Last February I came down with pneumonia. It is a disease that I thought of as being minor, sort of like a bad cold.I had no idea how wrong I was. The wrongness of my attitude was shown recently by the death of a number of people caused by pneumonia. Here I was, a doddering 84 year old (currently made it to 85)who though that being in the hospital for pneumonia was a great waste of time.However, I was curedand released in a few days, thus confirming that the disease was no big beal. That is, until I tried to resume my "normal" life. Before the big "P" I walked pretty good with a cane, and my sone had a good time providing me with some of the most outlandish canes which I gleefully used to get a rise out of people. But, after P, I found I needed a walker, since my legs had become much weaker.In addition, my brains were scrambled to the point that I thought I was coming down with dementia, a prelude to Alzheimer's. Also, I began having mild hallucinations.I had lived through the LSD craze without participating, giving the Woody Allen excuse, "My brain is my second favorite organ." I found that when attempting to write, I couldn't put two coherent sentences together and thus, I ceased writing. I was fortunate in that my wife refused to give up on me.She kept me out of a nursing home because she was determined that I'd get better. She was right, eventually I got better.The experience made me wonder just how many people who are in nursing homes that don't belong there since not many women can put up with the disabled and mixed up persons that are in their care.Food for thought?