Hanukkah and Christmas...

I watched a little TV tonight and was watching the commercials that are part of it. They were all talking about Christmas and playing their jingles and talking about Xmas sales all over town, trying to capture the holiday business. It occurred to me that we NEVER hear Hanukkah advertising, in spite of the fact that Jewish people own a fair number of the businesses that are advertising. Wanting to appeal to the masses, they appeal to the Christians. Being a 61 year old man of Jewish descent, I know that Christmas is the celebration of the birth of Christ. Suddenly, it occurred to me that I don't know what Hanukkah is celebrating. I concentrated and still nothing came to mind, interestingly. I Googled it and found by going to 2 different websites, that it is the festival of lights, period. No explanation about anything else other than how to celebrate it if you are Jewish. Searching farther, I was able to determine that it celebrates the fact that after the Greeks tore down and desecrated a famous Jewish temple where the Eternal Light burned, there was only enough olive oil to burn for one day. Miraculously that one day supply burned for 8 days, long enough for the Jews to process a new batch of olive oil from scratch. Now, what started this war was, the Greeks put a law in place that said all citizens of the city, were to worship a Greek statue and eat pork, which is clearly against Jewish law. As a result of the Jews not obeying the Greek laws, the Greeks tore down the Jewish Temple. Thank goodness, now everyone just gets along, right?

Why is it that it took 61 years for me to find out what my own holiday is even about? Why do I know that Christmas celebrates Christ's birthday? Why is it that I don't follow my religion? Lastly, why is it that my son doesn't even have a religion? The answer is not really clear, but as far as I can see, the Jewish religion isn't really convenient. My parents didn't instill it in me, they didn't teach me to worship at it and I didn't pass it on to my offspring. Judaism died with my parents, sadly. I feel no more compelled to follow the Jewish religion than I do to follow the Muslim way of life. Many of my Jewish born friends, feel the same. We are the baby boomers without religion. I feel a strong presence of God, but not the ritual of religion. Merry Christmas!

Then and Now...

25 year old teacher Debra Lafava, convicted of having sex with a student.

My grandson Max on his first day of pre-school...

I had lunch with a younger friend yesterday and while we were sharing a meal, he mentioned to me that he's a little upset with his ex-wife, as she has their 2 children, ages 8 and 11, walking a few blocks to school. I continued chomping as he spoke and didn't offer an opinion. He stopped and asked me what I thought about that. I swallowed, affording myself a quick opinion and answered this. What's wrong with that? When I was a small child, we walked over a mile to school everyday, through questionable neighborhoods, that I might compare to the African Rain Forest. There were busy streets, streetcars, buses, taxi cabs, few laws enforced, violent crimes going on, adverse weather in Chicago's Windy City and an occasional riot and somehow nothing ever happened to us except a few beatings by gangs of other kids.

He asked me what I thought about the sexual crimes against children, molestation and such. It made a painful point come to mind. I told him I didn't think there was any more of that sort of thing now, as compared to then. That it's just that censors now allow the media to talk about it, when in the past it was a taboo. Along with hearing them use the word "ASS" during prime time television, we are also privy to announcements that child molesters are lining the city streets. Sex offenders are compelled to register with the state and TV stations can boost their rating when they discuss teachers that fondle their students. Those things went on in the past and will probably go on in the future, it was just never thrown in our faces before. Rotten tomatoes have always smelled bad, we've just never had them under our noses before!

Lucy, You Got Some Splaining to Do......

A good rule of thumb, and I have no idea where that expression originated, is to know your limitations and never go beyond without an escape route. For example, I consider myself a good driver. I've avoided accidents by having a combination of quick reflexes and knowledge of my vehicle, but would never attempt to fly a jet plane without an experienced pilot sitting next to or on top of me. Do you see my point?

I arrived at Julie's house last night after a confused day of conflicting schedules and misunderstandings. She ran to me like a child with good report card. I could tell she had something newsworthy to tell me. She was so proud to tell me that she'd bought the TV that she'd been talking about for a couple of weeks and brought it home and bought a set of shelves to put it on and has it all assembled in her spare room and it's almost ready to go. I inquired if she had cable in that room as she'd need that too. She proudly told me yes, and she had installed it herself and threw the expression "stud finder" around a little bit. As you can imagine, she joked about that as she mentioned she was using it around her neighborhood looking for love. I gave her the obligatory phony laugh and we moved on.

We entered the room that was to accommodate the new TV and there it was sitting on the floor, next to her new black shelves that she built and installed. She even anchored the shelves to the wall, putting her new "stud finder" to work. Sticking out of an open closet door was the cable she had found up in the attic, looking like an umbilical cord that needed bobbing. Although I give her credit for getting that far, I offered to refine the look a little by running it though the ceiling and down the wall behind the shelves.

On the floor, in the middle of the newspaper was a large pile of hardware and when I asked what that was all about, she replied that they must be extra parts for the shelves. I was really impressed that she had gotten so far, as I doubt that I would have gotten half as far if I were knitting, something that Julie is accomplished at. I offered to finish the task for her and she accepted my gracious offer. Now, all I have to do is figure out how to do the job without her finding out, that I don't have a clue.

Has This Ever Happened to You?

Middle of Feb 2005, home a few days.

When I first awakened in a brightly lit hustling room, my eyes wouldn't focus. There were people there and everyone was doing something and seemingly very busy. My son Brad was there and said to me, "Do you know how long you've been sleeping"? I did not! I didn't even know WHERE I'd been sleeping. My son lived in California, what was he doing here? I tried to speak, but nothing would come out. Was this why I was in this strange place? I was in a hospital and couldn't speak and I'm not sure anyone knows. Was I in an accident? The most predominant thing that I remember now is the vast confusion of everything. I motioned that I wanted a pen and paper to write a few questions upon and was given them. I couldn't coordinate enough to write out a message. My depth perception wouldn't allow me to get the pen to touch the paper. The first thing I needed to convey was that I had to pee and I mean it was serious. After trying to form an upper case P for about 5 minutes, Brad finally said, "You have to pee"? I shook my head up and down. The nurse advised me that I had a catheter in and I should just relax and let it out. OHHHHHH..... what a relief... The next bit of business was to find out why I couldn't speak. Over the years I'd become rather used to it and it seemed a shame to lose that ability. I was told that I was on a respirator and that I'd had heart surgery and suddenly everything started coming back. The things that I had hoped were just a bad dream. I found out that I was in a medically induced coma and had been asleep for about 10 or 12 days. I looked down and there was a large gaping scar on my chest that had already begun to heal and the staples had already been removed. Where were my dogs??? Were they okay, I remember asking as soon as they removed the long tube from my throat. It reminded me of a serpent coming out. It must have been 3 feet long too. I was immediately given a vacuum to spit into. I gave the nurse my confused look because speaking was difficult. She explained that I haven't been able to cough or clear my throat for 2 weeks and I'd need to get rid of the phlegm. HUH??? A mass the size of a football came up and was sucked into the vacuum tube as soon as I coughed, ugh!!! I was now good to go. I started talking and haven't stopped yet. Eventually they removed my catheter and I'll never understand where they found the room to hide that thing.

Now it was time to try to recreate the past 2 weeks...

If I recall correctly, I had been suffering from a congestion problem. A month before that, my right leg had swelled up and I never did find out why. I went to a vascular specialist and he said it wasn't a vein problem. My doctor, a friend of mine, put me on a diuretic for the swelling and it seemed to go down. He also gave me thyroid pills after a blood test. So, it's 1/23/05 and I'm pretty congested and I'm thinking that if this congestion gets any worse, I might not be able to breathe at all. I got kind of scared and called my friend, the doctor in the middle of the night, about 3:30 AM. He didn't answer, but called me right back. He asked me if I could drive, but I didn't have anywhere to go. He came right over and literally threw me into his car. We went to Paradise Valley Hospital, a BIG mistake! He dropped me off and went to park the car. They totally ignored me. When Sam got there he asked if anyone had talked to me and I said no. He disappeared into the break room and came out with about 5 people in uniforms and scrubs. I think he told them I was a rock star!

Within seconds they had me on a gurney and had wires hooked up to me and they were telling me I was in cardiac arrest. I told them they were mistaken, I felt fine, just a little congestion. They shot me full of nitro-glycerin, hey what do I know? For the next hour they prodded and poked and finally they were sending me to a place called the Cath Lab.

The Cath Lab was a hospital operating room setting with everyone wearing masks. Pretty soon a maniac came prancing in screaming at everyone, myself included. I remember him telling me that from now on he's my doctor and I'm not to listen to anyone else but him. Do I understand? What would you say? I said, yes! I was asked if I were allergic to iodine and I asked for a better definition of what he wanted to know. He said, are you allergic to shrimp? I thought he was ordering out! I told him no, I love shrimp. He told me to sign there, then! I signed what turned out to be a permission slip for him to kill me.

The next thing I knew they were stripping my clothes off and shaving me. Then it was a needle that went into my groin and that was not the worst of my problems. The needle was to go tracing through my body and it had a camera on it. Geez! I was watching the whole thing on a monitor and it was better than the Discovery Channel. Suddenly everything clouded up and we lost our picture. At home I would have called the cable company, but here I just asked what happened. He said he tore my heart! What? He tore my heart, just matter of factly. I tried to compute the ramifications of that. I asked if I were going to die and he calmly said, "I don't know" with his Indian accent! I was getting pretty concerned about now as the blood that was supposed to be going to one place was now not getting there, but instead was flooding into my chest cavity as I had a hole in my descending artery of my heart. I started to get some pretty serious pain in my chest and now I know what a heart attack feels like in case anyone wants to know ahead of time, just ask. Why wait? Now I asked this asshole doctor what his next plan was. He said they were going to air-o-vac me to another hospital, as they do not have a cardiac department there. WHAT? No cardiac department and they do this sort of procedure here?

The next thing I know they're boarding me onto my very first helicopter ride and the sun is now coming up over Phoenix and it's beautiful and I'm on my way to open heart surgery and I've never had anything worse than a root canal. I still enjoyed the sunrise and was truly hoping it was not my last..

Evidently the staff on board the helicopter were related to the doctor that poked a hole in my heart, as they proceeded to close the door on my foot at least 3 times before they would listen to me as I was screaming, it's hitting my foot! I had so much morphine in me that I couldn't even feel the pain any longer. My $17,000 ride to the next hospital was slow as we hovered over John C. Lincoln Hospital awaiting permission to land.

The staff at J. C. Lincoln was polite, attentive and good listeners. As soon as I spotted someone with an authoritative look, I asked if I could have whatever it is that will put me out of my misery. The next thing I knew, a nurse was shooting something into my IV and 10 or 12 days had gone by! That was some shot!

It wasn't until I was already discharged from the third hospital and was already researching things for my first lawyer that I found out some of the things that happened to me from the hospital reports. I went to John C. Lincoln Hospital and secured them. I learned that my kidneys had failed and I had been on dialysis for 3 weeks. I also learned that my son was told that I was going to die and to be prepared for that, as my blood pressure could not be stabilized. I learned that I had several surgical procedures after the heart surgery to remedy some of the after effects of the botched initial surgery. I learned that my heart surgeon was about 30 years old and had not even made it onto his Medical firms stationary at that point.

According to the hospital reports, they botched the attempt to put the balloon pump that supplied much needed oxygen to the vital organs after heart surgery. It states in the report that the unruly patient pulled it out and it had to be reinstalled at a later time. That time was about 3 hours later when they realized my kidneys had failed. Subsequently they sewed the pump to my leg. Yes, you read that right. I have a scar on the inside of my right knee to prove it. I then formed a blood clot in my right lung that had to excised to enable me to breathe and of course the 2 surgical procedures to drain the accumulated fluid from my lung cavities. All of this was done while I slept. I'm glad I missed it. I'm really quite glad to have survived all of this, but I am amazed that all of this went on and I was never ever told.

Let's discuss the reason that all of this happened. If you recall back at the beginning of this story, I was told I was in cardiac arrest and I doubted that it was the correct diagnosis. It seemed that my heart was only infected. It was enlarged from infection. No one caught it until they opened me up and drained a liter and one half of fluid from my peradiem, the sack around my heart. I was then administered an anti-biotic directly into my heart and all was soon to be well. They repaired the hole in my heart with a tire patch kit from Wal-Mart, did a triple bypass while they were in there and closed me up, leaving a 10 inch scar down the front of my chest that isn't even straight. (It wanders to the right.)

I'm missing an important body part!

I thought that might get your attention. You know that bump that is on the inside tip of your clavicle? You have 2 of them directly down from your neck. My left one is missing, just gone! What did they do with that thing. It doesn't even have a name and it's missing just the same. Did it break off while they were drilling or sawing? Did some big goon snap it off with his thumb? And what did they do with it? Was there some guy waiting in the wings for a clavicle tip transplant? If you see it, please send it home. I miss it.

You're probably thinking that this guy really made out with the law suit, right? Well, there wasn't one. It turns out in Arizona, the courts LOVE their doctors, even the bad ones. 7 out of 8 malpractice law suits go in the way of the doctors here. In order for me to sue anyone, they wanted me to cough up with about $150,000 in expert witness fees to bring in a doctor from out of state to testify that I did not get a minimum of care, and it was more likely than not that I was going to lose, too. Seven separate lawyers all told me the same thing. There is a 2 year statue of limitation that was up almost a year ago. Not only did I not benefit 10 cents from this, but it chewed up a large portion of my savings, as well. Getting sick ain't cheap!

At some point in my stay at John C. Lincoln Hospital, they determined that I was no longer a candidate for the IC Unit and they were going to transfer me to a regular room, however the computer would not allow it. It turned out that my insurance wasn't good there for anything but Intensive Care, so at about 2 or 3 AM they called an ambulance and offered me a ride to Good Samaritan Hospital where my Cigna Insurance is accepted. I begged to wait until morning so that my son wouldn't come in to see an empty bed and think it was okay to drive my red Corvette! Not only that, but the attending nurse told the guys that were driving the ambulance that I was a bed wetter. That really pissed me off.

So I arrive at Good Sam's with all new faces and little tiny TVs, no wonder it's cheaper. At this point, I was no longer on Morphine and I was no longer hallucinating. Suddenly the drugs washed out of my system and I was included in a room full of people that apparently had been there the day before, but I was seeing them for the first time. My ex-sister-n-law Patty was there and I hadn't seen her for years. Business acquaintances showed up and they had been there the day before too. As my head cleared, I looked in the mirror and saw an old man that looked frail with almost 3 weeks of beard and almost a half inch of hair growing out of his ears! I asked for a razor, shaving cream and a brush...

I think I was discharged on about Valentine's Day, Feb. 14th, 2005. Aunt Pat was gracious enough to come home with me and care for me. I couldn't have done it on my own and I will forever be grateful to her. I had to go to doctor's appointments, get blood drawn on a regular basis, get that damned catheter removed from my jugular vein as I no longer needed dialysis, thank God. I had to go to the lung guy 3 times a week to get my lungs drained, it was no picnic. They put in a permanent drain into my side and all they had to do when I came in was hook me up to the pump. I was good until one day they wanted to remove the plastic line. Did that ever hurt?

I recall one day that I decided to take a bath, shortly after I got home from the hospital. I ran the water and got into the tub, but when I was finished, I wasn't strong enough to lift myself out of the tub and I didn't feel I knew Aunt Pat well enough to call for help! After sitting there for who knows how long, the water was getting cold. I finally figured out a way to slither like a snake out of the tub and onto the bathroom floor. That may have been my most humiliating moment.

After about a week, Aunt Pat went home and my son Brad came to care for me for a week. It was a long week for him, I'll bet. Then Patty returned from Chicago and took back over the task. I think when she finally left a week later she had had enough of me. My friend Randi then came and took care of me for a while and then I was recovered enough to handle myself. To these people I will always be grateful, particularly Patty that let me drive her crazy...

Just Two Kinds of People

As far as I'm concerned and I know I suffer from tunnel vision, there are only 2 types of people in the world. Forget about Black and white and brown and yellow or red. Forget about sloppy versus neat and left handed against right. There are only people that can do things with their toes and people that cannot! Many a time I have been walking across my bedroom and notice a sock on the floor and reach over with my toes and pick it up and toss it to my hand, who is anxiously awaiting the toss. I always thought I was blessed with this advantage until I met another person that puts me to shame with toes tossing. For now she shall remain anonymous, but her initials are Julie.

Julie can put the average person to shame with her 10 pedicular additional digits. She has what has been affectionately started to be called, talented toes or TT. I'd be willing to bet that TT is hereditary and it is passed on from mother to granddaughter often times skipping a generation. It is mostly predominant in the female of the species that is left handed or in this case left toed. Here is an example. Although Julie's toes have never been called pretty, they can really move along. The other night I was sitting on the sofa when Julie accosted my covered feet with the offer to get comfortable. As would anyone else, I looked at her. She reached over with her feet and began to remove my shoes, MY SHOES! She pushed her four sisters to the heel of my shoes and I'll be damned, but she pushed them right off, both of them! Then, while I was still amazed at her ability to maneuver her toes in such an unnatural fashion, she tucked her big toe under the back of my sock and began to remove that as well! With my mouth agape, she kept looking at me and saying, "What"? I discovered her trick. Her second toes is at least a half inch longer than her biggest toes, the one that I refer to as the older sister. It is not only agile, but ambidextrous, educated and a great dancer. That big toe of hers RULES! I checked the archives at ASU and found that her toes graduated in the summer of 1978 with a bachelors degree. Her toes are nothing to sneeze at! My toes are just plain jealous!

The Mad "Hacker" Strikes Again... (rebuttal)

If you read the entry AFTER this one, you'll see that Julie, once again, "hacked" into my blog and took charge of things. I feel it's only fair to offer MY side of the situation. Read on...

We have been planning this day almost since I met Julie. We talked about our Thanksgiving plans from the very beginning. Since Jules was going through her "thing", she decided this is such a fractured holiday for her that she would cook for me and we would spend Thanksgiving together. I was all for it, since I had no permanent plans in place. However, in addition, since these plans were set in place they have changed about 700 times. Julie was going to feed the woman's shelter, go to her daughter's families event and then it went full circle and I was brought back into the Thanksgiving plan.

Julie brought everything, from the stuffing to the 2 different types of corn niblets, to the 3 pies for dessert. I supplied the turkey as outlined in, "Food Shopping, it's Easy". Jules even brought firewood in case it was cool enough for a fire.

She was going to come over early and get everything started, she arrived at noon. She had wanted ME to strip the bird of it's natural plastic cover and put it in the oven. I told her I'd wait for her.

When she did arrive, toting camera and a smile, she worked diligently until everything was in place. I could see Julie was getting antsy as she read the paper and took pride in throwing each section across the floor as she finished it. She also displayed a certain amount of anxiety by insisting that the little "pop up" that every turkey is evidently born with, wouldn't pop up! She asked if I had a meat thermometer and I did. She told me it doesn't work, as the reading was not satisfactory for her. We pulled the turkey out anyway, a little under done, but it was fine. We filled our plates and sat down to eat. Julie wolfed her food down and waited for me to finish. I don't think 10 minutes went by when Julie announced she was leaving, it was about 4:45. Confused, I asked why. She said her dog was alone and she had to get home. I looked at the pile of dirty pots and pans, that only a real cook can create, and asked what about the mess? She said, you can clean it up (but I couldn't). She didn't understand. When a man makes a meal, he dirties one plate and one fork, maybe a knife too, that's it! This was a mess that only a woman could address. I was NOT prepared! She even left me with the entire turkey, still sitting on the cooking rack! I cut it in half with my 7 1/4" circular saw and stuffed it into 2 quart sized baggies. Dear Lord, she knows not what she does!

Pawpaw had been alone for whopping 5 hours, he was outside on the most beautiful day of the year, in a place that he would rather be than anywhere in the world. I thought he'd be just fine for the last hour that it would have taken the two of us to clean up, instead of the 3 hours that it took me. Am I wrong here?

It turned out that it was NOT Trytptophan poisoning, it was just plain old irritability! When I called Jules, SHE had a Mel't down and insisted on being alone the rest of the night. I had planned on driving over..

Now that you've heard both sides of the story, your comments are welcome.

You're Getting Sleepy...

I cooked for these three today. I think Bogie was the most appreciative of the bunch. See how he's still licking his lips?

After a big traditional Thanksgiving dinner that was to much food for two people and a couple of dogs, Mel had a Mel't down in attitude. But I have an explaination.....

"Tryptophan".

Tryptophan, found in turkey, in its purest form, works to make the neurotransmitter serotonin, which has a calming effect on the brain.

I know, I googled it. Mel just lost it after dinner apparently pissed because he had to do dishes and just wanted a nap.

How did you deal with post-Thanksgiving dinner lethargy?

Julie

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