Category: Getting Old

Paging Doctor Shafmeister

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Growing up in a small village in upstate New York, I have fond memories of a family doctor who actually … wait for it … made house calls!  Yes, on those rare occasions when Mom’s home remedies were insufficient, Doc Shafmeister would show up at the door with his black bag and caring manner.  I don’t know how he got paid … scant resources and a lack of insurance defined our household … but, as I recall, his ministrations always helped me to get well.  

Fast forward to today’s environment of deeply-intertwined health care, insurance, the internet and big business, a world into which we were recently thrust via an ambulance ride to the Emergency Room and a subsequent hospital admission.  Gratefully, the quality of medical care received at the hospital, itself, and from the various doctors, specialists and staff we encountered was of superior quality.  Their work was impeccable and caring, and we are forever grateful for their skills and dedication.  

That said, arranging for continued care after discharge from the hospital was, well, a nightmare.  In our defense, we are fairly computer-literate, but the morass of web sites, “patient portals,” calendars, phone numbers, email addresses and assorted other “apps” to which we were obliged to respond left us feeling overwhelmed.  For example:

⚫️Each of four doctor’s offices, a lab, an imaging center and the hospital itself presented us with a bevy of electronic forms to complete, and …

⚫️Each of those forms asked basically … and at great length … for the same information, and …

⚫️If we had a question for a doctor, we could submit it through a “portal” promising a reply in up to 72 hours, and …

⚫️When one doctor prescribed a new drug, checking for possible contraindications with a different doctor could take, again, up to 72 hours, and …

⚫️We could forget about trying to actually speak to someone by phone.  Office staff, understandably, cannot provide medical information … the best they could do was promise to forward a message to medical staff.

Adding another layer of aggravation in the midst of this confusion, a suspicious email showed up in our inbox inviting us to “click here” to register with some other medical entity.  Though at first glance seeming legitimate, it was a Phishing attempt and we simply deleted it.  But give credit to the scoundrel who sent it … he could not have picked a better target than someone thoroughly fatigued and fed up with all forms of electronic media. In other words … me.

As mentioned above, we could not have been more pleased with the various medical professionals whose efforts contributed so fully to diagnosing and treating the condition that presented itself.  And while we know how lucky we are to have access to such high quality care, the bureaucracy and repetitive, overly-complicated requests for information woven through the process are exhausting.  In short, one is left to wonder …  don’t these entities talk to each other?  Isn’t there some master data base that each can access?  Is there not some mechanism for conversing with a human being about medical concerns?  Weren’t computerization and associated data technology supposed to make things easer for us? 

Despite how this may read we endeavored, throughout, to avoid becoming known around various medical offices as nuisances … you know, “that patient” who nobody wants to talk to.  On the other hand, we saw our part in this endeavor as being vigorous advocates for patient care, and we took that role seriously.

The days of Doctor Shafmeister’s form of family care are long gone.  In its stead we find ourselves, today, in an environment in dire need of an ombudsman or “voice” for patients who find themselves adrift in the digital world of medicine.  Put differently, the system needs someone equipped to help us … especially the elderly … better understand what is going on with our medical care, while managing and explaining the process in ways we can comprehend.  

Jason Wolf is President and CEO of the Beryl Institute, an  institution dedicated to supporting patient and human experience in healthcare.  He describes the focus of his organization this way:

To truly improve the patient experience, we must understand the patient journey from the patient’s perspective.

Well said, Dr. Wolf.  Well said.

The Best is Yet to Come

~ danbonbooks ~ 2 Comments

Perhaps this recently crossed threshold would seem less impactful if I simply called it by a different name,  In Spain, for example, I would be ochenta  In France, I could celebrate having become quatre-vingt,  In Italy, the magic word is ottanta.  But try as I will, there is no getting around it:

I just turned eighty years of age.

That being so, one thought immediately comes to mind … my goodness, that certainly happened fast!  Seems like only yesterday I was playing ball behind Park School in Ossining, New York, and hitch-hiking up Route 9 to Croton Point for a dip in the Hudson River.  With the passage of so many years, those sorts of memories remind me of how fortunate I am to have grown up in such a diverse, and vibrant community, and how formative that place really was.

Today, If a youngster were to ask what it was like when I was growing up, I would show him by … (1) taking away his cell phone, (2) shutting off the Internet, (3) giving him a popsicle, and (4) telling him to go play outside until the street lights came on.  This was life in my little village, as my pals and I filled our days roaming far and wide on our refurbished Schwinn bikes.  And if Mom was looking for me, there was no such thing as texting … she would holler my name from the back porch.  Special Note: if she called me by my first, middle, and last name, I knew I was in trouble!

But that was then … this is now.   So, as a card-carrying octogenarian, it is time to put aside those fond recollections and start earning my  “crusty old codger” merit badges by:

  1. Telling kids to get off my lawn
  2. Scowling at my neighbor
  3. Writing a scathing letter
  4. Disinheriting somebody
  5. Going for a long slow drive in the passing lane while keeping my turn signal on the whole time

Just kidding, of course … I know how fortunate I am to have been around this long, in relatively good health, and to be in the midst of so many people who I love dearly, and who love me in return.  I am especially grateful for my wife, Bonnie, and for her having chosen me to be her life partner almost sixty years ago (after “going steady” in high school). 

During the pandemic, she and I broke the monotony of home confinement with a hobby called Geocaching.  This pastime got us out in the fresh air, while giving us the chance to visit places we might otherwise have missed.  In one case, as we walked through a small rural cemetery reading the touching words on the grave markers, we came upon a plot where a husband and wife were interred side by side.  The inscription on their tombstone included a beautiful and prescient message that, for me, captures the essence of life into my eighties and beyond:

To Be Continued

‘Yer Out’a Here!

~ danbonbooks ~ 2 Comments

Summer would not be complete without our annual trip to take in minor league baseball games.  In a tradition begun many years ago we set off, once again, to visit ballparks where we knew we could purchase seats and hot dogs for the two of us for less than it would cost to park at a major league stadium.  And, as usual, a good time was had by all.

In Oklahoma City, for example, we got a glimpse of what the future of umpiring might look like in the big leagues and, frankly, we liked it.  Major League Baseball is experimenting at the AAA level with an “automated balls and strikes” (ABS) system, which allows a batter to challenge an umpire’s strike call, and the catcher a ball.  Each team gets three challenges, but if the umpire is shown to be correct, the team loses that challenge for the rest of the game.  

Notably, each time a challenge was made in the game we attended, the video board in left center field showed the location of the pitch as determined by the electronic device and, in every case, the umpire’s call was correct.  Coupled with the “pitch clock” already in effect, this new wrinkle shows promise of making the game move even more quickly and smoothly.

While the ABS system showed us the future of officiating in baseball, the Arkansas Travelers game in Little Rock presented us with a trip down memory lane … a ballpark organ!  Listening to the beautiful strains of that instrument, I was reminded of a Florida State League game in 1985, in which the organist – Wilbur Snapp – was thrown out for playing the song “Three Blind Mice” after an umpire’s call.  

Between innings in Little Rock, I asked the organist if he knew of that event and the name of the fellow ejected.  He could not recall Snapp’s name, but he knew of the ejection … he even showed me the playlist for that evening’s game with the following warning written in large letters: DO NOT PLAY THREE BLIND MICE.

As an aside, a different ballpark organist was ejected from a game in 2012 for playing that same song, proving that George Santayana was correct in noting: “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”

Growing up, I played a lot of baseball and, being a catcher, I closely followed the careers of major leaguers who excelled at that position.  One player I idolized was Smoky Burgess, who played for 18 years in the majors for several different teams.  Toward the end, Burgess was used exclusively as a pinch hitter, holding several records for excellence in that role … he would wander up to the plate, stroke a base hit, and then retire to the dugout after being replaced by a pinch runner.

With Burgess as my role model, I sometimes fantasize that I can still play the game but, unfortunately, I have yet to find a team looking for a “designated senior citizen.”  Until I find one, I will continue to be uplifted by John Fogarty’s quintessential baseball anthem “Center Field,” and those inspiring lyrics:

Put me in coach … I’m ready to play!

Looking Down the Road

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Ever the comedian, George Burns commented about his advancing age this way:  “When I get up in the morning I check the obituaries.  If I’m not there, I have breakfast.”

While I continue to chuckle at Burns’ many observations about getting on in years, the fact that I am about to enter my ninth decade makes we wonder … how in the hell did this happen?  And so quickly?  It seems like only a moment ago I was a kid trying to get up the nerve to climb the monkey bars behind Park School in Ossining, New York, and now, all of a sudden, I am struggling to remember why I walked into the laundry room.

Fortunately, I am in relatively good health, and I can point with some comfort to ancestors who have lived long and productive lives.  But there is no doubt that I am closer to the end than to the beginning, so the question becomes: how to make the most of the time remaining? 

One important strategy, I believe, is to avoid the family drama that colors the lives of so many … tensions … silences … withdrawal … something said 25 years ago.  Frankly, those sorts of things used to cause me distress … now they just make me tired.  Notably, and as with so many other things, my mother was correct in her prescient declaration: “I prefer to spend time with people who care about me.”

Conversely, the opportunity to grow old with my life partner of almost sixty years is a singular joy that I know is denied many.  She and I are fortunate to live in a retirement community surrounded by kind and caring folks of our age, and the close proximity of children and grandchildren comforts us in the knowledge that their love and support are always close at hand.

In 2016, country music icon Toby Keith was paired with Clint Eastwood at a celebrity golf tournament in California.  During their time together, Keith asked Eastwood how, in approaching his 88th birthday, he had such relentless energy to which Eastwood replied:  “I just get up in the morning and try to be productive.  I don’t let the old man in.” 

Inspired by Eastwood’s words, Keith, in 2018, wrote the ballad “Don’t Let The Old Man In.”  Among the thoughtful lyrics in that song are these: “Ask yourself how old you would be if you didn’t know the day you were born.”  Powerful words, especially as they urge us to consider the way in which we frame the lives we live … and the way we see ourselves … each day.

The chorus of Keith’s song concludes with meaningful guidance for those of us wondering how best to face the future:

When he rides up on his horse

And you feel that cold bitter wind

Look out your window and smile

Don’t let the old man in

Lights, Camera … Wait … What?

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Pre-pandemic, we were regular moviegoers.  A nearby “multi-screen” theater made it easy for us to take in a couple of shows each month but with the hysteria about social distancing and assorted other hurdles, we simply stayed away.  And though things gradually returned to normal, we continued to remain home and watch Netflix.

Recently, with outdoor temps hovering above 100 degrees, we decided that a visit to the cinema (and an air conditioned theater) might be a good way to spend an afternoon.  And though no particular movie attracted us, the prospect of watching a Hollywood production in a comfortable environment was enough to draw us in.

Before taking our seats, we visited the concession stand … who, after all, can sit through a movie without munchies?  After ordering a small popcorn and a small beverage I thought my hearing aids had failed, for it sounded like the young man behind the counter said: “That will be $17.00.”   Turns out I had heard him correctly … seventeen dollars … for popcorn … and a small drink. 

Very carefully, we transported this precious cargo of snacks to our theater, and settled in to enjoy the show.  Before our movie began, though, we had to endure a forty minute string of “coming attractions,” each less appealing than the one before.  In the midst of this assault on our senses, we looked at each other and wondered: “Who writes and produces this stuff?”

Currently, a work stoppage by actors and writers has shut down Hollywood, leaving movie lovers and theater groups in a panic.  And though sympathetic to those struggling for fair wages, if the drivel we saw in those previews is the best the film industry has to offer, I would not object to their staying on strike permanently.

Clearly, we “Senior Citizens” are no longer the “target demographic” for companies marketing most products or, in the case of Hollywood, seeking to draw crowds to the movie theater.  In many cases, executives guiding those sorts of efforts seem to assume people our age have a 9PM curfew, along with a propensity for yelling at youngsters to: “Get the hell off my lawn.”

For the foreseeable future, Hollywood is just going to have to manage without us … though I doubt they are concerned about this.  In the meantime, Netflix and our DVD collections of Inspector George Gently and The Sopranos will have to suffice.

We plan to be in bed by 9PM anyway.