Age is Just a Number - by Linda Osmondson
“Age is just a number,” so the woman in the ad says.” If only that were true. Then she adds, “And mine is unlisted.” Mine isn’t; I earned these wrinkles and grey hairs. If someone asks my age, I tell them – 86. Sometimes I mention it when they haven’t asked.
Approximately three years ago and typical of age and having played golf for many, many years, my left hip hindered my walking. I gave up golf when my husband’s dementia required him to quit. After he passed away, I didn’t return to the game.
Over a few years’ time, pain accompanied my gait. I took shorter and shorter walks, bent forward a bit, but complained little. My neighbor, a retired orthopedic doctor, suggested I go see the doctor who replaced him.
“I don’t want surgery at 83,” I whined.
“Linda, you are 83 going on 63!” my neighbor said. I was honored he thought that but still didn’t want surgery.
I made an appointment. X-rays proved my hip would need replacing sooner rather than later. The doctor gave me a shot to hold me over. Six months later, I went back for another.
“You need to see a surgeon,” the doctor advised. “A shot will delay surgery three months. I can’t give you one.” I finally called the surgeon for an appointment.
After more x-rays, the surgeon examined my hip. He moved my leg side to side, up and down, then asked me to walk across the room. I explained that at 83 I didn’t wish to have surgery. No anesthesia, I insisted. My husband’s dementia declined after a surgery or two and I, at my age, was sure anesthesia would result in dementia. Scientists claim there is no evidence of anesthesia bringing on or affecting dementia, but we caregivers know from experience, it does.
“Here, have a seat,” suggested the surgeon. He swore the surgery required no anesthesia. Instead, they would administer a short-term spinal tap and a light sleeping drug. He sat on his rolling stool and walked it until we were toe to toe, knee to knee. Reassuringly, he placed his hand on my knee and emphasized each word, “Linda. Have. The. Surgery.”
We picked a date three months out, and I prayed. The day before surgery, my oldest son and his youngest daughter arrived. The next morning with my insides churning, we drove to the hospital. My youngest son met us there. I remember their administering the spinal tap, an IV and being rolled into a room with huge, round, bright lights overhead and then nothing until someone kept calling my name.
I was groggy, but alive! I talked, remembered the kids, did the exercises with help, slept and went home the next day. My six weeks of rehab were shortened to four weeks since I did exceptionally well and could continue exercises at home on my own. At my final post-surgery check-up, I asked about my other hip. The surgeon viewed the X-rays. “It looks fine for now. But don’t wait so long when the surgery is needed.” Then he added, “In the meantime, just live!”
My movements are back to normal. No signs of needing another hip surgery yet. And, to my knowledge, I show no signs of dementia. After my most recent birthday, my neighbor commented, “Linda you are 86 going on 66!” After all, age is just a number!
Linda L. Osmundson authored the award-winning three-book series How the West Was Drawn – Cowboy Charlie’s Art, Frederic Remington’s Art and Women’s Art. Like the series, her newest book, Papa’s Changes, Dementia Through a Child’s Eyes is meant for readers age 7 - 107. Hundreds of her articles have appeared in magazines, anthologies such as Chicken Soup for the Soul, blogs and newspapers. Discover more at LindaOsmundson.com.
