The Old Coot’s pants are on fire

I’m a liar. Everyone is, but it’s something that a lot of people won’t admit. Not me! I even lie to my doctor. 

I’m not alone. Many of my fellow old coots do it too. It starts right off when the doctor walks into the little room where you’ve waited, staring at gruesome pictures on the wall, for the longest ten minutes of your life. 

“How are you doing, Mr. Coot. Any issues?” 

What kind of question is that; to ask of an old man? Of course, there are issues, all of which I’ve come to accept over my “golden” years, and know how to live with. So, I lie, “I’m doing great!”

“Any chest pains?” – “Not really.” Just the normal ones I get every once in a while – some could be heart related – most are old age related – indigestion or muscle aches from screwing in a light bulb. I’ve lived with these chest things for years, so no sense letting that cat out of the bag. I have a few stents – put in five years ago, so I’m an expert at listening to my body. If I didn’t lie, I’d be in for a round of unnecessary tests, probes and a battery of appointments spending endless hours in waiting and examining rooms. So, for my own good, I lie.

“You up in the night a lot?” – “Sometimes; no complaints.” Sometimes? What a lie – how about every night! That’s the norm for an old coot. No sense in getting into a new round of appointments with an urologist. I’m not bringing up the subject until the rug between my bedroom and the bathroom starts to wear thin. 

“How are you sleeping?” – “Good. No problem.” What a lie! – I love my 11 a.m. nap – the 3 p.m. doze reading a book – the TV shows after dinner that I mostly sleep through. I sleep in bits and pieces, so by bedtime I don’t go down for a solid stretch of time. Bad sleep habits (patterns) are the norm for us old guys. No sense admitting it and setting myself up for a session at a sleep clinic, listening to a bunch of old guys snoring. 

All through the doctor visit –Lie! – Lie! – Lie! But these are healthy lies that many old coots have mastered. We’re dealing with medical professionals who have studied, but never experienced, the ins and outs of old age. It’s not a science. Old age is an art. Give me an 80-year-old doctor and I will stop telling lies. 

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