OK. I’ll admit it. I’m now at that in-between age where nobody tells me “how good I look” (which I’m sure they will when I’m 85), but where getting out of a chair is an effort and keeping shoelaces tied requires deep breaths and carries an element of chance. Napping is essential because, heaven knows I’m not going to sleep solidly for eight hours any more. We’re at that stage where “spry” replaces “vigorous” or “athletic” in descriptions of us. I called my brother last week to wish him a happy birthday. (He’s much older than I – well, 14 months anyway.) He was on his second nap of the day – a pre-dinner nap that will carry him through to bedtime. I’m thankfully not there yet, although it’s coming.
A news article caught my eye. A sad death of a young woman who was about 30ish. As I read on, it turns out it was Desi Arnaz Junior’s granddaughter. Wait – that’s Little Ricky. He can’t have grandchildren, much less grandchildren that are adults. How is that possible? It was just a few years ago that Lucy was off to the hospital to give birth, and Ricky appeared in costume and scared the heck out of the hospital staff. Ok, maybe more than a few. Of course, I like to think that I’m only a few years older than Tom Brady. When I was in my early 30’s, I’d read about baseball pitchers in their mid to late 30’s and what it must be like. Then, of course, life happened – I went rapidly right by them and kept going until . . . . . well, here I am.
Herself and I watch television a fair bit, as you can well imagine, and you can tell our viewing habits by the advertising. I may have mentioned this, but the shows we watch are sponsored by medications to help with memory, for arthritis, to keep my eyesight sharp. I’m also seeing ads for something to stimulate my memory. Do I need that? Wait – what was I saying? Every so often, I think to myself, “Maybe I should be taking that memory stuff”, as I go into the kitchen for something – I’m not really sure what. Or I go to the grocery store with my list, only to forget two or three key items. I had them written down – how could I miss them? And who knew that my bone density would decrease? Should I just be taking pills for it, or maybe run something like a metal detector over myself regularly to check for “soft spots”? My dentist recommended “refilling” some of my fillings from childhood. Personally, I think they’re fine and he’s just filling empty spots in his schedule, but that could just be me. Plus, I hate going to the dentist’s office. There is nothing whatsoever that gives pleasure and satisfaction as you climb into the chair. From across the living room, I can still see the television, but I’m giving serious thought to replacing my bifocals with binoculars. We’re using subtitles more and more because, well, the dialogue goes by so fast. During the evening news (not to mention, “Wheel of Fortune” and “Jeopardy”), the advertising is all for seniors – heart medications, stuff to remove the bags under my eyes or my wrinkly skin. House modifications – Stair lifts and walk-in bathtubs. Fortunately, we only have one step at our house, and it’s outside on the back walkway. I don’t think we’ll install a lift just for six inches. The walk-in bathtub looks rather cool, though, as long as I can take a glass of wine and make an afternoon of it. I’ll think of it as a tiny hot tub. There are home nursing services to “keep you in your home.” Meals delivered – that’s the new pitch. We don’t have to go out because a wonderful, turkey dinner will come to you frozen in a box, but when it’s cooked, it looks like something from an upscale restaurant. We’ve tried a few of those over the years, and they never look like that. When I was young, we called that variety “tv dinners”. Remember those little compartments separating the mashed potatoes from the peas? When the five-bedroom house for an older couple hobbling about is on longer viable, the next stage is “assisted living.” We’ve seen the ads for senior to assisted living, and they look great. Happy, healthy seniors out for a mile run before hitting the spa. Beautiful mini-apartments, meals in the dining room, attentive medical staff, housekeeping. It’s like I’d taken a permanent suite at Mar-A-Lago minus the secret service. The only problem is that they cost about as much as that suite on the beach too. You have to sell your house, signing over the proceeds, your life savings, your investment portfolio and one or two of your least favorite children. No, no. When I get to that point, I just want to be put atop a large bonfire and have my ashes scattered over the nursery section of Home Depot.
Back to commercials, we used to see banks and mortgage companies advertising low rates for mortgages. Now I’m seeing Tom Selleck peddling “reverse” mortgages. Those are for people that have lived in their homes since Lyndon Johnson was president, right? We actually know of a couple of folks that got those, and while it did what I suppose it was intended to do, it did leave some heirs wondering what happened. Then there are the insurance commercials for “final” expenses. “Poor Tom died and left Ethel unprotected. Do you know what funeral costs are these days? And Social Security only pays a few hundred dollars.” Oh, yes, from these ads, we’re all well aware of what those final expenses are. We also know that we can prepay them.
Back in the olden days of blissful ignorance, we didn’t know about most of the diseases from which we could potentially suffer. All we knew was that if something hurt, we went to the doctor. He or she would tell us what was wrong, prescribe something, and off we went with detailed medical instructions to “take it easy for a few days.” Now, because all of these wonderful new medications, whose names all begin with x or z, are on the market, we could be riddled with any number of things that don’t sound good. Just about the time I’m thinking, “I might have that. Maybe I’ll give Aerbekstanine a try”, the list of side effects, up to and including “heart attacks, strokes, and death” may occur. I guess not. I won’t bother to ask my doctor about it. In fact, I won’t even mention their names again until the next commercial. They always conclude with the sage advice, “If you’re allergic to Zerbekstanine or any of its ingredients, stop taking Zerbekstanine.” Well, duh. Don’t know of anyone that thinks, “I’m getting an allergic reaction to this and my throat’s closing up, but maybe I’ll keep taking it anyway and see what happens.”
As a final assault to our mental health and well-being, we seniors are on more mailing lists than we can count for Medicare supplemental insurance programs. I know, I know – 80% is covered, 20% isn’t. We are covered, thank you very much, and because Herself and I are retired public employees, it’s subsidized. I took a look one day at what some of the costs of medications, and my mind was totally overwhelmed. The new skin cream my dermatologist prescribed in almost $800 a tube. Thank heaven I only pay $20. But then again, I bought a bottle of generic low dose aspirin, and even that doubled the grocery bill. They have to stuff those plastic bottles with cotton so you don’t see how a small bunch of pills rattling around the bottom.
Growing older is, to quote my late aunt, “not for sissies.” I think I’ll go take a nap. I want to be sharp for the six o’clock news.
I'm Thinking...No! 