How do you know you are getting old?
When young males sit around with their buddies and talk
loudly; they often discuss how many times they had sex the previous night. It
does not matter if everybody knows that the numbers are grossly inflated, youth
is the time of bragging, the time of shooting the breeze. Young people want to
show off with their vitality. After all we are all on this Earth to make sure
our species survive.
But later on in life, men sit with their best friend, their
confidant, and the conversation is reduced to a one on one situation and the voices
are kept low. They discuss how many times they got up during the previous night
to go to the bathroom. And these numbers are painstakingly accurate, they are
neither inflated or deflated. They are not bragging, they are merely
acknowledging how life has changed and what keeps them up at night. No need to
discuss the other intimate facts of the night, each learnt it by now that it
should be kept between him and his partner.
When I was a small child I spent hours with my grandfather. I
learnt from him to read the daily papers and that it should be read from the
back page going towards the front. For me that meant to read the sports pages
first, for him it meant to read the obituaries first. I could see the smirk on
his face when he discovered a familiar name among the dead who was younger or who
was exactly his age. Not that he was happy about their demise but he was happy
that he was the one who read about them and not vice versa. He would look at me
and say, that poor bastard will smell the lilies from six feet under. That was
one of his favorite expressions. We could talk about any future event, and he
would look at me and say, I will be smelling the lilies from six feet under by
then. I just laughed and the thought never occurred to me that he was at least
half way serious.
Death is always lurking around the corner. My father used to
say, every man receives his death sentence at the moment of his birth. Yeah,
but when do we start thinking about it that it could happen to us, as well? As
we go through life we learn about acquaintances and sadly about friends and
relatives who were close to us, who die at a young age. As much as it saddens us
we still do not think that it can happen to us. As long as some ugly illness
does not affect us or our most loved ones, death happens to somebody else. To
the old. So, again, when do we start feeling that we are getting old? Or
rather, when do we actually acknowledge that we are not young anymore? Maybe
not old, but not young either.
By the stroke of luck, a fluke ultrasound exam that seemed
totally unnecessary, revealed that I had an aneurysm, well actually not one but
three abdominal aneurysms. One big and two cute, little ones. I was very well versed
about the seriousness of aneurysms – thanks to the high quality medical shows I
now admit to watching on TV – so I knew I had to take care of them immediately.
I knew it is routine on the one hand, and I also knew it was a dangerous operation.
The funny thing is I was not scared. Not yet, not before the operation.
So there I was in the hospital and I saw my medical record.
It said: 61 YEAR OLD MALE. That was me. Short and sweet description, my new identification,
telling the medical staff all they needed to know about me. Wow, my name became
irrelevant. I was a 61 year old human being who happened to be male. Being male
is relevant, when you think about how they are going to place the catheter in you.
61 years of age is relevant when they have to consider how radically they can
treat you how much abuse you can withstand. Your name, national origin –
unimportant.
Religion came into the picture, in case you want someone to
pray for you, or maybe to give you the last rite? I was already upset learning
that I was 61 years old, so perhaps it can be forgiven to me when I sent the
good chaplain on his way using somewhat irritated words.
The operation was successful and the patient did not die. That
he was in excruciating pain, was not the doctors' concern. Nothing to do with
the operation. Well, fuck that, I did not have the pain before and now I have
it?
Walking in the hallway with the help of a nurse’s aide hours
after the operation:
Aide: “You are feeling better now?”
Me: “Better? Better than what? I felt perfectly healthy
before I came in here and now I have to lean on you and tubes are hanging out
of me? Why would I feel better now?”
Her face was priceless, poor thing she had no idea what
operation I had and I was mean enough not to explain immediately.
But yes, I have to admit, I finally know I am not very young.
Maybe not too old yet, but I know now I should cherish and enjoy every minute
of my life that is left. And I know I am surrounded by a great family and the
best friends one can ever get. So who cares if they think I am a 61 year old
male. I am me, nothing has changed.
