CHUCKLING YOUR WAY THROUGH THE GOLDEN YEARS

No matter what the experts say, aging is difficult. It takes a fair amount of luck, good genes, family support and activity to make this journey work. There is one added quality that really lightens the load as the elderly are faced with their "golden years," and that is the capacity to laugh at oneself and life.

As the aches and pains start mounting, and the aged begin to feel alone in their plight, humor is a powerful potion for sustaining an attitude for success. Life becomes a chain of mountains to climb, and the hiking is much easier if the elderly navigate their journey by poking fun at a world filled with challenges. Seniors must learn to float downstream, buoyed by the water as they pass by the twigs, branches and rocks along the current of life.

When it comes to humor, the late George Carlin would have been proud of my mother. At 93 years old, she can take a life event and turn it into an amazing, dramatic story filled with adventure and lessons to be learned. Recently, she had a stint in the hospital due to atrial fibrillation, an indicator of congestive heart failure. Although my mom's heart is pushing enough blood, the upper chamber is showing signs of wear and tear.

When she was released for home from the hospital, my mother graduated from two pills to an assortment of blood thinners as her cardiologist sought to regulate her heart-beat. She stayed in a nursing care facility for awhile and then was sent back to her independent living apartment on a trial basis. Several days later at 5 a.m., she fell in her bathroom and landed on her hip. She had the presence of mind to crawl to the pull-cord to get the attention of the nursing-care staff. They promptly arrived, called me and contacted the paramedics for another round to the emergency room.

When I got to the ER, she dejectedly said, "Son, I'm sorry I messed up." "Did you use your walker to get to the bathroom?" I replied. "No, it was filled with all kinds of papers," she sheepishly disclosed and continued with, "but it was VERY CLOSE to the bathroom,” as if that mattered. They x-rayed her hip and she had fractured it - her femur needed fixing. When she got up to room 2107, the staff moved her onto her hospital bed. An internist promptly visited her and she inquired, "What time is it Doc?" "It’s 8 a.m. young lady. Why do you ask?" “I need to get out of here in an hour. I've got to go to the beauty shop. I can't lay here looking like this. By the way, how do you say your last name?" The doctor spoke slowly…"G-H-I-A-M-A-D-I …GHIAMADI,” he said. "Oh my, that must have been a serious problem for you when you were in grade school," she retorted.

For the next few days, the cardiologists monitored my mom’s vitals trying to get her ready to handle surgery. My wife commented to my mother about the excellent nursing care she was receiving. "You're getting so much attention, Oma." "Yes, and I might even get a tiara at the end of the day if I play my cards right,” she replied.

Several days later, surgery was "all systems go." The launch had been delayed several times, but now we were doing the countdown. Exasperated, my mother put the nursing team on alert. "Let's get this show on the road. Just make sure they "cut" the right leg off," she jokingly said. As they wheeled her down to surgery, she kept it up, "Where are you taking me? It looks like we’re headed for the parking lot. Hey, don't let ‘em stick a knife in me if I'm not ripe enough!"

When we got to the pre-op area, a nurse met us there. When the nurse bent over to take my mother's necklace off, my mother was amused. Hey, I guarantee you it's been a long time since anyone's looked down that area." When the nurse finished chuckling, she asked my mother the critical question. "Which leg is being operated on today?" Mom was playing it coy. "I really don't know," my mother replied. "Is it the left one Gladys?" the nurse said. "I think it is right; I mean, I think it is right that it's the left one … is that right?" The morphine didn't seem to affect her wit. It reminded me of Abbott and Costello, but this one was a monologue.

She took the liberty of putting her surgical cap on before the anesthesiologist came to give her the "juice." The orthopedic surgeon strolled in and asked my mother if she had any questions. "I only have one question for you. Are you REALLY old enough? My daughter tells me you were born in 1970. Is that right?"

The anesthesiologist entered and told my mother that her heart could handle the surgery and he proceeded to inject her in the arm so she could take a nap. "The surgeon looked so young. How old are you?" she asked. The boyish doctor said, "How old do you think I am?" "I think you're about 62," my mom replied. He grimaced and left for a minute and when he came back my mother had adjusted her assessment. "It's in my best interest to say that I'm sorry. With your cap on I thought you were older. You really must be around 45. You see, my son is in his early 60s, and I like him a lot." As I gave her a peck on the cheek, she was off to surgery and as she turned her head I heard her say to me, "Good luck on your new book. I hope it's a success."

I never had a doubt that my mother would make it through surgery. She had successfully created an atmosphere that put everyone in her sphere of influence at ease. She chuckled her way through a revolting predicament and brought everyone with her into her humorous inner world. As my mother always believed, she was making funnies, the tried and true method of traveling through the golden years.