By Guinn Sweet

Upon losing the 1942 presidential election, Adlai Stevenson quoted a saying by Abraham Lincoln, when asked by a fellow-townsman how he felt about the election: “I am too old to cry, but it hurts too much to laugh.”

This was the attitude expressed by Colon last week when he fell to the floor backward from his chair, striking his head, losing consciousness and badly twisting his right knee.  Fortunately, the home health nurse was with him (and me), so I didn’t have a spell or fit as I truly wanted, but she talked me through it and then attended to Colon. No, wait a minute … she took care of Colon, brought him back to a conscious state, then turned to me and said, “Would you just shut up and stop being a baby?” or something which could be interpreted as such.  

After a trip to the emergency room, running up a bill for lab, X-ray and such, he was dismissed with the diagnosis of Syncope, with no explanation of cause. The fact that the nurse had just finished withdrawal of blood from his veins to obtain a “fasting glucose” test might have contributed to his fainting and head-banging incident. Since that episode, we have been advised to obtain professional day care five days a week.  

This fact brought forth another series of problems, among which was the type of “attendant care” would be the most proficient and pleasant. My first thought was to see if we could find a handsome young man with broad shoulders, narrow hips and curly red hair. It was my reasoning that his strong physique would allow Colon to be gently picked up off the floor and, at the same time, to allow me to faint from concern for my ill husband. I thought that the gentle treatment he would offer me could be passed on to Colon after my physical stability had returned to normal. I actually saw no reason for me to be allowed to remain in a compromised position/condition while an unconscious patient was being attended. Just think of the depression I might feel if I awoke without attention while Colon was being attended.

On the other hand, Colon expressed a real desire (he termed it “need”) to have a young, slender female attendant, long blonde hair and lovely smile, as his helper. His reasoning was that when he awoke, he would immediately determine that he had died and by doing so had been escorted carefully and lovingly to the Gates of Heaven by one who would never frighten him, nor lose her cool as she held him in her arms.  

By the time we were absorbed in our discussion of attendants, our home health nurse had summoned an ambulance, gathered up her written assessments of the events involved and had performed all the physical examinations which are routinely made (I suppose) at times like these. She was very professional and informed us that we were arguing about an event which was probably unnecessary in this case, since we couldn’t be sure if there would be a need for any attendant when we returned home.

The final chapter was written later in the day when he was dismissed from emergency care with that “iffy” diagnosis of Syncope, whatever that means. Actually the word sounds a bit like some kind of technology, about which Colon knows absolutely about, and would have nothing to do with. After coming home with a cane to assist walking on his gimpy knee, he managed the improbable laugh, which he had refused earlier.  Because of the pain still remaining it more nearly resembled a snort with a moan as a finisher.

We should have known that daughter Coleen would have the last say in this situation, because she “knows what’s best in these matters” (she is a medical transcriber and has typed reports about stuff like this a lot) and made our decision for us. Our “attendant care” would be provided by her daughter-in-law, Michelle. She is a licensed physical trainer and is finishing work on her dieticians’ licensing. In addition she is tall, strong, highly professional in her field, blonde and striking in appearance. Also, she is the only young, tall and slender female whom I would allow within rock-throwing distance of my husband, even as sick as he is!

Of course, you also know that this is a bunch of baloney, although the episode did occur in a near-semblance of events reported. He is doing much better at this point, has placed his cane in a corner of the bedroom and reclaims it only when he needs to hit me with something of substance, or when he wants to walk around in the house a bit. He will probably laugh about it when it stops hurting.