For me it was during an examination of my arthritic knees. It was my first visit with an he orthopedic surgeon and he brought in two interns to observe.
The surgeon was rather abrasive as he showed the interns my x-rays and referred to them as “text book for a non-ambulatory patient” even though I was walking – with some pain but without the need of crutches or a cane.
That was irritating, but it was not what made me feel old. I'll get to that.
As the surgeon continued to hold court with his interns, he
asked me to sit on the examination table with my legs dangling over the edge.
He rolled up his chair, put his hands on the front of my ankles and asked me to
push. I asked him, “How hard?” I caught a slight eye roll to his interns as he
said, “Whatever you can manage.”
So, I pushed hard. Harder than he assumed I could based on
my x-rays. And he and his rolling chair went sliding across the room almost knocking
down the startled interns.
Following the exam, I was getting dressed and heard the
interns talking in low voices on the other side of the privacy curtain.
“Did you see him push the doc across the room?”
“OMG, that was hysterical.”
“Yeah, that patient is …”
Here’s where I answer the question. I was expecting the the intern to refer to me
as “crazy strong” or “a rock star” or “a real baller” or even “like a real life
James Bond” … but, alas … he said:
“Yeah, that patient is one tough, old fucker.”
Old fucker? Not James Bond? Yep, felt old. Still happy about sending that smug surgeon on an unexpected ride, but knocked quickly back to reality.
