There are several truisms that come to mind regarding continuing care retirement communities in general and Collington in particular. Everyone is old, many in their late 80s and 90s. The vast majority are women, mostly widows. And all are survivors. This also means those of us living in CCRCs have stories to tell regarding the ups and downs of our lives and most of us have experienced losses. The vast majority of single people living here have lost a spouse. Some of us have lost children.

You might think that given the experiences we old folks have had and the health issues and challenges that many at our age face daily that there would be grousing, complaining and “organ recitals” on a regular basis. Not so at Collington. Embry and I have lived here now for almost three months and have not heard a whimper or complaint from anyone about their health or personal challenges. You could say “Collingtonians” soldier on, making the best of the years we have left, squeezing the last few drops out of the lemon. Even though a fellow resident may not know you, you can always count on a smile and a nod and often an enthusiastic hello from someone you pass by on the way to dinner or an event. The only complaints that you hear regularly are about Trump, climate change and his assault on our democracy.

In this post I am going to break the code of silence regarding health issues and tell you about a recent health scare I had, which I have not breathed a word about to anyone at Collington to avoid breaking what appears to be an unwritten code of silence about such matters. About six months ago I was diagnosed with high blood pressure, which I explained to the doctor was a direct response to Trump and the discomfort he is causing to so many. For the past several months the doctors at Kaiser have been tinkering with the dosage of three new   blood pressure meds, which have resulted in readings both significantly above normal ( 180-200 systolic instead of 110-120) or way too low (60-80 systolic). Progress is being made, but so far they have not figured out the right mix that allows me to maintain a consistent relatively normal blood pressure. The most recent challenge has been that the pressure has been on the low side, which is good since it does not signal that I am not on the verge of a stroke but bad because it causes dizziness and could cause me to pass out resulting in a head injury. But, hey, this is just part of the aging process, and the good thing is that doctors have a lot more to work with using medications which were not available for my father who had his first (of several) strokes when he was about my age.

My turn came last Sunday, June 22, when walking to the Kennedy Warren, our old digs, following lunch after church with a fellow parishioner at All Souls. I was in search of a cool place where I could lie down for a couple of hours while Embry worked on stuff to close down her stint as senior warden. The temperature was close to 100 with heavy humidity and a blazing sun. I had not walked more than a dozen steps from the restaurant when I had to pause to keep on my feet, then another dozen steps and more dizziness. I took a deep breath and told myself I could make it through the zoo crowd the next 50 yards to the top of the hill and the entrance to the zoo where I thought I might be able to find a bench in the shade. I got about halfway to the top of the hill when I became very dizzy. At the very moment when the world was spinning around me and I could feel that I was going to pass out, two friends from the Kennedy Warren suddenly appeared before me on the crowded sidewalk, a retired family doctor and his wife, a retired nurse. He grabbed me under one shoulder and his wife under the other, and they guided me up the hill and then toward the Kennedy Warren as we nudged our way between the sweltering zoo goers. With great difficulty we made it to the lounge area in the cool lobby of the K-W where they sat me down on a comfortable couch. My doctor friend excused himself while his wife encouraged me to rest and stay calm. Minutes later he returned with a huge bottle of Gator Aid and a portable blood pressure device (like the one I have at Collington to measure my blood pressure several times a day), and after reading the numbers exclaimed in a panic that he was dialing 911. My systolic blood pressure reading was in the low sixties, a miracle, he said, that I had not passed out. But I surely would have if he and his wife had not come along at exactly that moment. The 911 operator asked what insurance I had and then passed the call off to the “emergency nurse” at Kaiser, who directed me to go to the nearest Kaiser Urgent Care Center. He offered to call a Lyft at their expense and promised that we would be first in line when we arrived. The Lyft ride did not show up, but my friend ordered an Uber, which he paid for, and drove both of us to the Kaiser Capitol Hill Urgent Care Center, about a 30 minute drive. As promised, we were first in line, got to see the urgent care nurse and then a very sharp doctor within minutes where they gave me more Gator Aid and cold water, checked my blood pressure and vital signs, with my friend by my side, monitoring every move and providing encouragement.  After a few minutes my blood pressure was up to close to 100 and in about a half hour, I was rested and was free to leave. He adjusted the prescription, called for a new one for me to pick up at the pharmacy before we left, and made an appointment for me with my primary care physician for early the next week. Embry picked us up in front of the Kaiser office, and we dropped my friend off and headed home. Dodged another bullet, as they say. My guess is that most of my fellow residents at Collington have dodged their share of bullets.

Now how lucky was that! Just as I was about to pass out on a crowded sidewalk leading to the zoo, along come two people I knew—a retired doctor and retired nurse—who knew instantly that I was in serious trouble and knew exactly what to do. What would have happened if I had passed out? What were the chances of hitting my head on the sidewalk? What were the odds of this miraculous rescue happening at this time and in this place?

As Embry drove me home, I remembered reading a line from (I think) A Gentlemen in Moscow which said that “a coincidence is God’s way of remaining anonymous.”