My present infirmity is a perfect microcosm of my experience of older age so far: unpleasant at times, but also interesting.
I took a bad fall on Monday night, late, and here it is Friday morning, and I've gotten worse every day. My body must be healing, but it needs me to stand down while it works at the job. Last night I slept 9 hours and 27 minutes (the CPAP machine keeps the time), and had a great deal of difficulty maneuvering my body into tolerable positions to sleep in. And this morning I am more stiff and sore than I have ever been in all my entire life before this. I want to add five exclamation points but the style sheet doesn't allow that. I inched out of bed as nimble as if I were a hundred and five. Took me twenty minutes. Getting dressed was an ordeal—I had to find an old pair of socks that were easier to put on. Once downstairs I made a beeline for the 8-hour Tylenol—the effects of the dose I took before bed had had time to wear off. I had great trouble bending far enough down to put the dog's food dish on the floor. Had to stand up from my chair to turn the desk light on.
"Old age isn't a battle," writes Philip Roth, in Everyman, "it's a massacre." And I'm not even all that old yet!
Aged P
I've always liked old people, though. We were talking about Great Expectations the other day. The greatest delights of reading Dickens are his minor characters, and my favorite character in Great Expectations is "Aged P," also called the Aged One or just the Aged, the father of John Wemmick, lawyer Jaggers's clerk. Wemmick greets him by saying "How am you?" Dickens turns Wemmick into a broad-brush embodiment of the split between one's at-work and at-home personalities, and accordingly has him living in a cottage that's been transformed into a castle, complete with moat, drawbridge, and a small cannon nicknamed "the Stinger"—a man's home is his castle, geddit? Wemmick's father, Aged P (pronounced AGE-ed, and P for parent), is a cheerful optimist whom age has transformed into a fool. But an entertaining one. It's almost a shame to make Dickens stories into movies—he needs the more easygoing pace of a lengthy novel to draw the minor characters out. Aged P makes a cameo in the movie, but is better read.
I tipped him several more, and he was in great spirits. We left him bestirring himself to feed the fowls, and we sat down to our punch in the arbour; where Wemmick told me, as he smoked a pipe, that it had taken him a good many years to bring the property up to its present pitch of perfection.
“Is it your own, Mr. Wemmick?”
“O yes,” said Wemmick, “I have got hold of it, a bit at a time. It’s a freehold, by George!”
“Is it indeed? I hope Mr. Jaggers admires it?”
“Never seen it,” said Wemmick. “Never heard of it. Never seen the Aged. Never heard of him. No; the office is one thing, and private life is another. When I go into the office, I leave the Castle behind me, and when I come into the Castle, I leave the office behind me. If it’s not in any way disagreeable to you, you’ll oblige me by doing the same. I don’t wish it professionally spoken about.”
Of course I felt my good faith involved in the observance of his request. The punch being very nice, we sat there drinking it and talking, until it was almost nine o’clock. “Getting near gun-fire,” said Wemmick then, as he laid down his pipe; “it’s the Aged’s treat.”
Proceeding into the Castle again, we found the Aged heating the poker, with expectant eyes, as a preliminary to the performance of this great nightly ceremony. Wemmick stood with his watch in his hand until the moment was come for him to take the red-hot poker from the Aged, and repair to the battery. He took it, and went out, and presently the Stinger went off with a Bang that shook the crazy little box of a cottage as if it must fall to pieces, and made every glass and teacup in it ring. Upon this, the Aged — who I believe would have been blown out of his arm-chair but for holding on by the elbows — cried out exultingly, “He’s fired! I heerd him!” and I nodded at the old gentleman until it is no figure of speech to declare that I absolutely could not see him.
[Great Expectations, Chapter XXV, p. 196–7]
What the dickens
Here's Dickens in a photo by P. Edouard Rischgitz, a Swiss painter who moved to London sometime before 1878:
Charles Dickens by Edouard Rischgitz, c. late 1860s
Have you ever noticed how many famous people in the 1800s couldn't be bothered to even comb their hair prior to sitting for a portrait? I've seen tramps, bums and drunkards with better grooming than Dickens here. There was a fad in the late '90s for young men to deliberately wear their hair a bit longer than a crew cut and sticking up every which way—the style was simply called "short and spiky," which is a description, not a name—you still see it from time to time. I thought it was uncommonly ugly. But those guys don't have anything on Charles Dickens for unappealing haircuts. Guy hasn't trimmed his beard since he wrote his first novel. Barbers probably grumbled as he went by.
Here's an idea
This post, if it were a high school paper, would come back marked C—"poorly organized, with no central theme and no thoroughgoing argument"—but if I'm skittering from here to there I'm also touching again on a series of topics from the past few days. So I'll point out one very successful "idea" for shooting projects, since that was our topic a few days ago. It's to gradually collect portraits of famous people. It often works admirably on a practical level, because famous people are often, let's say, a bit into themselves, and tend to welcome the attention. Many photographers have used this idea over many years. The two I can think of right off the bat are Bill Jay and Arnold Crane, who both made long-term projects photographing famous photographers. Neither portfolio is online, but both are excellent, and fascinating if you like photography and its practitioners.
The Tylenol is turning the firehose on my inflammation now [UPDATE: See Dr. Taylor's comment below], so I'm feeling more myself. You know who's to blame for my doddering infirmity this morning? That would be me. I resolved ten or twelve years ago to be more careful with my footing and balance because I was falling too much. I've only fallen three times since. I tend to pay attention and not take chances. But on Monday I wasn't being careful at all, stomping across the frozen snowy ground late at night without a moon to guide my way. Serves me right to go arse over teakettle in the dark, I suppose. But the punishment is turning out to be more severe than I deserved! Compare old Mike to the young guys playing American football. Those guys throw themselves around with abandon. The move that always astonishes me is when a guy running to the end zone just takes a little hop, tucks his head, turns a flip in the air, and lands on the ground on his back. (Watch Golden Tate at 1:38 here.) That would probably be the end of me if I did that. I once heard that when players are young, they need a day to recover from a Sunday game. In mid-career, they might not recover till Wednesday or Thursday. And when they aren't recovered from the last Sunday by the next Sunday, well, that's when they know it's time to hang up the cleats.
Mike
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Featured Comments from:
Geoff Wittig: "Love that photo of Dickens. It looks like casual grooming was a common affectation of artsy-types in the late 19th century. Samuel Clemens/Mark Twain was a bit shaggy. George Inness, probably the greatest American landscape painter ever, was coiffed exactly the same as Dickens, down to the scraggly beard and long unkempt hair, matched with the same kind of over-the-top vest and lapels. On the other hand, artists who catered to the carriage trade were far more tightly groomed. John Singer Sargent and William Merritt Chase were both famously dapper, right down to the meticulously folded kerchief visible from the breast pocket. They knew their customers and dressed to match."
Mike replies: It didn't even occur to me that it might be an affectation! But, of course. Artists, after all.
Jeff Markus: " Your comment about football players is right on the mark. I have a cousin who was an offensive lineman for the Chargers. He was over for dinner one night not long after he had retired and my father asked him how he had decided that the time had come. He said that the first couple of years he would wake up Monday morning feeling like he had been beaten up by a bunch of guys, but by the next day he would feel okay. The next year it took him one more day to recover, and for each year thereafter it took him an additional day for recovery. And by his ninth season he couldn't get any relief until the season was over. He did a tenth season and, before it was over, decided that this was no way to live, and retired at the season's end.
"He enjoyed retirement for a year and then signed with an NFL team for a year! Later on I asked him why he would do such a thing. He explained that they kept making him offers and he kept turning them them down because he just really didn't want to do another year in constant pain. That just wears a person down. But then he got an offer that was so good that he would have felt like an idiot if he had refused it, so he didn't. As it was, he had an injury early in the season that kept him from playing very much.
"He's been quite fortunate in that he never had any serious injuries that disabled him later in life. No blown-out hips or knees, no head injuries, no CTE. Many of his friends from those days were not so lucky."
Edward Taylor: "Re 'The Tylenol is turning the firehose on my inflammation now'—I probably should not comment as this may seem petty, but in the interest of science, may I point out that Tylenol does not have any anti-inflammation properties. It is simply an analgesic and an antipyretic. NSAIDS (like ibuprofen) are anti-inflammatory."
Mike replies: Not at all; I'm happy to be corrected.
Joseph Kashi: "A bit of levity that hopefully doesn't cause laughter to the point of further damaging your ribs. I've cracked my ribs several times, rarely from any mundane cause. The first was the silliest: We had a horse, and every Sunday afternoon, my chore was to clean up the corral area. Horse poop freezes really solidly to the ground in Alaskan winters. I usually had to use a heavy ice chipper to break it loose. One time, the horse sh*t was frozen so thoroughly, and I was chipping so vigorously, that I cracked some ribs. My doctor, who was a former military doc, laughed uncontrollably when I told him how it occurred.
"Another time, while sparring at the karate dojo, I carelessly hit someone too hard. After they recovered, I got a retaliatory roundhouse kick to my floating rib, which promptly 'sank,' and the sensei yelled at me for my careless initial strike (which was deserved). A third instance occurred while trying to retrieve our old, blind golden retriever, who fell down an ocean bluff covered with with large fallen spruce trees over a lot of ice and snow. Hauling the blind dog over the big tree trunks on that steep, snowy slope did my ribs in again.
"Good luck."
Ibuprofen is better than Acetaminophen for inflammation, provided you can tolerate it. If so, both can’t hurt.
[My cardiologist, a few years ago: "Do you take ibuprophen?" Me: "Yes." He: "Well, you'll stop that now." --Mike]
Posted by: Jeff | Friday, 24 January 2025 at 02:55 PM
Everyone likes old people, but nobody wants to be one.
Posted by: Dan | Friday, 24 January 2025 at 02:55 PM
You have my sympathies. Last year I had bruised ribs from a car accident, and besides being very painful, the recovery stood out in two ways (compared to other injuries): surprisingly limited mobility, and each successive day feeling worse, for the first few days. I think it was a month or two before I got back to normal. I hope you can get a friend or neighbor to help you out with household chores in the near term!
Posted by: AN | Friday, 24 January 2025 at 03:33 PM
Sorry to hear that you are sore. May I suggest that you get some spikes or studs to put on your shoes when going out in the winter? I have two: a set of studs like the ones they put in winter tires that are mounted on rubber, and for deeper snow, I have a set of micro-spikes connected by chains. Either will help keep you upright on icy surfaces and you can get them from Amazon without even leaving your house.
[I was actually wearing my slippers. Like these:
https://amzn.to/4axsl9O
My last pair lasted nine years! And I wore them a LOT. --Mike]
Posted by: James Bullard | Friday, 24 January 2025 at 03:39 PM
Wishing your recovery to get on track, Michael. I am 75 and try to remind myself regularly, "Don't step backward." I have seen a few people, including my mother, take an innocent backward step, catch their heal, and go down. Trying to burn that rule into my brain.
Posted by: Peter | Friday, 24 January 2025 at 05:15 PM
A pair of walking sticks (hiking poles) will be your friend(s).
Posted by: Rusty | Friday, 24 January 2025 at 07:30 PM
I'll be 83 in February, and I celebrate it. Yes, there are all the weird things that your body starts to do, but it's still an interesting trip. The one thing that irks me is when I'm addressed as "young fellow." C'mon, do you really think that's flattering?
Posted by: MikeR | Friday, 24 January 2025 at 07:49 PM
I feel guilty, but I had to chuckle at the first paragraph. I’ve been in that exact position far too many times, and you have my sympathy. There’s been more than a few mornings where I wake up feeling like I’ve been dragged behind a train, and it never gets less amusing/horrifying; I can never decide which.
I mentioned in my comment to your previous post that I used to do judo, and your comment about the American football players made me think about my old sensei. He was in his late 70s when he finally stepped off the mat; he’d been bumping around his entire life, but when a botched colonoscopy stopped him from being able to don the gi and join in for a year or two, he aged fast. The human body likes to move and can (and will) take a surprising amount of abuse; it’s sitting around that does us in. I’ve spent about a year now taking it easy while a ruptured achilles repairs itself, and the amount of back ache and hip pain I’ve been getting while sitting on my ever-increasing ass is ridiculous!
Posted by: Tony Gale | Friday, 24 January 2025 at 08:59 PM
I agree with James, the spikes are better on ice. And nobody likes getting old but it beats the alternative
Posted by: Terry Letton | Friday, 24 January 2025 at 09:03 PM
Meloxicam! Best anti inflammatory & pain combo. Just slipped on ice last week and broke my shoulder. Can relate.
Posted by: Michael | Saturday, 25 January 2025 at 12:34 AM
These arrived later that afternoon:
https://www.yaktrax.com/pro-traction-device
Posted by: Michael | Saturday, 25 January 2025 at 12:49 AM
A friend of many years visits us once or twice a year. We are both in our 70s. The first few minutes of our conversations are usually devoted to the indignities that age has visited upon us. He refers to this as our annual ‘organ recital’.
Posted by: James Weekes | Saturday, 25 January 2025 at 03:00 AM
Have you had an X-ray to confirm the cracked rib? If not, your symptoms sound like a case of polymyalgia rheumatica (PMR). Your inability to raise your arms above your shoulders, and the extreme difficulty of simple movements (like getting dressed) are indicative. The symptoms are worse in the morning, lessening during the day.
PMR is treatable with Prednisone. If this is what you have, your aches might vanish after the first day on the pills.
Posted by: Allan Ostling | Saturday, 25 January 2025 at 10:48 AM
Sorry to learn of your fall, Mike. Getting old is no fun at all, I absolutely hate it. Have you considered physiotherapy? We need you as yours is the most intelligent blog on the internet concerning photography. Get well soon!
Posted by: Nick Davis | Saturday, 25 January 2025 at 11:57 AM
I've just clicked over three score and eight myself, quite in your ballpark. Bummer that a momentary lapse can bring such pain! Hopefully Butters will bring your food within reach as you do for him.
The Aged P is an entertaining figure! Only the fortunate get to his level, hopefully we'll all be so easily amused as time attempts to toss us off of this increasingly less-familiar world.
Posted by: Jim R | Saturday, 25 January 2025 at 12:56 PM
The movie "North Dallas Forty" has a (fictional) behind the scenes look at professional football. If memory serves, the opening scene is the Nick Nolte character awakening the morning after a game; it's a good illustration of your last few sentences, and pretty much the only scene in the movie I remember.
Posted by: Anthony | Saturday, 25 January 2025 at 02:02 PM
Last March, I turned 70 years old, and a week later, I traveled to Washington, D.C.
I bought a bottle of wine from the shop there, and a guard asked me to show my passport to confirm that I was old enough to purchase alcohol.
[I found this on Ye Internet, presented as being the response from an unnamed corporation when an 85-year-old man was angry about being carded and pursued the matter at the corporate level. I can't vouch for this.
[quote]
"Many people today aren't very good judges of age and we found it was difficult to train for something like that.
"As you know, at first the law was 'look over 25' but too many people were still being sold alcohol, so they changed it to 27 and then 35. There were evidently still too many cases (per ABC) where a person didn't have sufficient judgement so … they were talking about 50.
"We found that some of our cashiers were distracted (on their cell phones) or could be easily distracted (one person goes to buy beer while a confederate distracts the cashier in some way) too often. We didn’t believe we’d get enough hires if we instituted a no cell phones policy and didn't know how we’d train people to not get distracted by a clever con artist.
"We decided that this could result in allegations of prejudice, some people still might not have sufficient judgement. So, the policy is to check everyone. We intend no insult but the problem is as I said, we simply can't count on every clerk having sufficient judgment to follow an age-based rule." [unquote]
So there's that! --Mike]
Posted by: janekr | Saturday, 25 January 2025 at 02:40 PM
BUMMER!!! That's no fun. Though I've racked up enough injuries over the last 83yrs ... a fractured lower back at 15, two severe whiplash injuries, hyper extension of both knees etc... chronic pain is not one of them. I feel for you Mike. Do take care and give yourself time to heal.
Posted by: Johnw | Saturday, 25 January 2025 at 04:18 PM
A couple of weeks ago I was walking my adopted Chow Chow and a large Golden Doodle slipped the leash and came after us, ran right underneath me and knocked me over. After a brief snagging the Doodle and returning to the owner. I was surprised at feeling no pain as I have fallen on ice before and felt it. I'm giving credit to the Five Tibetan Rites exercises I do every AM.
Posted by: Dan D | Saturday, 25 January 2025 at 04:44 PM
Exactly as Ed Taylor writes; hence my earlier comment. Tylenol (Acetaminophen), can relieve pain, but Ibuprofen is an NSAID, which stands for “non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drug.” Too bad your cardiologist vetoed it. Perhaps he/she can recommend a safer anti-inflammatory alternative.
Posted by: Jeff | Saturday, 25 January 2025 at 05:42 PM
A bit more on the Tylenol and/or Ibuprofen issue: isn't it possible that your doctor might be OK with you taking Ibuprofen for your acute condition? NSAIDs do an excellent short-term job, principally by reducing inflammation and thus reducing pain. Furthermore, because their method of operation is completely different from acetaminophen drugs (Tylenol, Paracetamol, etc) it's OK to take both - for a short while.
Posted by: Tom Burke | Sunday, 26 January 2025 at 02:41 AM
Perfect hair dresser advertising poster photo.
Caption should read,
We don't wreck your hair with machines,
We do it carefully, by hand.
Posted by: Kye Wood | Sunday, 26 January 2025 at 02:44 AM
Forget all this writing malarkey. Become a distributor for those Ugg slip-ons
.
Price in the UK - £165.00 - £226.80
Posted by: David | Sunday, 26 January 2025 at 03:08 PM
I went in for a doctor's appointment last week and he asked how I was, I think perhaps the social How are you, not the diagnostic How are you, but whatever.
I answered "Pretty good, but if I woke feeling like this when I was 30, I would probably have gone to the emergency room"
He said I said that the last time. Sigh.
If you are an older person of the sort that likes to push random buttons just to see what happens (sometimes this is a preventative of older-person-syndrome, a certain amount of judgment comes into play), the response "Are you flirting with me?" when asked for ID can liven up an otherwise routine trip to the Market.
Posted by: hugh crawford | Monday, 27 January 2025 at 09:42 PM
This may sound impertinent, but as I am noticeably older than you, let's pretend it isn't.
"I tend to . . ." That means to me "I often don't . . ." That's really not a good plan.
How about changing to "I always . . ."? As it happens, as I can see 81 on the near horizon, I happen to still have excellent balance/stability. Nevertheless, I mentally prepare for all potentially dangerous situations. The only fall I've taken in decades was a result of a faulty stair step.
But still, for example, whenever I carry something heavy down the outdoor stairs to my basement, I mentally go over the rules; "If you start to fall, Moosie, don't try to protect what you are carrying, drop it and grab the railings." Same sort of thing on iffy stairs in a house in Scotland last fall. Take a moment to assess how things could go south, and prepare mentally for compensation, best reaction and self protection.
I know many top athletes use this sort of technique, going over in their minds and feeling in their bodies how to execute a move or react to trouble.
It also helps to develop a "monitor" in your mind, a dispassionate observer that may advise free of the emotions and/or mindless reactions of the moment.
That's the voice that would have said, "Whoa, what good are you going to be to Butters if you slip or trip and fall?"
Get well soon!
Posted by: Moose | Wednesday, 29 January 2025 at 04:59 AM