No matter what the experts say, aging is hard. It takes a lot of luck, good genes, family support, and activity to make this journey work. There is one additional quality that really lightens the load when the elderly face their “golden years,” and that is the ability to laugh at oneself and at life.
As aches and pains begin to mount, and the elderly begin to feel alone in their plight, humor is a powerful potion for maintaining an attitude toward success. Life becomes a range of mountains to climb, and hiking is much easier if the elderly navigate their journey mocking a world full of challenges. Older adults must learn to float downstream, propelled by the water as they brush past the branches, branches, and rocks along the stream of life.
Lessons from the young at heart
When it comes to humor, the late George Carlin would have been proud of my mother. At 93 years old, he can take a life event and turn it into an amazing and dramatic story full of adventures and lessons to learn. He recently had a stint in the hospital due to atrial fibrillation, an indicator of congestive heart failure. Although my mom’s heart pumps enough blood, the upper chamber shows signs of wear.
When she was released from the hospital to go home, my mother went from two pills to a variety of blood thinners while her cardiologist tried to regulate her heartbeat. She stayed in a nursing care facility for a while and then was sent back to her independent living apartment on a trial basis. Several days later, at 5 am, she fell in the bathroom and landed on her hip. She had the presence of mind to crawl to the cordon to get the attention of the nursing staff. They came quickly, called me and contacted the paramedics for another round to the ER.
When I got to the ER, she said dejectedly, “Son, I’m sorry I was wrong.” “Did you use your walker to go to the bathroom?” I replied. “No, it was full of all kinds of papers,” she revealed sheepishly and continued, “but it was REALLY CLOSE to the bathroom,” as if that mattered. She had an x-ray of her hip and it had been fractured; her femur needed repair. When she got to room 2107, her staff moved her to her hospital bed. An internist visited her right away, and she asked, “What time is it, doctor?” “It’s 8 am young lady. Why do you ask?” “I have to get out of here in an hour. I have to go to the beauty parlor. I can’t stay here looking like this. By the way, what’s your last name?” The doctor spoke slowly… “GHIAMADI… GHIAMADI,” she said. “Oh, that must have been a serious problem for you when you were in elementary school,” she replied.
See the humor in any situation
Over the next few days, the cardiologists monitored my mom’s vital signs trying to prepare her for surgery. My wife told my mother about the excellent nursing care she was receiving. “You’re getting a lot of attention, Oma.” “Yeah, and I might even get a tiara at the end of the day if I play my cards right,” she replied.
Several days later the surgery was “all systems working”. The launch had been delayed several times, but now we were counting down. Exasperated, my mother alerted the nursing team. “Let’s get this show going. Just make sure your right leg is ‘cut off’,” she said jokingly. As she was taken to the operating room, she kept saying, “Where are they taking me? Looks like we’re headed to the parking lot. Hey, don’t let them stick a knife in me if I’m not here.” mature enough!”
When we get to the pre-op area, a nurse puts us there. When the nurse bent down to remove my mother’s collar, my mother was amused. Hey, I guarantee it’s been a long time since anyone’s looked down in that area.” When the nurse finished laughing, she asked my mom the critical question, “Which leg is having surgery today?” Mom snapped. the shy one.”I really don’t know,” my mother replied. “Is the left one Gladys?” said the nurse. “I think it’s the right; I mean, I think it’s right that it’s the one on the left…is that right?” The morphine didn’t seem to affect her wits. She reminded me of Abbott and Costello, but this was a monologue.
He took the liberty of putting on his surgical cap before the anesthesiologist came to give him the “juice”. The orthopedic surgeon came in and asked my mother if she had any questions. “I just have one question for you. Are you REALLY old enough? My daughter tells me you were born in 1970. Is that so?”
The anesthesiologist came in and told my mom that her heart would hold up to the surgery and proceeded to inject it into her arm so she could nap. “The surgeon looked so young. How old are you?” she asked. The juvenile doctor said: “How old do you think I am?” “I think you’re about 62 years old,” my mom replied. She made a face and left for a minute and when she returned my mother had adjusted her assessment of her. “It suits me to say I’m sorry. With the cap on, I thought you were older. You really must be around 45. You see, my son is in his early 60s and I really like him.” When I kissed her on the cheek, she was on her way to surgery, and as she turned her head, I heard her say to me, “Good luck with your new book. I hope it’s a success.”
I never had any doubt that my mother would survive the surgery. She had successfully created an atmosphere that put everyone in her sphere of influence at ease. She laughed her way through a sickening situation and brought everyone with her into her humorous inner world. As my mother always believed, she was making comics, the tried and true method of traveling through the golden years.
{In loving memory of my mother, Oma, who died on July 26, 2008, two weeks after I wrote this article}.