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Early in the morning just one day prior to my 90th birthday, I found myself whizzing along in an ambulance bound for the hospital emergency room.
As I answered the EMT's questions, “Can you tell me your name?” “What is your address?” “How long have you lived in Grass Valley?” “Are you still feeling dizzy?” I was also, oddly enough, remembering a recent telephone conversation with a dear friend who is 25 years younger than I am.
“Listen, Lucille, when you turn 90, don't go anyplace, OK?” she began.
“What do you mean, don't go anyplace? I don't have any trips planned.”
“Well, you know how older people sometimes set a certain (um) goal for themselves, and then (um) after they (ahem) actually achieve it, they (um) go someplace.”
After a mystified few seconds, it dawned on me that she was telling me not to die.
“Oh, no, I really want to stick around,” I told her in my heartiest tone of voice.
What I did not add was that reaching 90 has been for me a totally impromptu, speed of light excursion through several time warps to an as yet undisclosed destination.
Goals! What goals? Also, I did not say that at a certain point, birthdays cease being milestones and turn into stumbling blocks.
So I was wheeled into the emergency room, wearing white socks and my least attractive robe and nightgown. My hair was awry and my hearing aids and glasses were at home on the dresser.
My son and daughter, both looking very serious, followed me into the curtained cubicle and watched as I made an ungraceful flop from gurney to hospital bed.
Both of them had been adamant about calling 911 after my son made his usual early-morning checkup call and I told him I was experiencing an attack of vertigo and was extremely nauseated. (Actually at the time of his call, I was sprawled face down across my kitchen table, clutching at the table edge, praying that the room would stop whirling around me.)
I was certain I recognized what was happening to me because of having just recently read a short article about “benign positional vertigo,” which was described as a health problem common among the elderly.
At my age, I seem to get a lot of health bulletins of various types e-mailed to me by my contemporaries, and I read about maladies I would never have thought of on my own.
The kind and efficient emergency room staff took over immediately, checking blood pressure, listening to my heart, looking into my eyes, palpating here an there, asking questions about what medications I was taking.
I tell you, I was as alert as a bird dog, straining to hear everything word said to me. I did everything but prick up my ears. I wanted so badly to be seen as rational, and fully capable of leading an independent life.
Naturally I announced my self-diagnosis to the staff, but it was clear they were not as impressed and convinced as I had hoped they would be. I was, therefore, wheeled off for scans of my brain and my heart.
By noon, all testing was complete and had been evaluated. My heart and brain seemed pretty much OK, and the diagnosis arrived at was “benign positional vertigo.”
I felt it prudent not to say, “That's what I told you in the first place.”
My dizziness had subsided and I felt ready to go home. However, I was dismayed when the emergency room doctor suggested I should remain hospitalized overnight because of my age.
I was so obviously crestfallen that he looked at my son and daughter and asked if there would be anyone able to stay with me overnight in case I had a problem.
To my great joy, my son moved one more step closer to sainthood when he volunteered to do this. After being advised to consult with my own physician as promptly as possible, I was wheeled out the door into the sunshine.
I have been referred to a young and very competent occupational therapist skilled in a rapid head-turning maneuver which almost magically relieves the type of vertigo caused by minute debris in the inner ear.
Other causes for vertigo, I have learned, are dehydration and abrupt changes in blood pressure. So, I'm increasing my fluid intake and am also trying to refrain from leaping about in my usual carefree manner.
As I answered the EMT's questions, “Can you tell me your name?” “What is your address?” “How long have you lived in Grass Valley?” “Are you still feeling dizzy?” I was also, oddly enough, remembering a recent telephone conversation with a dear friend who is 25 years younger than I am.
“Listen, Lucille, when you turn 90, don't go anyplace, OK?” she began.
“What do you mean, don't go anyplace? I don't have any trips planned.”
“Well, you know how older people sometimes set a certain (um) goal for themselves, and then (um) after they (ahem) actually achieve it, they (um) go someplace.”
After a mystified few seconds, it dawned on me that she was telling me not to die.
“Oh, no, I really want to stick around,” I told her in my heartiest tone of voice.
What I did not add was that reaching 90 has been for me a totally impromptu, speed of light excursion through several time warps to an as yet undisclosed destination.
Goals! What goals? Also, I did not say that at a certain point, birthdays cease being milestones and turn into stumbling blocks.
So I was wheeled into the emergency room, wearing white socks and my least attractive robe and nightgown. My hair was awry and my hearing aids and glasses were at home on the dresser.
My son and daughter, both looking very serious, followed me into the curtained cubicle and watched as I made an ungraceful flop from gurney to hospital bed.
Both of them had been adamant about calling 911 after my son made his usual early-morning checkup call and I told him I was experiencing an attack of vertigo and was extremely nauseated. (Actually at the time of his call, I was sprawled face down across my kitchen table, clutching at the table edge, praying that the room would stop whirling around me.)
I was certain I recognized what was happening to me because of having just recently read a short article about “benign positional vertigo,” which was described as a health problem common among the elderly.
At my age, I seem to get a lot of health bulletins of various types e-mailed to me by my contemporaries, and I read about maladies I would never have thought of on my own.
The kind and efficient emergency room staff took over immediately, checking blood pressure, listening to my heart, looking into my eyes, palpating here an there, asking questions about what medications I was taking.
I tell you, I was as alert as a bird dog, straining to hear everything word said to me. I did everything but prick up my ears. I wanted so badly to be seen as rational, and fully capable of leading an independent life.
Naturally I announced my self-diagnosis to the staff, but it was clear they were not as impressed and convinced as I had hoped they would be. I was, therefore, wheeled off for scans of my brain and my heart.
By noon, all testing was complete and had been evaluated. My heart and brain seemed pretty much OK, and the diagnosis arrived at was “benign positional vertigo.”
I felt it prudent not to say, “That's what I told you in the first place.”
My dizziness had subsided and I felt ready to go home. However, I was dismayed when the emergency room doctor suggested I should remain hospitalized overnight because of my age.
I was so obviously crestfallen that he looked at my son and daughter and asked if there would be anyone able to stay with me overnight in case I had a problem.
To my great joy, my son moved one more step closer to sainthood when he volunteered to do this. After being advised to consult with my own physician as promptly as possible, I was wheeled out the door into the sunshine.
I have been referred to a young and very competent occupational therapist skilled in a rapid head-turning maneuver which almost magically relieves the type of vertigo caused by minute debris in the inner ear.
Other causes for vertigo, I have learned, are dehydration and abrupt changes in blood pressure. So, I'm increasing my fluid intake and am also trying to refrain from leaping about in my usual carefree manner.
