Last year being my 60th year caused me to reassess my life, but not in the way I was expecting. My conversations with friends who have also reached this milestone have been pretty much as you would think. Some are reflecting back and feeling nostalgic, while others are looking for their next big thing to leave a legacy. Some are having a lovely ride on the River deNile. I’m feeling the pressure of time left. I only have, if I’m lucky, 20 good years left, maybe 25, but the gene jury is still out on that one. So I’m not looking back or looking to do a great thing, I’m just looking to live all my days as fully as I can until I can’t anymore. In the past several years, I have known too many people who have passed away in this age group. So I am having none of that, I tell you.
No, the reassessment has been how people see me. And I don’t mean that serious thing where women our age become invisible at work. I know that’s a real issue and it sucks for all you go-getters out there, but I confess I’m happier in the background, so feel free to ignore me. Plus, working in healthcare for nearly 20 years, including those oh, so fun, white-knuckle, anxiety-infused 3 years in the front row to COVID, has pretty much burned my work candle at both ends and torched the middle with a flame thrower. I’m cool with sitting in the back row.
More specifically, it’s how healthcare workers see me. Sure, I have the usual aches and pains that I don’t tell them about because when they ask you how it happened, it gets embarrassing to keep saying, “I woke up with it” or “I was sitting in a chair reading a book” or “I stood up.” It really gets demoralizing.
Also, having worked in healthcare so long, I know that excellent and empathetic doctors are trained to address things that keep you from your ADLs or your activities of daily living. I love them and we have many many good ones here in Boston, but if you aren’t bleeding, doubled over in pain, or have gross stuff oozing out of you, your “treatment” options are pretty limited. They fall along the lines of that old joke, “Doctor, it hurts when I do this.” “Then don’t do that anymore.”
And in that context, once you subtract the aches and pains and a few random, non-life-threatening issues, I’m a fairly healthy person. This is not new, and I’ve always been a once-a-year patient, so when I started with a new PCP and she asked for blood work, I wasn’t nervous about it. My blood work has always been normal, plus, I had been making changes to my diet. And, per usual, the tests came back fine.
What surprised me was my new doctor’s reaction. At their core doctors are scientists, and in my experience working in physician internal communications, you never sugar coat anything (they have finely honed bullshit meters) and you never use exclamations or adjectives. We might use the word “pleased,” but that’s as far as it goes.
But when my tests came back, my PCP wrote me a note: “Congratulations! Your numbers look great and no diabetes!!”
I was so confused. I mean, thank you, but why would I have diabetes? I’m not at risk and no one in my family has diabetes, so, what the hell? And what’s with the 2 exclamation points? Maybe not having cancer deserves 2 exclamation points. But seriously, diabetes?
Ah, but I forgot about the Sandy bubble. A place where I Iive in my own little world that does not include diabetes and a host of other unpleasant things. As soon as I started telling people this story, they told me about people they know with diabetes. Apparently oodles of people around the world have diabetes or pre-diabetes. OK, got it. Diabetes is everywhere, I am grateful I don’t have it, and I need to poke my head out of the bubble every once in a while.
However, not long after, it happened again. Only this time with a new dentist. Maybe the moral of the story is don’t change your doctors when you turn 60. Seems like people have a lot assumptions about it.
I was a little nervous because I had been going to the same dental clinic for 35 years, and I never had any issues. In fact, when my kid was young and wearing me out, I looked forward to sitting in that chair for 30 minutes for a cleaning. I knew my teeth were good and I had no fear of a future drill, so I could be prone, listen to the oldies piping through the speakers, and enjoy no one asking me for anything. But a little part of me occasionally wondered if I really did have good teeth or if they just weren’t that good a dental practice. It was part of a community health center, which worked for me, but I never forgot a friend of mine who went to a more upscale dentist and claimed they found all kinds of expensive things he needed to fix. Whether the clinic was good or not though, my quiet 30-minute oasis won out, and I just kept going to them. It was close to work, but when I changed jobs, it was no longer so convenient, so I had to change dentists.
As soon as I walked into the more modern, sleek dentist office, I thought, uh-oh, this can’t be good. My nervousness wasn’t allayed when they wanted to take special X-rays, in addition to the bite ones, and it cost extra and wasn’t covered by insurance. It wasn’t a lot, but still. Hmmm. But in for a penny, in for a pound, and I was looked at by the dental assistant, a dental hygienist, and a dentist. OK, so more money means more attention. Not so bad.
I got a bit of a lecture for the tarter on my teeth. Now in my defense, it had been more than 6 months since I had seen the dentist because of busyness of starting a new job. They suggested I brush for 2 minutes, which I half-heartedly said I would try. Two minutes is a long-ass time, and I have better things to do. I’m 60, tick tock. Plus, I was like, that’s what I’m paying you for, to scrape it off. The dentist also mentioned she might recommend I come in 3 times a year, and I was like, oh, there it is. The fancy office upselling. That was never going to happen, but I didn’t have to play the bad patient because in the end she decided against it. So all in all, the practice seemed legit.
But the place she started our visit was, like the PCP, with an exclamation.
“No crowns!”
What? Why would I have crowns? I mean other than for being a princess in various circumstances. Are mouth crowns that common? Well, this princess in the bubble learned that, yes, yes, indeed they are.
So in addition to living life as best I can with the time I have left, I am adding gratitude for not having diabetes!! And no crowns!! Let’s hope I keep surprising people with my weird health at 60+.
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