Transitions

It’s been over a month since my last posting, and I think some explanation is needed. Several things contributed to this hiatus: I traveled to Moldova to visit my daughter who was working there, and went to family weddings in Florida and California. (All this travel occurred before COVID-19 changed our lives, hopefully temporarily.)

But I mainly took a break from my blog because health issues of friends and family interfered with my writing about humor and aging. A close family member and husbands of two good friends all have Alzheimer’s disease – and are on the advanced side of the disease spectrum. Seeing their deterioration, and the impact on their families, saddens me… and frightens me. But while I can empathize with others’ tsuris (a Yiddish word for troubles that conveys the pain better than any English word), and these concerns are likely to worsen as we all age, I will not let them overtake me. I am committed to providing support for people I care about who are in difficult circumstances, be it by listening to them, or when possible, providing concrete assistance for life’s tasks. But I need to affirm my own life and vitality. Retirement has been a period of beginning to explore my interests, unfettered by the constrictions of a challenging career… and I will nurture these new beginnings and the transition. So I am back from this brief break.

I also decided that my blog postings do not always need to have humor, although aging will remain a theme. In the coming months you will see a broader mixture of postings. There will be pieces about aging and retirement, some based on interviews I am doing with older people. No doubt some will also contain humor. This expansion will reflect my own explorations, will enrich the blog, and hopefully will be of interest to you. Also, if you have suggestions about the kinds of things you would like to see in my blog, related to aging, please let me know.

Thanks for still being there.

Losses I Can live With

I started noticing it first with restaurants. Places I liked were disappearing. Several dates with friends at restaurants ended in disappointment when we found that the restaurant had changed ownership, cuisine, or wasn’t even a restaurant any more. My husband and I planned to have dinner at a restaurant in the West Village called “El Faro,” that we have frequented since before the beginning of our 40+ year marriage. Not only was the restaurant no longer there… but the building it was in had been razed and a high-rise building was taking its place. What a shock! But when I saw a notice that my neighborhood “Ess-A-Bagel” shop was to close, this truly seemed like a serious loss—its food was the basis of many of our family get-togethers. I soon learned, with relief, that they planned to open a new store nearby. Although bagel stores are even more prevalent than drug stores in some parts of Manhattan, “Ess-A-Bagel” was, in my family’s views, the best. Whew, this loss was temporary, but it got me thinking about other losses I am experiencing as I get older.

Some losses relate to shopping for clothes. Full disclosure: I hate to shop for clothes for myself. So when I find a way to ease the difficulty, I become a loyal shopper. I was delighted when I found nearby stores (Coldwater Creek and Chico’s) where I could usually find something I liked.  One of the features I loved about Chico’s was that their sizing of clothes was rather unique—a size 1 was the usual size 8-10, a size 2 was 12-14, etc. I loved having to buy size 2.

But within a short time both stores in Manhattan closed. Soon after, I learned that Macy’s no longer carried a line of clothes I liked, Jones New York, and the salesperson informed me that the company was filing for bankruptcy. What was I to do? Although I know that my meager and infrequent shopping forays could not have caused the demise of these clothing lines, I felt some self-blame for their loss as well as frustration that they were disappearing. And as my readers know, I don’t like online shopping (I need to try something on before buying it). I am still searching for store replacements— but unless I travel out of town to another Chico’s, I will never be size 2 again.

Changes in makeup products also involves losses for me. There was a shade of Revlon makeup base that I used for many years, until it was discontinued, and new  shades were marketed—all labelled as being “anti-aging”. This occurred several times in the last few years, and each time I needed to find a new shade that best matched my skin color. The newer one was never quite as good as its predecessor. I suppose that producing these new products is good for marketing and for fashion trends, but I find it exasperating when I need to replace a product I have been totally satisfied with. 

And losses will continue. I just heard that my neighborhood supermarket and movie will be closing. Argh, just when I get comfortable, the ground moves again.

So how do I cope? In terms of restaurants, there are still many to choose from and I enjoy trying new ones. As for my frustrations when clothing shops close, I know I have other choices. The changes in makeup products are likely to continue, and I have learned to expect them and adapt—still hoping for those anti-aging effects. These are all losses I can live with. While I feel annoyed, sometimes angry, these are minor inconveniences for life’s minor activities. As I get older I know that many things I relied on are changing or will no longer be there for me in the same way. These trivial losses will be forgotten. It’s the loss of friends and family that I have started to encounter that will be the greatest challenge—no substitutes for these, no ready coping skills. I will need to learn to mourn and hold close the memories of those losses, so I can live with them too.

Microaggressions for Seniors

How can I help you, young lady? The salesman asked me. As you know, dear reader, I am lots of things—retired, sometimes funny, a list-maker, etc.,—but I am not a young lady. I certainly don’t want to be addressed as an “old lady,” but perhaps “madam” or just How can I help you? would do.

The term “microaggression” refers to a brief, common, often unintended negative or derogatory slight, either verbal or behavioral. The user may actually be well-meaning, but unaware of the negative impact of their statement or behavior. The term was developed by Chester M. Pierce and has been elaborated by Derald Wing Sue. It is generally used in application to marginalized groups, such as minorities or the disabled, but I have become aware of several types of microaggressions I have experienced that apply to older people.  

Making older age, per se, a commendable characteristic

I was in a restaurant with my husband and as we got up to leave a patron said to us You are such a cute couple.  I think we are a nice couple, usually well-dressed, often friendly to others, but I don’t think of us as “cute.” This appears to be in the same category as the “young lady” comment I mentioned earlier.

Infantilization

The waitress came over to my table to take my lunch order and asked; What are we having for lunch today? I’m not sure what she is having for lunch, and I don’t intend to share my lunch with anyone.

Using terms to address me that connote age differences

How are you Mama? or Do you want this seat Mama? I have experienced this in stores and on public transportation. I have also heard the male version, with “Pops” and “Sir” used. I may be old enough to be your mother, and I appreciate that you may be using it as a sign of respect, but I am not your Mama.

Speaking in a louder voice or speaking more slowly

I have heard a salesperson address an older monolingual Spanish speaker in a louder or slower voice, rather than simply looking for someone who may be able to translate. Don’t assume that an older person can’t hear you – it may be that they simply don’t speak your language.

Ignoring the older person when someone else is present

I experienced this when I took my elderly mother to a doctor’s visit. The doctor spoke to me about her test results as though my mother wasn’t even present. I’m not sure if the doctor felt she couldn’t understand, couldn’t hear, or wasn’t responsible for her own care, but none of these were true. Doing this just made her feel ignored.

So what’s to be done?

Identifying microaggressions is an important first step in addressing them and reducing their impact. Dear reader, if you have any other examples, please share them with us.

I think that sensitivity to this should be incorporated in the training of professions with substantial public contact, like healthcare workers. In terms of what we can do as individuals—I find that if I feel offended, at the minimum, I tell myself that the remark was insensitive even if well-intended. If ongoing contact is anticipated, or if it helps me feel better, then I will say something.  In the case of my mother’s doctor, I asked him to address her with his comments, and he quickly turned to speak to her directly.

Finally, please don’t deal with microaggressions by using any macroaggressions—they could get you in trouble!

Better Late Than Never— Sometimes

I was up-to-date in my profession, always incorporating new ideas in my research and writing. But lately I have realized that I am slow in incorporating some new products or inventions into my life.

There is a theory that categorizes people in terms of how quickly they accept or embrace new technology or new ideas. It is called the Diffusion of Innovation Theory, and it identifies people as early adopters (called innovators) or late adopters (called laggards), with most people falling in-between those categories.

For some things I am a late adopter, and I am ok with that for several reasons:

Familiar methods can work well

Bill-paying: I pay most of my bills the old-fashioned way, by writing checks and mailing them, using envelopes and stamps. It gives me some control over when the funds might be withdrawn from my account (as opposed to automatic withdrawals). It also works well for my husband and I when we reconcile our account balances. Hopefully, it will also help to keep post offices open.

Stemless wine glasses: I have always enjoyed cradling the stem of a wine glass as I drink my wine. Why did they take the stem away? Some believe it is to make wine-drinking more casual—but I don’t want it to be casual. I am fine keeping wine-drinking as a special activity, denoted by using a stemmed wine glass. When I want it to be casual, I will use a water glass or juice glass, perhaps with a straw.

Newspapers: I get the NY Times delivered every day. I know that my iphone can provide more current news headlines, but I enjoy reading the paper with my breakfast, reviewing in-depth materials on topics of interest, and doing the crossword puzzle. On a bus or train I am often the only one reading a newspaper, but still take pride in my newspaper folding/refolding skills that enable me to keep the paper neat as I go through the sections. And I am not interrupted with phone messages while I read.

Waiting to see if the innovation isn’t just a fad

Nude cut-out cold shoulders: These are blouses, sweaters, or tops of dresses, that are cut-out in the shoulders. I liked them when they first came out, especially for summer wear, and purchased several tops in this style. They seem to have gone out of fashion, and now hang in my closet, next to other items no longer in style. I will be more of a laggard in purchasing new styles.

Innovations so widely adopted that there’s a loss of individuality

The North Face black short winter jacket: I loved my black jacket and its logo. But when I saw so many other jackets with “The North Face” – clad people on the street, and had trouble finding my jacket at the end of parties—where so many similar ones were in the coat rack—I began wearing it less often. I understood the term “uniform” in a new way.

Time-saving innovations that may not be good for me

On-line shopping: I must admit, I don’t like it. Clothes are often sized differently, and I need to see how something looks on me before buying it. This will save me time in doing returns. In terms of food purchases, I like to touch, and sometimes squeeze (mainly fruits) the food I buy. Also, if I got everything on line and delivered, I may never need to go out of my home—not good in terms of exercise needs. So, I will continue to wait in line, rather than go on line, when I do my shopping.

My Conclusions

These innovations have been taken up by many, if not most, of the U.S. population and of the people I know.  I am sure I will be an early adopter of some innovations, but continue to be a laggard in others. I will try to make these decisions based on my own needs and desires, rather than what is fashionable or expected. But since the term “laggard” has negative connotation I will find a substitute, maybe “thoughtful chooser.”

Act Your Age!

As a child, I remember parents and others telling me to “act my age” — usually when they thought my behavior seemed immature — sometimes when they felt I was reaching too far beyond what was appropriate for my age. But what does it mean to “act my age” now as an older person who has retired from my career? Should I reflect on my accomplishments, provide wisdom to youth, and otherwise rest, as some believe? A recent event forced me to think about that.

This past Thanksgiving my husband and I took two of our grandchildren out for brunch the day after the big feast. It gave us an opportunity to talk with them and to hear how they are doing without lots of friends and family around.

We had a great time talking together. They are bright, talented young adults, both in college, and we were eager to hear about their classes, their college social life, and their plans for the future. They shared their thoughts and ideas with us, and we were supportive, complimentary, and asked many questions.

They asked about us as well and we mainly provided updates about minor health issues and future travel plans. I think we focused on these because we believed these were the topics they anticipated we would talk about.

 But as I listened to them I felt a stirring in my mind and emotions, a feeling that at this point in my life I was not that different from them. I too have aspirations and enthusiasms for my future. These plans don’t involve developing a life-long career plan nor finding a partner, thankfully, but they seem exciting to me, and I no longer feel the pressure of having to make the “right” decisions. I am taking Spanish classes to improve my conversational Spanish, and hope to get good enough to do volunteer work with Hispanic immigrants. I also started this blog, that helps me express and find humor in this stage of life, and I enjoy sharing my thoughts with others. There are also places I want to explore and books I want to read that I never had time for before. And I look forward to making plans for new activities and explorations.

Some psychosocial theorists call my stage of life late adulthood, usually considered to start at age 65. As I have indicated before, dear reader, I am fortunate in being healthy and financially stable, I have no caretaker responsibilities, and thus I can choose how I wish to spend my time.

As I started to think about the time ahead, I looked into what has been written about this stage of life to see how it applies to me, and perhaps find some guidance. One of the early theoreticians who wrote about late adulthood was Erik Erikson, who described late adulthood as the final stage of life, from age 65 to death. He described this as a period of looking back on one’s accomplishments and either feeling satisfied or disappointed, or as he called it, developing a sense of integrity or despair. I do some of that looking back, but I find I am more interested in looking forward, to what I hope to do in the future. Some may say I have not yet learned to “act my age” — but that’s fine with me. I believe that as it is my age, I want to fully own what I do with it. I am also pleased to see that more recent views of late adulthood make important distinctions in aging between 65 and later years, and some focus on the importance of undertaking new activities; that all sounds more in line with my own plans.

But are my feelings narcissistic and self-indulgent? Isn’t it too late to start following some of these interests? Has my time for exploration and excitement about life’s possibilities come and gone? Sitting with my grandchildren that day I almost felt embarrassed at my thoughts about new explorations, like it was something I shouldn’t be doing at my age, like wearing mini-skirts or using too much eye makeup.

But why not?

After we parted that day and I started heading back home I realized that just asking this question made me feel free to experience the pleasure I was getting out of these new pursuits, and to begin planning more. It also made me realize that even folks in late adulthood could choose to wear mini-skirts and lots of eye make-up. Why not indeed!

Silver Alert

There they were, at least seven people in wheelchairs who appeared to be in their 60s-80s, queued up and waiting for the boarding call at LaGuardia airport for the flight to Fort Lauderdale. My husband and I were waiting for this flight too; we travel to Florida two-three times yearly to visit family. As I smiled at this line-up, I suddenly realized that the people in this line could represent a harbinger of my future.

Recently retired from my full-time job as a research scientist- as my readers will remember by now- I eagerly make lists of things I plan to do with more free time. But I wondered if many of these people in wheelchairs had plans for when they retired; it was likely their plans didn’t involve needing a wheelchair.

That will never be me, I said to myself. I have been fortunate in always having good health and activities that engage me, and I somehow expect that this will continue indefinitely. But can I be sure?

After we picked up our rental car and were driving on the interstate highway to our condo in Pompano Beach, I noticed the large sign hanging across the highway that declared a “Silver Alert” – listing the model of a car and its license plate number. I was familiar with the “Amber Alert” signs in New York, asking drivers to be on the watch for a car that may have a kidnapped child, but I had never seen a “Silver Alert.” I imagined that it was for the elderly and sure enough, after googling it on my iphone, I learned that it was to alert drivers to a missing senior who may be driving and had some form of dementia. It worked, I began searching for the license plate number.

That will never be me, I said to myself again. I had recently stopped driving, having little use for it in New York City, and rely on my husband to drive when we go to Florida. But the sign did get my attention and reminded me that there may be a time when he may need to give up driving too. I have already noticed that he doesn’t see as well at night as he used to. On another recent trip in Florida as we drove home after a late dinner, he needed to make a turn in an unfamiliar road and we found ourselves up on the curb in the grass. Although poor lighting may have contributed to this, we both knew that his night vision was likely on the decline.

What’s to be done about these “Silver alerts,” these reminders that changes may be in store as I age? As you know, I follow recommendations for health maintenance, including regular exercise, and hope to continue to be mobile without wheelchair assistance. For night traveling in Florida, or on trips elsewhere, we can use Uber-type services. We can also go out for dinner earlier- those Florida Early Bird specials can be tasty and quite economical. So I conclude that while I have seen some harbingers of the future- they do not have activation dates and may never happen to me. And perhaps I will make fewer trips to Florida, where the harbingers of aging are rife.

Unassisted Living

On a recent visit to Florida, I called an elderly cousin and learned that her telephone number had been disconnected. Fearing the worst, my husband and I drove to her housing development, where she lived with her spouse, and learned that they had sold their home and moved into a senior facility. Checking the location of their new address, I saw that this facility had three levels: independent living, assisted living, and memory care. I was happy to learn that they were in the “independent living” section, but felt saddened knowing that there was only one direction they could go, and once one starts moving, there’s not likely to be any reversal of direction. We didn’t get to see them, as my cousin’s husband recently had surgery, but we plan see them on our next trip; hopefully they will still be “independent.”

In the past, the term “assisted living” appealed to me, as I appreciated the many ways I was helped by others. For example, I pay someone to clean my house, and my husband does our food shopping and most of the cooking. I wish I had someone to do other errands like buying gifts and picking up items in the pharmacy, so I have wanted more assistance. But when I read the brochures and websites about assisted living facilities, I learned that “assisted living” means something else, not the services I had in mind. The ADLs, or Activities of Daily Living, that generally qualify someone for assisted living status, means that they require assistance for such activities as eating, bathing and toileting, and thank you, but I don’t need or want assistance with any of those, not ever, if possible.

So what’s to be done? I plan to continue my independent, relatively unassisted, at home, living status as long as possible. As I am fortunate to be able to afford long-term care insurance for my husband and myself, we will have financial assistance to maintain this status. I don’t mind paying for this expensive insurance, as I have a dear friend who is disabled and has been using his long-term care insurance for many years. I think of these payments as my participation in a benevolent Ponzi scheme: money is taken from some to use for others. I don’t mind helping him, and I certainly don’t mind if I never have to use this insurance for myself or my husband. And, at least for now, an unassisted living status is my preference.

My First Walker

I recently had to get a walker for a short time period. I had two tumors removed from my thigh that were benign, and the prognosis is that I will make a full recovery. However, because some muscles were affected during the surgery, when I left the hospital I was given a walker as a safety measure. It was the basic no-frills type, with two wheels in the front, used by holding on to the side bars and pushing it when walking on flat surfaces. I expect to have it for only a few weeks, as I am in physical therapy and my leg is getting stronger every day.

When I was first given the walker I was surprised and thought “this is not for me, it’s for old people.” However, when encouraged to use it at the hospital, I felt more secure walking with it. I also realized that it was the trauma to my leg, not my age, that caused me to need a walker. So I took it with me when I left.

 I live in an apartment and found that while I don’t need to use the walker indoors, it is helpful when I go out to do errands. I have made some observations:

First, when I passed someone in the street or in a store with a walker, I felt an immediate connection and smiled or nodded at them. Sometimes I got a response. I was pleased when I did, and I think the other person enjoyed it too.

When I went into my local nail salon, I saw a man with a high-end walker. It had a multi-colored cloth-covered seat, with a big pouch for carrying things. Mine looked too basic, with no accessories. So, my second observation was that even though I had some ambivalence about using my walker, I certainly didn’t want an inferior one.  

I found that while the walker is intended to glide easily over the ground, this is almost impossible in the uneven, pocked, New York City streets. I had to be careful not to get my wheel stuck in a crevice or hole, with the potential to cause me to flip over the front of the walker, and wind up worse off than before. In various shops that I entered, carpets or rugs also posed a risk. Thus, while a walker can provide some support, vigilance in its use is necessary.

On one outing with my walker I went to the supermarket, and left the store with two bags hanging from my wrists.  A passerby suggested I get some hooks on my walker to make carrying packages easier. I smiled and said “thanks, I can manage, and anyway this is just temporary.” Final observation: I was eager to tell people (and myself) that my use of a walker was just temporary.

So, what did I learn? A walker is not just a functional accessory; I have feelings about it. Stereotypes about only old folks using walkers are false; they can be helpful in many circumstances. But I have to remind myself about this, as I have this stereotype, and expect that others do too. I also learned that it felt good to reach out to others using walkers. It helped me form a reassuring bond, however fleeting. It’s sort of like acknowledging other dog walkers when you are with your pet, or honking at someone who is driving the same car.

Next, while this first short-term walker may be the only one I will ever have, at some point I may need one for an extended time period. And if I do, dear reader, you can be sure I will get all the upgrades and accessories available, including a fancy comfortable seat and compartments for carrying things. If it helps me get to where I want to go, I will be thankful. And I may even ask my friend the decorator to help me set it up, so I won’t have to experience any walker envy.

WORRY NOT

I have always been a worrier. I have worried about important things, like the illness of a family member, a critical project at work, or concern about a teen-ager being out too late. Worry or stress has been shown to be useful, and can signal you to avoid danger or get into action, so I am fine with worrying about those kinds of things. But, like most people, I have engaged in many hours of absolutely useless worrying about unimportant things.

Research has shown that as people get older they are more satisfied with their lives. I hope that a reduction in worrying will be part of the improvement in life that I experience as a newly retired person.

To help me further my worry-reduction efforts, I looked back on my worrying career and analyzed my experience of useless worrying.  I found that this worrying had several sequential stages: anticipatory, early stage, intermediary, full-blown and relief. I will illustrate with two examples: what to wear at an upcoming professional conference and what to serve at a dinner party or family birthday celebration.

In my work as a research scientist I attended many conferences, and as the matriarch of a family with six grown children, most partnered, there are a lot of celebrations.

Anticipatory Worrying: The event is still far off, six months or more. It feels like worry is nibbling at the edges of my consciousness, mostly in the background, and, therefore, no sleep is lost.

I’m scheduled to present at a conference. Where should I buy the dress or suit? And what about my weight? I would like to lose some weight before I go shopping.

Then there’s the dinner party I am planning.  First, I gather a list of guests and their particular food needs. Our family has vegetarians, pescatarians, vegans, and gluten-free folks. I’m not too worried about the omnivores. Lucky for me there are some omnivores.

Early Stage of Worry: The event is now three-four months away. The specific items to worry about are emerging. Early “to do” lists are made so I can be sure to worry about all relevant elements. Plenty of time remains, and still no sleep is lost.

I’ll do a quick check in my closet and it reveals nothing I want to wear, so I need to go shopping. Some earnest worry begins, and since I now have a plan to lose weight, I don’t want to buy something that won’t fit well… so I put off shopping.

I have the guest list for the dinner party, but should I cook or ask people to bring things? Cater? Have it in my home or in a restaurant? Lots of items to fret about.

Intermediary Stage of Worry: The events are about two months away, and free-floating worry has begun, sort of an angst that I wake up with every day. Some sleep is now lost.

I go to a shop and start trying on things, but since there’s time, I don’t have to get something yet, and nothing looks quite right. Also, I am still trying to lose weight.

I need to make final decisions about whether to cater, cook or go out. The guest list is finalized. Since the event is a happy occasion, I try to enjoy this planning. But what gift should I get? Ah, another item for the to-do list.

Full-Blown Worry: The events are now about one month away, and substantial sleep is being lost. I have entered the acute stage of worrying.

I do more shopping, and at last, I buy something, that may or may not need alterations. I experience some relief. But what about a purse, shoes, jewelry?  I can ratchet up the worrying again, but now I have only a few weeks left, so I rush to get everything else I need.

Decisions about food have been made for the party. But something unexpected may happen at this stage, for example learning that some out-of-towners have decided to attend. Where will they sleep? How long will they stay and do I need to make plans for them? Also, some of the guests may not get along, will they make it uncomfortable for others?

Relief at Last: This usually comes on the eve of the event, since there’s not much left in terms of decisions to make. It lasts through the event period. All goes well.

The clothes for the conference were laid out and the speech finalized the night before the event. I am ready. 

As for the dinner party, arrangements are done, plans are set, and there is nothing more to do the night before. The dinner goes well and guests happily take home leftovers.

At this point it would appear that worrying is over, but it isn’t.

Regrets: Once an event has passed, I should be able to stop worrying. Not so. Regrets about conferences, speeches, and parties have worried me months and even years after the event. There was an event where I gave an excellent presentation, but in pictures of the event I thought the suit I wore didn’t look well on me. I still think about that. And I remember a dinner party where I had loads of shrimp, and I forgot to put out one of the shrimp dipping sauces. This was decades ago, and it still bothers me. I can’t call this worry, just useless regret, a different kind of “leftover” from events.

Cumulative Lifetime Worry: I estimate that overall I have engaged in worry at least 3 days a week, for an average of 30 minutes daily, although some episodes have lasted through substantial parts of the night. Some of this worry time was significant and legitimate. But most of my worry time was for unimportant things, adding up to years of my life. What I could have done with that time!

Worry Space Available: I have discovered that after some worries dissipate, there is always space available for new ones, so that the overall quantity of worry does not decrease. For example, if I was worried about an upcoming event, after it is over there is some breathing room created, but soon the space operates like a vacuum, searching for and sucking up a new worry. That’s quite amazing. If they could invent an air balloon with this feature, you would never need to worry about it getting punctured, losing air and descending, as a new influx of air would immediately fill all the available space.

So what’s to be done to reduce useless worrying? I have some ideas:

1. I will accept the fact that I will never be worry-free. In small doses, for appropriate purposes, worry is helpful. I will use it to signal me to take needed actions.

2. I will allow myself, in the midst of the acute stage, to seek symptom relief (candy bars and alcohol for me), but only in moderation. I will still deal with the concerns.

3. I will think about what I could accomplish and enjoy if some of that worry time was used to do things I like and be with people I care about.

4. I will reduce stress by following the guidelines many health organizations have published on stress reduction methods such as exercise and relaxation techniques.

5. I will not worry about any of this. I have started retirement with many interests and activities: traveling, writing, socializing. All of these are serving to reduce my worry space. Furthermore, in retirement, I do not have to attend any conferences and my children now invite us to their dinner parties. Yay to that. Worry not.

Managing Doctors

For most of my life the doctors I saw were older than me, and it seemed that was how it should be. I believed that their age brought experience and wisdom. When I noticed that the pediatricians who took care of my children were my age, that seemed fine too.  Their youth meant they might be better able to relate to my children, and since they weren’t that long out of medical school, their knowledge was likely to be up-to-date.

Once I got into my 40s, some of my own doctors were suddenly younger than me. And as I have gotten older, much to my surprise, others have even retired. How could they do that? Though I too have now retired, I thought they would always be there for me. Even worse, though I am relatively healthy, I spend more time with doctors. My body requires more attention. It got me thinking about some things:

1.How should I address my much younger doctor? I am generally informal with people I meet and don’t use titles. However, doctors usually address me using my first name, but I don’t know if I should call my doctor “Dr. X” or use his/her first name. Doctors are probably trained to introduce themselves with their title to give patients confidence in them; starting with “Hi, I’m Harvey” may not elicit confidence in some patients. However, since I am older than most of them, and am a Doctor too (a PhD), it seems strange not to use first names when we address each other.

2. How can I get their best medical advice? In a recent visit to a doctor, we discussed whether I needed to undergo an optional medical procedure; I asked for his opinion. He said “if you were my mother, I would say you should…”. Even though our age differential made it possible that I could be his mother, I wished he had said “if you were my wife,” or even “sister.” Then I realized that what was more important was whether he actually liked the person he referred to and would do his best for their health. But could I ask him what he would recommend for someone in his family he really liked? Perhaps next time.

3. How do doctors view me? In a recent visit to a new doctor, he looked down at my chart and said “you look 10 years younger than your age.” I know he meant that as a compliment, but, trust me reader, ten years younger than my age is not too young. I feel, and thought I looked, at least 20 years younger than my age. Perhaps training for doctors should include something on this topic, in a module on “Developing Rapport with your Patient.”

4. How can I manage the increased frequency of medical care visits? Taking care of myself now requires more doctor visits and medical services. Nothing serious, but increases in bodily aches and pains, and changes in hearing and vision, involve referrals to medical specialties and services – like rheumatology, orthopedics, and audiology – that I always thought were for older people. I guess I qualify. The amount of time these visits require surprises me, and it would be a challenge if I were still working full time. But I have other things I’d rather do.

5. How can I adjust to these changes? I have some ideas.  I will appreciate the fact that my doctors’ youth means they have more current medical knowledge, and I will not call them by their first names until there have been several visits and we are both comfortable using first names. I will assume that they love their moms, so that I will welcome advice preceded by “If you were my mother… .” And, unless there is an urgent medical problem, I will manage multiple medical appointments by scheduling them around the things I want to do. Finally, I will make staying healthy a priority, so I don’t have to think too much about any of these things.