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Look at, speak directly to elderly, infirm firmly
(by Nancy Rubenstein - November 05, 2008)
The direct approach is not always the chosen method of oral communication.
It’s obviously rude to assume that those in wheelchairs cannot speak for themselves. Yet it’s common to see and hear people comment and ask questions to the person accompanying the wheelchair occupant, totally avoiding addressing the wheelchair-bound. It's as if anyone who is not perfect, physically or even mentally, is invisible to some eyes.
Similarly, there are “nursing-home conversations” operating the same way. The speaker assumes the resident of the facility is incapable of either speaking or understanding the simplest question. A letter to the editor of the New York Times recently cited this in a “Would she like sugar in her tea?” example.
Having not yet arrived at the doorstep of the mentally infirm (OK, maybe I’m knocking at the door), I was recently reduced to the category of communication without direct conversation, as if I didn’t posses the capacity to comprehend.
The circumstance of this indignity is self explanatory. I was in the process of buying a new cell phone. With me was my adult son who lives in constant touch with his entire business and social world by way of his BlackBerry. Yes, touch is the operative word. If he is not actually on his phone, he is frequently texting, which is a quieter, less socially invasive means of communicating.
Cell phone technology has leapt far beyond the basic needs of the population of people my age. First of all, the tiny phones are so small that we have trouble seeing the numbers to dial (sorry, we don't dial, we punch). We cannot read any texted message without reading glasses. And the phones are so compact that, unless worn attached to one’s ear, they are very easy to misplace or even lose. That alone may account for the surge in sales of cells even in a down economy. Many are replacements for little lost phones.
As I was examining a possible choice - one with rather large numbers and fewer options to confuse me - the sales representative asked my son, as if I were two years old, “Is she interested in a low-rate, long-term contract?” The fact that he thought I’d be around for “long-term” was encouraging but it was discouraging to realize he felt I was beyond the ability to digest this simple query. Patronizing is a kind word for his attitude.
To prove my mental agility, I bought the phone and tried to read the manual. “It’s a camera phone,” I declared to my son. “They all are now,” he replied. I made no further observation.
Refusing to be cowered by my new, multi-task-enhanced cell phone, I tried to take a photo of myself, but apparently had the device turned around and got a very clear picture of my sofa. After a relatively quick study (for my age), I found the Erase button.
My contacts list has been set as well as my emergency numbers. I did not include the mobile phone center. If I called, they’d probably prefer to speak to my son anyway.
Now all I need to do is stay out of a wheelchair or a nursing home, remember where I put my cell and make eye contact with whomever I choose to speak - or who might choose to speak directly to me. But actually the odds on that line of communication are dimming daily. Maybe the best communication system would be "don't call me, I'll call you." That should work if I can hear that faint musical ring tone of my cell or remember where I put it.
Better yet, try me at my home phone.
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