The Golden Years, oh the Golden Years! Whenever you want to find out more about them, I am the person to ask. 

At 78 I have plenty of experience, but it has really been during these past two weeks that I’ve learned that, no matter how many aging couples dressed in white (why never any other color?) you see on TV ads running on the beach, those years’ “gold” is nothing but the Fools’ version of the precious metal.

I, for one, won’t be doing any running on the beach or anywhere else any time soon. I mean, it wouldn’t be easy with a fractured bone, wouldn’t you agree? 

Yep, last week I fell at home and fractured the left hip, a dangerous and painful lesion that  happens to thousands of us who have left the “Spring Chicken” stage behind. Certainly not as much fun as running on a TV ad, right?

But I won’t tire my Al Día readers with the gruesome details. Instead, I will tell them about how the NYU Hospital for Joint Diseases has made my predicament and my treatment so much lighter. Actually, the surgeon, the compassionate and professional nurses, and the entire hospital staff, who hail from all over the world, have blown me away at every level.

Somehow, in a world ruled by greed and cruelty in which solidarity has become a rare commodity, despite Trump’s racism and ignorance, the people at Manhattan’s Hospital for Joint Diseases are to be treasured. 

By the way, I’m writing from my hospital bed, so wish me luck!