Dr's In: That ole rockin' chair will getcha

I’m still on the tennis courts two to three hours almost every morning, take 5 to 10 mile hikes periodically, and scoot around in my Beemer convertible wearing yellow sunglasses with my grey hair flying in the wind. 

I've had my share of surgeries, including bowel, knee, back, skin cancers, prostate, and most recently cataract — both eyes. But I still have a vision of my teenage self. Yes sir, fit as a fiddle, an old fiddle perhaps, possibly a Stradivarius. 

My teenage years were wondrous cruising around Philadelphia in a two-toned ‘51 Chevy coupe. Not bad for a kid growing up in a working-class neighborhood with two working parents. Never saw myself in any other light until a very depressing recent encounter. 

My spouse was doing her shopping at the mall while I enjoyed a Starbucks Frappuccino, biscotti and people-watching. It’s a pleasure to watch children running about with young mothers keeping tab and old folks strolling along. Tattooed people always fascinated me, as I could never understand why a person would have drawings needled into their skin. To each his own I suppose. 

The clothes capture my imagination everything from suit-and-tie types to teens with orange hair and Gothic black dress. Malls are a visual treat. The fast food court filled with people searching for a meal. My experience in food courts: whatever you buy there tastes the same. The entertainment of watching people deciding which food to buy is worth the price of a theater ticket. 

But then I had an encounter that was most depressing. Worse than surgery, the dentist, or a scratch on my Beemer; I saw three ladies exit Dillard’s and walk slowly by. 

My eye caught the 20ish lady first, very pretty indeed. I looked past her and the woman following was clearly her attractive mother. And the third was an stylish older version of the girl’s mother. 

All of them were significantly younger than me. If the great-grandmother of the first girl had been present, I might have been younger than her too. Is it possible that I am old? That cannot be! 

Roger Moore said that when he filmed his last James Bond movie, he knew it was time to quit because the mothers of his female co-stars were younger than him. I can understand Roger’s pain. The thought that several generations of women were junior to my age was simply too distressing. 

I never finished that Frappuccino and have ordered black coffee since. Visions of my ’51 Chevy have faded from memory. But as they say, your health is your wealth. And although conversation about doctor’s appointments and medications are a sure sign of old age, I still work at improving my tennis game and flying around in my Beemer – top down, of course. 

Dr. Marc Yacht, MD is a semi-retired physician living in Hudson, Florida. Column is courtesy of Context Florida.