I went to see Amy Eldridge today; she is my primary care nurse practitioner in the Saratoga Hospital system.

We had a lot to catch up on. Although she was the Wizard Behind The Curtain through all of my medical stuff this year,  I hadn’t seen her for six months.

But I always felt her presence. She was the Ringmaster.

She is a rare thing in our health care world or any world. Amidst all the chaos and confusion, she never loses her humanity or empathy.

That has meant a lot to me and been good for me. She listens to me and gets me, and sometimes, even appreciates me. I get away with nothing, and so, I no longer try.

She smacks me around in the gentlest of ways but also the firmest.

It was very good to see her.

I was proud of how I handled this year and eager to thank her for her central role in it all.  I bragged about my cardiac rehab work and in my gym – 45 minutes yesterday at 20 speed on the bike.

She was happy to see my heart is strong and to learn I’m already sleeping better and longer.

I never had reason to brag about my physical prowess before.

She told me that I was a great patient, eager to jump in and do what I needed to do, without complaint or whining. I can’t bear whining.

That made me proud.

I walked through my surgeries this year, and I think I’m in the clear for a while. Everything she wanted me to get done was done and worked.

I am in full and determined recovery, exercising every day, taking the pills I’m supposed to be taking, monitoring my diet and blood sugar faithfully (91 today). I won’t be seeing her again for the next six months.

I’ll miss her, which seems an odd thing to say about going to a medical appointment. She is getting her Covid-19 vaccine; she urges me to get mine.

I am grateful for Amy’s guidance, and the skill of all those doctors. I guess it takes a village to get me healthy.

This year, it has dramatically improved my health and my quality of life. What could have been a nightmare was a Godsend. She is both gracious and skilled; she pushes me and steers me without my quite realizing it. I confess I like it.

But out of this year has come a trust between us that makes all the difference to me.

She sent me to a podiatrist today for help with one of my feet.

Doctors always want to examine my feet as I am diabetic. I usually say no and maneuver my way out of it, as I know about neuropathy and have plenty of feeling in my feet.

Forget it, she said, take your socks off.

So I did. And my feet are fine, although they get flatter all the time. I will need some orthotics.

There was a sense in the room that we had crossed over to another space; we got through this one with flying colors.

No more surgeries are scheduled or expected.

But I have learned to beware hubris, and even before dinner, I managed to fall on the ice.

Winters can be treacherous here. Black ice often appears at night when the sun goes down, and it is hard to see.

When I got home (I also went to the gym to work out), I lay down for a quick nap.

As I am every winter, I was reminded today of the winter ritual of the country, falling on ice. I know how to fall; I call it my winter ballet. In my Mansion work, I know the damage falls can cause to older people.

While I was sleeping, it began to sleet, and I didn’t hear it, and when I went outside to get the mail, it was dark, and I wasn’t wearing good boots, and I stepped onto a rocky sheet of black ice.

My feet came right out from under me, and I went down on my hands and knees.

On average, I fall two to four times every winter. Honestly, there is no avoiding it unless you live in a bubble (please don’t tell me about crampons and spiked attachments, they don’t work on farms with mud and manure).

When it happens, it is so sudden there is no time to think. I think my big Canon camera taught me how to fall. When I start to slip, I reflexively wrap my arms around the camera to protect it, and I fall on my knees, not my hands or wrists.

In my many falls, I’ve never damaged a camera.

Once, I broke my kneecap on the first Bedlam Farm. This isn’t really an age thing, although it becomes more perilous as I get older. I’ve fallen on the ice every winter since I came up here more than 15 years ago.

The slopes were treacherous and terrifyingly ice in Hebron, and I sometimes fell on my head and was stunned or blacked out. Rose, my border collie, would wake me up – effectively – by nipping at my ear and biting and barking it until I woke up.

Rose wasn’t one of those gentle nurse type dogs; she was all business. I just had to get up, and she wasn’t gentle about it.

She saved my life in a couple of bitterly cold blizzards where it would not have done to stay asleep for long.

One awful night, I had a hard fall backward, into my head, Roses woke me up just enough to realize I couldn’t get up myself.  I got a 911 call out on my cellphone before I blacked out again.

The skies and hills lit up with red and blue lights, and the first responders stopped me up, gave me brandy, and got me inside. They couldn’t prevent some frostbite on my fingers, they hurt whenever it’s cold.

The first responders didn’t say much to me but they thought Rose was a real hero. They asked me if she could work with them on rescue treks. I said no, I couldn’t spare her but please call me in an emergency.

They did a few times, and they paid her $10 a rescue, and I still have the money in a jar near my computer.

The slate stones I fell on tonight were too slippery to stand on, but I fell clutching a package for Maria that I got from the mailbox, so I fell almost in the right way. Zinnia came rushing over, whining and seemingly concerned.

I crawled to the grass, and leaned on her – she leaned into me, put her shoulder under my flailing hands like Rin-Tin-Tin – so I could stand up. I did manage to tear up both palms, now bandaged, and both knees.

Zinnia always comes outside with me, and I think that’s a good practice in the winter. She never gets cold or is bothered by snow.

I almost said, “Zin, go tell Maria that I fell,” but I had to laugh. I can get myself up; I always have. There is always a way, even if it means crawling a way to find something to pull up on.

Zinnia makes a good footstool as well as a rescue dog.  Nothing broke, although I landed on my bad knee and blood on my knees and hand.

This is the first time Zinnia has seen me fall, and she seemed genuinely concerned and got close and let me put my weight on her back so I could push myself up.

She is so easy going and cheerful it is easy to underestimate her. She doesn’t miss much, not when it happens to me. I don’t know what she was thinking, but it sure looked like she was worried.

Maria came in from her Belly Dancing Zoom class and was horrified to see the blood; she did some first aid, yelled at me for a while.

I am swathed in bandages and ice packs and feeling coddled.

My poor old banged up kneecap has had enough.

I fall every winter, and I appreciate the dangers of falling and breaking something.  I don’t take the threat lightly.

This year, I did buy some special snow boots with a heavy tire like snow and ice grips.

Farmers up her use these boots all the time, and they work, which will help me. I have to remember to put them on and pay closer attention to the weather. I thought it would have been a nightmare to try to get to a hospital tonight in this ice and sleet.

Nothing in life is free, and this is where I want to be and live, and will be and living for as long as I possibly can, hopefully to the end.

That means I will fall on the ice sometimes. My goal is not to break anything; that is not always up to me. But I know a lot of 100-year-old farmers up her who fall on the time and have all their bones and body parts. It can be done.

I intend to be here a good while, especially now. Oddly enough, I can’t remember being healthier.

As with other things in life, I am learning to take these challenges seriously and thoughtfully.

I’ve already filled my quote of ice ballets, as I call them, so that’s enough for this winter.

My ice boots are on the way.  The professional reviews say that have the best ice grip on the market.  They should be here by the weekend.

I’m excited about spending New Year’s with my girl, at home reading and thinking and writing,  changing some bandages, and mostly staying inside as an ice and sleet storm approaches on Friday.

It all feels right.

Photo is of Maria belly dancing in her studio tonight, Zooming with the belly dancing troupe.