Respect Authority

Imagine this: you’re eighty. Why yes, those dentures do look realistic.

So you’re old, and you’re having some trouble walking and, convinced by your daughter that despite The Scooter Store’s very convincing commercials, scooters are not in fact easy to get around in, you snag yourself a walker, or cane. Safe, right?

Wrong! According to an article in the New York Times today, citing a new study from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (who apparently are no longer particularly concerned with things like malaria, or AIDS), about 47,000 “older Americans” are treated in emergency rooms each year from “falls associated with walkers and canes.”

“It’s important to make sure people use these devices safely,” Judy Stevens, an epidemiologist (I’m not even sure what that is) at the CDC told the Times. “It gives them greater independence but, at the same time it can be a hazard if not used properly.” …Why am I reminded of kids’ first water wings? You can set those old people free, but never let them out of your sight.

The study found that 87% of fall injuries involved walkers and 12% involved canes, leading me to believe maybe 1% of old people are just tripping over their own orthopedic shoes.

It’s not like I don’t sympathize with old people — and I’m not saying, given the opportunity, I wouldn’t end up face-first on a sidewalk somewhere with my cane stuck in a street grate. Alls I’m saying is there’s only so much training one can give on “how to use” a fairly self-evident device.

Moreover, I’m tired of hearing about old people falling! You know what CDC, we all fall. I trip probably two or three times a week, sometimes in public, sometimes walking from the couch to the bathroom. It just so happens my bones are less fine than rare china and I know “shuffling” isn’t the most efficient form of transportation. Sorry old people, I’m still more worried about swine flu.

I am so psyched to be old.

Seriously. I think there’s a very under-addressed misconception among people my age, our age, that being old is awful. That entering one’s 60s or 70s or 80s means wearing adult diapers and living in nursing homes, and most importantly means moving ever-closer to certain death.

Well I say fuck all that. Being old is going to be great. Think of it like a great big delicious dinner. You spend the first part of your life buying ingredients, then you cook the dinner and you start to smell how awesome it’s going to be and you taste some and its fly as hell and then the dinner is ready and you eat it — if you’re smart you eat it slowly and enjoy every moment, but maybe you also stop to take a hit and then wolf down the rest with heightened senses — and then you’re done and full and content. (By the way I’m selling this entire paragraph to Chicken Soup For The Age-Aphobic Soul).

See, being old is the content part. It’s the part where you’ve had a great many servings and it was so good but you’re full and sated and totally ready to sit on the couch and watch some TV and eventually, not now but eventually, nod off to sleep. Read More ›