I hate technology.

Well, I don’t actually hate technology, to be honest.

If it weren’t for the advancement of medical technology, I probably wouldn’t be alive.

But machines make me feel stupid. I do not understand how they work and no amount of instruction gets through my brain.

As soon as the human element is replaced by iPads, computers and phones that guide your life, I am lost and, frankly, I don’t want to learn.

One of the most amazing inventions takes place in one’s car or truck. If you don’t know how to get where you’re going, you just tell some lady and she guides you right to the front door. She also will dial a telephone number if you’re driving so your hands stay on the wheel. Who IS this woman who never sleeps?

When the first newspaper hired me it was 1989 and I was to submit a column once a week. I did this typing the column on a manual Royal typewriter and using a piece of carbon paper for my copy. Then we would hand deliver it to the newspaper office, and I was perfectly happy with this arrangement.

Then it hit the fan. I was told to buy a computer and learn to use it. I was fit to be tied.

I fought it but lost the battle to technology.

From that time on I’ve had the inability to operate or understand all the machines in my life. If they even come unplugged, I’m lost.

So the height of my discomfort came way back in 1996 during my mother’s hospital stay in Florida.

You know what a robot is. Talking about mechanical substitutes that are hard to fathom, this is it.

My 87-year-old mother was in awful pain and the doctors were trying to find out what was causing it. I kept her quiet and calm, but suddenly she screamed out in pain.

I ran out of her room and began yelling. I grabbed the head nurse, “You help my mother this very minute. Give her a pain shot now!” I was screaming.

The nurse calmly answered she would give mother a pain shot as soon as it arrived.

“What are you saying?” I wheezed. “What do you mean arrive?” And while I am sputtering and spewing, the elevator door opened and out glided a machine that looked like a refrigerator on wheels.

On top was a TV screen and out of the mouth of this refrigerator it was saying clearly and loudly, “Excuse me please.”

My mouth fell open. It steps (rolled) out of the elevator and proceeded right down the hall and took a mean right right into my mother’s room.

Every person it passed en route was comfortable with the robot’s presence.

I watched as it even moved left or right to avoid bumping into anyone else. You know, like a robot with manners.

When it stopped at mother’s room it announced, “I have the meds for Mrs. Peters.”

I fully expected it to fold itself and sit right down until the nurse came. She patted that big machine affectionately, opened its door and out came the shot for my mother.

Have you ever heard of such a thing? I just could not take my eyes off that square box on wheels with a TV screen for a head.

It continued on down the hallway stopping at room after room delivering meds. The interesting thing is it does this without developing a personal relationship with a nurse or patient.

But the crowning blow came when, about an hour later, as I was leaving, the elevator door opened for me. Yup, you guessed it there was ol’ Mr. Robot, or Ms. Robotee in the elevator and it was making room for me to get in.

When I just stood there, it said, “Are you coming or what?” Let me tell you, all this is way over my head.

For my young readers, this all must seem like really old stuff. Technology has changed almost everything about your life, and you can’t imagine life without the easy access to these things. For us older folks, we — at least some of us — are just more comfortable to look up a word or idea in a dictionary than to ask some elusive female to look it up for us.

I love to write for many people, but if anything goes wrong with the machine it’s a major catastrophe.

Do you think I’m showing my age here? You bet I am.

The view from the mountain is wondrous.

Jean Brody is a passionate animal lover and mother. She previously lived in Winchester, but now resides in Littleton, Colorado. Her column has appeared in the Sun for more than 25 years.