It used to be easy to get older. I would just hang around and do stuff or not do stuff and I would get older. Worst case, I’d wake up with a nuclear-grade headache and a 21-day penicillin prescription, no wiser but definitely older than before. I didn’t have to work very hard at staying alive back then. As long as I looked both ways before I crossed the road, I was pretty much guaranteed to make it to bedtime. Of course, crossing the road safely is much easier now. How easy is it? Heck, you don’t even have to look up from your cellphone. Take a slow, cautionary drive through town for proof.
I’m noticing how many of the most annoying ads on television are relevant to me, and that is more than a little disturbing. On the upside. though, there are technical improvements in our lives that help us in countless ways in our homes, cars and communications. I say “help” because that’s what the world’s marketing grifters who infest the television and interwebs tell me.
All this technology is an incredible benefit to mankind, from the Bluetooth in my toothbrush to the intentionally annoying racket that battery-operated cars make in reverse and at slow speeds. Actually, that noise could be useful when your teenager with the midnight curfew is sneaking up the driveway at 2 a.m. Unfortunately, much of new technology is awkward in the fog of decrepitude.
Even with technical help, getting older today isn’t as easy as it used to be, at least not for me. It is work; in fact, it’s a full-time job that on most days requires overtime. I’m not talking about my domestic duties; I’m just talking about the effort it takes to stay above room temperature. Simple, nontechnical, everyday tasks require planning and a healthy awareness of gravity’s malevolence.
To illustrate, I no longer just step into my underwear without giving the idea a thought. No, that requires something solid to lean on — first one foot and then the other — if I’m to be safely dressed. No first responder wants to rush into a situation to find a skinny old guy on the floor with a broken hip and a pair of boxers around one ankle. The same procedure applies to trousers, but socks require a chair. Seriously, the hopping along the hallway while putting on my socks because I’m in a hurry left my ability circa 1975. Unless it’s a flip-flop day, I need a chair.
Almost everything takes more effort than I expect it will. Nothing is easy anymore. According to my Fitbit, I burned 587 calories this morning just waking up. I was ready for a nap right after my first cup of coffee, but running a bed-and-breakfast for two means someone has to make the beds and breakfasts. That is my short straw to bear. No nap today.
It takes a village to keep an old geezer going. A village of medical professionals, that is. More than a few specialties enjoy a tag-team approach to keeping me functioning. For example, I see one eye doctor for prescriptions and screenings for hereditary weirdness, of which there is plenty to be found. I see another eye doctor who runs the expensive operating room and laser equipment necessary to keep the weirdness in check as much as possible. Neither one of these experts supplies my glasses. For those, there is a third expert on whom I rely to translate the technical eyeball stuff into a formula that will produce my new glasses. That guy is pretty good, and you get his best work if you bring him a sandwich around lunchtime.
A visit to my primary care physician often leads to an introduction to another physician who specializes in something I have never heard of. This referral happens at a snail’s pace, and I continue aging as the calendar flips the months by. I remember family doctors of yesteryear — the magic they held in their hands and in their heavy black leather bags. They came to your bedside with flashlights on their foreheads and stethoscopes carried in cases filled with liquid nitrogen between visits. When they left, you almost always knew what the problem was and how long it might take to get over it.
Navigating the choppy waters of today’s medical/insurance industry takes a little creativity and a lot of patience. When you overhear our elders speaking among themselves, it’s a sure bet that the topics are their health issues, doctor appointments, aches and pains. They talk of their operations and hospitalizations and their many lab tests. If you stand still long enough, they will reveal some detail that you might rather they didn’t. That’s when others within earshot might interject their own experiences in a sort of contest to reveal who among them has the most dreadfully hellish medical dossier in the group.
It’s not that we like talking about all that stuff. It’s that it’s fresh on our minds all the time because it’s what takes up all our time. Getting older is more than something that happens to us when we aren’t paying attention. It’s a full-time job and, as they say, it ain’t for sissies. If you are planning on getting old, really old, say older than 50, put an extra chair in your bedroom.
