Mom at 85, November 1996

These days when I get together with friends the discussion inevitably turns to matters of health – the latest developments in our various conditions.  Arthritis, cataracts, blood pressure, crepey skin, and concern for our failing memories seem to slip into our conversations whether we intend to go there or not.  We share what my mother used to call “the secrets of old age;” in her day no one talked about those topics just as no one talked about politics or religion in polite conversation.
            I don’t mind learning about the status of my friends’ latest ailments.  Besides being concerned for them and maybe, just maybe, being able to provide some helpful bit of information or advice, I find it comforting to file away what I learn against the day that their experience might help me out.  If nothing else, I find so many of their attitudes and approaches to aging inspirational.  I can only hope that when my turn comes I can emulate the dignity and courage of the people I know best and admire most.
            What I do mind is being lambasted by the many health-related commercials on TV.  I don’t need to hear about menstrual cramps or erectile dysfunction or leaking bladders from cheerful actors half my age.  I really do not want to learn about the dreaded side effects of every drug on the market in between sound-bytes of nightly news.  And I doubt that my doctor wants me ask if all those medications are “right for me.” 
            It occurs to me that I may be just a tad inconsistent.  File that under “the privileges of old age.”