By Mickey Dunaway

Reprinted with Permission by Currents Magazine | Sept 1, 2024| Cornelius, NC.

[1,088 words, 6 minutes read time]

I love 3^rd grade jokes. When my oldest son—who just turned 51—was in the third grade and I was 27, he came home one day with a joke: “Dad, do you know why Dolly Parton’s feet are so small?” I bit, of course, and he responded, “Because nothing grows in the shade!” I laughed and then asked him if he knew what that meant. “I don’t know,” he said, “Everybody thought it was funny!” 

I have always loved that joke and the innocence it reflects. Skip ahead 50 years for an old codger version of a 3^rd – grade joke. 

“What do you call it when old codgers get together?” Of course, you call it an organ recital! 

MOVEMENT ONE—The Apple Watch

It was early Fall of 2022, and I was sitting on my sofa after lunch watching a fishing show, and my Apple watch began beating a rhythm on my left wrist. It was indicating I was in atrial fibrillation. I manually checked it with the watch five more times, and each time came back the same. Time to head to the ER.

They gave me an EKG, and sure enough, my Apple watch was spot on. The ER doctor gave me some meds to hold me until I could see a cardiologist, and two days later, I was at the Sanger Cardiac Unit in Concord, meeting with Dr.  Thomas Christopher—and I thought the days of quick appointments were over. 

With the ER diagnosis confirmed and a boatload of blood thinners and meds to slow down my racing heartbeat, I underwent a successful ablation of the nerve bundle that was misfiring.  After stabilizing the heart rhythm, my cardiac team installed a Watchman device. The left atrial appendage is a bit like the appendix—a vestige with no actual use but is a major danger for people with A-fib, blood can pool in the appendage, clot, and the clot can then be passed to the brain and cause a stroke. A-fib and pooling of blood in the appendage when the heart is beating irregularly is the cause of about 90% of strokes. 

MOVEMENT TWO: “I Got A Feeling”

This past spring, my right knee hurt like hell just walking the dogs around the block. My wife and I decided I was getting no younger, so it was time to stop putting off knee replacement on my right knee. The X-rays showed bone on bone—no wonder it hurt all the time. After meeting with my Orthopedist and looking at X-rays one more time, it was clear that replacement is the only option. 

Therefore, in early June, I blissfully went to la-la-land in the Operating Room, thanks to a dose of propofol, and my orthopedic surgeon went about measuring, marking, cutting, sawing, screwing, hammering, and gluing.  

As it turned out, I woke up not feeling too bad. After the hospital physical therapist came by, and I walked a few yards with a walker, the hospital discharged me to my wife, and we drove back home.

On the ride back home, I thought about this surgery being the height of optimism for anyone at my age of 77—wondering what now since I will soon be walking again. That feeling lasted for the rest of that day, and then it was time for a trip to Dante’s Seventh Circle of Hell. Oh, the joy of ice packs—the only thing that keeps Dante’s Seventh Circle at bay. Still, there is a price to pay—someone must bring those ice packs to you! And remember, payback, as always, is a bitch!

Gradually, the surgical knee got better, and I could move around the house on my own using a walker. The walker led to a cane, and shortly after, I left the cane behind.  The surgery was clearly successful; however, the muscles, tendons, and ligaments that support the knee still ache after every PT session and several days afterward. Yet, the more I go to PT, I know the shorter the recovery time, and I am making progress for sure. This morning, I put on my socks by myself—the first time since June 4.

MOVEMENT THREE –Antibiotics, Anyone?

I woke up on a Monday morning in mid-July, and my left foot was swollen, and I could hardly get on my shoe. By Tuesday, the foot was so swollen that I had a foot with no visible toes.  Off to the ER for a diagnosis, then back to the hospital—I won’t tell which hospital since, with my record, I might have to go back!

Diagnosis was cellulitis. Cellulitis, I learned, is a common and potentially serious bacterial skin infection that can spread quickly. For three days, the hospital pumped me full via IV with broad-spectrum antibiotics. The antibiotics worked. The swelling and pain went down, and I made my escape after three days. To a program called Hospital at Home.

MOVEMENT FOUR – Escape To Paradise

The Hospital at Home Program is a federally funded program for hospital patients whose care team determines they would do better at home with technology providing the link to a special medical group of former paramedics who delivered my IV antibiotics, checked my vital signs twice a day and sent the data electronically to their home base which is staffed by full-time physicians and nurses. My doctor FaceTimed me at least once a day when the paramedic was present, and we discussed if I was making progress along with other vital signs. I wore a wireless monitor around my arm all day that constantly transmitted my vitals, including sleep, temp, steps, blood pressure, and other vitals, back to the homebase and to the doctor and nurse who were monitoring my progress.

If you or a loved one can benefit from at-home care after and rather than being hospitalized, both Atrium and Novant sponsor Hospital at Home programs. 

FINALE—Hope Springs Eternal

Some 25 years ago, I wrote a goal for myself as a school leader. I think it still applies to 77—and older. Dream Big. Plan Well. Act Boldy. 

My goal when I am finished with physical therapy is to walk my Brittanys, Boomer, and Chole every day for at least a mile. It has been more than a year since I have had that pleasure. 

__________

Getting old is a fascinating thing. The older you get, the older you want to get.

-Ralph Waldo Emerson