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By marrying the love of my life – who happened to be 12 years my senior – one of his gifts to me was a “preview of coming attractions.” In our 25- year marriage, I was able to witness, first-hand, and hear about the process of aging from many senior friends before having to go through it, myself.
Part of my “senior education” came from going to Senior Games all over the region, getting to know athletes and their spouses, hearing their stories, going through their illnesses and often attending their funerals.
During races, partners and wives would be the cheering sections for our husbands and friends who were competing in the various events – and I vividly remember my first “Senior Discount” on a cup of coffee from the Wendy’s across the street from the track & field venue in Kerrville. When the leader of our pack of spouses ordered eight coffees with a senior discount, I whispered I was only 50. She shushed me, saying I deserved a senior discount because my hubby was a senior. I gratefully drank the 10 percent discounted coffee that day– more or less a rite of passage.
Later, I would discover how senior dance-cards are typically filled monthly with doctors’ appointments. I also learned the many types of medical specialties. Waiting in waiting rooms would eventually become our recreational pastime and I also learned to pack my purse with lists of drugs and dosages and brief medical history for each of us along with lipstick and a compact. They would come in handy and often saved time.
Ultimately, going to doctors’ appointments crowded out all other activities from our social calendar.
As my husband sailed through his sixties, he became concerned about his memory. Far from being a hypochondriac, he had vivid memories of his mother’s fading memory in her later years and her tendency to repeat questions and to offer the same responses once we had answered her questions.
When he asked his longtime internist about his own memory glitches, the doctor suggested a cognitive evaluation. We had to make an appointment, thinking it would be a long, drawn-out ordeal. It wasn’t.
We arrived, waited and were then called back to an examination room. When the doctor appeared, she slipped a sheet of white paper out of her case and asked these questions:
Do you know your name?
The date? Who is president? A math problem, like: 8 + 10 + 10 – 4 x 2 =? (My husband was a math major – no problem.)
Remember these three words: Balloon, Typewriter, orange.
The doctor then asked Ron to draw a clock. Also, no problem. Then she asked him to draw the hands to show 10 minutes after 11. He could.
Now for the final test: Can you remember the three words I gave you earlier?
He could. “Well, you passed the test,” the doctor said. “If you’re losing any memory, it’s not much. But we’ll repeat the test again next year.”
Next year, my sweet husband answered the same questions, drew the same clock again – and passed.
This so-called cognitive evaluation was repeated annually for several years…until 2015. At that time, my husband was battling a second type of cancer and before he could take the clock test again, he was in hospice.
Had he taken the clock test after all the radiation treatments, he may not have been able to draw the clock or place the hands to reflect the right time… and that would have been a real blow to his ego. It was a good thing he didn’t have to.
So, because of my now advancing age, when I had my last physical, to my surprise, the doctor handed me a piece of paper and asked me to draw a clock. When I said I wasn’t having any problems with cognition, she said it would be good to establish a baseline. Then she gave me three words to remember. I was able to draw the clock, place the minute and second hands to show the right time. You see, this wasn’t my first cognitive testing rodeo. I even remembered the three little words.
So, this is what I look forward to every six month – blood work, physical exam, mammography or some other exotic diagnostic exam and the cognitive test.
Which makes me wonder: Who in the world came up with the draw-the-clock test? This question comes to mind because, whoever it was, they obviously weren’t senior citizens. Didn’t they realize playing ticktock would only serve to remind us that time was running out? That we had already lived longer than the time we had left. Didn’t they know this type of reminder would only serve to depress us?
I say, Seniors unite! Refuse the clock test and call foul if the three words to remember are crotchety, forgetful and walker. We’re all old enough and smart enough to read between the lines!
Tick tock!
