In the 21^st century, if it doesn’t have an acronym, it isn’t a thing.

Key personnel are identified as CEO, CFO, COO, GM, BM, HRM, AM, SE, 2IC etc. Nicknames are out as people are personalised by their initials. “Hi JR, FYI. GH and I think we should involve BQ and TH to plan the AGM.”

The sales process now involves POC to liaise with the SM to convert IQL to MQL and arrange DI, maybe a SA, to generate SOW for RFQ. With APP, request a PO and confirm DEL and COM dates.

Don’t get me started on texting vernacular!

In healthcare, acronyms are fair enough because only the most educated and experienced professionals can pronounce, spell and understand the medical terminology. Even though written communication is often pointless.

There’s some comfort in being diagnosed with a scientifically approved condition. An acronym implies thorough understanding of the ailment and provokes positivity of treatment and management. Incurable diseases such as MND however, rely on its unique title to promote awareness of the seriousness of the insidious disease and encourage optimistic research and pursuit of a cure.

There’s something hollow about being told by your doctor. “You have a virus.” That’s not a diagnosis, it sounds like a copout, a dismissal of a condition not considered serious enough to name. “You have RSV.” is definitive and respectful. If you want, you can Google the acronym but good luck pronouncing it.

There is an unofficial acronymic abbreviation that Barb and I have fallen in love with recently, that encompasses all the annoying afflictions of aging. It’s DOBS (Date of Birth Syndrome).

Aging is not a disease; although accompanied by a common bunch of symptoms there is no specific cause or mechanism. It is a syndrome, a collection of signs and symptoms that tend to occur together, and worthy of a distinguished name.

Recently I have noticed the following behavioural anomalies:

Forgetting the name of my 15^th grandchild, missing appointments, birthdays and anniversaries and a writers’ nightmare – struggling with my internal thesaurus.

Ridiculous aches and pains after doing stuff that has never been a problem before. Wondering which clown put the bricks in the bottom of the 25kg bag of potting mix.

Misreading the 60 kph road sign as 80 kph and graciously accepting the ticket from the smart-arse traffic cop who hasn’t had his first shave yet.

I insist that age is just a number, and aging doesn’t necessarily relate to our date of birth. When normal tasks become physically challenging, we draw on our experience and vast knowledge to develop tools and processes to make the task easier.

So aging is a good thing, yeah?

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