Geriatric Argentine Tango

The below writing was submitted via email by one of our Life Minus Work Members. It has been edited for clarity and consistency but all attempts have been made to convey their story in their unique voice. We hope that this example of making the most of your time in retirement resonates with you!

The day my kids stuck me in that nursing home was a hard day for me. I understand why they did it. But I don’t like it just the same. Wish the wife was still alive. She’d have kept me around a bit longer. Or at least I’d like to think she would!

Oh well, guess I shouldn’t complain, at least I’m still upright, in a manner of speaking.

I may have Parkinson’s, but I’m better than most of the other zombies on my floor. I may shake like Elvis, but at least I don’t dribble, like Burt.

But I do feel myself deteriorating rather rapidly. Got it all the tremors, stiffness, slowness of movement, and of course, balance problems. 

Also finding it harder to sleep these days, and I’m losing my sense of smell, which might actually be an unintended blessing around here, particularly with Herbie and his flatulence problems.

My mind’s not blown yet, but I do sense changes in how I’m connecting the dots.

The worst thing is the hopelessness and inevitability of it all. Kind of reminds me of the line in that Hotel California song ‘you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave’. 

They say depression is a natural progression with Parkinson’s. Starting to get depressed, just thinking about depression. I’ve often contemplated chucking in the towel before I get to the stage where I’m unable to see it through, but I keep deferring it. Contemplated best end-solutions, but have never settled on anything in particular. Survival instincts still kicking in, so I guess I haven’t lost all my faculties just yet.

The wardens around here try to keep us occupied, but there’s just so many bingo nights and water colouring sessions I can tolerate in a week. I find the old-fart callisthenics sessions difficult because of my condition, even though I’m drawn to that 84-year-old Brazilian ‘hotty’ with the long flowing hair and those magnificent South American thighs. Teodora Machado was a dance instructor who specialised in complex dances like International Foxtrot, International Viennese Waltz, Argentine tango and Samba. She also specialised in Hip hop. I later learned that ‘Teodora’ meant ‘Gift of God’. And oh God, what a true gift she is!

I overheard one of the wardens say that Teodora was campaigning for the Home to allow her to introduce dance classes for us inmates. She was being encouraged by one of my roomies, Dave. Dave was a former actuary with a big Life Insurance company. Boring as shit, but I think he was making moves on Teodora. 

The wardens around here try to keep us occupied, but there’s just so many bingo nights and water colouring sessions I can tolerate in a week. I find the old-fart callisthenics sessions difficult because of my condition, even though I’m drawn to that 84-year-old Brazilian ‘hotty’ with the long flowing hair and those magnificent South American thighs. Teodora Machado was a dance instructor who specialised in complex dances like International Foxtrot, International Viennese Waltz, Argentine tango and Samba. She also specialised in Hip hop. I later learned that ‘Teodora’ meant ‘Gift of God’. And oh God, what a true gift she is!

I overheard one of the wardens say that Teodora was campaigning for the Home to allow her to introduce dance classes for us inmates. She was being encouraged by one of my roomies, Dave. Dave was a former actuary with a big Life Insurance company. Boring as shit, but I think he was making moves on Teodora. 

Then Teodora got the ‘all clear’ to run the classes. She had access to the auditorium; arranged music and when she called for volunteers, there was only 3 of us who put our hands up; me, peg-leg Penny and, of course, Dave.

Teodora’s specialty was Argentine tango. In traditional Argentine Tango, men typically lead the dance, embodying a role of strength and guidance, while women follow. The male role involves intricate steps, turns, and a strong embrace (which of course, I was keen to master!).

Initially, I found the steps almost impossible to learn. But I kept my eye steadfastly on the prize, winning Teodora’s affection. After all, isn’t dancing just a vertical expression of a horizontal intention?

I kept at it and it got to the stage where dancing became my raison d’être. I practised for hours each day. At one point, I realised something truly amazing was happening. 

Although my shaking had gotten noticeably worse, when I was on the dance floor working my moves, there was no more shaking. My moves were fluid. It was as if I was born again, this time Parkinson’s-free. The effect only lasted a short time after I’d stopped dancing, but during the dancing, I was transformed, transported to some magical place.

An exercise physiologist saw the transformation in me and casually observed: ‘yeh researchers have recently discovered complex dancing routines can cause a momentary pause in Parkinson’s symptoms’. Apparently, complex motor routines call upon different (Parkinson’s-unaffected) parts of the brain. When he added ‘and regular dance practice can also help manage symptoms, potentially slow disease progression, and improve quality of life’, I was sold.

I became a dance junkie, almost fanatical, to the point of making community news headlines. My best time was dance-time. I found my perfect escape. I knew it wasn’t a long-term solution, but it bought me greater quality of life, and my moves worked on Teodora. Dancing helped raise my fitness levels and gave me greater stamina which Teodora and I were able to put to good use off the dance floor!