I’m Gay, Old, and Now Disabled

How do I cope with my diagnosis?

I got unsettling medical news Tuesday from my primary care physician. He presumed I already knew the worst, so his words lacked sensitivity to cushion what I received as a hammer blow.

“I’m afraid we’re already doing pretty much everything we can. I will try adjusting your meds again, but I cannot offer you the realistic expectation of living without significant pain or of resuming former levels of physical activity.”

Living with significant pain

Let me translate that. I woke up in agony at four this morning, jolted out of a nightmare about agony. It wasn’t a bad dream, it was real. I hobbled into the kitchen for pain meds, cursing myself for not putting them on the nightstand with a glass of water. I did not get back to sleep. That’s after barely sleeping the night before.

I feel a little better now, my acute pain having retreated to a constant throb that leaves me agitated and exhausted. Sitting at my desk to work makes the pain worse. I’m thinking about solutions that will allow me to write efficiently while lying down, which hurts a bit less.

The fear of even more pain haunts me. My doctor didn’t sugarcoat it. It’s going to get worse, occasionally much worse. I don’t want to think about that. I don’t know how to cope with thinking about that.

Former levels of physical activity

In all likelihood, I will never again be able to run, do distance swimming, or in-line skate. Hell, I won’t be able to walk my dog or mow the lawn except on the “good days” my doctor warns me not to count on with great regularity.

I’m down to this: The vacuum cleaner needs run today and corners need dusted, but I just can’t. Maybe I’ll be able to tomorrow or next week, but if so, I’ll need to snatch and treasure moments of relative painlessness. Will I really feel like dusting?

These are the thoughts I’m struggling with as I type.

It’s not like I’ve been training for marathons again or anything, but I’ve told myself I could, maybe that I would, when the time is right. After Tuesday’s news, I know that part of my life is over. No more Boston-qualifying times, no more reveling in (and trying not to boast about) long runs that made me feel vigorous, ecstatic, and sexy right into my fifties. I will never again be an athlete. I’ll never again enjoy the physical fitness I tried not to make too big a deal about as a gay man.

Will I ever feel desirable again?

I may be staring 60 in the face, but until Tuesday I didn’t truly think of myself as (that) old or undesirable. Sure, mainstream gay culture is presumptively unkind to men my age, but … physically fit, vigorous men catch something of a break, at least in certain largish niches. Hard-bodied “daddies” are a type, a thing, something to aspire to if you’re my age.

The mail truck just pulled up. I’m not walking the hundred feet to the mailbox, not today. I just can’t. Hard-bodied daddy? Kiss that aspiration goodbye, Jimmy boy.

Where was I? Right, I’m asking myself if I’ll ever feel desirable again. I used to imagine I’d live to be 110 and be reasonably active and fit for most of that time. Tuesday smashed those conceptions for me. The condition I have isn’t fatal per se, but people who have it don’t live to be 110. Or 100. Or even 90.

OK, so life itself is a fatal exercise and dying doesn’t scare me. Honestly. But I want to know what happens next, damn it! I want to ENJOY life right up to the end. I want to feel desirable, take lovers, travel, eat rare foods and look at glorious art.

Is now the time to kvetch that to keep pain levels as manageable as possible, I have to become a vegetarian? Maybe not. Hell, I’d trade porterhouse steaks and grilled scallops for vegetarian jaunts in Bali spiced with hot sex … if that was the deal. But it’s not. I have to give up meat and fish anyway, with nothing in return but reduced pain that will STILL leave me disabled. I’ve never been to Bali, and now I know I’ll likely never go.

Gay, old, and disabled

How do I cope with a combination like that? I know I sound like I’m whining. Many humans suffer far more than I ever will. I’m two days into a diagnosis that shook me, so I’m venting. Getting it out of my system? Maybe.

Maybe I have a lot to look forward to as I learn to adapt. I have SO MUCH to learn about pain management, accommodating disability, and pursuing spiritual and interpersonal fulfillment. I enjoy learning, so that’s something to look forward to.

At the very least, I know I can harness my writing skills to explore my new experiences. I’ve never been one of those gay guys who disses or acts rude to older gay men, but I’ve never personally been on the receiving end either. I bet my understanding and empathy expand as I find myself more and more on the receiving end.

I imagine that will change what I choose to write about and how I write. This story is a start. This is where I am. This is what I’m thinking about. Stay tuned.

P.S. I don’t want to spend my limited energy talking about the specific combination of diagnoses I learned about Tuesday. I am receiving skilled medical care, and I’m already looking into different forms of treatment. I’d rather discuss how I’m reacting to the medical news than the details of the news itself.

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James Finn is a former Air Force intelligence analyst, long-time LGBTQ activist, an alumnus of Queer Nation and Act Up NY, a regular columnist for queer news outlets, and an “agented” but unpublished novelist. Send questions, comments, and story ideas to [email protected].