FULL COLUMN: Oh enough already with the complaints

…from yesterday’s Tampa Tribune.

“Just because you have a pain, doesn’t mean you should be one.” –Nana and Mom paraphrasing Maya Angelou all my life.

I have news for anyone over sixty and dealing with malfunctioning body parts. If you are about to go on a lunch date or vacation or shopping trip, especially with younger friends or family members, please pay attention and follow this important advice.

Respond to any and all inquiries about your health and well-being with an answer that doesn’t encourage us to regret asking.

Such answers include, but are not limited to:

“I’m well.”

“I’m hanging in there.”

“So far, so good.”

And then follow up with something like: “How are you doing?”

In other words, no nonsense about your sciatica. That catheter of yours is not appropriate dinner table conversation. No one wants to hear stories regarding excruciating backaches or complications from hip replacement surgery. And stop whispering about your ungrateful kids.

Please. You are freaking us out.

It’s not that we don’t care about these things; we do. We care about your health and your regularity and your family. We care about these subjects in a general way. But we can do without all the details, every time we see each other, with heavy sighs in between bad news.

Growing old is painful, uncomfortable, and annoying. Aches and pains get in the way of enjoying even the simplest of pleasures, like brunch or watching matinee movies.

We’ve seen the commercials during 60 Minutes. We get it.

Age doesn’t come by itself, but we keep that realization in the back of our minds, trying to appreciate that we can still make it to the bathroom on our own, for at least a little while longer.

Every now and then, we’ll see someone in a walker or catch Joan Rivers on television. It hits us that we’re heading that way. But we put that knowledge back in the corner of our brain to get on with life. That’s the only way we can. Otherwise we’d be curled up in bed with a scotch soda, ten boxes of Kleenex and barely enough energy to work the remote.

You don’t want that, do you?

Well, your complaints make it difficult to soldier on. You’re bringing us down. After all, there isn’t anything we can do about the fifteen kinds of medication you need to get out of bed each morning. We told you years ago to lay off the bagels, butter, and dead cows.

Maybe if you’d joined us in discovering fresh fruits and vegetables without sugar and salt, your knees wouldn’t be on an indefinite strike right now.

My Nana had a ton of medical issues. I never once heard her complain. She walked up and down Florida Avenue to get exercise, plus a cup of coffee from McDonald’s, every day despite macular degeneration and arthritis that could kill a truck driver. Her sisters never complained either, and they had it pretty bad. My mom is getting older, too, but only complains about Mad Men and their filthy secrets.

Maybe that’s why I’m not afraid of getting old.

Until you start complaining again.