Family history of heart disease, suicide, depression, cancer…
None of my grandparents lived past their 60’s.
I’m an 41 year old obese, asthmatic diabetic who spent the christmas holidays in the hospital with necrotizing fasciitis.
I work as a security guard/bar bouncer.
I doubt I’ll make 50.
I have some pretty good genes; my grandparents range from 84-97 years of age. I take fairly good care of myself. But I often wonder how the whole “persistently solitary” thing will affect my lifespan. Is it true that single people live shorter lives?
Early 70s if by natural causes. Probably 60, though, in a car accident.
45, at most. I’d much rather have as much fun as I humanly can while I’m still young and functional than live a nice, safe, clean, boring-as-hell life and spend my last two decades wearing adult diapers in a nursing home.
I plan to live forever, or die in the attempt.
– Catch-22
Three of my four grandparents are alive and well in their late seventies, despite all having fairly unhealthy diets, and very little in the way of exercise routines. That would be a point in my favor, except that my remaining grandparent (and most of his siblings) died of cancer in their early thirties. My father’s healthy, but his family has a history of heart issues, and my mother died of a rare disease in her early fifties. I take good care of myself and should at least make it to fifty. Longer than that if the family history passes me by.
Men in my family generally don’t make it past their early 60s. I’m 44 now, and I’m just hoping and praying to make it until I’m about 57-ish; my son will be grown by then.
I have a few 100+ and several 90+ women in my family, and I’m only 28, so medical science still has a while to advance before I get old. Also, I’m healthy and eat very well. So: 120.
I’m living to 110. There will be no Guinness Book of World Records entry for me, I’m not displacing Jeanne Clement from her coveted spot or anything like that, just an entirely respectable freaking ancient 110.
I’ll be around for the 1000th anniversary of the Normandy Invasion as well as the 100th anniversary of the Summer of Love.
If I take after my mother’s side, I should be able to make 90, easily, and maybe 100. Grampap lived to be 88, and I reckon he’d still be going strong except that a car accident ruined his quality of life for the final five years, and I think he lost the will to live. Gramma’s still in reasonable good health (considering), and I think she’s 91 now. And there’s plenty of other long-lived relatives about, including at least one great-grand-aunt who passed the century mark.
Dad’s side, though, Grandpa died (I think) some time in his early 70s, and while Grandma lived to 88, the last decade or so she was pretty deep into Alzheimer’s, and just about everyone on that side’s had stomach cancer, plus plenty of heart disease and a few cases of prostate cancer.
So I guess I’m up for a genetic roll of the dice.
I collapsed suddenly in April and was unable to be revived until I woke up in the Intensive Care Unit. I got the news that I probably wouldn’t make it through the night and they brought people in to help me to fill out the medical proxy papers, a primitive will, and make phone calls to immediate family members. I was there for two weeks but mostly recovered although it was a rough ride and there is still much more to come. You never know.
OTOH, I am 36 years old and still have two living grandparents in their 80’s and my grandfather could pass for a 40 year old on the phone. I talk to him like a peer. There is are lots of examples of longevity in my family.
My range is 1 year - 64 years.
I’ll be 47 soon. Another 30 years sounds plausible.
Or at least a preventive. The cure will be quite a bit trickier.
By the way, the Dannon yogurt guy recently died at 103. And he didn’t even live in the Caucasus.
A few centuries hopefully.
I’m 69 now and figure I’ll make it to the mid-70s.* Then again, I never thought I’d live as long as I have. My father died at 93 but the last ten years of his life were miserable. My mother died at 83; she was in the best of health at the time. My sister is a 75 year old dynamo.
*I really don’t want to live past 75; it wouldn’t bother me to not last that long.
I really do not want to become elderly. I’d rather go out when I’m reasonably active than sit and vegetate in a care home just waiting for death. Late 70s would be good.
I figure if I make it to 80 and don’t need a walker, it’ll be a good bargain.
A fortune teller once told me I’d become famous near the end of my life. I’m not famous, or even infamous, so I guess I’ve got a while yet.
I’m twenty-six and I’m aiming for my nineties, certainly. My granddad was late eighties and took no care of himself whatsoever, there’s no dreadful family medical history other than getting blind drunk and being maudlin about it, I consider myself a lucky person, I don’t smoke, I don’t drink, I’m wildly excited by lentils, I exercise, I take my vitamins, I live a serene and wholesome existence where I love and am loved, and in general I’m an extremely happy camper.
… So tomorrow I’ll probably be hit by a truck.
s’funny. I’ve been observing the oldsters. The ones that seem to do the best at the ones bitching about work and how they never got the chance to retire. I figure I’ll be holding down a job for the rest of my life and will be healthier for it. You rest, you rust.
Soon.
Though there’s no reason to think so. Just dismissive pessimism.