As I grow older, I know to expect a certain number of aches and pains. As my late, stoic cousin Martin wryly said at 92, “If it weren’t for my legs, I’d feel like I’m 80.”
I expect some health challenges. I didn’t expect problems with my healthcare providers. Yet after a summer-long, not-so-merry, merry-go-round of tests and medical appointments, I was blindsided by blatant ageism from two doctors.
I’ve always had a bad back, but in recent months I’ve started having extreme difficulty and pain walking up stairs. With each step, it’s like I’m teaching my right leg (and my brain) the “art” of limb lifting. I practically need to lift my right leg with my arms. It’s slow. It’s painful. It’s no way for an active person to live.
And it’s not like I lead a sedentary life. I work out with a skilled trainer twice a week, and I’m a Pilates class regular.
The stair problem was on abundant display this past spring when my husband and I traveled to Spain, a step-climbing, steep-hilled tourism country if ever there was one. At the Alhambra, the palace and fortress in Granada, I hobbled up to breathtaking vistas, barely taking them in. In the historic, restored Jewish quarter of Girona, I stumbled along steep streets. And in Barcelona, even the few steps at the famed Sagrada Familia made me debate my zeal for viewing the stunning kaleidoscopic interior.
In Córdoba, aching, numb and sweating, I stood in front of a statue of Maimonides and wondered not about this great physician and Torah scholar’s achievements, but instead what medical advice he might have offered me!
Once home, I immediately scheduled an appointment with an orthopedic back doctor. After waiting five weeks to see him, I was ushered in. After three minutes, he ordered a battery of tests and referred me to a hip specialist.
After seeing that doctor, who ordered more tests, I spent almost three months getting poked, prodded, needled, bent this way, bent that way, questioned and re-questioned. I was EMG-ed, MRI-ed and X-rayed so many times I was sure my skin, bones and internal organs had been fried.
Finally, the big week arrived with followup appointments with both doctors. The two orthopedic docs had allegedly consulted with one another, and I was going in for the big treatment plan “reveal.”
I had already told them that I’d tried physical therapy to no avail and that I was taking anti-inflammatory medication. What was next, I wondered.
Happily, I knew beforehand that there was no surgery required. I presumed the ortho duo would recommend nasty steroid injections into my hip and/or back.
But instead of a compassionate plan…
I was greeted with indifference, a lack of responsibility, ageism and, most likely, a nasty side of ageism’s sister “ism,” sexism.
First up, the back doctor: “It’s a hip problem. Go to the hip doctor.”
“But…” I tried to interject with a few questions.
The back doctor was done and already halfway out the door.
I pressed on. But answers, I did not get. Instead, he dismissed me with a referral for PT and a lecture that began with the words “As we age” and ended with “live with it.”
The next day I went to see the hip doctor.
“It’s not a hip problem.”
“Uh, but how do you explain the test that showed nerve damage? The doctor who conducted the nerve study felt that it was a significant problem requiring attention,” I said. “What’s causing the nerve damage?”
“I don’t read nerve study tests,” he said. “Go back to the back doctor. He’s the guy for that.”
“But …” I sputtered.
He handed me a PT referral and a prescription for an anti-inflammatory.
“I told you PT isn’t helping, and if you reviewed my chart, you’d see I’m already taking that medication.”
Without missing a beat, he jumped to the “as we age/live with it” speech and walked out.
In the weeks since then, I kept wondering: If I had been a 16-year-old or even a 36-year-old, with a similar complaint about being unable to walk up stairs and in pain, would the doctors have summarily dismissed me with the “live with it” line?
It doesn’t require the wisdom of Maimonides to know the answer to that question.
What I experienced was a classic case of ageism in the medical profession. An analysis of multiple studies shows that 20 percent of older adults experience this type of prejudicial and harmful treatment.
Doctors may assume that older patients are frail or incompetent, may offer limited or sometimes excessive treatment options based on age, may use condescending elderspeak language (“sweetie,” “dear,” “young lady”) and may fail to provide adequate pain management at the end of life.
Ageism in medicine can also result in missed or delayed diagnoses, more emergency room visits, more frequent hospitalizations, a shorter lifespan and reduced quality of life.
All in all, it’s a prescription for disaster.
To combat ageism, medical professionals should — among other things — challenge their own stereotyped assumptions, treat older patients with respect and include them as partners in developing treatment plans.
As for us patients, we should not tolerate the behavior I suffered. Go in prepared with your questions. Write them down. Consider bringing an ally with you.
Somehow, although I did all that (minus the ally part), I failed to get the attention and care I deserved. Since then, I have written a letter of complaint to that medical group’s CEO, and I’ll be seeing a new doctor.
Meanwhile, I can only echo my cousin Martin: If it weren’t for my back and hip, I’d feel like I’m 80. Of course, I’m only 71, but still.