THE FIRST RULE OF GEEZERDOM
by Frank Kaiser
I’ve learned there is one rule of senior living that's as immutable as gravity, God's Commandments, or Star Trek's Prime Directive.
t's the First Rule of Geezerdom: Never ask "How you doing?"
Why? If you ask, they will tell. And tell. And tell.
I always thought folks mainly talked about people, things, and ideas. Not so after age 65. We talk pretty much all the time about our aches and pains.
And we're proud of it!
The vocabulary of elder illness, both real and imagined, is vast. Violate the First Rule with a 70-year-old just back from seeing her doctor, and she'll go on for an hour or everything from dandruff to death.
She'll render you speechless, obligated to pay heed to her diabetes, dermatitis, depression, delirium, dementia, deafness, dermatitis, dropsy, double vision, diverticulitis, and dyschezia, (Dyschezia?) And that's just the D's.
With so much focus on grumbling, it shouldn't surprise you to learn that there's a rigid subculture here, not unlike the military or the church.
We seniors wear our ailments like battle ribbons. Bragging rights go to those who have challenged their physicians most.
A brain transplant, for example, instantly confers four-star status on any patient.
On the other hand, if you've reached age 70 without a heart bypass, or at least a couple of angioplasties, you're not even in the game.
A quadruple bypass, on the other hand, confers starter honors at the shuffleboard court.
The Second Rule is that you don't want to be out-illed when you or someone talking to you violates the First Rule.
Suddenly Trivia: How much was spent on Medicare last year?
a) $128 billion b) $218 billion, c) $812 billion.
Here, for the benefit of you Boomers just now rising up into the ranks, is a Primer on essential medical one-upmanship.
Like Basic Training or SATs, by the time you're 65, you are expected to have experienced the following examinations — if only to have something to talk about while bobbing at the community swimming pool.
Colonoscopy: A procedure in which the doctor drives a double-decker sightseeing bus up your butt, taking a leisurely look at everything below the stomach. The Lower GI, a medieval variation, is when you are asked to hold a bathtub of foul tasting liquid in your bowels for 20 minutes without exploding.
Endoscopy: When your doctor and her friends drive that same bus down your throat, checking out all those cliffs and odd folks you see in Nexium ads.
For men only, there's the dreaded Prostate Exam: Here, the physician inserts his hand, arm, shoulders and head up your butt, often inviting the nurse and others to join him. Once all is behind you, you're offered a tissue. This is not for your tears.
For women, there's the Mammogram: After your saggy breast is pushed up to where it used to be 40 years ago, a huge, cold machine drops down, crushing the poor old thing as you gasp in pain.
On the plus side, this is about the only time anyone will ask you to appear topless.
When seniors aren't carrying on about their illnesses, they're getting checkups in hope of finding something new to boast about.
Suggest lunch to a resident of an adult community, and be prepared to hear a detailed explanation on why she can't make it because of a doctor or lab appointment. Or both.
For you Boomers now invading seniordom, here are a few more observations about aging and health. Soon…
You'll no longer laugh at Preparation H commercials.
You'll know all the warning signs of a heart attack.
You'll be the first one to find the bathroom, wherever you go.
You'll enjoy hearing about others' operations.
You'll browse the bran cereal section in your grocery store.
You'll be able to live without sex, but not without your glasses.
Welcome to the wonderful world of AARP. By the way, did I mention my recent brain transplant?
Suddenly Trivia Answer: b) $218 billion, expected to double by 2010.
