People of a Certain Age

 

 

A couple of years ago, I was startled and a bit taken aback when I visited the UK, specifically London. Taking the underground from Paddington to Whitehall, I was surprised when I stepped onto the train and someone stood up from their seat, tapped me on the shoulder, and gestured for me to sit in the seat they’d just vacated.

Kind and polite though it was, given how crowded the train was, I didn’t fail to notice that the sign at that particular seat said to surrender the seat to the elderly or handicapped. And there was a woman struggling with a couple of kids and a suitcase nearby to whom no one offered a seat.

I am not handicapped. Neither do I consider myself “elderly.” To me, elderly is 80 or older. Elderly is someone with a cane, perhaps a bit of a hunched back, white hair, who possibly has movement issues – basically, someone who looks like what I consider a grandmother.

I have none of those things, although I admit the hair color is the product of a bottle, not naturally occurring anymore. But I’m not ready to embrace white hair, and I don’t like the look of iron grey hair on anyone. So, I’m not going to do it. I figured 80 was soon enough to consider no longer dyeing my hair.

While I admit I am “of a certain age,” – I’ve only just turned 70 –haven’t they said 60 is the new 40? --  I don’t really think about what I look like unless I’m facing a mirror. Yes, I have wrinkles, and when I smile, they’re kind of deep. I blame a good bit of weight loss several years ago for that. Until then, I really didn’t have much in the way of wrinkles.

But I still haven’t reached my weight-loss goal.

So, what’s the plan when I do? Well, it won’t be Botox, collagen injections or butt fat implants. They’re all temporary, and frankly make people look like clowns. I never aspired to Barnum and Bailey.

I’ve toyed with the idea of maybe getting a facelift. Maybe. The old-fashioned kind. Once. When it’s run its course, that’s it. I don’t want the Joan Rivers look where one wonders if the two sides of her face actually meet at the back of her head.

But those things are expensive. And considering two hair transplant surgeries eventually failed, I’m not sure it would be worth the expense.

Somehow, I don’t think I look old. I probably do, and I’m still living off the picture in my mind of me at 25.

Still, some of the things that are asked, I consider a bit bold – in the British sense of the word.

I recently had to find a new doctor because mine suddenly died. Apparently the whole way of practicing medicine has changed since the last time I changed doctors.

It used to be you could change doctors as easily as changing clothes. Pick up a phone, dial the number and make an appointment as a new patient.

Not so now.

It took an entire day of making phone calls. I wanted an individual doctor. There are none. They all belong to groups. What that means is a revolving door of doctors, and possibly never seeing the same one twice.

Worse, if you’re a new patient, you can wait anywhere from three to six months for an appointment. To my mind, if you have to wait that long, the doctor has too large of a caseload. And this is a group of doctors! I think it's a practice somewhat like hazing, where the person has to wait it out to prove their worthiness as a patient. (Or die trying.)

I was nearly out of a prescription that I require for continued good health. For that reason, I was able to whittle down the wait time to about three weeks, leading me to the assumption that they actually have open appointments, but they don't want to give them to anyone new. Their snide comment when you say you need something sooner is to tell you that you can go to an urgent care facility.

Right. I discovered that you not only have to fill out a lengthy questionnaire for them, most of which is about mental health – I suppose they realize that filling out lengthy forms when you need urgent care is likely to drive you to mental health problems – but you only get your first visit for “free,” by which I mean you aren’t charged a service fee that is not covered by your insurance, Medicare or anything else but a credit card. And this fee has nothing to do with the actual visit, and is rather expensive out-of-pocket.

And again, you may never see the same doctor again, so there’s no continuity of care.

In any case, I was able to see my new doctor for what she called an annual physical. This wasn’t anywhere near as complete as what I had from my now-deceased previous doctor.

She asked me if I experienced dizziness. Not sure why she asked. Nothing I told her about my medical history indicated that I might. She asked me if I had fallen. I don’t know why for the same reason as the dizziness question.

I walked into the office on my own, without cane, walker or any other mobility device. In fact the last time I used a cane was many years ago for about three weeks when I had surgery on my knee.

Okay, she probably had to cover all of the bases because I’m a new patient.

A couple of weeks later I went to a specialist with whom I have an annual appointment. I was asked the same questions, which I thought was really weird, since this wasn’t the first, second or even third time this doctor had seen me. And then she told me I should probably have a cane with me.

WHAT??

I can’t imagine what I would need a cane for, other than to bash doctors about the head for suggesting that I need a cane. My balance is fine. There’s nothing wrong with the way I walk. I have no mobility issues. Therefore, there’s no reason for me to have a cane. (Perhaps they're thinking of introducing Vaudeville medicine?)

While I do have some arthritis here and there that bothers me occasionally, I’m an occupational therapist. I know what to do and how to minimize pain. My house is safe. I work out at the gym three times a week, and the only reason I no longer take kick-boxing classes is that they got too expensive and then the facility I used to go to closed after the Covid-19 shutdown. I’m perhaps more sedentary than I’d like, but I now have a dog who doesn’t hesitate to tell me when he wants a walk – and is very insistent on it.

I recognize that David Bowie and several other rockers died a year younger than I am now, but I don’t have cancer or any of the other issues that took their lives. I’ve lived longer than my father did, but not longer than my mother yet.

We live in a world where we’re living longer and better than our parents and grandparents. There’s more of an emphasis on healthy foods and healthy lifestyles despite the obesity epidemic and people’s preference to take a pill to solve their problems than actually doing something positive.

Personally, I’d rather focus on health and the positives.

And you can keep your cane, and unless I have a suitcase, give up the seat to the lady with small children.