Old People Navigating Technology

It has been EXACTLY one full year, to the day, since I posted by first entry on my blog (annual recap coming soon!). It’s finally time to tell you what my day job is. No, I do not teach fitness classes all day long, although it seems that way sometimes. In fact, all day long I help old people with technology. Yes, that’s right, all I do all the live-long day is sit at a desk for 9 hours and tell people how to reset their passwords and send emails. That is not technically my job description, but in reality, I spend 80% of my day doing this.

It seemed like a topical moment to bring up my career in light of the Mark Zuckerberg Congressional Hearings. Today is his second day before the Senate, and as CNN noted yesterday, he was saved from any and all hard-hitting questions due to one salient fact: old people just don’t get Facebook.

One poignant moment:

Senator: “How do you sustain a business model in which users don’t pay for your service?”

Zuckerberg: “Senator, we run ads.”

Awk-ward.

We all know the feeling. We’ve seen grandparents post private messages as Facebook statuses, not realizing the world would see it. Or we’ve seen parents try to check in with their kids by posting on their Facebook wall. Esurance even made an infamous commercial about old people not understanding Facebook, and that was 3 years ago! In the commercial, a (slightly less) old person tells the older person, “That’s not how it works! That’s not how any of this works!”

I wasn’t the least bit surprised by the lack of understanding by Congress. After all, this is what I do all day. Am I exaggerating? I WISH.

Let me begin with a quick story about my mom. No offense. When I was growing up, I think I showed her how to insert, save to, and eject, a floppy disk 10+ times. I was in middle school. At the time, I couldn’t believe her ineptitude. I say to my younger self now, “you were the idiot, your mom is a tech genius.” Compared to other old people, that is.

And it’s true. My mom is great with technology now. She texts, she sends photos, she emails from her phone, she even knows how to post on Facebook from her phone. My dad recently got a new iphone from work and now he’s on Instagram. He is constantly showing up as “people you may know” for my friends. But that’s an entirely different problem.

I didn’t realize how great my parents were at technology until I realized how strikingly BAD other people are in comparison. Everything is relative.

Quick REAL story from my job. An old member of our organization called, lamenting that his password didn’t work. He said it was probably because “he was using an ipad” (!!). Of course. We get this call at least 10 times a day, and every time, it’s always our fault that they forgot their password. Or that our website “doesn’t work on a phone.” That is not a thing, by the way.

Anyway, this time, a newer coworker who fielded the call asked him if he could “send her a screenshot.” This is a normal request for a millennial. We all know how to press “print screen,” and send the photo in an email. But 80-year-olds do not understand this concept. However, the 80-year old agreed to send one. The whole office waited anxiously to see what we were going to receive. Was it going to be a hand-drawn sketch? Would he send it in the actual snail mail? Would it come through the fax machine? Does our fax machine even work? So many questions.

Approximately 10 minutes later, my coworker received an email with a photo attached. We were elated. Did he figure it out? Was it possible? Spoiler alert: it was not. He sent a thumbnail photo, with terrible resolution, probably taken from a Nokia flip phone, of a screen. You could ALMOST make out that it was an iPad, but you definitely could not see what was on the screen. Which, of course, was the entire point.

Now imagine trying to explain videoconferencing to the type of person who doesn’t understand a screenshot. It’s an adventure. Once you have finally explained to them that they need to have a camera on their computer, and that the screen itself does not just “see them,” you still need to explain the intricacies. Example taken verbatim from my Facebook status on September 2, 2016:

80-year-old: “I don’t see you! Do you see me? I only see a gray picture of a human. Not a real human.”

Me: “Yes I see you, I don’t have my camera on. I’ll invite my coworker so you can see him.”

80-y-o: “I SEE YOU! Wait, no, it’s a man. A very HANDSOME man but you SOUND like a young lady.”

Me: “Yes, I am still the gray picture of a human. Still don’t have a camera. That is my coworker.”

80-y-o: “Oh thank goodness, ok. I thought I needed new glasses.”

Another quick work story: Yesterday, another coworker asked for a member’s electronic signature. The member was baffled. What is an electronic signature? The coworker explained it is a photo of a signature, to be used in electronic documents, so it appears as if it was signed. The member explained that he works in such a small community, that he just signs everything by hand. Endearing. The world before the internet. Remember the days? Not really.

One more story from work. This one requires a bit of back-story. I work in a semi-open space. There are a few desks in my office “pod,” but one is behind a door that is usually open, and another in behind a cubicle wall. We often talk to each other on gchat, so we can speak to each other without making a sound. This especially comes in handy when we are on the phone. This week, I had a phone call where I was attempting to explain the process of registering to post a job on our website. This is a semi-difficult task for the technologically challenged (aka anyone over the age of 40), so I am used to explaining the process in a slow and clear fashion. This specific guy was really not getting it. All of a sudden, a gchat shows up from a coworker, “who are you speaking to? Are they deaf? Or 80 years old?” I guess I was being very slow. And loud. Oops.

Yet another story from work: We have a member who calls every week. He has no idea what his password is. In our office, we have a stock reset password we use. Let’s call it “123Abc.” This man calls once a week, without fail, and every time it’s because he “forgot his password” or his password “doesn’t work.” Meanwhile, every single member of our staff knows that his password is always “123Abc,” because he doesn’t know how to reset it from our stock password. And yet, every week like clockwork, he calls and asks us to reset his password, and every week we remind him what it is, and tell him we reset it, when really we know it is still the same from last time. Maybe he just likes talking to us.

I do think sometimes that these people call the office only because they are lonely, which is sad. Maybe my mom only calls me under the ruse that her weather widget “disappeared from her home screen of her cell phone,” when she really just misses me. Either way, I’m happy to chat with her and help her reinstall her apps. Every time I read an article, or see someone on TV talk about how millennials are “incompetent” or “not self-sufficient,” I will produce as evidence, this blog. It may be that I can’t change a tire. But I can gchat, video-conference, write a blog, post on Instagram, stream Netflix, AND scroll through twitter simultaneously. And I’m pretty darn good at explaining all of those things to 80-year-olds, as well. Maybe someday when I need to change my tire, there will be an elderly gentleman there to help me and return the favor.

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True Life: My Uterus Ate My IUD

Yeah, you read that right. I had many possible titles for this post: My Missing Mirena, or rather, My Misplaced Mirena (because SPOILER ALERT, I found it). I even considered LongLegsBigUterus, but that didn’t really seem justified. I think it’s normal-sized. Things just go missing up there. It’s the Bermuda Triangle of the woman’s world.

As much as I try to keep my blog light, I also try to keep it real. And as they say on The Real World, “this is what happens … when people stop being polite … and start getting real.” This is the story of my last week, which was one of the most emotionally taxing weeks I’ve had in recent history. Quick warning: this blog may be what some people would call TMI, but whatevs, it’s already on Facebook, so what’s the big diff between my private Facebook and the public internet for all to see for all history, right? Plus, I’m doing a public service here, supposedly this is a relatively normal problem. More on that later.

My saga started with a normal doctor’s appointment. Thanks to recent research, women only need to go for normal gynecological exams every 3 years in their 20’s now, and every 5 years in their 30’s. These appointments used to be annual. I tell you this because it is a crucial fact. I had not been there in YEARS. So fast-forward to the very end of the appointment. As the doctor is still doin’ his thing. I’m just hangin’ out in the stirrups (guys, if you don’t know what I mean, google it), and I hear the doctor go, “HUH!” Just like that. With an exclamation mark. Now, you don’t have to be a woman to know that you never want your doctor checkin’ things out inside you and remarking “huh!” like he’s stumped. Doctors are supposed to know ALL THE THINGS.

Then the doc says, “alright, we’re all done. In case you were wondering why I said ‘huh,’ it’s because I can’t seem to locate your IUD.”

Me: “I don’t understand.”

Doc: “Well, it happens sometimes. It could just be the strings are nestled up in your cervix. Or maybe not.”

Me: “Excuse me??”

Doc: “Yes, well either way, you should probably check up on it, in case it has somehow migrated or come out.”

Me (in my head): “WHAT THE F*&^%. HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE!? I DID NOT KNOW THAT WAS AN OPTION?! HOW COULD IT HAVE COME OUT? I THOUGHT THAT BY GOING THROUGH TERRIBLE PAIN IMPLANTING THAT SH*& IN PLACE THAT IT WOULDN’T JUST FALL OUT?!”

Me: (out loud… trying to be rational): “If it wasn’t in there… wouldn’t I pregnant?” (Sorry Mommy…)

Doc: *shrugs* “Yeah, probably. But we want to be sure.”

Me: “So… I’m scared to ask but, is it possible my IUD has been missing for 3 years?”

Doc: “It’s possible.”

The doctor then wrote me a prescription to go to a radiologist to get an ultrasound to try and “locate” it. Of course it’s just my luck that my doctor does not have a single ultrasound in the office. So I had to go somewhere else, try to get an appointment, pay an additional copay, and the worst part – I had to WAIT.

I immediately left the office and posted on Facebook, as one does when a piece of plastic goes missing inside one’s uterus.

As you can imagine, I received 18 comments. Mostly horrified women not knowing this was an option. Sort of like me. Some comments were from men. Funny comments like “Have you checked your pockets?” LOL. JK I didn’t laugh out loud. I didn’t laugh at all. This was not funny!

Seriously though, this is not a tiny contraption. How could it have disappeared?? This photo is from the Mirena website. It’s not something you’d “accidentally misplace in your body.”

The second I got to work I called the radiology office and tried to schedule an ultrasound. I had no qualms about screaming “transvaginal ultrasound” through the phone while sitting at my desk. All I cared about was finding my missing Mirena.

I scheduled an appointment for two days later, and the receptionist told me to “make sure I had an empty bladder” when I arrived. *eyeroll* *fake barfing sound*

When Friday arrived, I left work early to go to my appointment. I was so nervous, I left work an hour earlier than necessary, by accident. I had found out two days before, at my other doctor, that my file at had been marked with “white coat hypertension” for years, i.e. I freak the F*&^ out when I go to the doctor so my blood pressure skyrockets. They always have to take it multiple times. So of course, getting to the doctor an hour early to freak out even more is exactly what I needed.

I had spent the previous night googling how much this procedure was supposed to hurt. According to google, not too much. *SIGH OF RELIEF* However, as I got deeper into my googling, I became more and more scared. Pierced uteran walls? Migrating IUDs all the way up to the abdominal cavity? Should I have felt pain? Was there bleeding? Not that I was aware of… but maybe sometimes when I’m sore from exercise it was really my plastic IUD piercing through my internal lady-parts. There were blogs on blogs on blogs about this. This should have made me feel better – I wasn’t alone! But no. As one usually does when WebMD is involved, I started to imagine the worst: FIRE, BRIMSTONE, AND DEATH!

As I sat in the waiting room, I tried to practice yoga breathing. I’m no good at yoga breathing. My hands were shaking and I was reading the same paragraph in Hillary’s book about Russian internet trolls over and over again. Finally, the receptionist called me to pay yet another copay:

Receptionist: “You’ve been drinking water, right?”

Me: “Um no? They specifically told me on the phone to have an empty bladder.”

Receptionist: “Oh, because they booked you for the wrong kind of ultrasound. You need to be drinking. I’ll check with the tech.”

Tech: “Yea, you need to have 100-120 ounces of water. I’ll come back in 15 minutes.”

Good thing I was early! I started waterboarding myself. Chugging like an 18-year-old at her first frat party. (Sorry again, mommy.) I drank cold water so quickly that I became freezing. My whole body was covered in goosebumps and my hair was standing on end. I officially gave up on my book and started trying to play along with “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire” on the tv to distract myself as I chugged water. (By the way, fear of palindromes = aibohphobia.)

Finally, the tech told me I had drank enough water and called me back. Maybe she took pity on me because she saw me shivering.

Before the ultrasound started, the tech told me that she was going to go look for the IUD. And I said, “well, it has to be up there, right? Like, I’d notice if it came out?” To which she said, “you’d be surprised; it’s happened before where I go looking for an IUD, and instead I find a baby! HAHA”

… excuse me!? NOT HAHA. NOT FUNNY AT ALL.

It was my lucky day, I got to have TWO kinds of ultrasounds! The kind you see on TV where they put gross jelly/lube on your abdomen, AND the kind where they stick a huge dildo-y thing up inside you. For that second one, she let me put it up inside me myself. At least there’s that.

The tech saw me craning my neck to see the screen, so she tilted the screen toward me. I couldn’t see anything. After a few more excruciating minutes of silence, she said “ah, there I think I see it. See those white shadows?” I didn’t see it.

After a few more minutes, she said she was finished. I felt like Rachel in Friends where she started crying because she couldn’t see her baby on the sonogram, and she lied to say she saw it because she didn’t want the doctor to say she was a terrible mother because she couldn’t even see her own baby. (This video… at 2:47).

Of course I told the tech about feeling like Rachel, because I am awkward and weird. To which the tech said “Yea, I remember that, and she thought she’d be an unfit mom because she couldn’t see it. At least you don’t have to worry about the mom part!” GURL PREACH.

I asked the tech if that meant everything was ok, and I was in the clear. She said she was only a tech, and she had to send the photos to the doctor to read them. She said he would “probably” get back to me within a week.

At this point I was pissed. I was like EXCUSE ME? I ALREADY WAITED DAYS.

But of course, there was nothing I could do. I just went home and peed every 10 minutes for 4 hours thanks to the 20 pounds of water I had chugged. And waited. And waited.

Finally, after a very very long, celibate weekend, I texted my doctor on Klara, and he confirmed that the IUD was in place, and it was “working for contraception.” He told me the strings were probably just folded up, and when it came time to replace it, in 2-4 more years, I’d have to see a specialist with an ultrasound.

Saga over. Thank the lord.

I write this as a cautionary tale, not to scare you into going to the doctor every 6 months, but quite the opposite. I just want to let you know that it can happen. And to try to calm your fears about it. According to the world wide web, it’s relatively common.

I love my IUD. It’s no fuss at all. This is the first worry I have had about it in the three years since I’ve had it. It’s so easy that it could have been missing for years, and I wouldn’t even have known! Even with this minor blip, I still would recommend it to anyone. My doctor said that if you don’t plan to have a child in the next year, he recommends it. And it lasts up to 7 years!

If you have any questions, I’m clearly an open book, so feel free to ask! Hopefully this is the last I will be writing about it because I plan to try and forget about it for a few more years.

Signing off,

LongLegsProtectedUterus

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My Week as a Full Time Slave

I spent the last week in Broomall, Pennsylvania, helping my mom out after she had a hip replacement surgery. Or in her words, I have spent the past week as a “full-time slave.” But TBH, this is not fair, because she is recovering incredibly quickly, and she really doesn’t need full time help at all. I did do 6 loads of laundry over the course of a week, but with my excessive amount of gym clothes, that’s not much more than a normal week for me.

By the time I arrived, 8 days post-surgery, she had already graduated from a walker to a cane, and she was walking around without much help at all, albeit at a slow pace. Also, she bought a grabber* from Amazon so when she dropped things, she could pick them up herself. Once she found where she had left her grabber, of course. We hung out at home, watched The Handmaid’s Tale (WTF!?), I read and finished a book (The Light We Lost, by Jill Santopolo, HIGHLY recommend), we ALMOST finished a 750-piece puzzle, AND we did crossword puzzles every day.

But we also left the house! We went on a lot of adventures to the mall, to the library, to a yard sale, to Moe’s (WELCOME TO MOE’S!), to Rita’s for 99 cent custard, to Staples, to Ross; basically we did a lot of shopping and eating. And a LOT of walking! She added on 500 steps/day on her fitbit, and by the time I left, we were up to 7,500/day! She was a walking machine.

However, there were definitely still things she needed help with, and I was happy to help. I don’t take my working body for granted, especially since I tend to sprain my ankle at least once annually. But this experience definitely opened my eyes some more to what would happen if I needed help because my joints weren’t working at 100%. What would you not be able to do if you couldn’t bend more than 45 degrees? Here’s a short list in all of its hilarity:

  • Dry the bottoms of your legs. Nothing like having wet calves. Drip dry anyone?
  • Shave the bottoms of your legs. I’m now a pro. Also, I have learned that I shave OTHER people’s legs much more carefully than I shave my own. On my own, I usually miss an entire strip of hair. Or 3.
  • See anything on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. It was a true (smelly) adventure going through the contents of the bottom shelves. And don’t get me started on the contents of the drawers. The grabber couldn’t slide them open.
  • Carry heavy things. This was my second workout after my free trial pass at Anytime Fitness. Did you read that blog post?
  • Put on socks and shoes. To bunny ears, or not to bunny ears? After 25+ years of tying my own shoes, it was backwards and took me a few times tying my mom’s to realize it was the same as when I tie a hair ribbon in my hair. Which I still do at least 3 times a week. Yes, I am 30.
  • Pick up a roll of paper towels. Again, grabber was no good here. Maybe we should return it to Amazon.
  • Drive. This was a big one. It is rare that a New Yorker who has not driven in almost a year is the driver of choice, but by process of elimination, it was true. I think I make a damn good chauffeur, too. Maybe my mom is even starting to like hip hop. Maybe not. I was jammin’ to Q102, Philly’s #1 Hit Music Station. I think I finally know all the words of Despacito.

Anyway, my life of servitude has officially come to an end, and I am back in NYC, the smelly land of rotting garbage and effed up public transit due to drunk people on the train tracks. Unfortunately, this also means I need to start paying for my own meals and clothes again. I’d do someone else’s laundry for free shopping trips any day of the week. Hell, I do my bf’s for free! Should I move back home? Thoughts?

*”grabber” (n.) (gra-ber) – a term of art. Not its given name according to amazon.

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