TIME (LIKE LIFE AND FORTUNE) MARCHES ON
A couple of weeks ago I turned 65. I've spent the last month getting acquainted with the implications of that. First, there are the benefits. I won't get full benefits if I apply for Social Security retirement before next August (the age of official retirement has been creeping up for a while, unnoticed by most people.) But I do get Medicare, which is terrific, since I have had no health insurance for the last three years. Now I have an insurance policy that gets me all kinds of useful things. I can pay for prescription meds, instead of relying on my doctor and the kindness of strangers in pharmaceutical companies for samples. I can get on the bus for half-fare. When I do, people get up to give me a seat (usually, by the way, women--interesting, isn't it?)
One of the benefits that came with my insurance was a free membership at the local Y. With which comes one of the drawbacks of getting older--last week, I slipped on a wet floor in the locker room and broke a couple of ribs.
In the course of dealing with this, I discovered an Urgent Care facility in my PPO network, a block from my office. For a mere $10 co-pay, I saw a doctor and got a set of X-rays. What that gets me in practical terms is limited. There isn't much they can do for broken ribs. It all has to do with managing symptoms (especially pain, of which there is a lot.) "If wrapping yourself in an Ace bandage makes you feel better, do it," says my doctor. "Don't do anything that hurts. No pain, no pain." I have a prescription for painkillers, which I try to take as seldom as possible.
This creates certain practical problems. After 10 days of not taking out the garbage, I begin to feel like Shel Silverstein's Sarah Sylvia Cynthia Stout (read the poem if you haven't already.) So I call a friend who very kindly comes over and deals with the garbage.
I can't do heavy lifting, so now I get the groceries delivered. When the house gets intolerably dirty, I will enlist the very nice woman who cleans the office. In the meantime, when I see a dust bunny on the floor, I just leave it there and try not to think about it. Aging may be easier on men, who don't have the "If I don't clean it up now, I'll just have to do it later" reflex.
I need to get a bone density test; osteoporosis runs in my family (not just the women, either--my father had it.) Are the ribs the beginning of a trend? If so, I may not be able to use many of the current standard meds, since they can aggravate my ulcer. Thus I get introduced to yet another problem of aging--the tendency of multiple medical conditions to get in the way of each other's treatment. This is, presumably, how even young gerontologists get gray hair.
I'm getting used to the fact that I am now too old to die young. I feel as if I'm in a biological free fire zone.
But on the other hand, like many lawyers my age, I feel entitled to cut back on work a bit. Lawyers don't generally retire, but they do cut back. One of my colleagues just turned 96, and he's still practicing. I come in to the office later on days when I don't have to be in court. When I'm in the office, I work as hard as ever (maybe even harder, to make up for the late mornings), but I don't feel quite as driven.
I contemplate having spare time, and doing things with it. I'm on the board of my congregation, and have taken on the congregational library as my special project. So I need to learn about software for cataloging books. This can be fun. (I remember my father saying he was busier after he retired than he had been when he was still officially working.)
Am I the only senior citizen blogger? Probably not. Peace and light to you all.
One of the benefits that came with my insurance was a free membership at the local Y. With which comes one of the drawbacks of getting older--last week, I slipped on a wet floor in the locker room and broke a couple of ribs.
In the course of dealing with this, I discovered an Urgent Care facility in my PPO network, a block from my office. For a mere $10 co-pay, I saw a doctor and got a set of X-rays. What that gets me in practical terms is limited. There isn't much they can do for broken ribs. It all has to do with managing symptoms (especially pain, of which there is a lot.) "If wrapping yourself in an Ace bandage makes you feel better, do it," says my doctor. "Don't do anything that hurts. No pain, no pain." I have a prescription for painkillers, which I try to take as seldom as possible.
This creates certain practical problems. After 10 days of not taking out the garbage, I begin to feel like Shel Silverstein's Sarah Sylvia Cynthia Stout (read the poem if you haven't already.) So I call a friend who very kindly comes over and deals with the garbage.
I can't do heavy lifting, so now I get the groceries delivered. When the house gets intolerably dirty, I will enlist the very nice woman who cleans the office. In the meantime, when I see a dust bunny on the floor, I just leave it there and try not to think about it. Aging may be easier on men, who don't have the "If I don't clean it up now, I'll just have to do it later" reflex.
I need to get a bone density test; osteoporosis runs in my family (not just the women, either--my father had it.) Are the ribs the beginning of a trend? If so, I may not be able to use many of the current standard meds, since they can aggravate my ulcer. Thus I get introduced to yet another problem of aging--the tendency of multiple medical conditions to get in the way of each other's treatment. This is, presumably, how even young gerontologists get gray hair.
I'm getting used to the fact that I am now too old to die young. I feel as if I'm in a biological free fire zone.
But on the other hand, like many lawyers my age, I feel entitled to cut back on work a bit. Lawyers don't generally retire, but they do cut back. One of my colleagues just turned 96, and he's still practicing. I come in to the office later on days when I don't have to be in court. When I'm in the office, I work as hard as ever (maybe even harder, to make up for the late mornings), but I don't feel quite as driven.
I contemplate having spare time, and doing things with it. I'm on the board of my congregation, and have taken on the congregational library as my special project. So I need to learn about software for cataloging books. This can be fun. (I remember my father saying he was busier after he retired than he had been when he was still officially working.)
Am I the only senior citizen blogger? Probably not. Peace and light to you all.
posted by WiredSisters at 9:39 AM
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