Suddenly, I seem to have reached the At-Your-Age stage of life.
I say “suddenly” because I didn’t realize I was headed in a new direction. I was just living my life, staying busy, having fun and doing my thing. I didn’t know I was headed for a “stage” in life at all.
Then people began prefacing their remarks to me with “At Your Age....”
The first place I noticed the phrase was at a fastfood counter. I ordered coffee one day and was told, “At Your Age, you can get coffee at a reduced price.” Well, saving money seemed like a good idea, so I unwittingly entered the stage of life called “At Your Age.”
Then, every time I went to a doctor, dentist or optometrist, every little ailment they detected was due to being At Your Age. If my eyes were dry, it was because At Your Age this often happens. If my knees squeaked a little occasionally, that was to be expected “At Your Age.” It was suggested that I take ibuprofen and accept the squeak as the least of my worries.
If my teeth weren’t as strong as they used to be, they, too, were experiencing the effects of being “At Your Age.”
Then I noticed that clerks in stores— when I could find one — now think it’s appropriate to call me Sweetheart, Dear, and Honey. It’s like they have to coax some batty old codger off the ledge at the nursing home by being extra nice. And the batty old codger is me.
They don’t say it when I plop my animal print pants or my cute boots on the counter and whip out my debit card, but I can see it in the clerk’s eyes: “Really? You’re going to wear this At Your Age, Sweetheart?” I can tell they were expecting to ring up some nice roomy elastic-waist pants in a muddy pink shade and a pair of orthopedic sneakers for a dame At My Age.
Medicare, and to a certain extent my supplemental insurance company, have decided that At My Age I no longer need certain tests, procedures and medications like the ones that might keep me alive longer.
So I get polite notices in the mail that Medicare will no longer pay for this test or that medication and they’re sorry for any inconvenience this might cause. Well yes, it is inconvenient having to pay full price for a medication they won’t pay for but still pay my full Medicare and insurance premiums.
The notices always add that if I wish to contest their decision I may call their toll-free number, get in line behind 12,000 other oldsters who will be calling to contest the decision that day, and wait for the nice robot to become available to help me as soon as possible. Like sometime next month.
But they reason, what else have you got to do At Your Age than to sit there listening to the elevator music and waiting for Robo-Help?
Of course, I understand that the changes in their services are designed to convince me to die sooner, thus relieving the country of another batty old codger who is soaking up the country’s limited healthcare funds that could go an illegal Somali immigrant in Minnesota.
Though my tax money funded Medicare to start with and is still doing so, the bureaucrats hope I will understand that they needed that money for other things like paying for the superior insurance enjoyed by our congressmen so they’ve “borrowed” from the funds that were supposed to help people At Our Age, including the Social Security funds that we contributed for years.
I understand that perfectly. I just don’t appreciate it, Sweetheart.
Nor do I appreciate other things that are assumed about anybody my age.
Restaurants assume that At Your Age, you will want to order from the senior menu of tiny little dishes without much salt or flavor. And that you want to eat them by 4 p.m.
Advertisers assume that the only things older people buy are walk-in tubs, Life Alerts and burial insurance so that’s all we’re shown on TV.
My own denomination’s magazine for senior adults assumed for many years that the only stories we wanted to read At Our Age were about grandchildren, making cookies and incontinence. Thank goodness, the publishers finally realized that some of us can actually comprehend articles that don’t concern fattening up the grandkids, the “good ole days” or Depends.
Society needs to understand that At My Age I am still doing step aerobics, working at a job that requires me to think, getting into the shower without help, traveling at every opportunity, walking around in my cute boots and reading small print. If it’s not too small, that is.
Will I be able to do these things forever? Of course not. At some point, I may have to cut down to walking instead of aerobics and buy cute boots with flat heels. But I’ll decide when to do that.
At Your Age, I really don’t want you deciding anything for me, Honey!
