The Little Old Lady

I had heard the term "Little Old Lady" many a times in my orthopedic surgery lectures but never really knew there was more to that term. Till one day I met a little old lady in a clinic.

She was above 95 years old. Frail, weak, fragile, that is what I thought when I went to take her history, yet I later realized her humorous wit was strong. Like a steel. She had hypertension. Her skin was loose and hanging from her slender bones. I could not find her brachial artery to measure the blood pressure (BP) because her muscle and skin was hanging off the arm. After few tries, I was able to palpate the artery and measured her BP. It was all right. Her meds were working.

She was old because she had lived so far into the time. The pains of time were engraved on her facial skin. Yet she was humorous. Was she strong? Or putting up a show? What it means to be strong? She had done well in fighting for so long but had she not, would that mean she was "weak?"

She was short not because she chose to be. She has osteoporosis. Her thoracic vertebrae were extremely kyphotic due to pathological fractures. Her anterior ribs were almost touching her pelvis. I knew that she would die from respiratory distress because her lungs would have no space to expand. My supervisor confirmed it. She would die as a short lady, even though she was once tall.

Those few minutes I spent with her, I totally forgot that I had my own diseases and health challenges. As soon as she left, my mind automatically jumped back to the floaters in my vision.

My visual memory of the short old lady was smudged with black junk and floaters through which I saw her graceful face. I wish I also had a cleaner vision.