‘I’M STILL STANDING’
As he explains in his debut Life in the 70s column, cancer survivor Mike Boone appreciates the support of his neighbours.
Please allow me to introduce myself: I’m a man of no wealth and dubious taste.
OK, I promise that’s the last Rolling Stones paraphrase. Wouldn’t want to be dating myself.
Actually, I would.
This column is about my eighth decade on this mortal coil. Every month, I’ll be writing about some aspect of life in the 70s.
Let me put this decade in context with something spotted during the too-many hours a day I spend on Facebook: “Forty may be the new 30. And 50 may be the new 40. But all I know is the older I get, the more 9 p.m. is the new midnight.”
And let me put early bedtimes in context: I was a night owl — lights out at midnight, sometimes 1 a.m. or later — well into my 60s. Then I had a medical checkup, and my life changed. The C-word.
Twice.
I’m coming up on four years since my prostate cancer was diagnosed. There ensued some twists and turns.
I decided on radiation treatment. Then, at the urging of my daughter, I decided on surgery. The procedure was aborted, however, because of excessive internal bleeding. Then it was back to radiation. Five treatments a week for five weeks a year ago. And while this was unfolding, they discovered I had bladder cancer.
Two mortal blows, both below the belt.
I’ll write about my illnesses in greater ( but, I promise, not graphic) detail in future columns.
For now, suffice it to say I ain’t the man I used be. Of course, with seven decades — many of them tumultuous — under our belts, none of us is the man or woman we used to be.
And that change requires some adjustment.
After Parasite won a bunch of
Academy Awards, director Bong Joon Ho revealed the secret of his creativity. “I try to maintain a simple lifestyle,” Bong said. “Drink coffee, write and try not to meet a lot of people.”
After decades of ingesting gallons of the journalist’s sustaining beverage, my stomach can’t handle more than one cup of coffee a day. I haven’t written much since retirement, but I’m doing great on the third element of Bong’s creative strategy.
I’ve lived in the same suburban townhouse for 37 years. My marriage broke up, my daughter moved out and here I am with memories and a four-legged roommate.
Oh, yeah, I should mention the
dog thing. After a happy succession of four Boston terriers, my last two dogs have been rescues. The current canine is a 10-yearold miniature poodle who’s the smartest dog I’ve ever had (which is damning her with faint praise).
Doubtless more dog columns to come down the road, but for now I’ll focus on the experience of being in my 70s.
Apart from the cancer — and anemia, and a misshapen left thumb, and circulation problems that require Old Guy support stockings — I’m in decent shape ... at least mentally.
In the immortal words of Elton John, I’m still standing. And that’s pretty darned good, considering how many of my friends and former colleagues are on the other side of the grass.
I like the routine of my life: Walk mutt, shop for groceries, chat up my neighbours.
A note about my neighbours: They’ve sort of adopted me. Plastic containers of chili, stew or soup periodically show up on my doorstep.
The food is delish. And the generosity reinforces my faith in humanity — especially humans who can cook.
Dining out? Outside of rushhour, I can shoot to downtown Montreal in 20 minutes.
It’s a trip I’ll be taking more often once the weather warms up. I like to bask in urban energy: colourful store windows, yummy eating joints, the urban bustle generated by city strollers glued to their cellphones.
Don’t get this old grump started on phones. That’s a rant for a future column.