One of the most surprising and unsettling facts I encountered was in Cruikshank’s discussion of the adverse side effects of medication. According to her, a shocking number of Americans are harmed, severely injured, or even die due to medication reactions, particularly among older adults (Cruikshank, 2013). What stunned me most was how rarely this issue is discussed mainstream. I’ve always thought of medication as a positive, something helpful and healing. This information made me realize how easy it is to overlook the hidden risks, especially when medications interact poorly with age-related bodily changes.

Cruikshank’s analysis of the natural changes our body undergoes as we age, like changes in metabolism, kidney function, and body composition, sheds light on why older adults respond differently to drugs. Her solutions, which emphasized to me preventative care, lifestyle choices, and a critical lens on overmedication, were eye-opening. It made me realize that some of my fears around aging, especially the fear of losing control over my body, could be mitigated by being proactive. Making healthier choices now, like eating better and staying active, could potentially reduce my reliance on medications later in life. Her discussion didn’t erase my fear entirely, but it gave me a sense of agency. Aging doesn’t have to mean inevitable decline; it can be an opportunity to be more intentional about our health choices.

Aronson highlights the dynamic of physicians and medication. Her conversation with Svetlana, the daughter of patient Dimitri, was especially eye-opening. When Svetlana stated that “We don’t talk like that.” In response to discussing end-of-life preferences it made me reflect on how often we avoid the difficult conversations about aging and death. This moment was a turning point for me. I realized that avoiding these conversations doesn’t protect us; it increases the emotional burden later. If we don’t talk about things like DNR orders or what kind of care we want when we can no longer speak for ourselves, our loved ones are left guessing, sometimes at the worst possible time. Having those “hard talks” ahead of time is a profound act of care, not just for ourselves, but for the people we love.

In the final sections of the chapter, Aronson discusses dementia and the often one-dimensional view the medical world takes on it. This connected deeply with what I learned from The Memory Loss Tapes, which also showcased the human side of dementia, the confusion, the moments of joy, the fading, and the remembering. Aronson’s critique of how dementia is treated in clinical settings reinforced how important it is to see the person behind the diagnosis. Dementia is not just a checklist of symptoms; it’s an experience that affects identity, relationships, and dignity. Her insights reminded me that compassion, patience, and person-centered care are just as critical as any medical treatment.

Finally, the example of Gabow’s mother was an exceptional example of alternative approaches. Gabow, having the resources, knowledge, and foresight to have early conversations with her mother, was able to advocate for care that honored her mother’s wishes. Instead of defaulting to the aggressive and often dehumanizing treatments of traditional healthcare systems, she chose a path that aligned with her mother’s values. What resonated with me most was not just the outcome, but the access to options that many others might not have. Gabow’s ability to make those decisions was rooted in her authority, financial resources, and a clear understanding of what her mother wanted. It made me think about how socio-economic privilege often determines whether someone can choose a dignified, comfortable path and how unfair it is for those who cannot. The readings challenged me as a person to be more open, more prepared, and more compassionate.