On Being Old 8 How the Elderly are Viewed

Do younger people just see old people as complainers? Are the elderly seen as curmudgeons? (Think “Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-In” and the Arte Johnson and Ruth Buzzi characters.) Does it seem like those oldsters are always finding fault with “young people nowadays?”

I know when I was young I didn’t want to hear some old geezer trying to tell me how I should act. The times were different. There were places to explore, life to live and experience. Who wanted to listen to some old guys talk about “When I was young …?” (But I also have to admit, I didn’t have much contact with anyone over 60 until I was in my 50s.)

Then, when my aunt went into a nursing home and we visited, I was appalled at seeing all these oldsters hunched over in their chairs with hardly any life in them. Or, their wheelchairs in circle with some young thing crowing, “Let’s play ball,” as she’d toss a beach ball to one. (That’s my image of nursing homes … not very appealing for end-of-life days.)

When I first moved to Bradford and saw what was happening at the Mountain View Senior Center, I was excited. What an awesome place for people to get together. There were many programs and groups, and the participants were wonderful, friendly and vibrant.  I told myself when I got older, I’d definitely join.

I tried to get my mother involved, but she wouldn’t go. Now, years later, I understand more. Mum reached the point where she loved people to visit, but she just didn’t have the gumption to go anywhere. Not everyone is highly sociable towards group settings.

I’m that way now. I find myself wanting to stay home more and more. I no longer want to be around groups of people. I’ve turned into one of these curmudgeonly old people. I can easily rant about these “young people nowadays.”

I sometimes wonder what happened to older cultures who respected their elders. When did old people start being locked away in nursing homes? When their children could no longer care for them? (I never want to be a burden on my kids.)

And, what happens at that point, when years of experience and wisdom are not honored or wanted? When no one is willing to listen, what happens to life purpose? When people stop visiting or calling, do the older folks become invisible? Do they feel unappreciated and unloved? Are they only relegated to senior events and centers with some young person providing entertainment to keep them occupied?

I no longer have the energy to do things, go places. And that’s hard being an artist who loves to share her work and participate in exhibits. Besides the lack of energy, there are the aching joints at walking around, dealing with stairs, getting in and out of the car, etc. Standing in one spot while chatting with someone is the worst … or waiting in line at the grocery store check-out.

Then, too, my curmudgeonly ways have me standing my ground on what I believe, ha-ha.

On Being Old 5 Living with Pain

As I get older, pain, in one form another, seems to be an almost always companion. I’m stubborn about running to the doctor’s (haven’t been in over 30 years except for one time when I had strep throat. I ­nd other ways to deal like ibuprofen, Olbas salve, essential oils, ice, etc.) Pain issues may be one aspect of an older person becoming invisible. (Becoming invisible is a topic I’ll talk more on later.)

Pain forces me to stay home, keeping quiet so I don’t sound like a whiner while trying to suck it up and be brave. Also, I fi­nd it embarrassing and humiliating when out in public and struggling to stand without showing pain. However, I think we should be able to talk about these things. After all, it is part of life. We shouldn’t have to be ashamed of being old or feel like we’re being pushed aside or that we no longer serve a purpose. We shouldn’t have to suffer alone or be relegated to being with others just like us. (And don’t even ask me what I think of nursing homes – I’d rather be dead.)

There was a time when elders were appreciated and honored. Some days it’s almost easier to say what doesn’t hurt. I chalk it all up to getting old … except when I do something stupid, like tripping and falling. I’ve been lucky most my life with those types of things. I’ve always had good balance. However, if I’m not paying attention and hurrying …

Like in 2019 when I took a header out on my deck. It happened so fast; I didn’t have time to brace myself (probably a good thing). My foot caught while stepping up, and I fell flat on my stomach, and hard. I saw the deck coming up and can’t believe I didn’t smash my face. What saved me was my chest. The worse injury was to my right knee and foot. The skin in those areas still show bruised areas three years later.

Then, there was a fall last month. That time, though, it was because my foot sunk in mud up to my ankle. The only bruise then was to my ego for taking a short cut across a damp, new grass area of the lawn. Although, any kind of a fall causes some aches and soreness just from jarring the body when momentum suddenly ceases.

The most recent fall was Jan. 23. I’d gone out to shovel the front porch and steps. Coming back inside, my toe caught the stoop and down I went slamming my knee onto the floor (thank God for carpeting). My scream scared the daylights out of Tuli and Leo and the two kitties took off. Thankfully, my momentum carried me forward so the door closed on the snow still falling outside.

I knew enough to lie still for a few minutes mentally accessing the damage then slowly moving little by little. I contemplated how to get up before actually trying to do so. I believe taking this time, breathing and calming down, allows the body and mind to pull together. I eventually was able to stand. I had to use a cane to get around.

As I write this three days later, I am much better, but walking is still difficult. Getting out of bed is still the hardest, especially if Tuli is sleeping with me as I try to maneuver my leg around her.

One of my issues with dealing with bad knees, achy feet, etc., is being short. Now that I’m not able to lift my legs well, I tend to scuff. (Scuffing has always annoyed me and now I’m doing it.) This also means stairs are a major issue, and “building to code” with a 7-7 ½ inch rise makes steps difficult. Both the fall in 2019 and this recent one had to do with a single step up.

With stairs, I have to consider if my knee(s) will hold my weight with the movement as I step up or down. I lean or hold heavily on railings all the time. But now, I also need to consider my other foot when climbing stairs, the foot that might drag behind. This was my downfall (pun intended) on the 2019 fall and now this one. Guess I’m not as attentive on these single step-ups.

One of my goals when moving to this house was to set myself up for my older years. The builder I had insisted on the code for steps. This bothered me because we’re not a one-size-size-fi­ts-all people. What if code sizes don’t work for your personal safety … whether it’s age or body type?

Yes, I understand needs for families, but as an older woman, those rules don’t fi­t me. I need my home set up for my safety, yet all I kept hearing was about selling the house in the future. Hello, I’m living here now. I didn’t buy this house to turn around and sell it. I spent a lot of money making this house fi­t my needs. If, when I’m gone, the next owners need to make changes for their lifestyle, then they can do that.

A couple years ago, I had my back steps and steps to the garage rebuilt to suit movability with a shorter rise and wider tread. What a difference that made! I can easily go up and down these steps and the railings on both sides are sturdy for when I need the extra support. Making my living space work for me gives me peace of mind along with safety. 

On Being Old 7 A Conversation with my Brother

The importance of talking with family continues … 

My brother and I didn’t get along well as kids. I suppose, being siblings, we both thought the other got the more attention – or whatever. However, since we’re much older, we’ve occasionally touched on a topic from our past and life in general.

I am always amazed when he mentions something about our childhood I never knew or realized. And, of course, I say things he never thought about. We agree it’s almost like we grew up in different households. He was certainly treated differently than I. Mum used to tell me he was jealous of me because I was smarter. I used to be envious of him because I felt all the other members of the family treated him better and gave him more things than I ever got.

This is another example telling me how important it is to talk. We saw things differently as kids. We never could have discussed these topics back then without fighting. But now that we have a lifetime of living and experience, we can look back with a more open heart and mind. We need to be able to talk freely; with that, comes a better understanding, and, perhaps, healing from past hurts.

He made a comment about regrets and my mind immediately went to Frank Sinatra’s line, “Regrets, I made a few, but then again, too few to mention …” A few, ha-ha? I try not to have regrets or guilt, but too, working through them helps us grow. The trick is to not let them bring us down, which is one reason to talk about them.

My brother’s biggest regret is his inability to read well. Although he quit school at 16, he still made a good life for himself. He’s always worked hard, had his own landscaping business for years and made a decent wage. It’s sad to hear he’s harbored the regrets of not succeeding in school. He wondered why Dad and Mum didn’t push us harder to succeed. (My reply was that they didn’t know how or even understand why that was important. It was the time and area we grew up in, not that they were bad parents.)

Dyslexia wasn’t a known diagnosis when we were kids. Not being able to read well put you into the lesser classes … not being able to read was seen more like being stupid or too lazy to try. This was a time when any inability at learning subjected you to … not so good times in school. (And when we were kids, terms like “retard” were often used. Oh, how cruel kids could be.)

How brave my brother is to admit these things now. I admire him for having the courage for talking about how it. And, how sad, that in his later years, it still bothers him. It takes courage to talk about believed failings, to admit feelings, to discuss things before it’s too late. It’s not about, “You did this to me when we were kids.” It’s not about finding fault or bringing up past hurts. It’s about coming to terms with one’s own life and gaining better understanding in humanity. These things can stew inside you your entire life.

What does this have to do with being old? Years ago, we couldn’t have had these kinds of conversations. As kids, there was always a sibling rivalry; always that feeling that Mum liked me better and Dad liked him better. (I can hear the Smothers Brothers saying, “Mom liked you better.”) Now we have the wisdom of lives well-lived (which doesn’t necessarily mean easy).

Why haven’t we talked more? Is there fear of the old terms and hurt feelings resurfacing? Is it fear of admitting guilt about some things? Being embarrassed by feelings of failure? Being afraid to be ridiculed … again? Is it because we were taught you didn’t talk about these things?

It’s important to talk. I think about the conversations I wish I could have now with my Mum, Dad and other relatives. I wish I’d known to ask these things years ago; how to ask them. If I had, would they have answered or brushed me off?

There are questions brewing which I’ll never have answers for. I wish they talked more about issues bottled up inside. Perhaps those conversations could have led to earlier understandings of life and family dynamics.

There’s a need for our own stories to come out and be told. The stories help show what we’ve gone through and overcome. They also help others who also struggle to know they are not alone. We shouldn’t be afraid to share those stories. We are who we are. We’ve come a long way. Let’s celebrate that!

  

On Being Old 6 The importance of telling your story

My Mum and I had an awesome relationship. I always felt we could talk about almost anything … and we did … almost …

I often think about her realizing there were conversations we never had and should have. I never remember her talking much about sadness, grief or being in pain. I don’t know if I ever heard her talk about feeling lonely. Is it because, back then, people didn’t talk openly about their issues? Is it because I just don’t remember? Or is it because, at a younger age, I didn’t want to listen?

I remember my brother telling me after she passed that she’d sometimes keep him home from school because she was depressed, crying and didn’t want to be alone. I was shocked. I had no idea she was ever unhappy back then. (It would have been in the ‘60s.) Why wasn’t it me she kept with her? I was the older, the daughter.

Now that I am old and am thinking back, I don’t remember her talking about being in pain (except for the couple times when she’d had to have an operation.) When she got older, her only gripes were with breathing (she’d been a heavy smoker and had COPD) and having either constipation or diarrhea.

When she turned 70, she stopped driving. Not because she couldn’t (that I know of) but because she just didn’t want to. Then, as the years went on, she even stopped wanting to go anywhere at all. Eventually, she wouldn’t even go outside. (And she used to be an avid flower gardener.) I came to believe she was afraid that when she left the house, it’d be the last time.

I think back on all the things I wish we’d talked about. I want to know if her legs ached like mine do today. Did she feel lonely when no one was around? Did she get depressed? Did she feel like giving up? It seemed she stopped caring about all the things she used to love. Did she just get tired of living? Did she no longer feel useful?

Me, I feel I’m whining all the time. Although, in my mind, it’s not only just whining, but also about sharing story. Did my mum go through all this and just bottled it all up inside? Would she be looking down on me now saying, “I told you so.” And yes, I do remember her telling me, “You wait until you’re this age.” Now, I reply, “I hear you, Mum.”

I wonder how things would have been if we shared more of these types of stories. I wonder, if knowing what she experienced, would that help me better cope with my own aging?

One thing I come to believe more and more every day is that sharing life story is important. Listening to one another can be very beneficial in handling life’s ups and down, the celebrations and the sad times.

On Being Old 4 Frustration with Phone Calls and Lack of Customer Service

One thing I find about being older is my lack of patience. Although, I don’t know if it’s fair to blame my lack of patience after growing up during a time when customer service was very important to businesses. There was a time they’d go out of their way to make the customer happy. There’s no such thing as “the customer is always right” anymore. 

I remember when a real person answered the phone. She would listen to your needs and direct you to the right department. It was nice to hear a pleasant voice and it made you feel welcome. Or there would be an answering machine with a short message asking you to leave your number and they’d call back. And someone would.

Nowadays, a machine picks up and you’re barraged with a dozen questions. I feel I’m being interrogated and half the time, the automated questions have nothing to do with what I want. There are times the fake mechanical voice says, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand your question …”  Then there’s the repetition of “This call is being recorded …” and the worst is, “Your call is important to us.” (If my call was important, they’d have a real person answer the phone.)

I totally lose it and become a screaming lunatic. It’s a nightmare to get to a live representative and then you end up being interrogated again. Or, if ending up with a representative from another state, you might get a “We don’t service your state” answer. I’ve had that happen numerous times ... as smaller businesses are bought out by corporations from other parts of the country.

And then to top it off, many want you to answer a survey afterwards to tell them how they did. Oh, don’t set me off with that one! You’re not allowed to say what you really think. All the answers are pre-set up.

I’m to the point where I don’t want to do business with a company that puts you through this. Especially a local company. I find it horribly rude to their customers.

Oh, I know all the reasons … what’s that famous line? “Follow the money.” It’s always about the money and businesses find many ways to cut their costs, at the expense of their customers.

Unfortunately, what choice do you have? Put up with it or don’t get the service or products.

On Being Old 3: Random Acts of Kindness

I was at Shaw’s. Shopping is a struggle for me as my knees and ankles ache almost all the time. Standing in place is worse than walking which makes the wait very painful, especially after walking up and down those long aisles.

In spite of that, and no matter how close to tears I am during the waiting, I always talk to the cashier and bagger, even including others in line with kind comments. I’ll compliment strangers in the aisles, too, just to offer bits of nicety and cheer in this stressful world. By the time I gimp to the car, though, I have all I can do to walk.

That day, there was a big pickup truck parked fairly close to my driver’s side. I slowly opened the back door careful to not hit the truck. I’d just put the first bags in the backseat when the truck’s driver came out with her few groceries. I offered to move and let her get her things unloaded. (I usually let people who have less stuff and/or move faster than I go first.)

She told me she could put her things in on the other side. When done, she came back to me and offered to hand me my remaining bags, so I didn’t have to walk back and forth to the cart. (Even though it was only a few steps, my legs were screaming.) Then she took my cart to the carriage stall.

I was so grateful. Yeah, I could have and would have done that (I always take the carts to the stalls), but to have a stranger help … there’s something so special about that. There are kind people around. Every time I start to lose hope in mankind (hearing news horror stories of criminal activities every day), I meet a kind, thoughtful person.

“Random acts of kindness” is so important these days when it seems random acts of violence is something we all must be so wary of lately.

About this column: I have so many topics to write about regarding being old. It’s hard to decide which to choose. My list is growing longer faster than I can cover the subjects. Yet, I don’t want this to just be about my issues. I’d like to hear from others, too, as we sometimes deal with issues differently.

I’m a believer that telling our stories may help others dealing with similar. Talking/writing also helps us not feel so alone with our struggles. Others can relate and have their own stories to tell.

 

 

On Being Old 2: The Need for Simplicity and Consistency

Another thing I’m coming to realize about being older is the necessity for simplicity and consistency. I find these days I easily get confused when forms are complicated with a lot of reading involved. Trying to decipher directions can often be confusing (like directions on how to put things together. How often is it almost impossible to follow those?) Of course, those writing the directions understand them.

I remember years ago my husband and I trying to assemble a TV/stereo cabinet. We finally had to throw the directions aside and figure it out on our own.

Then there’s what I call my BS meter. My brain totally shuts down with frustration when I feel I’m being forced to do something that doesn’t make sense. Or having to repeat – like every time when I go to the dentist having to fill out the same forms. “Nothing changed since the last time I was here. Why do I have to do this again?”

Or, at the doctor’s when they make you fill out a form, then you get in the office, you’re asked the same questions you just filled out on the form. (One reason I haven’t been to a doctor in 30 years. Wow, has it been that long? Yes.)

This past week was dealing with some income tax issues and I spent three days in tears. I was so confused when the accountant sent me a multiple page IRS directive with a form to fill out which I’d never seen. Isn’t that why I pay an accountant? To do these things for me?

They set up all these programs for seniors … what about just making things less complicated? Simplicity and consistency will help a lot. 

Another Letter to the Editor published in the InterTown Record

On Being Old: Speaking out about being old

I read a story in AARP magazine about a series of murders and robberies of well-off elderly women living alone in independent living communities in Texas. This had been going on for several years with the housing officials declaring their deaths as “natural causes” in spite of relatives reporting their loved ones had been robbed.

There was also a short article on “When Ageism Kills.” Robert Love, editor in chief, said, “It has been called the last acceptable prejudice…” 

This further got me thinking of the plight of older p0eople. Why should we get pushed under the rug because we are retired with health and body declining? Why should we have to pay more for groceries because we’re no longer feeding a family and smaller packaging is more expensive than family-sized? It’s like being punished for being old and alone. Plus, older people eat less.

For an example, places like Shaw’s offers sales on items if you buy five or more. What would older people do with five boxes of pasta (or any product) that might take months to use up, let alone needing more space to store these extras?

Older people are not all the same. Some are in better health than others, but it seems most are all treated as not having any worth – unless they’re very active in community projects. So much focus and programs go towards families with children … which is fine as they need help, too. But it’s like the elderly get written off almost as if they are no longer important. 

Then, older people have to go out of their way to seek help, sign up for elderly services, etc. And, dealing with Medicare or any insurance is not easy, no matter how easy they make it sound. It’s a nightmare, and each year to be hounded by insurance companies trying to get you to change providers is harassment in my book.

I know, I know, younger people don’t want to hear the plight of the elders. I was there once. I remember thinking, “I don’t want to think about being old. I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.” Well, I’m there and it’s not easy, especially being a mostly stay-at-home person.

I believe this is a topic that needs to be more openly talked about. Older people shouldn’t have to be afraid or ashamed to discuss their issues. What happened to “Respect your elders?”

This was originally published as a Letter to the Editor in the InterTown Record newspaper. We decided to continue, and it’s turned into a weekly column.