A Woman Your Age, Said the Doctor

“A woman your age …” said the allergist.

She continued, but I wasn’t listening. I couldn’t. I was struck dumb by those words. Surely, she was talking to someone else in the room? Someone old. Not chic, well-groomed, hair-dyed, cool, with-it me?

But since nobody else was in the room, she definitely was talking to me! Yikes, ouch, and oy vey!

In any case, whatever her medical point was, it was lost to me. I didn’t ask. I didn’t care. All I wanted was for the appointment to end and to escape. To nurse my battered ego.

Harrumph! A woman my age, indeed.

But the assault on my self-image didn’t end there.

Two hours later, I had a second medical appointment … with a cardiologist.

“Appropriate,” I thought, given my aching heart and soul.

We discussed the heart of the medical matter. Happily, it’s a minor problem and easily treatable. But alas, once again, when the doctor started discussing treatment options, she used that same dreaded phrase — “a woman your age.”

This time, I forced myself to listen. I had to. My heart literally was in it.

I guess I should have been cheered. I could have left the doctor’s office with a diagnosis of a serious, life-altering ailment. And yes, of course, I was grateful for that.

But still, this notion that doctors are treating — and seeing — me differently because of my age is painful.

And it also made me realize, belatedly, that lots of people are treating me gingerly these days.

For instance, when I go in and out the door at the local university journalism school where I work, young men now ALWAYS stop, wait, and hold the door open for me.

At first, I thought, “How gallant. Young men in the West are so polite! So well brought up!”

Vain me, I even thought in passing, and I blush to admit this, that they thought I was cute.

Now, I realize with sickening clarity, that they do it because I am OLD!

Oh, my breaking heart! Somebody, please pick up the smashed-to-smithereens pieces of my ego off the floor!

I need to reflect more on this issue of labeling women (and older people in general), but already I’ve learned a painful lesson, two actually.

Lesson Number 1: Do not schedule back-to-back doctor appointments. It is exhausting — and for women our age (a-hum), potentially emotionally devastating.

Lesson Number 2: Do not kid yourself like I did — 70 is NOT the new 50! It is not even the new 60. 70 is 70.