Lately I have begun referring to myself as the incredible shrinking woman. Each time a medical practitioner measures me, and that seems to be more frequently than I would like, I am shorter then the previous record shows. At first I protested and made the medical assistant measure me again. But after several incidents that involved the rolling of eyes I gave up and accepted that I no longer stood tall at five feet six inches, but give thanks at five feet four inches.

It’s not only my stature that has shrunk, it is my status too. The title which defined me for 40 years was put on the shelf along with all the keepsakes and knickknacks that I packed up and brought home from my office. The business cards that I so proudly passed out at lunches, dinners, meetings and conferences got trashed. Perhaps I will have new business cards printed. Instead of Mimi Feinstein director they will say Mimi Feinstein, embracer of life.

I try to spin 74 as an exciting age but my heart is not in it. Time to travel, pursue the arts, spend quality time with friends and family sounds good on paper, but when each morning the challenge is dealing with which body part hurts the most, the word exciting is replaced with existing.

It may just have been a spell of bad luck but between December 2015 and now I was diagnosed with four separate maladies. First there was plantar fasciitis which, for those of you who are fortunate enough not to know what this is, manifests on the bottom of your foot and you feel as though you’re stepping on a thumb tack each time you put your foot down. This was triggered by my exuberance post-retirement walk, 10,000 steps a day, and kayaking each morning. Getting to the kayak launch meant walking on a hard surface barefooted. What was I thinking?

They tell you it will go away with time but I was feeling that I didn’t have a lot of time to wait so I begged a shot and moved on. After three consecutive days on photo shoots for a class I was taking (I tend to overdo the things I love) I began to experience an ache in my neck. I immediately sought help and started physical therapy but on the table of my physical therapist I experienced the terror of tumbling vertigo. I was rushed to the emergency room where because I am 74 years old and was dizzy, they called a stroke code.

Two cat scans and an MRI later I was sent on my way with a vertigo diagnosis. Treatment for that is going to a vestibular therapist who shakes your head and sends you spinning until the crystals in your inner ear are back in place. I do not encourage you to have this experience.

I was then started on balance training. I was a star. My therapist could not get over how good my balance was. I was discharged, but then on a glorious afternoon walk, as I moved backwards to sit on a bench, I fell backwards and smashed my shoulder. Another trip to the emergency room for an X-ray and a follow up MRI which revealed I had a full thickness rip in my rotator cuff.

A word to the wise. Each time an MRI is taken there are always what’s called incidental findings. Beware of incidental findings. Believe me, you don’t want to go there.

Although I worked in health care for 40 years and heard the statistic that people over 65 use 49 per cent of the health care dollars, I did not think I would be the person to push it to 50 per cent.

I have birthed and raised two children. I have survived a shattered marriage and I have grieved over the loss of my parents, sibling, too many friends and my dear husband. But the hardest thing I have never done is grow old.

Mimi Feinstein wrote this piece in Nancy Aronie’s Writing from the Heart workshop in Chilmark. She is a writer from Manhattan.