OPINION: Getting Old is not the Worse Alternative

By Bruce L. Brager


When you reach a certain point in life (e.g., at least somewhat old), you begin to look at things differently, or at least somewhat differently. Maybe, with luck, you bring a sense of humor as well as a sense of honest realism. I did not stop growing when I was fourteen. I stopped getting taller. Alas, I kept growing.

You are faced with a different reason for things that might go wrong. Back pain can no longer be explained by helping a friend move a piano. Shoulder pain is no longer throwing too many sliders – or is that wrist pain? I forgot. A torn rotator cuff is not what derailed my major league pitching career. It was not just the lack of even a hint of athletic ability. Knee pain is not an old football injury – American football or soccer, take your pick. The meniscus in my dominant knee did not tear on a Super Bowl winning touchdown run. Would you believe it was saving the game by robbing the opposition of a “walk off” home run?

I am no longer prematurely balding, and not because my hair grew back. Captain Picard becomes more and more good-looking in my eyes. When I get sloppy and skip shaving for a while, I look like a famous figure from history. General Robert E. Lee would not be my first choice to resemble, though I suppose if I don’t try to lay off the fresh ground peanut butter, it beats looking like Santa Claus.

I recently had cataract surgery. Though it beats glaucoma by a mile, it does seem like old guy surgery. To show that my sense of humor – a more and more useful tool – is not dead, I found myself appreciating the irony of my second eye problem, strabismus, (crossed eyes) which rhymes with meniscus. (Are those things in the back, which cause the pain, called “discus”?) This problem usually plagues little children.

An adult pain followed. I tried to get the insurance company to pay for glasses, though without success when I didn’t follow their exact claims procedures – primarily the sin of going to an optician I trust rather than one in their “network.” I feel so ashamed. Actually the insurance company paid most of the other medical expenses for my eyes, so complaining is unfair. But, then again, self-centered complaining is the American way.

When I met with someone from this company to see about transferring from my Obamacare plan to a Medicare supplement plan, I went to a nearby hospital to meet with a representative. While I was waiting I noticed a sign a few offices down, “geriatric outpatient services.” That would be me.

My latest age culture shock occurred with the last few days. I went for a walk on an exceedingly hot day in New York. I walked up 70th street to get the walk along the East River, instead of 71st. Rather than totally backtrack, I cut through the covered entrance of the David M. Koch entrance to the Hospital for Special Surgery. (Apparently the Koch brothers use money for things other than buying elections.) This hospital, world famous for orthopedics, was founded in 1863 as The Hospital for the Relief of the Ruptured and Crippled. The first patients were admitted on May 1, 1863, the first day of the American Civil War Battle of Chancellorsville.

They have a current ad campaign showing how active one can be after surgery. One shows an attractive woman, 40-something, jogging along a beautifully scenic ocean front route, 84 days after meniscus surgery. Does this mean if I have knee surgery I can jog with an attractive woman in a beautiful area, or become a successful jazz drummer, or a champion water skier? Doctor, after surgery will I be able to play the violin? Of course. Funny, I can’t play the violin now.

When push comes to shove, I try to remember the words of a 93 year old woman on a promo for a local hospital, “Don’t complain about being old. If you are not old, you are dead.”

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