When you are old, the most frightening thing in the world is a fall. It appears that one of the first things that begins to fail in the elderly is their balance. A couple of years ago, I had a dizziness episode in my primary care doctor’s office and was taken to see a neurologist. They tested my brain – now stop that; I do so have a brain – and he indicated, after a few tests, that my balance was not what it should be. He recommended that a cane would be a good aid in walking and keeping my balance. I took him up on that, and it has been quite a benefit.
The other day, we were coming home from grocery shopping. Cane over the wrist – bad place for it – I went to carry a couple of packages into the kitchen from the garage. Whoops, bad move. I tripped on the step going into the kitchen, dropped the packages in both hands, and felt myself getting ready for a tumble…backwards. Knowing that hitting the back of my head would probably coldcock me for a while, I reached out with my left arm and landed on the floor with the left side of my face. Here is the slo-mo look at the event. First, the trip, followed by the packages and the cane leaving my grip. Next, the fall backwards, bouncing off the freezer in the garage. Step three was to be conscious of the fact that if I went straight back, the floor would meet the back of my skull. If this were to happen, the speed at which I was falling would or could have had severe consequences…ie, this would have been a bad thing. As a result, I twisted in such a way that I could bounce off the car and land on my left side, doing so in such a manner as to hit the front left part of my head and face on the garage floor. Now, before you panic and say how hard a cement garage floor is, let me tell you something you may find hard to believe…we have a garage floor carpet. Yeah, that’s right. Our garage is carpeted. We didn’t do it, the people we bought the house from did it. He also had chrome-plated oil pans under his cars. Fortunately, the carpet was there. Unfortunately, it is not as thick as your local shag, ergo, it hurt!
Those of you who have ever hit your head sufficiently for it to bleed know that the skull has a number of blood vessels, and when they bleed, they do so in unison. They are a very ‘together’ group. The skull, you see, is not the only protection for the brain. There are three layers, called the meninges. These three layers are called the dura mater, arachnoid mater, and the pia mater. Those are the guys who serve as the guards for the brain being directly attacked when one takes a trip “groundward.” You know on these medical shows, when the doctor comes out and very dramatically tells the next of kin, “Well, she has a sub-dural hematoma and until we know how much bleeding is going into the brain, she’s in danger,” or a bullshit diagnosis like that, well, that’s exactly what they told me…you have a bit of bleeding into the brain from a sub-dural hematoma. It would have sounded funny had it not been that it was me they were talking about.
To learn all of this, the sequence was as follows: (1) Juli patched up the wound, but it kept on bleeding; (2) I drove over to the hospital to have it checked out; (3) They did a cat scan that showed the bleeding; (4) they don’t have the people to watch these things carefully; (5) I was shipped to a major Boston hospital for observation (6) the ambulance driver had to navigate Boston traffic at rush hour to get me to Mass General; (7) the emergency room was bigger than the town in which I grew up; (8) I had the greatest group of nurses, physician’s assistant, and neurosurgeon senior resident that I could ever hope to have; (9) another can scan was done that showed no more bleeding; (11) at midnight, they told me I could go home; and (12), an ambulance drove me home by one o’clock in the morning. My car? Oh, the kids picked that up the next morning.
The most frightening part of this entire adventure occurred as I was laying in the bed at Mass General. “Is this ‘that’ fall,” I wondered. “Is this the one you hear about when an old person falls, and this becomes the ‘beginning of the end,’ so to speak. You know the one I mean. “Oh, poor Harry, he took a tumble and went downhill from there. Everything just started to fall apart, and he was dead in a week.” In fact, at one point, the physician’s assistant came in and asked, “Whattsa matter, you look upset.” I told her about the ‘final’ fall. She laughed and assured me that this wasn’t it. “So, you fell, and you bled into your brain, so what? so what,” she said. “You’re gonna be fine.” It was amazingly great news, and was just another indication of my unwarranted paranoia.
I’m typing this at 4:00 am, so if there are typo’s, that’s your problem. I’m just glad to be home with a shiner and three huge steri-strips holding the wound in place. I do feel like I’ve been a few rounds in the ring with Mike Tyson, but I’m certain that, too, will fade away. And now for a great day with a Thanksgiving turkey, stuffing, squash, mashed potatoes, and pecan pie. Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!