OOPS #11: I’m FINE

Welcome to OOPS — our occasional reflections on the experience of getting older: what surprises us, what makes us pause and think, and what seems to matter more with each passing year.

We say “I’m fine” to keep things simple. To stay dignified. To avoid being a burden. But what if “fine” doesn’t mean fine at all?

Uncle Phillip was genuinely unwell – he had chronic lung disease – but goodness, did he like to talk about it.

If I telephoned, there would be a full half-hour recount of symptoms, appointments, and what various clinicians had said, before I was passed on to Aunty Fran. If I visited, I knew I needed to settle in for a couple of hours of the same before we could talk about anything else.

It was always (if I’m honest) a bit of an ordeal. I had to gear up before calling or visiting, and looking back, I didn’t do either as often as I should have.

I watched Uncle Phillip’s friends gradually drop away as he became more and more absorbed in his own health. His world – and Aunty Fran’s – shrank.

I can see now that all that talk was his way of coping with the overwhelming fear of what was happening to him.

At the time, it just felt… self-absorbed.

Uncle Phillip became a bit of an object lesson for me. As my own health has deteriorated, I’ve been determined not to become an illness-bore. So when people ask how I am, my stock answer has been: “Oh, I’m fine.”

And then I realised my older friends at church were doing exactly the same.

May has had a dreadful year – a heart attack, two falls, and a hip replacement. I bumped into her at one of our refreshment days and asked how she was.

“I’m fine,” she said.

When I gently pressed her, she added, “Well, fine for 86… what do you expect? Let’s talk about something else.”

So we did.

It struck me afterwards that May and I are using “I’m fine” in much the same way. It stops us – and other people – dwelling on how we’re feeling. It puts illness back in its place.

The trouble is, it can also push people away – especially those who are genuinely asking.

My favourite Canadian author, Louise Penny, has created a splendid character called Ruth: a poet, angry, uncompromising, and often gloriously rude.

One of her poems is called I’m FINE.

“FINE” is an acronym, with each letter standing for how Ruth is actually feeling.

And it made me wonder whether we might reclaim “I’m fine” in the same way.

A code. A truth, hidden in plain sight. Something that keeps our dignity intact, but doesn’t shut people out completely – at least not if they know how to read it.

So perhaps:

• F – Frightened
• I – In pain
• N – Not okay
• E – Exhausted

Ask me how I am, and I may still say,

“I’m FINE.”

But I might not be okay.