Making It to Medicare

At the end of this month I will turn sixty-five and am now a card-carrying Medicare member. In fact, my billfold sports three new cards in their respective slots, a rather flimsy looking Part A and B card, a sturdy looking supplement, and a rather attractive prescription card. All three attest to the fact that I am now of a certain age. In my youth I remember thinking that people who were sixty-five had wiry white hair, stooped shoulders and were cane carrying folk. Yet my hair is dark and shiny, thanks to a hair stylist and a great formula, and I am still upright and energetic.

I have never been one who was coy about my age. I have not kept it a secret. Yet now that sixty-five is here I find a touch of vanity approaching. I am just a little over 5’1″. As a child in the 50’s I recall that when my parents wanted me placed in first grade when I was not yet 6, an administrator told my dad, “She’s too small.” My father, who scoffed at the “size” reasoning, suggested testing and on to first grade I went. Later, when carded while in my thirties, a waitress actually said, “You look too small.” My point in relating stature to vanity is that when I first pull out my Medicare card to get a flu shot, I am hoping that the needle wielding technician will gasp and say, “You’re too small to be on Medicare!”

In mulling over my Medicare status it has been inevitable that I ponder my age. In the past few years I have noticed something that truly annoys me. On a few occasions, at a sporting event or concert, when an older man is the ticket taker, he will often smile at me and say, “Welcome, young lady!” I find this irritating since I have not even thought about my age until that point. His exclamation lets me know that he sees I am not young and thinks the “young lady” will somehow comfort me. I want to tell him that it’s quite alright to be an older woman and he doesn’t need to try being clever. I find it even more annoying that no one greets my grey haired husband with, “Welcome, young man!”

The truth be told, I am happy to be alive and enjoying life. I think that I will display my Medicare card with pride to anyone who chances to peek into my purse. I will march into the Minute Clinic and flash a youthful grin at the nurse. Sixty-five, here I come!

5 thoughts on “Making It to Medicare”

  1. Turning 65 to me was just another day that I beat the reaper. But Nancy has the same go she did on Saturday mornings when we were with the Nuns. It is refreshing and I think I feel a new bounce in my step because of her and her Friends of Greenfield etc. lately… thanks Nancy…….

  2. Larry introduced your submission by talking about a Beattles song about when one would become sixty-four. For many years, in fact until I saw the words of the song somewhere, I thought it was a song about growing up until one was six-feet-four, so I guess I thought it was a song for a somewhat exclusive group, since many people – I thought – would never grow as much to ever become six-feet-four.

  3. Oh yeah Nancy I’m with you! Only reaching the rather youthful double nickels this year but plan to march ahead with my head held high. Also, as a member of the baby boomers, I love knowing there will always be more of “us” than “them”!

  4. Just read that some aging movie queen has filed suit against Amazon because they somehow revealed her age. This may become the next McDonald’s hot cup of coffee in the crotch tort. I’m with you, Nancy, being open about age, etc., is no big deal and getting my Medicare card was not taken as a sign of getting old.

    However, when I turned fifty and received my AARP card, now that was a different thing. I was still vibrant both physically and mentally and in noway ready to consider myself “retired” or too old to be somehow viable. That piece of junk mail couldn’t hit the recycle basket fast enough!

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