Time Is Ruthless, Each Year Ages Us a Little More

After my father turned 70, his memory began to decline noticeably. After 75, the decline became precipitous. Along with memory loss, his ability to control his emotions also deteriorated, and he increasingly took on the characteristics of an "old child," with frequent emotional reactions.

Over a year ago, I once saw through the home camera that he was acting oddly, as if he were groping his way while walking. I immediately bought a high-speed rail ticket and was home within a few hours, then took him to the hospital for a brain MRI. The results showed degenerative changes in his white matter, marked atrophy of the cerebellum, and lacunar infarction.

My father used to be a man who refused to accept aging and could face death calmly. Although he had not always been even-tempered, his emotions were basically controllable and he could handle complex social and business matters. But as he has aged, his emotional control has deteriorated greatly; he becomes easily agitated and loses his temper, and he is far more sensitive about illness and death than before. He often has strange thoughts, fears being left uncared for, and is far more suspicious than he used to be.

I know from psychiatric textbooks that these are common psychiatric disturbances in older adults related to cerebral degeneration, and I roughly know which drugs could calm him. But these drugs have notable side effects—they would dull him. My father does not have severe senile psychiatric disturbance, no self-harm or aggression, and can still manage simple social interactions; his symptoms are much milder than many of the elderly patients I have seen clinically, and he does not need medication to stabilize his mood.

So, weighing the trade-offs, I only gave him some Chinese medicines that improve cerebral vascular circulation and aid sleep. At the same time, when talking with my older and younger siblings and relatives, I told them that Father has grown old, his brain no longer works as it did when he was young, his emotional management is declining, and we should care for and yield to him more, not taking his seemingly outrageous remarks too seriously.

About 40% of people over 75 have psychiatric disturbances related to cerebral degeneration, with memory decline, anxiety, depression, and irritability. Among those over 80, more than half have such problems; among those over 85, over 60% have them. In Chinese we have a familiar phrase for them: "old child."

In fact, most of these elderly people are at various stages of Alzheimer's disease (colloquially, senile dementia). There is currently no specific drug for this disease, and TCM is also powerless against Alzheimer's. Improving cerebral circulation and addressing common elderly problems such as insomnia and constipation can slow progression. Beyond that, there is little we can do.

I still remember my father in his prime: conscientious, working very hard to make a living and educate his children. Time flies; in the snap of a finger, that shrewd and capable father has joined the ranks of the "old children," needing his children's company and care. Regrettably, because he is unwilling to live in the city and is still largely self-caring, he will not move in with any of us; we can only communicate with him as much as possible through the camera and give him more companionship in spirit.

In 2024 I went home six times, averaging once every two months. I will go home again for this Spring Festival, and the frequency of trips home in 2025 may be even higher. My mother and father-in-law have both passed away, but my father and mother-in-law remain in our hometown, and both elders need our company and care. They are both at the stage of "the sunset is infinitely beautiful, yet it is nearing dusk"; children's company and care can improve their quality of life.

As I watch them age, I can also feel my own mental and physical powers declining: my thinking is no longer as sharp as in my twenties or thirties, and my stamina is not what it was. I cannot stay up late; after intense study for a stretch, my body becomes much more fragile and cannot resist infections. I have therefore adjusted the intensity of my work and study—after all, without health, everything else loses meaning.

These are natural laws none of us can escape: illness is inevitable, life and death are unpredictable, and human life is limited. When aging, illness, and death arrive, we must accept them. I still have some life goals to fulfill. Seeing my father age rapidly, I realize I previously overestimated how much effective time I have left. Perhaps I have only about twenty-five years left for deep medical research; after 70, I will likely, like my father, find my mind no longer sharp due to old age, and will be unable to keep up.

As a COPD patient, I want to write a monograph on COPD; after years of caring for my mother and father-in-law after their strokes, I also want to write a monograph on post-stroke sequelae; what I want most to write is a monograph on oncology. I do not want any of these to be shoddy works, but rather works of practical value and originality that will not be easily swept away by time.

These goals will fill the rest of my life. Indeed, life is but a journey; we only sojourn in this world for a while, and the difference between long and short is small, as is the difference between accomplishing something and accomplishing nothing. On the other hand, this journey of life is also long; without pursuits, this life could be boring and dull. I both accept nihilism and very pragmatically pursue my ideals in this world, and hope to enjoy life in the ways I like. I still want to keep running forward with all my might, until I am old and can no longer run, like my father now, and then transition into another state.

My eldest uncle is already in his eighties; when I go home I often visit him. This summer he told me that when one is old, one can clearly feel that each passing year leaves one noticeably worse than the year before, increasingly unable to keep up. My aunt and another cousin-uncle in his eighties show even more obvious aging: my aunt can no longer remember the next step while cooking, and the cousin-uncle no longer recognizes even his own nephews and nieces.

In my twenties I would not have cared about anything related to aging. But now, nearing fifty, between the "years of no doubt" and "knowing the will of heaven," watching my aunt, uncles, and father age day by day, I feel keenly how fleeting time is, and therefore cherish my remaining time all the more.

The most important principle to uphold for the rest of my life is to divide my affairs into the important and the unimportant, to do the important things, and not to waste my time and energy on trivial matters—only in this way can I accomplish something. Since youth I have persistently pursued creative achievement rather than rehashing others' work, and I still do. I hope this wish of mine is fulfilled. If I can realize these aspirations, I think that when I am old I will have few regrets and can face my own death more calmly.