I don't give myself much credence for estimating a patient's weight. The margin of error is too big for my comfort. A patient's age, though? One through a hundred? Bring it on! One paramount rule must be followed, however, if you are going to partake. You must underestimate their age by five years of what you really think. Trust me, that rule saves a lot of hurt feelings.
By far, the hardest population for me to guess accurately is the older woman who looks years younger than her stated age. All natural. No surgery. And just a few shifts ago, I was surprised, once again, by yet another of these youthful patients.
I walked into a room to treat one Mrs. Smith. She was in our ER for a minor illness and, prior to going into her treatment room, I was able to review her chief complaint as well as her demographics. Her age was listed at 74.
I clearly walked into the wrong room. The room I walked into had a woman lying in the cot who was, at most, 50 and not a day older.
"I'm sorry, maam," I said, "I must have the wrong room. Have a nice day."
I walked back to my computer and rechecked Mrs. Smith's room number. What? I was in the right room after all? Impossible!
I walked back into Mrs. Smith's room. "Maam," I said, somewhat confused, "are you Mrs. Smith?"
"That would be me," she said, sharing her big smile with me. Real teeth and all.
I decided to have some fun with her. "Are you sure, maam? Because the person I am supposed to be treating is 74. May I take a look at your wristband?"
Mrs. Smith giggled like a six year-old school-girl as she held out her left wrist. Yes, this was the real Mrs. Smith. "Wow," I continued, "I'm sure you hear it all the time, but I have to tell you--you look wonderful! I would have never come close to guessing your age."
Mrs. Smith, in her girlish way, added a blush to her giggling. I didn't care, though, she deserved to hear how good she looked. She obviously did something right in her self-preservation, and I wanted to know what her secret was.
"Honey," she said, pondering my question, "I think it would have to be the fact that I've never used soap on my face before. Well, that," she continued, now wistful, "and having a good man by my side for 50 years."
It turns out that her husband died just a year ago. And suddenly, through her sadness, she looked much older.
Just like with Mrs. Smith, though, I am always excited to meet a patient who looks much younger than their stated age. Good for them! When I eagerly ask them what their secret is, how the heck they stay so young-looking, I tend to get one of five following answers:
1) "No soap has ever touched my face" or "I only wash my face with water."
2) "Genetics--you should have seen my parents."
3) "I drink a lot of water."
4) "I stay out of the sun."
5) "I use moisturizing lotion on my face every day."
Of all the moisturizers, the most commonly mentioned is Oil-of-Olay (sorry Ponds and Vaseline). A few years ago, in one of my health magazines, I read a letter of testament to the editor from a seventy year-old guy who, thanks to his daily use of Oil-of-Olay, claimed that he looked like a forty year-old. And, one of our nurses, Sue, tells the story of treating an eighty year-old woman who, she swears, looked like a forty year-old hottie, her skin smooth and clear, glowing and wrinkle-free. Her secret, Sue said, was Oil-of-Olay.
"But," Sue continued, lowering her voice to deliver some obvious bad news, "this woman was wearing a scarf around her head, tied under her chin, and I asked her to take it off. Well, let me tell you, this woman definitely had an eighty year-old neck, wrinkled and loose. She was embarrassed by her neck and told me that she had never put cream on it. It was terrible!"
"What did you say to her?" I asked.
"I told her, 'Yeah, honey, maybe you should have put some cream on your neck.'" I loved Sue's honesty. "I'm not kidding, though," Sue finished, "it was unsightly. I don't think that woman could go anywhere without her scarf. I know I sure wouldn't." Careful, Sue (who in her own right looked fantastic), I think I see your cat claws coming out. Meow!
Well, after seeing Mrs. Smith and hearing Sue's story, I reviewed my own chances for aging gracefully. Let's see, I have good genetics (thanks Mom and Dad!). Check. I drink a lot of water. Check. Unfortunately, my face and soap are intimately familiar with one another, so that was out. And, I love the feel of the sun on my face. Stike two.
Which left me one last thing. After that shift ended, on my drive home, I swung my car into Walmart's parking lot. Stay out of my way, people, I was on a mission. I walked into the store and quickly found the cosmetic aisle. Glancing around to make sure I didn't know anybody (since real men don't wear face lotion), I knelt down and grabbed two bottles of the liquid gold everybody had been touting. "Um, it's for my wife," I stammered to the cashier as I checked out. She couldn't have cared less. If I had known she would be this apathetic, I would have bought my wife a box of tampons. And the bulk package of toilet paper, too.
Since purchasing the lotion, I have been using it religiously, every morning without fail. And guess what? After a few months, I must admit that I am probably the best-looking 84 year-old you will ever see. Unfortunately, I'm only 42.
Maybe someday I'll head back to the carnival, pay the guessing-guy my $5, and win me a stuffed animal. Or, maybe not...maybe I'll just use my Oil-of-Olay money to buy one at Walmart. That would be much easier.
"But," Sue continued, lowering her voice to deliver some obvious bad news, "this woman was wearing a scarf around her head, tied under her chin, and I asked her to take it off. Well, let me tell you, this woman definitely had an eighty year-old neck, wrinkled and loose. She was embarrassed by her neck and told me that she had never put cream on it. It was terrible!"
"What did you say to her?" I asked.
"I told her, 'Yeah, honey, maybe you should have put some cream on your neck.'" I loved Sue's honesty. "I'm not kidding, though," Sue finished, "it was unsightly. I don't think that woman could go anywhere without her scarf. I know I sure wouldn't." Careful, Sue (who in her own right looked fantastic), I think I see your cat claws coming out. Meow!
Well, after seeing Mrs. Smith and hearing Sue's story, I reviewed my own chances for aging gracefully. Let's see, I have good genetics (thanks Mom and Dad!). Check. I drink a lot of water. Check. Unfortunately, my face and soap are intimately familiar with one another, so that was out. And, I love the feel of the sun on my face. Stike two.
Which left me one last thing. After that shift ended, on my drive home, I swung my car into Walmart's parking lot. Stay out of my way, people, I was on a mission. I walked into the store and quickly found the cosmetic aisle. Glancing around to make sure I didn't know anybody (since real men don't wear face lotion), I knelt down and grabbed two bottles of the liquid gold everybody had been touting. "Um, it's for my wife," I stammered to the cashier as I checked out. She couldn't have cared less. If I had known she would be this apathetic, I would have bought my wife a box of tampons. And the bulk package of toilet paper, too.
Since purchasing the lotion, I have been using it religiously, every morning without fail. And guess what? After a few months, I must admit that I am probably the best-looking 84 year-old you will ever see. Unfortunately, I'm only 42.
Maybe someday I'll head back to the carnival, pay the guessing-guy my $5, and win me a stuffed animal. Or, maybe not...maybe I'll just use my Oil-of-Olay money to buy one at Walmart. That would be much easier.
What's your secret? As always, big thanks for reading. Next post will be Friday, February 12.
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