Old Age and That Dreaded Hospital Stay

Well – Friends – I feel officially old on a chilly April morning in 2025 – and that’s okay. It indicates my status as a survivor. Just had neck fusion surgery and have regained the mobility I’ve long needed on my left side. There hasn’t been much pain, but more a numbness and tingling in my left arm and hand that led to this surgery.

I’ve enjoyed the best healthcare I’ve ever had here on Southern California’s high desert north of Los Angeles, where I have lived for 25 years. The best surgeon and surgical team, and the best recovery professionals I’ve ever had practice their professions at the Palmdale Regional Medical Center.

I never had to want for anything.

I’ve had neck issues dating back to the USAF in 1981 when I managed to injure my neck working on the rotund C-5 Galaxy and C-141 Starlifter cargo jets. I’ve nursed this issue along for more than 40 years with PT and steroid shots. It then became a problem I couldn’t ignore.

My message to you folks here is simple. You may be older – but take the time to embrace life. If you’re miserable – change it. If you’re happy and content, hang on tight and make the most of the blessings you’ve been handed.

I am a survivor as are you if you’re able to read this editorial. I am one year from 70, when a lot of our fellow Hoosiers have passed. That isn’t a badge of honor, but instead an admission of humility. I am aware we’ve just so much time on this apple. We are all human beings, wondering how much time we have left. I think we do that for most of our lives especially when someone close to us dies.

“Do I have one day left or do I have 30 years?” It is always just under the surface.

I am sad for those who have passed. Sadder – still – for their families and friends who grieve. Losing those you love and have needed is especially emotional, especially if you’ve loved, admired, and have needed them over a a lifetime.

There’s such a fine line between life and death – a very fine line.

High Desert Sunrise – life anew…

When they were wheeling me to the operation room (OR) , I wondered what it was like to die. “Is this my last day?” as the ceiling rolled by overhead. That was my last thought, and in a nanosecond, I was waking up in my room, stuffed in a neck collar, wondering where I had been for three hours.

My anesthesiologist was a remarkable man – soulful, professional – clearly a deep thinker. He asked me all the questions important to a man who had my life in his hands. He explained it all in detail – including the importance of wearing my CPAP mask. He respectfully explained the strain sleep apnea places on the heart. This was where the fine line between life and death was apparent. In his many years of putting people under, he’d seen it all – watched people die – and watched people live under his care. He understood just how important my answers were.

The moments when we go under the knife give us pause because every surgery poses some risk – a reaction to the anesthesia, a bleed out, surgical error, and more. Despite every effort at caution and professionalism from surgical staff, people go into an operating room and die from an assortment of issues. This has crossed my mind every time I’ve been put under.

Throughout this hospital stay, I’ve been reminded of how much I love my family and how much they have loved and needed me. I never forget, nor do I ever take them for granted. Family life has its challenges. However, not everyone has it.

That said, treasure every moment you have in life and never take those who love you for granted because tomorrow is never guaranteed – unless you have a tax audit.