to accommodate: my critical loss of hearing and my ability to walk unaided.  

For a while, my loss of hearing could be hidden by making sure that my hair covered my ears. But that was a bad deal. I was still teaching at the time, and I had difficulty hearing my students. I thought I could overcome my early hearing deficit by walking around the room. But increasingly, deafness began to invade more and more of my activities. I had problems hearing at meetings and conferences. That certainly wouldn’t do. Then I couldn’t hear clearly in the theater and at gatherings of more than a few people. Each set of hearing aids improved my hearing somewhat until now, when I always carry a small mic with me that I can put out on a table to enhance the sound. But it still fails me badly at parties and at the theater, and most sadly at classical concerts and the opera. But I have managed.

But walking unaided is a terrible loss. For a while, I was supported by a bright colored cane of roses, but I am now demoted to a walker. My son picked up the walker for me. It is high-end, with a comfortable seat, and is at least bright red. I immediately dubbed it the “Bentley.” But recently, as I was rushing to an appointment, I had to stop for a red light. A man of a certain age was standing there and admonished me to stand still, or else I would be run over by the onrush of traffic. I told him my Bentley was keeping me from falling, and I was careful. His reply lifted my spirits by saying that it was a misnomer; it was surely a Maserati. But still, it is depressing. Although I can walk a couple of miles with the now-renamed Maserati, it does tire my arms, and it is difficult to shop and to travel, most especially because I can no longer take the subway.

My other “cannot do’s,” I am sorry to tell you, are many. Some I have been able to replace – some better than others – so that I can actually continue to function. I now watch films and shows that are streaming -neither of which is a wonderful alternative, but here they are. Getting down to the floor is possible, but getting up is near impossible. But that’s OK. I never enjoyed exercises or anything else on the ground. I can no longer travel, a major passion of mine. That can never be replaced. I can no longer apply eye makeup, but that is no big loss, as I never really enjoyed the whole makeup scene. Face powders or “concealers” made me feel trapped behind a mask, and so I never wore a lot of makeup anyway.  

But now I come to my greatest shock. It is almost impossible for me to put on SOCKS. One of my great passions was shoes. From an early age – 14 – I craved high-heeled shoes. I didn’t care what they cost unless it was beyond my means. I had a closet full of heels. I wore almost all of them, and I could erase any depression I had by going shoe shopping. My friends at my various jobs always knew when to stay away from me when I returned from lunch with a shopping bag of shoes. Even my granddaughter, when she was not quite 3 years old, had noticed.  She and I were out for a morning of adventure. We were walking up Madison Avenue when I realized suddenly that she was no longer with me. I turned around, and there she was on her tippy tippy toes at a store window. She looked at me and said: “Look, Grandma, soos.” But I did finally accept my new deprivation after a few falls, and so I settled on miniature, decorative shoes. And my favorites, that I acquired in Buenos Aires, were tiny tango shoes replete with the box and paper they came with.  

And so I moved on to interesting socks. That turned out to be a good solution. So imagine my shock when I could not manage pulling them on anymore. With great concentration, I managed, but it became a new challenge. I complained to anyone who would listen until a new friend popped up and suggested that I buy a long shoe horn. And guess what? I am back in business with my long RED shoehorn. And I realized that my mantra is that where there is a will, there is a way! Oh, what pain, to look about for those new paths!

Alice Herb is a retired attorney, journalist, and bioethics consultant. Having reached the age of 90+, she’s more than ready to share her experiences and opinions with agebuzz readers. Want to comment on something she’s said? She welcomes your feedback at [email protected].

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