What am I afraid of?

I am scared not so much of getting old but about what happens if I lose it.  The thought of going into a nursing home terrifies me.  I don't want to be incontinent.  I don't want to have to ask to be helped to the toilet or be parked on the toilet with the door open while the carer goes off to do something else.  I have seen this happen in full view of those passing along the corridor and straight across from a resident's room.  I do not want to be left to scratch myself or pick my nose or do any of the things that would not happen if I were in my right mind.  I don't want to be pacified by being given a toy doll to cuddle.  I do not want to be a living skeleton on a wheeled bed or chair; alive yet not alive. I don't want to be lost in a fog and not know my own child when and if she comes to see me. Perhaps I wouldn't want her to have to see me existing not living.  What would even be more devastating would be to remember her and look up at every visitor waiting, waiting, waiting for her to come.  Desolation!!!!!  So that is what I am afraid of.  This fear will poison my days if I continue to dwell upon it.  I should treasure the healthy days I have left and enjoy my life, my daughter and my friends and the precious animals.   The one thing that I am not afraid of is death.  That is the final adventure.