I was hospitalized for three days recently for ailments I can’t pronounce much less spell. It involved my legs not working as designed and causing me to fall over while walking, not a pleasant experience, particularly on a cement sidewalk.
Coming out of the barbershop I toppled over. A good Samaritan came to my rescue pulling me to my feet, retrieving a bandage from the barber, and stemming the blood flow from a cut on my head.
The next day I looked like I had just hurled vile insults at Mike Tyson and he took great offense. When I explained the mishap to pals of mine they suggested that next time I tip my barber.
Anyway, wife Linda, concerned that I’d smash anything of value in the house while stumbling through it and showing genuine concern for my now fragile unstable 83-year-old frame and afraid that the china cabinet may be next, insisted I go to the hospital.
I refused saying I was fine. She thought otherwise as I gripped the walls and furniture while navigating my way from room-to-room.
Frustrated, she called 911, which dispatched an ambulance, rolled me out of the house on a gurney, and transferred me to the local Nassau Baptist Hospital. I spent a day and night in the emergency room.
From my perch there I didn’t witness any major emergencies taking place. No sirens, mass casualties, gunshot victims, multiple car or bus crashes, catastrophic fires, or passenger ships sinkings. It was flat out boring.
I was eventually transferred from the emergency room into a tranquil hospital room that resembled a suite at the Ritz Carlton with the exception of the crisp clean uniforms of the nurses, doctors, and other medical and miscellaneous attendants.
While there I was told to stay put, while polite gals in clean starched uniforms with sharp pointy instruments continuously added and extracted fluids from my arms. When I got out of the bed, an alarm went off alerting nurses that I was an errant geriatric attempting an escape.
The nursing staff was polite and efficient, calming but firm: “You ain’t going anywhere pal until we say so!”
A doctor eventually arrived with the customary clip board, peered over his glasses, and explained that I had, Leukocytosiss, a high white blood cell count, and Hupokalemia, a low potassium level or vice versa, I can’t recall. They corrected both, gave me a prescription to be filled and deemed me fit to be discharged. An appointment with my regular doctor is scheduled today, and I assume he’ll do whatever he thinks best for whatever it was that was causing me to topple over. I keep waiting for a doctor to tell me at least once in my lifetime: “Take two aspirins and call me in the morning.”
We’re fortunate to live in Fernandina, that boasts a hospital staffed with such efficient and professional folks.
Maybe it’s because I’m 83, but my age never bothered me before. I never thought about it until this hospital stay. And now I can’t stop thinking about it.
Fortunately, I voted early this year as I spent Nov. 3 in the hospital. I watched as the results rolled in on a TV in my room and the blood pressure device hooked up to me continued to register in the red zone. I stopped watching and picked up ”Groucho” a biography of Groucho Marx my good friend Steve Hall loaned me. He is a graduate of the Evelyn Wood speed reading school, so I assume he never read it, just skimmed it. None of the pages were dogeared or had margins with notes or had sentences underlined or marked with asterisks. They do now. I hope it wasn’t a library book.
Following the election, I jotted down all the presidents I’ve experienced in my 83 years. There have been 16, starting with Franklin Roosevelt if you count Trump twice. I think they count Grover Cleveland twice. (As an aside who the Dickins names their kid Grover?) They are equally divided between Democrats and Republicans, which seems fair and well balanced. Here’s a trivia question: Who was the president between Cleveland’s two terms?
If my contemporaries are anything like me they have some regrets as they grow older. I had one that nagged at me for years until I hit my mid-forties. That was that I never earned a college degree. I finally realized that I didn’t have time and didn’t need one. I attended Florida State for an uninspiring year where I enjoyed some of the classes and found others a complete waste of time. I also discovered an enthusiastic appetite for beer and pretty gals. The beer appetite remains and I married a gorgeous gal, thereby bringing my wandering days to a halt almost 35 years ago.
In the 1960s the Vietnam war was heating up, and a high school pal of mine and I Joined the Army to avoid the draft. We were told if we signed up for three years we could choose a country to be stationed in and they held true to that. I spent most of my Army career in Germany as a sports editor and then editor of two military newspapers, experiences that proved invaluable later in life.
I parlayed my Army experience to civilian life where I was a reporter for newspapers in Florida and New York and eventually recruited to work for IBM, ITT, and other major companies in corporate communications jobs in the U.S. and Europe.
The regret of not having a college degree faded. I never applied for any of the jobs I had; references or headhunters recruited me. Not once was I ever asked what my degree was in or if I even had one. I was vice president of four companies, two of them Fortune 500 firms.
At one time I had two folks with PhDs working in my function and at least 40 or more other degreed folks. I was the lone non-degreed person.
My experience was enough for prospective employers. That and the fact I was already employed by a major corporation spoke for itself. I managed to obtain several high-level corporate positions along the way and get fired from a couple of them too. I always managed to land on my feet and secure similar positions in Europe and the U.S.
Mine has been an extremely fortunate life. And I look back on my 83 years with a great deal of satisfaction. I have no regrets, not even the lack of a college degree.
At 83 I haven’t had enough of this life and look forward to more. All this despite the fact that my memory suffers a few lapses. For example, I forget the plots of movies I’ve seen years ago so I can watch them again afresh.
As far as exercise goes these days, standing up to put on my pants and bending over to put on my shoes are my most strenuous workouts.
At 83 I’m too old to qualify as a dirty of old man and the term “Getting much” now refers to sleep. I’m confident that now I can complement a pretty gal on her looks without her thinking I’m hitting on her.
I’m fortunate that I have a short attention span and never linger on unpleasant thoughts.
I found the right work, married the right woman (the second time), and live in a place folks visit on vacation wishing they lived there. Other folks should be so fortunate.
A pleasant change, like going from Huntley/Brinkley to Mark Twain. Zero political,[ local and national], your essay was enjoyable and refreshing. Thanks for a nice morning read.
Benjamin Harrison was the 23rd president of the United States, serving from 1889 to 1893. (I looked it up on the “interweb”).
Glad you are still with us and going strong.
Glad you are ok and Happy bleated Veterans Day to all of us who served.
Sorry to hear about your illness, Dave. Glad to learn it’s under control and that your wife and Baptist hospital stepped up the plate. Enjoyed your reminiscing. Good to hear that you are satisfied with your life. Thanks for your running commentary and exposes via your weekly column, which I look forward to reading on Fridays.
Great column Dave. I’m really glad to hear you are a Marx Bros fan! I think my favorite is ‘A Day at the Races’ which I rewatched about a month ago. It never gets old.
Also I’m glad to hear you’re ok. I’ve had a similar situation and my recovery exercise was ‘sit in a chair. Get up and sit down 10 times’ it’s more strenuous than it sounds!
Wonder if PJ would run a Marx Bros movie on one of his TV’s?
A great article, well written and certainly relevant to me at age 80. I can relate to nearly everything said in this wonderful article. I don’t live in Fernandina Beach or even in Florida (I once did), but my brother lives there in your beautiful city. Anyway, thank you for sharing your experiences with us. I thoroughly enjoyed reading your article and a little history that we both share.
Dave-Live each day as your last–You will be happier. Get well soon
Get well Dave. I had something similar happen to me, except I collapsed in the check out line at Lowes. Fortunately, someone caught me before I hit the cement. Ironic, same diagnosis, that was 3 years ago. Maybe related to being around 80. Glad I was not in bed watching those results on Nov 3rd. I would have needed more BP meds! Oh well, as one said, one could go broke over estimating how wise the American electorate is, except in Florida.
Dave, glad your spill didn’t result in any serious injury and prayers for a speedy recovery. While you are convalescing here is some data to noodle over:
Most Common Locations for Falls
• The Bathroom: The single most common indoor spot due to wet, slippery surfaces, tile floors, and the need to step in and out of tubs or showers.
• The Bedroom: Frequently occurs when getting out of bed quickly, navigating in the dark, or tripping over loose rugs and cords.
• Stairs: Walking up or down steps challenges balance, lower-body strength, and depth perception.
• Hallways and Pathways: Prone to poor lighting, clutter, loose rugs, or unexpected changes in floor height.
Key Statistics & Factors
• Indoors vs. Outdoors: About 71.6% of fall-related ER visits happen indoors, though rates vary by gender (men tend to have a higher percentage of outdoor falls than women).
• Age Factor: Older adults aged 85 and older are significantly more likely to fall inside their homes (73.9%) compared to younger seniors aged 65–74 (62.5%).
• Frequency: More than 1 in 4 adults aged 65 and older fall each year, according to the CDC Falls Data.
Dave – 83 is the new 73, so keep on keepin’ on !
I find myself falling as well, usually after a few too many at PJ’s 🍺😆
I hope this isn’t your obituary! Nice life, Dave.
Dave, that was probably the most enjoyable column I’ve read from any author in a long time. There is no one I enjoy talking baseball with more than you….well done!
Take care and I’ll see you soon!
Dave, absolutely great column!
Your experiences with the medical encounter were all too familiar. I couldn’t seem to get enough air. My wife Tish insisted I go to ER, but I said I would rest first. I slept for hours, then called my doc to see if my symptoms were something that warranted an office visit. His response was instant: BMC Nassau Emergency Department.
The Nassau BMC emergency department was outstanding. My doc had called in the symptoms, and within about five minutes of entering Emergency, I was in a small treatment room with more people than I ever thought would fit in there. I had a ‘double-saddle pulmonary embolism’ – a condition that is too frequently fatal. The large blood clot had draped itself over the veins that send my blood to my lungs to get more oxygen.
I had a couple of “clot-buster” injections into my belly that broke it up into little clots that hit my lungs. That led to about six months of shortness of breath until those clots were absorbed, but otherwise no permanent damage.
Like you experienced, the staff in ICU was amazing, especially when I decided to get out of the bed and visit the restroom with my several tubes trailing. A great group of people. The cardiologist who I met in the Emergency room was outstanding and a fast worker, telling me I was so lucky that I should take my wife to Las Vegas and see if my luck was still working.
Overall, the experience ten years ago gave me a sense of how quickly and casually life can end. I learned that some big embolisms come from the legs and are too big to go through the heart to get to the lungs, causing deadly heart attacks. Other embolisms go to the brain and cause strokes.
My survival might be linked to luck, but more likely to an act of God, and the actions of highly skilled medical professionals. I appreciate every day when I wake up, and try to make good use of the gift of each day that I’m still here.
Getting old is not for sissies.
I am only 74 and no serious medical issues other than chronic anemia but recently taken up falling as a hobby. The first one was early summer while at the North Florida Cancer Center being treated for the anemia. Blood was drawn by the in-house lab phlebotomist. I then stood up and took 3 steps and my next moment of consciousness was lying on the floor with numerous healthcare professionals kneeling beside me. My blood glucose was checked but was WNL. Next was my blood pressure which was 68/40. I spent the next several hours in a chemotherapy recliner being pumped with several liters of normal saline. I have since fallen five more times. My body looks like I too lost a match and the broken ribs still hurt me as I repair myself. No one with MD or DO behind their name can determine what is the cause as my blood pressure remains in normal range. I just chalked it up as old man clumsy.
Dave, forgot to add this in my original post : Three words of advice – Don’t Get Old. 🎃
Dave,
Get well soon buddy
Sorry to learn about your medical issues, but glad to hear you’re on the mend.
Great column as always.