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Octogenarian Survival Tips
Therapy in a Puerto Rico garden
Last year (2024), I stopped gardening. I stopped painting. I stopped writing fiction. The first half of the year was consumed with battling cancer, a battle — according to all indications — I have won. I celebrated by visiting places in Egypt, Greece, and Cyprus that are infinitely older than I am.
Upon my return, the jealous gods struck me down and wracked my body with almost constant pain. I saw more doctors than I had seen ports in the ancient world. Up to now, in March 2025, very few have brought me relief. One surgeon said that he would not operate on anyone over 80. I am about to be 85. I guess that must mean I am both obsolete and disposable.
I may be old, but I am not a quitter! The jungle had taken over what had been my vegetable garden. With the help of my energetic (and slightly older) wife, we have resurrected the vegetable garden and created a new kitchen garden. If I can’t get down and dirty, I can work in raised beds, and if not, she can help me get back up.
What doctors couldn’t achieve, force of character and analgesics can. A few months into this garden therapy (and some physical therapy), the gardens are as happy as we are — and this post is the evidence! I hope painting and fiction will be next.
