Life Here

May 4, 2016 By Liz Wildberger


One of the ways we try to age gracefully is by taking care of minor problems before they become really big deterrents to retirement living. So when the barber pointed out to my husband, Marty, that there was a lump rising on the back of his head that made trimming difficult, Marty immediately scheduled an appointment with our primary care physician.

She assured my husband that it was a routine cyst that was easily remedied and suggested he make an appointment with a general surgeon to have the cyst removed. The young USAF surgeon at David Grant Medical Center was agreeable and he removed the cyst without incident early one Friday morning. He advised Marty to take it easy, rest in his easy chair and read.

Living near the golf course can be an adventure.

So there we were at 5 p.m. – my husband in a quiet haze of post-anesthesia befuddlement with classical music playing and me with a Kindle romance novel, in a pleasant late afternoon sunset mode.

I decided that the sun was “over the yardarm” and it was time for a glass of wine for me and a wine-flavored ice water for Marty. While I was in the kitchen, I heard what sounded like a gunshot.

When I looked toward the sound, I saw that a golf ball had shattered the upper pane of the window and I also saw that blood was streaming down Marty’s neck (his favorite chair is next to a living room window). I grabbed a tea towel and rushed to him.

When I got close I saw:

A. The golf ball had only broken the outer pane of glass and not the inner pane


B. The blood was coming from Marty’s bandaged head, leaking out from under the bandage.

We called the Wellness Clinic, and within minutes the golf cart bearing nurse, rolling first aid station and medical records arrived in our driveway. We were surprised to see the Clinic Manager, Brenda Tibbet, smartly dressed as always, who was working late. She re-bandaged Marty’s head and secured the bandage with a headband – a sort of cross between a rakish Cochise and the fife player in the painting “Spirit of ’76.”

I called Security and told them about the broken window. Since there were no glass shards in our living room, it was decided to wait till Monday to replace the outside pane. On reflection, I wonder if that was the right decision because weekend golfers are notoriously poor ones and I was now afraid that without the protection of double-paned glass, we were in danger of one of those weekend golfers missing their shot and breaking the remaining pane.

The final denouement was when I spotted what looked like darkening drops of blood on the hardwood floor beside Marty’s chair. When I came closer to investigate, I found that the “blood” was a series of crumbs from a chocolate cupcake he had been eating earlier and I had spilled the napkin on the floor during my “rescue” efforts.

I drank my wine and hauled a broasted chicken out of the fridge. After dinner, we watched a Masterpiece Classic mystery on NetFlix.

In the morning, my husband said it was the best night’s sleep he had had for weeks!


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