Think You’re Getting Old and Creaky ?

As Chrissie Hynde sang “…Stop all of your sobbing…”

My mom and I just got back from a walk in 40 degrees with a wind that chewed through my three layers one of which was a hoodie, with the hood up, plus a coat with that hood up, plus a hat, plus mittens. My mom was shouting MARCH TWO THREE FOUR MARCH TWO THREE FOUR! IT’S COLDER THAN ZOT!” I’ve never worked out what zot is, but it must be cold.

My mom is 93. And a half, she would add on. It wasn’t a long walk, but plenty long enough as far as I was concerned. She was walking faster than I was and I commented, “Why am I getting older while you’re getting younger???”

We got back to the townhome. I gave her an Orgain (a protein drink she loves) to take upstairs. She marched up to her room.

Did I mention she’s 93? Also, she has dementia. Also, she went through two major colon cancer surgeries in her eighties. One to take care of the cancer, and one to take care of the adhesions she developed after. There was C-diff, which was frightening. Her nurses would come in dressed in full HatMat suits. I and the rest of the family were pretty sure this was “it”.

Side note: A doctor had told she didn’t need colonoscopies after 80.

In November of 2019, she broke her hip. Riding in the ambulance with her, I saw hundreds of geese overhead. She loves geese. Even though geese migrate at this time, I took it as good sign. I needed something to hang onto.

Thankfully, she didn’t need a full hip replacement, “just” a rod put in.

How did she break it?

Tap dancing into the kitchen, as one does at 89 or so, I saw her practically fly through the air, landing on her right hip. It wasn’t a balance issue, or a tripping issue. Someone explained it this way, “Her shoe brake came on and she kept going.” Meaning, her shoe “stuck” to the floor, but the rest of her body kept going, in a graceful arc through the air, and hitting hard on the laminated floor. I’ve never heard such screams.

Her surgeon and the PT folk told me she would never walk unassisted again. She would always need a walker or a cane. I would need to get a potty chair for her room and a shower chair for her shower.

She was in a rehab/nursing facility for six weeks, and got home right before Covid started making news. More grateful for that I could not be.

The day the van brought her home, the aides were planning to carry her upstairs in her wheelchair. “I think I should walk up by myself, thank you.” And she did, with an aide close behind.

She eased into her 50 year old blue chair, bursting into tears of relief and happiness she was in her own room. Our deaf white cat joined her almost immediately.

I planned on her being upstairs for a long time, and thought to myself, “Look at all the exercise you’ll get going up and down the stairs all day long with meals. You’ll finally get the butt you’ve always wanted!” I tend to give myself lots of pep talks.

That night, she surprised my husband and me when she came downstairs for dinner.

I emailed a “friend” she broke her hip. He wrote back, “Ah, now you’ll be on the Death Watch.” F*#k that. And him. He’s been blocked. I was planning to do that anyway. That comment tipped him into The Blocked Zone.

It’s true though. For many of the elderly a broken hip is the start of serious decline.

I know she isn’t immortal. I don’t think. But, she’s still walking unassisted half a mile a day. She’s still admiring trees, and looking for planes, like she did as a five year old when they still fairly novel.

I really do think she’s getting younger while I’m getting older. I also still do not have the butt I always wanted.

As I finish this, she’s playing the piano.