LITTLE GIDDING  By T. S. Eliot
(No. 4 of ‘Four Quartets’)

II

Let me disclose the gifts reserved for age

To set a crown upon your lifetime’s effort.
First, the cold friction of expiring sense

Without enchantment, offering no promise

But bitter tastelessness of shadow fruit
As body and soul begin to fall asunder.

Second, the conscious impotence of rage

At human folly, and the laceration
Of laughter at what ceases to amuse.

And last, the rending pain of re-enactment

Of all that you have done, and been; the shame
Of motives late revealed, and the awareness

Of things ill done and done to others’ harm

Which once you took for exercise of virtue.
Then fools’ approval stings, and honour stains.

From wrong to wrong the exasperated spirit

Proceeds, unless restored by that refining fire
Where you must move in measure, like a dancer.’

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Awakenings are disruptions.  A time, the ordinary time of your life, a continuation of things as they always have been, is punctured.  One wakes to find the place you felt familiar was a dream, receding, now becomes your past, and that you must face forward,– if you want to live.

I was in conversation with the nurse practitioner in the cardiologist examining room.  It was a followup visit for the ventricular ablation procedure of a few weeks ago.  The procedure corrected the ventricular flutter, the rapid beating of the upper chambers of the heart, beating ineffective, to move enough blood to nourish the body extremities.  The nurse stated that in the weeks to come I must be aware if certain conditions were felt.  She enumerated the symptoms of a stroke.  She concluded, — I must immediately seek help if I should notice any of these…  “We  can’t fix a stroke.”

The monologue in my head was silenced.  I suspected her meaning was that the cardiac procedure notwithstanding, there was no mistake:  do not think you are to return to your former “youthful” way of life.  The page has been turned.

I had thought to ask her, whether in her opinion I might discontinue taking the blood thinner medication.  The cardiologist prescribed apixaban when the ventricular flutter was diagnosed, and directed that I continue to take the medication after he performed the procedure.

The nurse responded deadpan, with the quiet explanation: due to my age, and other risk factors, (diabetes) I would be on the mediation for the rest of my life.  I guess I suspected as much, you know that small voice deep within saying, “Don’t press your luck. You’ve reached this far because fate has smiled upon you.”

Then she said, you ought not to consume alcohol.  Studies have shown that alcohol can cause atrial flutter to recur.  I felt the disappointment come.  Who doesn’t enjoy holding a glass of wine?  I was anticipating an evening enjoyment at the Water Street Studio art event, with a glass of red wine in hand…

Thus I awakened: to life as my older body, the one body in this kaleidoscope world that belongs to me, the body I must count on  And there are further “gifts” reserved for age which the poet describes, gifts in addition to the slow-motion-decoupling of soul and body.

Eliot suggests the gifts be received “by moving in measure, like a dancer.”

Can I do that?  I am going to try.