The Roach with the Nice Hairdo

I had to laugh this morning. I saw a small roach and all I had to combat him was a bottle of hairspray. I doused him with a few pfft's, rendering him paralyzed with perplexity. He couldn't "feel" anything as his feelers were stiff and he wondered if he had crawled thru some Viagra. At last sight he was dialing his roach doctor on his teeny tiny cellphone as best as his stiff little feet could do to report a feeler erection lasting more than 4 hours. He shall be denied solace of sleep as well as his eyes are sealed open. Pity the poor roach doctor receiving a call from a roach patient who had to mumble through his glued shut lips. The doctor roach said to his office nurse, "Hey, listen to this, Nurse Yuckie; some poor sap has crawled thru some Viagra and is stiff as a board."

Visit to the Urologist

Well, shoot, I just got back from TMC and missed a fellow PL-er there. I don't know how I messed up on the dates, but at least we got a good parking place! We got there at 7 a.m. and hoofed it from UT bldg to Methodist, hoofed it part way back from the cafeteria, hoofed it back when one of us discovered a purse was left behind, got the purse, now it was crimping time as we strode back to UT bldg at 6410 Fannin and walked in to the urology department's waiting room to "Hello, we've been expecting you." And we were right on time! Filled out a few forms and went right back, Saw a minion of the dr's who gave me the finger wave and I turned my head and coughed. A nurse meanwhile had taken my weight, 163 in my clothes, BP 132/86, temp 97.4 and finally the minion came back with the head cheese dr and he immediately referred me to his side-kick and scheduled me for a "picture" and a visit with Dr Smith (his side-kick) (and we upon returning home re-scheduled a conflicting hematologist apppointment). The head cheese dr wasted no time in declaring I need open reconstructive surgery: The Cadillac of the 3 choices for reconstructivity. 1) stent, 2) chop out the scarred part and re-join the two ragged ends (effectively shortening things up a bit) and 3) open up the urethra and replace the offending uerethra tube with one reconstructed from mucous membrane from within the cheek (no, not THAT cheek). Stay tuned for the exciting Part 2 of this episode of VD Writes About Urethra Frankly.

CCPSG

That stands for Comal County Parkinson's Support Group. I am not a member but Tommy (a.k.a. Daddytom) is and he invited me to New Braunfels, TX to attend a group picnic. I convinced my wife to drive us and we went. The bluebonnets were at their height then and cars were pulled over to the side of the road along Texas 105, US 290 and Texas 6 from Conroe to New Braunfels. The BBQ was good and I spent most of my time talking to Tommy's sons and playing Farkle with a couple of ladies from his group. The up shot is that I talked to Tommy about my boat and how I liked to fish. I told him he was welcome to come over and fish sometime with me. He expressed an interest.

Well, earlier this week he contacted me and was more enthusiastic about coming over so I invited him to come on over and we agreed to meet at my house at 7 am. I laid in some boat gas and a couple dozen night crawlers and waited.

At a little after 7 he showed up. It is a 3.5 - 4 hour drive so I was prepared to wait it out, knowing traffic's peculiarities. I was all ready and we lit out for the lake, only 5 minutes away. The motor was contentious but we finally got it started and proceeded out. Of the 22,000 plus acres of lake I had a spot in mind. We aimed for it and set a bee line. We were on the spot about 8 am. Tommy proceeded to catch the first fish, about a 1 lb channel cat. I didn't get a bite. When he caught his second fish, I was ready to pitch him over the rail. We moved about 100 feet over and after awhile I located them. It was close to 10 a.m. I proceeded to tie into them and Tommy could only watch.

I got him to cast where I was casting and he started to catch some himself. I meanwhile caught a 2.5-3 pounder and several in the 1lb range. The action tapered off to some barely mentionable smaller fish we referred to as WalMart fish (aquarium size that we claimed still had the UPC code on them), Bic size (you needed a pocket-protector for these babies, cigar, and hotdog (think of the size of a hotdog in a bun). Not one to feed such interlopers, I decided we had suffered enough (the sun was now scorching hot) and at 1:40 pm we headed in. We got the boat back on the trailer quite easily without ramming any docks or vehicles. We hit a seam in the Hwy 105 traffic and made our un-protected left-turn home. We hit a seam in the on-coming traffic and got a left-turn signal straight away and proceeded into the subdivision. While Tommy cleaned fish in the back yard, I put up the boat and the vehicles. After a brief respite, Tommy cooled off and decided to wearily head out while he could still keep his eyes open. It was a great day of fishing with my new friend. I got an email thankyou from him expressing the desire to have at it again soon. I can't wait.

Green Shamrocks

Well, this calls for the painting of green shamrocks story.
The set up: Everybody knew we engineers painted the campus green during Engineer's Week. It was tradition, same as serenading the business school during class by singing ribald stanzas to the Engineer's song, and sitting in the student union non-chalantly in our groadiest get up. One year they put a skunk in the business school building.

Enter Vic, known throughout the school as VD (my initials). My senior year I decided to paint the campus green myself as the tradition clashed with everybody else's plans for the night. I sat on a bench with a can of oil-base paint to paint green shamrocks all over every glass window I could find. A watchman sat with me, tacit approving of my plans. Better wait till after 10 he said. So I went home to return at 10.

I came back at 10 and was calmly painting shamrocks on the windows of the Science & Engineering Building when a guard approached on a Cushman. "What're you doing?" "I'm painting green shamrocks." What a stupid question, I thought. But he wasn't done. "You'll have to wipe that off!" he exclaimed. I used my moth-eaten gloves to wipe off a shamrock. Lucky he didn't see the other side of the building.

"We're gonna have to go to the maintenance building so I can call the police," he said. I trudged along afoot while he was on the Cushman. I toted the open can of paint (no lid) and my paint brush. Eventually we came to a fork in the sidewalk. One way led to certain ignominy, the other way to freedom. I took off running across the grass, jumping hedges and knee high chains meant to keep people on the sidewalk. I was just coming to a hedge when he yelled "Stop, or I'll shoot!" I didn't even turn around as I kept running and yelled back, "Then you better shoot because I ain't stopping!" Expecting bullets to zing around me, I ran all the way back to my apartment. None did.

I creeped back around midnight, only to see a Cushman cruising around without lights headed my way. I skulked back to my apartment to hide out till 2 am. I returned again, he was still patrolling on his Cushman w/o lights.

I skulked back around 3 am and he was gone. I was just finishing a few last windows behind a bunch of bushes when here he comes up the sidewalk. I hid in the dark in the bushes as he stopped to look at the doors to the student union. Shamrocks, my initals VD and BFD and EC were everywhere. He just hung his head and shook it sadly and drove back to his building. For you neophytes, BFD stands for Big F----g Deal and Ec stands for either enjoy COORS or Engineer's Club.

I liked the jay-walking great escape, it just reminded me of my shenanigans.

Back in Bed at the Hospital - 2010

Well, my fellow inmates, I have written an entry it to say I now have sick sinus syndrome, antiphospholipid anitibody syndrome and my blood is too thick to go home for a few more days. Did I mention my new pacemaker? Did I mention going up a floor and sleeping in a bed in the hall because it was too cold in my room? Did I mention that while these nurses are dedicated, some are not even close to Florence Nightengale, not even Florence Henderson?

I checked into ER at 6 pm January 12, Tuesday, after spending the day with my urologist scanning and probing for a stone. None. I was in great pain so I went to the ER and spent a couple hours with babies shrieking. Or was it me? About 10 pm they were going to cut me loose with no diagnosis when I commented we were headed to Baltimore that day. Then he asked questions about long plane trips and recent surgery. The doc suspected a blood clot and ordered a blood test for the likelihood of having one. It came up positive and the CT scan revealed a clot on the lungs. I was passed on to nurse Ricky Nelson (well, he looked like a young Ricky). After awhile I was admitted and moved to my new home.

Once inside the system, they inspected me like bug in a jar, I was just a redneck in a rock and roll bar. I now qualify as Pepe, the Human Pincushion. Along about Saturday I agreed that it was cold in my room (only) and that night I excaped and found a bed in the hall upstairs by one floor where I coiled up a tried to catch a few winks. Little did I know I fell off their monitoring grid. When I came back a nurse asked me if it was still cold in my room. I stated while I didn't know how cold it was but a chef from the cafeteria asked if he could hang some meat in there. My unit got fixed Sunday.

Some of my '42' domino playing buddies decided to meet at the hospital cafeteria and play dominos with me. I told the tech where I was going and what I was doing. We played away and after two hours one of the nurses, the tech I had told, came to get me. It seems they had been looking for me. My wife came and took a verbal report from a doctor and my meds stacked up and they sent 2 nurses looking for me. Head bowed, I came back to the music. Chastised, I sought permission thereafter and check out with the charge nurse.

I got one nurse banned from my room in mid-shift. She traumatized me. I mentioned that my IV line was un-taped and that subsequent efforts to reinforce it had only taped the tape to the tape. I said we need a nurse to check it out. She said she could do it and put on gloves to remove the old tape. In no time I had to help her extricate herself from the tape and she proceeded to remove the gloves and do it. At one point I looked over and she had pulled the IV out accidentally. "no, don't put it back in that hole," I said, reading her mind. I could hear the wheels turning. Mind you, I was getting perforated in the gut with stroganoff (blood thinner) and was taking Coumadin. My eyes must have been as big as saucers. She then proceeded to make a gauze pad by folding over one and taped it on with a 'water-proof' clear bandage tape. Only the tape was only 1/8" bigger than the pad. "I'm bleeding," I said when a big magenta spot appeared on the gauze. She proceeded to make an identical gauze bandage on top of the other one which hid the blood. The damage was done. I checked out of the unit for a short walk, hiding my shocked look.

When I checked back in, I proceeded to formulate a passive-aggressive plan of response. I made a sign that said "NO: Visitors, shots, needles, nurses, techs or aides" and posted it on my door and closed it. No one bothered me from 10 pm to 4 am. Knowing the vampires came at 4 am plus, and thinking of an angry mob gathered outside my door with torches, I amended my note to say it was okay and went back to sleep. No more nurse Igor. I got a new nurse and after my wife asked that that nurse not see me again, her wish was granted.

Some little Nigerian nurse phlebotomist came to take my blood one morning. Three sticks in various places later, she gave up. I told her my veins rolled!? A replacement was sent in and after 2 sticks she drew my blood.

I would have been disappointed if you hadn't dubbed me PFH but to many it meant Heaven, not hell. I was the one who taught them what 1 dssp meant. Look it up. I introduced them to good music (and bad), got up at 4 am and told them jokes, entertained them and generally didn't ask for anything in return. When I needed someone or something, I went and got it or them. My MD, resident, had nothing but good things to say. When he reviewed my cheat sheet of surgeries/medications/diseases/etc he remarked, "Hmm, you've had a lot of surgeries and birth defects." To which I replied, "As many defects and surgeries as I've got, you'd think I was made by Chrysler."

Back to the IV line, the nurse who replaced Abby Normal, found I was staying over some more and needed a new IV line. She enlisted Nurse Jim to do it as he was "good." His bedside manner was confidence and steadfastness throughout the number of sticks he tried before he got one to stick. And that was after I persuaded him to let me turn on my DBS long enough to let him find it easily. I proceeded to educate him on DBS systems and how they worked and he was successful.

With regards to hitting veins, I learned about valves in veins from Jim. He stuck me once, commented it felt like he struck a valve and pulled it out. The other two blood suckers nailed it every time on the first try. I complimented them both profusely. I know when I'm treated right!

As for the blood thinners, they perforated my stomach from hip to hip and back again trying to thin my blood to handle the antiphospholipid antibody syndrome when they noted my sinus rhythm was screwed up and my pulse was low (34-47 bpm) and they felt a pacemaker was in order. So they backed off the coumadin and stroganoff (loganoff) until they were happy with it and one afternoon they put in a pacemaker. I got to experience the OR while I was awake for the first time, noting how they shaved my pect for implantation. Since my right superior vena cava was actually on the left, that necessitated the pacemaker on the right, where the coast was clear. But I still, apparently, had a surprise up my sleeve as they encountered a small right vena cava that actually dumped into the wrongly-placed left one! This required an additional lead but they handled it. I'm still quite sore.

One nurse was named Leslie and my sister's name was Leslie. I told her we brothers called her Les Hag and still do. I said I dubbed her Madame Juicy ( m sister) in a fit of genius one day when we were aggravating each other. It made her madder than a hornet and caused my grandpa to laugh his head off. The nurse asked me why I called her that and I said it made her mad. It disappointed the nurse when she came back and I couldn't remember her name. The third time, I said "Hey, Les Hag!" and she left the room as my wife came in. My wife said, "She was really worried about Madame Juicy and muttered she was going to look it up?"

By the way, 1 dssp is 1 dessert spoonful, a British measurement half-way between a teaspoonful and a tablespoonful. Now you who didn't look it up know. And so do all the nurses in that pod.

Funny you should mention fatigue along with low pulse rate. The shortness of breath and fatigue began to make sense in that context.

The blood clot I went in for originally turned out to be an autoimmune disease related to, but not exactly, lupus. It was antiphospholipid antibody syndrome. Dr. said I was just getting old and things were wearing out. This resulted in coumadin for life and no more fishing alone in my boat. Especially I shouldn't fish for catfish. Rats. It also delayed my pacemaker because operations require you quit coumadin, then the effects of thick-blood delayed my release. I went in for an "idiot" light and came out with a new alternator and a set of points, so to speak. They didn't even run me thru a carwash.

It was all in all a humbling experience for us all. Me having so many people a party to my most personal of activities and feelings.