COLUMN: 'Old-people noises' really gets under writer's skin

Seniors have a habit that really ticks me off, and heaven help me, I’m starting to do it, too.

We make “old-people noises.”

Most of them are involuntary. Many of them are embarrassing. When we old farts get up from a chair or couch, we creak, we groan, we grunt, we huff, we puff and we moan. We’re capable of creating an entire symphony of sounds. I’m not sure what is the purpose of these auditory emissions, other than to let others know we might need help, but then why do we do it when we’re alone?

And our joints creak, too. It’s as if our whole body is trying to make up for our failing strength by the volume and variety of its efforts.

I recall one time my neighbour’s son, who was in his teens, was reluctantly sitting with the adults at a dinner party. One of the dinner party attendees was his grandmother, who was in her 80s and very hard of hearing. She hoisted herself to one side, and, believing it to be silent, passed some gas. The sound was loud and melodious, and it mortified the poor kid. Having no idea what was the correct social behaviour in such a situation, he turned cherry red and dashed away from the table, never to return.

Fortunately, the old dear never knew why her grandson left so abruptly, but the rest of the people around the table had a hard time keeping a straight face. Oh, the things we do in the name of politeness!

But the noises aren’t the worst. These varied and creative body-sounds are all indicators of the fact that we are no longer as young as we were, (or, in fact, think we still might be).

Whenever a group of old folks get together, the one thing we have in common is our aches and pains. We have arthritis, osteoporosis, bad hips, bad knees, bad backs and just about every other kind of “-itis” or “-osis” you can think of.

What else can we do but turn it into a game?

Every conversation turns into a comparison, even a competition. One-upmanship at its worst.

It starts off innocently enough. Someone asks her friend, “How are you doing?”

(Unfortunately, her friend is only too willing to tell her.)

“Not great. I woke up this morning and my hip was so stiff, I thought it was made of concrete!"

"That's nothing,” replies the first woman. “I went to the doctor this week, and he tells me I have sciatica.”

“Yeah,” says the other. “I have that, too. Sometimes it’s excruciating. Why, this one time, my back hurt so bad I fell to the floor. Couldn’t get up without help.”

A third wrinkly chimes in with, “I can't even lift my arm above my head anymore!" (A feeble attempt at escalating the one-upmanship, but the poor thing has incipient dementia, so we must make allowances.)

“That’s nothing,” says a fourth, jumping headfirst into the competition. “Why just last year, I ended up in the hospital. I was there for three whole days, but you know, the worst thing about the whole experience wasn’t the pain. (Here, he offers a deflection, hoping no one will notice that he hadn’t the courage to say he was there for an ingrown toenail.) “It was the food! Let me tell you, it was dreadful! The food at GBGH is awful.”

(His deflection’s successful.)

“Oh, no… you haven’t been stuck in RVH for a week,” replies the first woman. “The food there is worse!”

Then another old gent, who’s been eavesdropping since his hearing aids finally kicked in, says, “Nope. Southlake is the worst. I was there two years ago for a triple bypass, and I nearly starved. They say I died on the table. Twice!”

Well, obviously, no one can top that, so the conversation gradually turns to other topics, to the vast relief of everyone in the room.

Some years ago, while I could still move without creaking, groaning or huffing, I naïvely promised myself that I would never, ever, make “old lady noises.”

Hah! Not only do I do all that, I have pains in places I didn’t know I had places. My back hurts, my knees hurt, my hip hurts, my teeth hurt. Hell, even my hair hurts! And I have a really sharp pain in my backside whenever I hear other seniors moaning about their ailments.

If only there were someone I could complain to.

Bev Hanna is a writer and published author. A recovering artist, she now teaches senior writers how to craft compelling stories and memoirs, and manages the Let’s Write group at the Askennonia Senior Centre.