NOT in the slow lane, YET
The blog is about living life after 70 with joy, resilience, and purpose. NOT in the slow lane, YET offers positive, helpful advice that encourages people to set and achieve goals and find joy in life. The blog will cover personal experiences, thoughts, and concerns. Blog topics will include health, retirement, fashion, travel, and living in continuing care retirement communities. The blogs will be short and appear at least once a month on my website www.nadineblock.com or by email if you choose. Walkwith me.
Whispers from the Linden Tree, November 2025
In 2021, I moved to “Shady Rest,” a pseudonym for a lovely Ohio senior Life Plan Community, a place where I could spend my final days. I was enthusiastic about moving and decided to chronicle my journey through a blog called “Not in the Slow Lane Yet.”
I left a wink at the end of the blog name with the word “Yet.” I assumed my blog would end with my death.
At 89 years of age, I thought that my days would be quiet and peaceful. Little did I know that I was about to embark on a journey of unexpected lessons.
“Yet” hit me. I have been diagnosed with small-cell lung carcinoma.
I have been losing weight and feeling nauseated for the last two months. I was taken to the emergency room during late summer for high blood pressure. I fell and suffered a concussion in October. Each emergency room visit accumulated recommended tests. The chilling news arrived, drip by drip, through my online medical chart at OSU Hospitals: reports on MRIs, CT scans, and a PET Scan. A PET Scan showed cancer spreading to my lungs. A needle biopsy provided the diagnosis.CANCER. Small cell carcinoma of the right lung. I would have to decide between chemotherapy/radiation therapy or hospice.
I have tried to live my life with purpose, joy, resilience, and dignity. I wrote about ways I was preparing for death.
In January 2025, I wrote a blog post titled “The Death Dragon and Me.”
https://notintheslowlaneyet.nadineblock.com/
I try to focus on the job at hand — to adjust and make the most of my days on earth. It doesn’t come automatically. I must redirect my self-pitying thoughts, focus on hopeful possibilities, and on unfinished tasks. I am comforted by friends, and I tell them how much they mean to me. A personal weakness is asking for help and comfort. When I do that, I find it is so rewarding. How have you found strength when faced with similar crossroads?
Should I pursue arduous cancer treatment at 89 years of age? Should I opt for Hospice? I find strength not only in faith but in nature.
I connected with my spiritual advisor, a Catholic priest I knew from two parishes I had belonged to. He helps me connect to the meaning of life and peace.
And then there is “The Tree.”
The centenarian Linden tree and I became friends when I moved to this senior community four years ago. It is a sturdy survivor and a beautiful addition to our community. It shades my 4th-floor patio three seasons of the year and comforts me as I read or sit quietly. As the wind whistled through the branches, I heard it say, “Be calm.”
I imagine the stories it could tell of the once 1,000-acre farm and the life of the family that acquired the land in 1859, cutting ice from the river and hauling it up to a limestone ice house for the family’s refrigeration, of sledding down the hill to the river, of planting, cultivating and harvesting by workers and of summer lawn parties with brass bands and patriotic singing.
I worried about the tree when I moved here. I hoped it would live another season. Its top branches were beginning to thin like hair on an old man’s head.
Now it is I who may not have another season. It’s winter, and I look out at wet, dark grey branches. Only a few leaves are hanging this November.
Now, as winter settles in and the Linden tree outside my window whispers through its bare branches, I find myself listening more closely. Its message is simple: be calm. I sit, I plan, I pray, and I treasure the comfort of friends and faith.
Whatever season remains for me, I hope to meet it with dignity and peace. And perhaps, like the Linden tree, I will stand a little longer, offering shade and stories before my final rest.