Tim's Favorite Blogs
Media Matters
Blog Directories
Wednesday, August 5. 2009
No Reason to Worry
This crud, which was so oppressive just 24 hours ago, is now about over. It still hurts to swallow, but not so bad and I’ve been able to eat solid food. What a relief — except that John ate all of the potato chips. Man!Here’s positive thinking! I shouldn’t be eating those things anyway! I dropped over five pounds because of this illness so I should rejoice there are no potato chips here to ruin that revelation! Except that I like potato chips … Well, better him than me … Maybe I should eat some ice cream …
Monday the doctors at the V.A. had me on an IV drip of fluids because I couldn’t swallow anything, not even water. And because it was so painful, they slipped some morphine into the drip and voila! Everything was right with the world once again — except that I forgot my iPod at home and couldn’t listen to the soothing sounds of Frank Zappa or the Rollins Band. Not to mention the Grateful Dead, David Bowie and Jimi Hendrix.
So I listened to the commotion of the V.A. emergency room for eight hours. There was one guy, brought in by the police, who had something wrong with him, don’t know what, but they went Code Green on him. That’s a security code they use when a patient goes crazy and gets violent.
Code Blue is what they call when a patient starts dying, usually by going into cardiac arrest or when they have a heart attack. Just over three years ago as I was waiting to see my brother after he was admitted to the V.A. emergency room, they called a Code Blue for the E.R. and I had the sinking feeling it was for Carl.
About ten minutes later I asked one of the window attendants when I could see him. He went into the E.R., came out a few minutes later and told me a doctor would see me shortly. That’s when I knew for sure the Code Blue was for my brother and they were not successful. I sat alone in that waiting room for another 20 minutes before being led to an empty office in the E.R. where a doctor came in and officially gave me the sad news.
She gave me a phone to use as much as needed, so our sister Mary Lou was first on the call list and then, because there is no other family in San Diego, a call to my friend Dan who dropped what he was doing and came straight to the hospital.
That’s how it is when a relative dies unexpectedly in the hospital. Until that friend or family member gets there, you’re left alone to contemplate your relationship with the deceased, what you did wrong, how you behaved badly and, if you have some balance in your life, what you did right with this dear loved one, the times you behaved admirably and maybe even with tenderness with love.In the waning months of Carl’s life, nothing — NOTHING — made me more proud, more grateful and more humble than being the guy with the privilege of pushing Carl around the V.A. to his various appointments. Sometimes, after coming home and watching a night of baseball, I’d look over at the old curmudgeon sleeping on the couch and smile. He’d choose which games to watch, usually the same games I wanted to watch, and before the 5th Inning of the first game he’d be fast asleep.
We shouldn’t regret the past, nor should we shut the door on it because in the midst of the “bad” times we use to punish ourselves, there are all those great times when we laughed and smiled and made each other the most important person in the world. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.
But Carl was an alcohol abuser. One time he and I went to a local casino with our friend Dan for prime rib and gambling. Carl, believe it or not, ordered a drink, about a half hour before we were seated, and when we finally got to our table, he was still sipping off that drink, a concoction he bought because it was green and he couldn’t remember ever having a green drink.
Ninety minutes later, when our meal was over and we were walking out of the restaurant, he was still sipping that same drink. Two hours later, as we were walking out of the casino, he had to leave the remainder of the drink on a waitress’s tray. Jeez, it was a travesty.
Thankfully, long before Carl left this Mortal Coil, I had learned to love and appreciate my brother for who he was and there was no bitterness or regret, save for one: I would have liked to be in the room for his last moments to let him know he was never alone.
These were just some of the thoughts crossing my mind Monday as I lay on a gurney in isolation. That and wishing I had my iPod.
The humdrum of the E.R. was interrupted when a Code Blue was called for the 2nd Floor Smoking Deck. With all due respect to the patient, I had to laugh at the irony. No doubt this man’s doctors had been telling him for years to quit smoking. When he was finally wheeled into the E.R. the medical staff there gave him the third degree about smoking.
Which reminds me of my first heart attack and subsequent visit to the Scripps Memorial emergency room. As a nurse was rifling through my wallet looking for that all important insurance card, a really nice, black leather Harley-Davidson piece, she held it up so I could see the logo and asked, “Do you ride murder cycles?” Nurses, you gotta love’em!And so it is, as Wednesday Morning rolls up, the darkness about to be engulfed by the sun, life, in all its glorious color, moves on. A friend wrote on her Facebook profile, “the clock is ticking.” True, but we usually only notice the ticking when we’re busy beating ourselves up for not doing “something,” what ever that thing is we think we should be doing. I try not to do that anymore. There’s too much of life taking place, even when we are housebound by illness.
My love and condolences to our friend Dan. His mother passed away a few days ago. She was a great person who knew how to play Sheepshead better than most. She will be missed.
Calendar
Quicksearch
Categories
AD Links
Referrals
Syndicate This Blog
Blog Administration
Powered by
TheForkesReport