Getting old ain’t for… CategoriesThe Pleasure of Life

Getting old ain’t for…

I’m beginning to realize that when senior citizens say “getting old ain’t for wimps,” they are using the word “wimps” in place of a more colorful term.

Seriously, I am amazed that the older folks I know don’t complain 24/7? I’m now complaining 18/7, and I’m not even 60 yet. I’ve got so many different doctors at this point I’m thinking of joining the AMA as an associate member. And I’m a piker compared to my parents and their legion of physics.

Yet, these older folks don’t really complain much. You might hear the occasional, “Well, I don’t get around quite as good as I used to…” but they usually stop there instead of continuing the sentence: “because when I walk you can hear my thigh bone grinding against my shin bones from 15 feet away.”

Why would they be so diplomatic? I think it’s two things:

  1. They are being careful not to scare the bejesus out of the junior citizens. It’s like pregnancy: no one tells a new bride how difficult pregnancy and childbirth is because she might decide not to take on the burden, and the species needs those gullible young baby factories to keep producing, or we might not last long enough for some nut-job dictator to start the war that kills us all.
  1. They understand the trade-off. In fact, past a certain age, it’s probably discussed very explicitly in the doctor’s office:

Doctor: “Agnes, I’m afraid you have [insert malady] which is going to cause constant excruciating pain in your [insert where you don’t want pain].”
Agnes: “Are you kidding me, doc? I can’t deal with that.”
Doctor: “Well, there’s always the alternative…”
Agnes: “Aw, hell. Alright…”

But as I get older, I’m beginning to rack up the maladies. And it’s a little frustrating, to tell you the truth.

It’s one thing to pay the price today for something I did very recently: OK, yes, I ate a pint of Ben & Jerry’s over the weekend (and by “weekend,” I mean “Friday night”) (and by “Friday night,” I mean “in the 15 minutes just before I went to bed at 1:47 a.m. on Saturday morning while standing at the kitchen counter reading the paper”), so I understand why I’m tipping the scales a little heavier now.

It’s altogether different to be paying the price today for stuff I did in the 1970s, especially when we didn’t know any better. Back then “sunblock” was when the shade of your beach umbrella crept far enough that you had to get up and move your towel so you could keep getting that savage tan. “SPF” was the sound you’d make if anyone suggested you shouldn’t use baby oil to accelerate the effects of UV rays.

Yet now, FORTY YEARS later, I have spots on my head that I have to treat with some kind of cream so they don’t turn into skin cancer. The cream is going to cause blistering on my scalp, so naturally at this point I have no hair up there to hide the unsightly mess. And don’t even get me started on my plantar fasciitis, my facial neuropathy, my knee issues or the fact that I have more pain when I get up in the morning than when I did when I went to bed the night before.

Actually, I think I have figured out why you don’t hear the older folks I know complaining as much: they don’t have a column on boomerconnections.com. I guess I ought to get with the program and suck it up.

Meanwhile, next time you ask an older person how they’re doing and they say, “OK, I guess – just a few aches and pains…,” remember that they are doing you a favor.

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Chuck Hansen is an award-winning author and humorist. In addition to his books, Chuck’s writing has appeared in publications in Virginia and across the country. Chuck also speaks frequently, bringing his unique, thoughtful humor to business and community group meetings and conferences. Chuck and his wife Stacy have two adult children (Daniel and Madison) and live in beautiful Midlothian, Virginia. For more information, or to contact Chuck, visit his website atchuckhansen.com.

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