61 YEAR OLD MALE (contemplating about life)

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.