Gray and gold
I’m always amused when I get introduced as a guest speaker: “Like many of you, I always read our guest speaker’s column ‘Pinoy Kasi,’” and mentioning one of the other daily newspapers instead of the Philippine Daily Inquirer.
For the record, I did write Pinoy Kasi for more than 20 years and then requested our editor, Juliet Javellana, if I could change the column name to “Gray Matters,” explaining that I wanted to shift focus to matters affecting senior citizens, but without abandoning culture, medical anthropology, and the social sciences in general.
I will, however, make good on the promise to write more on senior citizen issues, especially as I feel the senior years’ needs more and more. After all, in the Philippines, we join the “Golden Years Club” at the age of 60 in private companies and 65 in government. I have continued working as a professor emeritus, an honorific from universities, for many years afterward.
Time does catch up, and I’m feeling more and more of the challenges, especially as I find it more difficult to move around. Our bodies do have a way of “sanayan,” or getting used to it and we take for granted the aches and creaking of joints.
The last year or so, while I’m still able to move around, teach, write, and rage over what the Germans call Weltschmerz (German for the world’s pains, throw in personal aches), I can feel myself slowing down, and more importantly, people noticing.
Last week, while having lunch with my eldest son at a restaurant, he suddenly began to tear up: “Dada, you can’t hide it anymore. On the escalator, my heart would jump with every step you took.”
He named some measures we would have to take, and on escalators and plain walking, he would be at my side or behind me, and I would have to give up my vanity (smile) and use a cane (he said I could choose between a cane and a wheelchair). That was followed by a briefer sermon: “Don’t think I don’t see the pain you have.”
He went on and on about how I shouldn’t feel ashamed to ask for assistance, including getting someone in the family to take over Chichi (my ”writing assistant”—people remember her more than the title of my column).
I could see how real his worries were, which I tried to lighten with jokes; we agreed on steps to reduce accidents, especially falls.
There was only one point, which was not subject to negotiation: always having someone at my side. I had inherited my mother’s stubbornness at that point. My mother would “sneak off” to have her own time, and if she fell, which was quite often, she would “order” the driver and the household helpers not to tell me. (They would tell me anyway, and I’d pretend not to know but find ways to check bruises and head bumps.)
Life as a veterinarian and pet owner complicates matters, but my dogs seem to have learned to move more carefully around me. I very rarely carry the dogs now because of the fear of falling, but once, recently, I took the initiative of lifting Chichi to bring her out of the car, only to realize that I was no longer used to balancing myself with her, especially while getting out of the car. When I realized I was going to fall and possibly crush her, I shouted out, “Jump, Chi, jump!” Chichi is about my age in human years, and she seemed to have caught on as she realized I was going to have to let go of her.
For a dachshund, the four-foot descent to the ground was probably like 12 feet; jumped she did, or rather, flew, almost like I had instructed her. I wasn’t as lucky; I still landed on my face, and she, the driver, and my daughter went into mild panic.
I’ve since learned to cushion such falls, finding a way to land on my knees, even if it means not being able to wear shorts with all the abrasions. Chichi also avoids running to my lap as I get out of the car, and I think if she could, she’d probably find a way to cushion my falls.
I’m realizing there are many other things we have to learn as pets and humans live longer lives and greater health risks. Malls have a long way to go to help the elderly navigate stairs. Once on flat terrain, we also need to find ways for the elderly to share space with young children and with other elderly.
Many built environments—offices, schools, public places—don’t give enough thought to the elderly’s access to spaces. Toilets are especially bad for both lolos and lolas.
Malls and shopping areas also need to rein in overzealous salespeople, who harass the elderly trying to make a sale with too much talk and sometimes body contact. I’ve had to lecture these marketing people several times, asking if they’d do the same thing to their lolo or lola.
In my work environment, I’ve had to request administrators several times for a classroom on a lower floor, because even without the risk of falls, climbing three flights of stairs and holding the guard rails, especially with students rushing up and down the stairs, can be life-threatening. That’s why Chichi goes with me to class if I have to negotiate stairs, distracting students (and other teachers) who let her through, often with requests for selfies.
I am thankful I am still able to teach, but it would be so much more gratifying if survival required extra training in acrobatics and track and field.
—————-
michael.tan@inquirer.net
