I was eating breakfast when she ran up to me excitedly saying, “I’m here.” I had no idea who she was. My bewildered expression must have shown. She exclaimed, “It’s me.” Well, that didn’t help, so I fished for clues. “How have you been?” I asked trying to figure out who she was, all to no avail. She finally left, telling me that she would see me later. As I sat in front of my unfinished bowl of oatmeal, I wondered: Who was that?

As we get older, we not only have problems with face recognition, but also misunderstanding what someone says. Mishearing is a common occurrence in my age group (80-100). It can produce hilarity as well as misleading information. To wit: What time is that meeting? Where is it? Did you say today, or is it next week? Oh, it was last week; I guess I missed it. It was canceled.

Someone recently sent me a card with the following inscription:

To stay young the doctor said, “Exercise and eat the right foods.”

What? I thought he said to “accessorize and buy nice shoes.”

This is so true of many of our conversations.

I’m also beginning to mix people up. Not only calling them by the wrong names, but accusing them of doing things they have not done. The other day I stopped a resident and said to him in a forceful voice, “Please stop sending me all those emails.” He looked at me, puzzled, and replied, “I have never sent you an email.” Oops!

Not remembering a common word is another one of these senior moments that stops us in our tracks in the middle of a conversation. We then seek help from tablemates: You know that thing in the wall you plug electric cords into. Outlet! That’s it. Thanks.”

When I complain that half the time when leaving my apartment, I have to return because I forgot to take something, there is a chorus of “me, toos.” We are not alone in our so-called age-related misadventures. It is reassuring that it is common and not the beginning of Alzheimer’s, which we all dread. The good news is that as long as we are worried about our impending dementia, it is not happening. When we keep repeating the same question, get confused about times and dates, and deny that there is a problem, these may be early signs of dementia that are not visible to us. So, as long as we worry, we are OK.

Another age-related problem is the new physical frailty. Our ages are ego-dystonic. It means our ages do not fit our egos, our images of ourselves are much younger than the number on our medical charts. This creates a problem of overestimating our physical capacities. Falling is a frequent occurrence in my age group along with falling asleep during meetings or performances. I always ask whoever is sitting next to me to poke me when they see me nodding off.

I have often ended my talks on aging with the admonition: “Keep one hand on the banister.” I should say both hands. During intermission at a San Diego Symphony performance, I got cookies to give to our bus driver and our program coordinator in charge of our bus. At the end of the concert, as we were climbing back into the bus, we had to navigate the steep steps. I usually haul myself up using the two handrails. However, I had a cocktail napkin in my left hand holding the cookies, so as I tried to climb the steps using only one hand, I lost my grip, slid down and ripped the skin off my shin. Blood was dripping down my leg and all over the floor of the bus, even pooling in my shoe. Our program coordinator got the first-aid kit, cleaned the wound, bandaged my leg, and we were on our way.

When we arrived at my retirement community, there was a wheelchair waiting for me with an RN ready to take me to our clinic and take care of my now skinless leg. The wound right over the shinbone will take a long time to heal, but I’m in good hands.

Moral of the story: Keep both hands on the handrail when climbing up steep steps! I recently turned 93 and even though my mind doesn’t comprehend my age, my body certainly does. Will I ever learn to act my age?

Natasha Josefowitz is the author of more than 20 books. She currently resides at White Sands Retirement Community in La Jolla. Copyright 2019. Natasha Josefowitz. All rights reserved.