Just don’t say I’m elderly
I know it’s silly. It’s just a word. But it hit me like a shock of cold water when a doctor described me as elderly in a message summarizing a recent visit with him.
Patient is a healthy-appearing elderly woman, he wrote as a prelude to the specifics of why I was there and a deeper assessment of the mild arthritic changes in my bruised, thankfully not broken wrist. As joints go, its complex anatomy makes the wrist more susceptible to injury. Not only for seniors like me.
I’m 75 and I take to the sound of ‘senior’ much better than I take to the sound and implications of ‘elderly.’
If this reeks of denial, just hear me out.
As a writer, I’m well attuned to the nuances of language. Word choices factor into the perception of ourselves and others. And perception goes beyond vanity, which may play at least some part in my reaction. Not to mention the reactions of friends when I shared the story: expressions of surprise, maybe even a chuckle, pretty much sum it up.
Even I started to think of it in amusing terms despite my own equating of elderly with fragility. . .
