If It’s Young You Want, It’s Young You’ll Get
2004; Lippincott Williams & Wilkins; Volume: 114; Issue: Supplement Linguagem: Inglês
10.1097/00006534-200410001-00058
ISSN1529-4242
Autores ResumoYesterday was memorable, but for the wrong reasons. It began with a call from a prospective patient. As my secretary, Anita, relates it, a man was interested in making an appointment without specifying why. Before committing himself, however, he wanted to know my age. Anita, who has suffered from honesty for her entire life (a serious condition beyond treatment), told him. He replied that he might phone back but that if he came in, he certainly would see “what shape” I was in. “Does he know that you swim every morning [I swim a half mile in 18 hours] and that you work twice as hard as anybody else [an unfortunate distinction]?” queried Jane, another secretary, loyally leaping to my defense. My Napoleonic tendencies alerted me to the fact that a major battle was looming—not just between me and that caller, the type who never agonizes over the feelings of others—no, the combat, literally a mortal one, was between me and aging. “So,” I murmured to myself, “it has come down to this,” recollecting with pain the many patients whose faces I have hoisted so that they could be competitive, marketable.… If, indeed, life is filled with strife, then this war against aging ultimately is a losing battle, but I vowed to fight, nevertheless. Here is what I said (I recorded it for the National Archives of Plastic Surgery): “Loyal companions of past campaigns,” I proclaimed, wearing my white coat with the seal of the American Society of Plastic Surgeons on the front and the face of Tagliacozzi on the back, “we are facing the most serious threat to our being. Formidable forces are arrayed against us; they will not go away and neither will I.” (I affected the fierce look of President Nixon, dropping my voice into dramatic hoarseness). My secretaries cheered, one rising to shake her fist in vigorous assent. “Yes, my friends, we must not only adapt but take the offense. The following directives go into effect immediately and, I might add, completely,” my eyes savagely surveying the room. Directive One: “This is fairly simple and concerns that caller. If he should seek an appointment, ask him what date he would prefer. Whatever time he selects, tell him, ‘Unfortunately, that is when Dr. Goldwyn trains for the triathlon.’” “Would it be better to say that you are with your karate instructor and about to get your black belt?” Jane offers. That suggestion is voted down by Ann, Anita, and Mary. “Furthermore, inform me the week before he is due to arrive,” I continue, “and when you bring him into my office, do not act surprised by what you will see—a topless model will be sitting on my lap. I’ll have hired her from the Boston Bunnies. I assure you that this will be the only time—I think. I plan to look nonchalant; I won’t even get up to greet him, but when I shake his hand, I will do so with a force that will break every metacarpal. I have been practicing at home with my power-grip device. My right hand is now twice the size of my left; it is like that of an orangutan.” Directive Two: “This concerns attitudes. At no time will any of us acknowledge an event more than 2 weeks old. We must be always ‘with it.’ I want ‘trendy’ not ‘history.’” (I realize that as I am speaking I am thinking of the greats of the past in whose circle I certainly belong.) “To give you an example, the other day I was operating with a resident who asked me what I thought of President Carter. I replied, ‘Who?’ I then harangued the resident for wasting his time with history.” “It’s all here, now, man,” I said, and I jabbed his chest with my fist. I could see that he was surprised, but he will get used to the new me.” “I want each of us—and that includes myself—to use the word ‘cool’ in every sentence. Let us suppose that a patient calls and says that he has a deformity of his face because he was recently hit by a train. The proper reply is ‘That’s cool, real cool.’” Directive Three: “This concerns the ambiance of this office. First, I want you to get rid of all of the magazines that we have. I no longer want to subscribe to Mirabella, Vogue, Newsweek, Science, Art in America, or The Smithsonian. I want publications devoted to the 1990s, to the 21st century. I want magazines that talk about alternative lifestyles, holistic medicine, exercise/bodybuilding, diet, creative divorce, unusual sexual practices, and, especially, magazines that feature victims. Victims are hot now—I mean ‘cool.’” “I want music piped in. I know that we have never had this before, but things are different now. It should be heard in the background and when callers are put on hold. Here is a list of groups I want represented. I am sure that you can add to it by asking your kids, nieces, or nephews, or anybody in the first grade: The Nude Dudes Iced Sarsaparilla Homicidal Judges The Talking Testicles “I want music that the most far-out disc jockey has never heard or would be afraid to play. I want music that would shock the habitues of a crack parlor!” Directive Four: “We will be installing in the outer office dispensers for condoms and sterile needles, and we will put in videos for games and adult films.” Directive Five: “This concerns dress. No more jackets and ties for me—instead it will be blazing sport shirts and sandals. I have already ordered gold chains for my neck, wrist, and ankles. Yes, ankles!” “I have arranged to have Mr. X. Pensiff come tomorrow to fit us with earrings. He is the earring provider to the stars. He will advise us not only about which earrings to wear but whether they should go in one or both ears. Frankly, I have never understood that, but now I will.” “I want each of you to be fitted—and I mean fitted—with miniskirts. Yes, even you, Mary. The fact that you are a semiretired grandmother has nothing to do with it. We are at war; personal preferences and sensibilities are a luxury.” “Next Monday, Vincenzo, the famous hairstylist—he does all the rock groups; he has even been responsible for what the Skinheads are not wearing—he is coming to our office. A purple Mohawk, he thinks, would look good on me but I am not sure. Instead of a vertical Mohawk, maybe a transverse one would be better since it would show more originality. Anyway, these are details.” “I realize that I have covered a lot of ground this morning and there is a lot to absorb. We shall review these matters next week. Naturally, I welcome your suggestions, but please make them consistent with our principal objective and our central beliefs: middle age is a disaster; old age, an abomination; youth, nirvana.” “Yes, Ann.” “Doctor Goldwyn, what about a face-lift and an eyelid-plasty for you? After all, you do them all the time, and your older colleagues [I winced] have had them.” “Ann, you are absolutely correct in raising that possibility. The problem is—who would do it on me? A greater consideration, however, is the very fact of my having it done would emphasize that I have become older. Remember, aging is out—verboten. My strategy is just the opposite: to let the world know that I am becoming inexorably younger. In fact, that I am growing young at such a rapid rate that it is disturbing my wife and disrupting our marriage. Let the word get out that I am seeking the services of a plastic surgeon who can age me—someone who can make a high-school senior look like a retiree of the Supreme Court!“ I sensed their disbelief, but great leaders must not let the skepticism of their followers deter them. “Furthermore, all of you, please stop calling me Doctor Goldwyn. I am now known as Bob to everyone. We are to use only first names here. If you know anyone’s nickname, so much the better. Informality is the rule. Before we split— note that word—I want to give you each some gum that I bought. Gum chewing, once a reprehensible act in public, is now the ‘cool thing’ to do, I am told.” “The final item is more serious and concerns the possibility that with all the changes we have instituted, including the new look for ourselves, we might become unrecognizable to friends and family. Though discomfiting, this eventuality is a small price to pay for survival. Those of us getting a Mohawk haircut will, of course, have to get new passports. I will be happy to assume that expense. In that regard, I should mention that bonuses will be given to those of you who intersperse ‘like’ in your speech. Remember, street-talk and youth go together.” “I forgot to mention something very important: my health record will be available to any who ask. As you look it over, you might be astonished to see that I have recorded the fact that I ‘went up’ the stairs of the Empire State Building. I have not mentioned, for obvious reasons, the fact that I was carried up. If they don’t ask, don’t say anything.” “As they say, ‘Party on, dudes,’” I cheered with a wave of my hand!
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