I did not ever quite imagine the day when I would be signing up for Medicare. That day has come. I do know that live moves very rapidly, which is why it is so important to live it well and thoughtfully, and to not waste it in argument, anxiety or regret.
I have to confess that in our culture, I am always a little wary of writing about aging. In America, we do not value the elderly, as we will not be buying things for 60 or 70 years (hopefully.) We are not considered wise and benign resources, but a murderous drain on the national treasury.
People who are aging in America are trivialized, patronized and exploited in so many ways. They do not generally make movies, music or books for us. We are relentlessly ghetto-ized, portrayed in novels as disintegrating freaks, labeled “seniors,” bombarded with insurance offers and medical tests, pills and procedures, and then herded whenever possible into isolated communities often to live out Mary Shelley’s worst and most prescient nightmares. The elderly are manipulated into needing things, then blamed for bankrupting everyone else.
We are much kinder to dogs when they get old than people. I remember wishing that Rose could do for me what I ended up doing for her. Letting her go in comfort and dignity. If you aren’t having that friendly talk with your doctor about diapers or Viagra, you might as well go and shut up. I plan on doing better. I was thinking this weekend about Willy Loman from “Death Of A Salesman” which I saw on Sunday. A tough play for somebody getting older. Will I be remembered? Will my 22 books be taken into account? Will I be pushed aside and marginalized, and not realize it?
Signing up for Medicare is not that simple. There is not much that is simple in our world. There are many options, plans and decisions. One can plunge into the phone trees of the Social Security System, or navigate the ostensibly simple, but never simple online application forms. Medicare is not free, nor are the many options it spawns. I am in Day 6 of the application process, awaiting a telephone call from my local Social Security Office with some questions about my application. The easy-to-use online check-your-application service is not in service. Good luck in calling them back. My daughter was shocked that I even applied. “I would have thought you would have told them to bug off,” she said. I smiled. I wish. I might be crazy, but am not that dumb.
This is a sobering, interesting landmark for me. A considered life needs to be considered, and I am often considering how I want to age. I want to do it in the open and not be ashamed of it. I don’t want Maria to think of me as an old man, yet I do appreciate the dignity and humor and perspective that comes with age. For men at least, I think a lot of the worst genes just die out and you can actually try and be human. I want avoid the medical system that seems to suck up many elderly people and dry them out. I want to be thoughtful about how I wish to die. I want to do a thousand things I have not done before and do them well. My first act as an official senior, I think, is to be gracious and patient about signing up for Medicare. It will happen. And think how prepared I will be when the time comes to file for my Social Security benefits.
Someone e-mailed me and asked if I was troubled at the idea of getting another dog as I approach 65. No, I told her. I am not. I am troubled by the idea that somebody who is 65 would even hesitate about getting a dog. I hope he can keep up with me.
