Halifax Nova Scotia – Roadkill Crossing

Exiting Halifax harbor. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

I was really looking forward to visiting the Halifax, Nova Scotia area. We had booked an excursion to the famous Peggy’s Cove. We never made it.

After another good night’s sleep on the Zuiderdam, I rose early to meet the bus for our tour. When I stepped with my left foot into the shower mat, the ship suddenly made a quick pitch in the opposite direction. Instantly, for a split second, I was Superman, until I wasn’t. I hit the sink, and then smacked the floor with a shocking thud.

At first, I lay there stunned, no pain, my only thoughts reserved for my chronic back issues. But the back felt fine. I tried unsuccessfully to get up, and that’s when the pain shot through the right side of my body.

My wife helped me to my feet, checked me over, and assured me I wasn’t bleeding anywhere. Now thinking about the lovely day ahead, I dismissed the pain and got ready for the day.

We headed to breakfast on the Lido deck. To be safe, I had an old man’s breakfast, hot oatmeal and four prunes on the side. As I stood up to leave, I could hardly walk. The rest of the boring details are in a separate, previous post here.

Our plans for the day were cancelled, and I received excellent treatment in the ship’s medical center. The staff was terrific. So, were the pain meds.

Fortunately, our comfortable cabin served as an excellent resting place. The only problem was that I couldn’t lie down. A month later, I still can’t. The ship’s X-ray machine showed one cracked rib. The CT scans at our local hospital, when we returned home three days later, revealed three.

I felt better standing, so I spent an inordinate amount of time on our veranda, which faced the harbor side. I watched the morning marine fog layer evaporate into a warm, sunny day.

Rest assured, I snapped too many photos of the same scene, only with different ships. A harbor lighthouse stood directly opposite us, and its bright while paint glowed in the afternoon sun. It made a perfect background. But how many times can you photograph ships with the same setting?

All categories of boats passed by. Fishing, ferries, sailboats, a Canadian Coast Guard cutter, trollers, a stately tall ship, and even tugboats escorting a huge freighter made time pass and filled my phone with hundreds of unnecessary photos.

The doctor told me to move around as much as I could without causing excessive pain. So, we went to lunch and dinner, sitting on padded chairs.

It wasn’t the way we had planned to see Halifax. But it was the best we could do.

Departing Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

I love giving and receiving hugs, especially as I age. The fact that my four siblings and I received little physical affection growing up might play a significant role in my desire to be a hugger in my senior years.

There’s nothing better than giving my grandchildren a hearty hug after an athletic event or concert in which they have participated. And too, I melt when they hug me for simply being their grandfather. That momentary embrace says more than any card or note of appreciation.

The same is true for close friends, especially as we endure the aging process with all its expected and unexpected ailments. When we gather in small groups, whether at church or in our homes, the first question often asked is, “How are you?”

My wife and I are in two different small groups of peers, most of whom have Ohio roots like us. We now live in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley, close to three of our four grandchildren.

When with other seniors, we chat around a meal or a table of snacks and drinks about our health. Sharing and listening become equivalent hugs, emotional squeezes, if you will. As septuagenarians and octogenarians, we all need those affirmations as we deal with our latest ailments.

Our ship, the Zuiderdam, docked at Portland, Maine. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

However, since we returned from a recent cruise, I’ve had to learn to be happy accepting verbal greetings instead. I cracked three ribs in a freak fall near the end of our trip.

All was going well until our ship approached Halifax, Nova Scotia. Before we left, friends cautioned us not to fall. I had every intention of complying.

As I stepped into the shower, and please don’t try to imagine that, my left foot hit the shower mat just as the ship pitched in the opposite direction. I flew through the air like Superman, only not as gracefully.

My arm stopped my flight by hitting the sink, and I crashed to the floor with a loud thud. Excruciating pain shot through my right side. My wife said I made noises she had never heard before from any creature.

After the initial shock, I composed myself and finished getting ready for the day. However, after breakfast, my ribs pained me greatly. We headed to guest services, and I was immediately wheeled to the ship’s medical center.

The friendly and competent medical staff quizzed me, took my vitals, and gave me medication to ease the pain. X-rays showed a cracked rib, but the doctor wanted me to go ashore to the hospital. Doing so would effectively end our vacation, and I didn’t want that to happen.

Painful as it was, a cracked rib wasn’t a life-or-death situation. We enjoyed Halifax as best we could from our veranda. I checked in the next two mornings for additional shots of pain medication, and we were able to fly home on schedule.

But because I had also hit my head in the crazy fall, we went to our local hospital’s emergency room after we arrived home. CT scans showed not issues with my head, though my wife questioned those results. I did, however, have three cracked ribs, not one.

We took it easy the next few days before I felt like venturing out. Friends who didn’t know about my accident greeted us with the usual hugs, but I politely waved them off and explained.

I have developed a new appreciation for the importance of the rib cage to the rest of the body. I measure my moves and watch my steps. I also recognize that three cracked ribs are insignificant when compared to more consequential diagnosis of cancer and other diseases of friends and family.

I’m still healing and greatly looking forward to when I can once again hug and be hugged without pain. Until then, a fist bump will do.