Four and a half months early, my Medicare card arrived out of the blue.
Medicare. The program imprinted on my brain as the domain mainly of old people that hang around in doctor’s offices comparing symptoms. Now, unavoidably, I am one of them.
It’s not like I can’t welcome when coverage kicks in next year; the ACA was never a part of my life due to the costs and high deductibles of those plans. Just…well, I’m not old, am I?
I don’t feel old. Yet this card in front of me tells me that I’ve arrived at Oldsville. Have to look for the Senior Discounts now wherever I go. Fixed income from SSDI. Outdated clothes. Even seriously caught myself starting to use the dreaded “When I was your age…”.
Excuse me, there are some kids on the lawn outside.