He waltzed into my OPD holding his tripod cane, and placed a thin sheet of paper on my table. I glanced at the details on his registration card: 95 years, first visit, and that too without a bundle of thick files. This could mean only two things — he either had lost/forgotten his previous medical records or had not been regularly following up with any physician.
“What brings you here, today, sir?” I inquired, in my most cheerful tone.
Taken by surprise, he replied, “I feel a bit fatigued, at times, some aches in my legs on walking.” He had not suffered any major illnesses in the past and had never been hospitalised. He lived in the northernmost point of the country and visited Bangalore once in a year when the weather was extreme there. He had a domestic helper whose assistance he sought sparingly.
The examination
Excited at the prospect of revealing a plethora of clinical findings and infirmities, I smiled to myself. Surely, there would be some subtle clinical sign or abnormal lab reports that went unnoticed by lesser mortals.
He blithely rose from the chair and went to the examination couch, and I took up my task immediately. I checked his eyes, dug deep into his neck looking for that small lymph node that others may have missed, carefully auscultated his chest, and examined his abdomen. Undeterred by the absence of any pathological signs, I asked him to rise once more from the couch and made him walk up and down, examining his gait as he did so. Again, baffled at how swiftly he moved for his age (albeit with his assistive aid), I repeated all those questions, particularly related to incontinence, falls, dizziness and memory changes, but strangely, except for mild hearing loss and mildly abnormal renal parameters, he was all fine.
Slightly disappointed at not being able to demonstrate my clinical prowess, I declared, “There are slight concerns in some of your lab tests, but for 94 years, you seem fairly OK.”
“95 years, last week,” he said.
Defeated, I asked, “What is your secret?”
“Nothing. I do my daily exercises, eat less, and am happy with my family. No stress. I come here yearly, stay for a few weeks, and then return. Thanks to the Almighty and doctors like you, I am well.”
Taking a step further, I handed him the dynamometer to check his grip. The sane part of my mind warned me that this was pushing the limit, given that my own grip strength was below the range. I cringed as his grip strength shot above the range. Humbled, I requested a picture.
Maybe it was the Himalayas, maybe it had something to do with Bangalore, or maybe because he took a staycation (away from family) every year.
To all those retirees out there, who feel life is at its fag end, here is a role model.
stevemanjaly@gmail.com
