Becoming Invisible
It only seems like fun
There was something about becoming invisible that felt oddly comforting. For many women, getting older means saying goodbye to the drooly glances of some men at the gym and the lowered expectations of people in general. Reaching a certain age can result in being left unbothered. As a lifelong introvert, I saw real value in that.
My fondness for growing older ended when I made my annual visit to the doctor. New, uncomfortable questions arose along with tasks to perform. I hoped there would be some positive comment about the five pounds I had lost. But no one cares about your five pounds when you are old and invisible. They have new benchmarks on which to judge you. I sensed that they didn’t see my whole self as invisible, but the parts of me that mattered most were somehow no longer in view. The parts that could think and enable me to take care of myself.
The young nurse began her routine by asking, “Are you afraid of falling?” I said, “No, is there some reason I should be?” The question remained unanswered because she had no idea why she was asking it. It was on a form she was required to fill out.
“Can you draw a clock with the time 11:10?” she asked as she handed me a pen and a piece of paper. I had heard that when you turn 65, physicals turn weird. I had no idea how weird though. I was tempted to create a digital clock reading 11:10. Then I reminded myself that any passive protests would make the visit longer. I dutifully drew an analog clock with all the numbers from 12 to 11 neatly arranged in a circle with the big and little hands appropriately positioned.
“I’m going to say three words. Then I will ask you to repeat them to me in five minutes. “Tuesday, Yellow, Sunshine.” I began to wonder if I was an unwitting victim of a revival of Punk’d. Or maybe John Quinones from the TV show “What Would You Do?” would jump through the door with a camera crew and ask me how I felt about the new perception of me as a doddering old fool with any adult parts of myself now unseen.
The doctor entered for her turn at bat. She made several taps on the iPad stand that she skillfully wheeled around the room. Then she announced, “The chances of you having a cardiac incident in the next ten years is 4.6 percent.” That sounded pretty good to me until the doctor explained all the reasons it wasn’t good. My cholesterol was too high, and my family history was troubling across the board.
“What about my weight and the fact that I cut out dairy and exercise 4–5 times per week?” By the time I finished explaining myself, I realized I had reached the age at which presenting myself as a rationale adult would not be well received.
When the physical drew to a close, I asked my doctor, “Did you ever ask anyone 65 or older how they feel about being tasked with things second graders could do? Is it possible this line of questioning does something damaging to people?”
Her quick reply, “No, I never did,” was soon followed by the sound of the squeaky wheels of her iPad stand leaving the room with her footsteps close behind. I was sure she would have seen the pained look on my face if I were younger and not yet growing invisible.
In the distance, I could hear her call to me, “Oh, and make sure you have grab bars installed in your bathtub.”
Maybe at my next physical I’ll pull out a digital clock from my purse or a kindergarten-sized crayon to draw with. I have a whole year to create an entertaining counteroffensive to becoming invisible.
