Uneven aging: Cussedness

Steve has a problem with his balance, and sometimes one hand doesn't grip objects. Can't sleep well, and last month was in a fender-bender that should not have happened. Carole thinks he should see his doctor; he won't: "Nothing is wrong with me".

"Ornery", "stubborn", "in denial": these are words that hover around uneven aging. Steve doesn't want to hear them, but even more, he dreads hearing his doctor say, "I am referring you to a specialist, immediately."

Denial can tip into belligerence, a chasm widens. He resents being told what to do, she is furious that he's ignoring clear signals. He retreats into silence. If the past years have been marked by a partner's stoic self-reliance, the couple now face an enormous change in the way they relate.

A good counsellor can help these two, and it is not just a matter of getting them talking. The underlying themes are deep: a recognition of the fragility of life, and the requirement to surrender control—at least the part that lands one in a doctor's office or a lab. Trust, responsibility, the depth of commitment: all the topics that may have been avoided, now on table.

A good friend takes Carole out for the day, listens, and provides relief, because the healthier partner needs attention too; if she is capsized by his intractability, her frustration can lead to a breakup. In fact, this is a more vulnerable stage than actually caring for an ill partner.

For the afflicted partner, hiding from diagnosis serves certain ends. What looks like sheer cussedness can in fact be a calculated assessment of risk.

Claire and Jennifer are real estate investors who renovate and sell vacation properties; they are one of the lucky couples for whom mudding drywall is play. Last year, Claire started to have digestive problems that she put down to a touchy gall bladder—but she knew what Jennifer did not, that colon cancer ran in her family. She had been told she was high risk, a piece of information she preferred to forget about.

She knew that if she were diagnosed with even early-stage cancer, Jennifer would back out of two major deals that took every penny they had to invest. To close, Claire postponed tests for nearly four months. The result was relatively good news: she has colitis. But during the months when Claire was doubled over in pain, Jennifer was furious; she thought that the deals mattered more than she did. They separated for a time; though now reconciled, the accord they once had has taken a hit.

When someone says no to a request, she is saying yes to something else: there is another paramount need. Claire's "no" to addressing her condition was a "yes" to ensuring their financial security and, in the largest sense, to Claire's self-image as a contributing partner.

This need, to be somebody, drives many a partner's denial. As long as you don't hear otherwise, you're still in the game. You can gut through a bad day with an arthritic knee, but when the only-got-one organs are involved, that strategy is shortsighted—and human.

Steve has made progress, too. He now admits that his denial affected their relationship. He is addressing not only the symptoms, but the way he and Carole talk about the physical and emotional drain, the uncertainty, the possible implications for his work.

Just when an afflicted person needs someone most, he often displays behaviour that drives her away. Nurses know this; they say, "Mr. Wilson is having a bad day", which is the pro's code for "Watch out, nasty coot today."  If you are a loved one doing the day-to-day, get some resources if the person becomes intractable and ornery, because you are going to be tried to your breaking point, even if you have a vast reservoir of love.