Middle of the night. An older fellow is brought in, retired Professor. He might have had a minor fall, and there is concern that he is unsteady.
Nothing major turns up. His blood pressure is a little low. Ditto his heart rate, but that seems to be an ongoing issue. And he is sober as a judge. Well, as sober as some judges I know, with a blood alcohol level roughly two and a half times legal intoxication.
He is a widower it seems, and is lonely in the Assisted Living apartments. He likes his gin.
And he likes his ladies. I had a nurse get him up on his feet for the final, most practical test of stability.
His flushed face beamed with happiness as he strode down the hall way, fairly steady and with a young lady at his elbow.
He raised his free arm up high as if brandishing a triumphant sword, exclaiming:
I sent him back to the apartments.