By reputation, old age is largely a time that brings many unwelcome ailments and disabilities. However, in a rare conversation with my gastroenterologist today, I discovered an advantage that can come with late late life.
She told me that I do not need to have a colonoscopy!
So there.
The following letter from Harvard Law School professor and former Solicitor General in a Republican administration Charles Fried appeared in the New York Times of September 14, 2012.
The text below was the entire letter!
“Mitt Romney’s response to the killings in Libya reminds us again of the wisdom of Napoleon’s warning that ‘the man who will say anything will do anything.’”
The “I voted” sticker I wore on my chest yesterday made me a rare citizen. Hardly anyone else was to be seen at the school auditorium assigned to residents of my ward and precinct. Only a half dozen or so workers occupied the hall; outside that space sat a Cambridge policeman who looked on the verge of falling asleep.
A close friend tells me of his sister Ruth’s wedding. She is 85 years of age and, last weekend, she married Joan, her 56-year-old longtime woman friend. They live in New Haven, part of a state in which such matches are legal.
What do you call a beginning student who’s advanced in age?
If you were trying to solve a recent New York Times acrostic, you would need to search in your head for an eight-letter word that answers the question. For the life of me, I could not discover or devise any such word.
That frustration held despite my keeping up with gerontological lore featuring continuing education and other forms of learning on the part of elders. This country offers programs galore for older people eager to learn more.
My friend, Kathleen, when I asked what dignity means to her, responds like this: “To act in a way that respects yourself.” This strikes me as a fine definition, one that can serve for ongoing inspiration.
It’s not enough, however, to respect yourself. We all want and deserve to be respected by others as well.
When that does not happen, we are shocked, quite appropriately. Millions of people were horrified, recent weeks ago, by what they saw on YouTube. They watched a group of middle school students violating the dignity of a woman named Karen Klein.
A 68-year-old school bus monitor in the school district of Greece, near Rochester, New York, Karen was subjected to harassment shocking in its meanness and vulgarity. The students abused her verbally and even poked her physically.
The boys largely focused on Karen’s shape, repeatedly calling her “old ass” and “fat ass,” mixing the terms with other words I will not use here. By reason of these assaults on her dignity, she was reduced to tears.
Among gerontologists, abuse of old people has been long recognized as a widespread social evil. It can work subtly.
One of the worst aspects of abuse is its power to make elders internalize the abuse, making it part of their own self-image.
Old age in itself, without external influence, makes some people come to doubt their own worth. This often develops as a side effect of illness. Being sick can easily make us doubt our human value.
When those who provide care for us fail to respect our dignity, this comes as a heavy blow to our self-worth. Sometimes that happens when medical professionals, consciously or unconsciously, talk down to us or otherwise belittle our stature.
My impression both from visiting hospitals and being a patient myself suggests this kind of treatment has become more rare than it used to.
The saga of Karen Klein’s abuse has an ending, in part happy. It even restores something of her dignity.
Following the brainstorm of a Canadian fellow who discovered her plight and organized a fund drive aimed at giving Karen a big-time vacation, large numbers of sympathizers have contributed.
For this purpose, the Canadian proposed a goal of five thousand dollars. At last count, more than five hundred thousand has been raised!
Perhaps the great majority cares about the dignity of old people after all.
“Are you Mr. Kletzsch?” This question came suddenly from a man who was holding the locker room door open for me.
“No,” I answered, “but I knew Charlie very well.”
My questioner, it turned out, was attending his 25th reunion at Harvard College. He had come from his home in Portland, Oregon for this event and mistook me for an old friend and, perhaps, mentor.