The Oxygen Umbilical Cord wars

 

Back when I was just a little unbalanced, before my “Up” orientation went completely away, I sometimes accused my cat Tom of being sent to me with the mission to cause me to stumble and fall, and thereby hitting my head on some sharp object, moving me on to the next world. Tom LOVED to do the ankle nudge and twisty wrap around when I was standing.

It never happened though, and Tom has been gone a while. I still miss him lots, but the spirit of “trip the clumsy fool” lives on.

I’ve recently come up with a newer, even more efficient technique to trip myself up, with the end result of possibly resulting in a deadly fall. It is the newest thing that has gotten most of my attention in my current “life.”

What it is, is my 50 ft plastic tube that connects me to my oxygen compressor. It stretches out behind me, all twisted, with loops and kinks and all kinds of movement hazards. When I walk, to prevent STEPPING on the line, and ripping the tube out of my nose, I pick up part of it, and as I move about, I pick up more and more of the twisted mass. If I don’t, it catches on EVERYTHING. The couch, the end table, my computer chair. My kitchen chair. Everything ELSE in the kitchen.

Sometimes, the loops leap up better than a lasso to grab me by the ankle. It just very recently SOMEHOW jumped up to the top of my coffee table and pulled down my favorite coffee cup. It constantly gets caught on the couch, sometimes as a loop, sometimes as a convenient kink.

When the Breathing Nurse came to check on me, I complained about the lines propensity for unobtrusively and surreptitiously wrapping itself around my feet. The very next thing, when we went into my bedroom to look at the oxygen machine, the loop struck wrapping itself around one of my ankles! Talk about making a point (have I already said this?)!

As I move around my house, I am constantly whipping the twisted mass to try to shake it loose from whatever it has recently grabbed onto behind me. I’ll take a step, then have to take two steps back to flip it off of something before I can move forward again. At least, I am getting regular exercise AND a flow of oxygen to my lungs!

 

My nephew, Douglas

Doug was my brother Ken’s oldest son, from his first wife Patricia. As he grew up, he and I became best friends. We used to talk for hours. He would call up from New Jersey to my trailer house on the edge of the reservation here in Tucson. And we would talk. Doug and I, our brains seemed to be really compatible. We had a lot of common interests. That left us with a lot to talk about. I loved those times. After the conversation was over, I’d feel good for days.

Unfortunately, Doug had medical problems from birth. I’ve never been much for detail, so I’m not sure exactly what it was. I know that there were tumors, and cancer and the like. His body never worked properly. It just never let up for him. The last time he visited his father and me, he was on crutches, and pretty much blind. He may have had a little vision in one eye, but that was about it.

He was always upbeat about the whole thing, never resentful, that was life. I treated him in that way, like one of the guys, never showing overly concern or anything approaching pity. That was something that he did not allow in his life. Didn’t want it, didn’t need it, and I respected that.

One day, as we were setting out on a walk around the neighborhood where Ken lived, and I told him, “No offence, Doug, but if we are attacked by dogs, I’m going to shove you down, so that I can escape!” He laughed, and said “OK Uncle Dale, but watch out for my crutches!”

He was not a fan of Political Correct terminology. “I’m BLIND” he insisted, “Not Vision Challenged!” He could show some anger to people who insisted on talking to him on that level.

One of the things he had in common with his father was a love for the older music, although, technically Doug was a Jazz fan. He had a show on the college radio station where he played jazz, blues, and some old rock.

When he talked to his dad, that is what they talked about, music. When he and I talked though, the sky was the limit. I remember one time, he was telling me about advances in helping the blind see, just like the guy Gordi on StarTrek, TNG. We both got excited about the possibilities of science, but realized that it was years away.

We talked about a girl he dated, but dumped when she showed him signs of pity, and other acquaintances that he had on campus. He was always in a “pretty good” mood, even the last time he talked to me, after having a cancer tumor in his sinus cavity removed, leaving him with difficulty talking.

A few weeks later, I got a phone call from New Jersey from his Aunt Nancy, Patricia’s sister that I knew from Flora. She sounded distraught, and soon explained why. Pat had went to wake Doug that morning, and found him dead. I was pretty much speechless, but I nodded and hung up the phone. I immediately called Ken, and unable to tell him the sad news, I told him that he needed to call New Jersey.

I miss Doug, and I miss those phone calls we had. His mother Pat later told me that Doug really enjoyed them too.

I’ll see you on the other side, Doug.

Amsterdam

I’ve often said, that if I had to live in a foreign country that didn’t speak English, I would choose Holland, The Netherlands, the land of tolerance, windmills, cute girls on bicycles, and friendly people.

For a person like myself, back in the late 60’s, there was a lot to like in Holland. Amsterdam was one of the friendliest cities I’ve ever been to. The impression was that they loved Americans. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but that seems to be a rarity in this world, then and even today.

The Dutch speak, incredibly enough, the language of Dutch, which is as close to German as Italian is to Spanish. But, unlike so many foreign speaking countries, when trying to communicate with the Dutch, it was like they appreciated the opportunity to try out their own grasp of the English language.

Case in point: On our first trip to Amsterdam, the main place that we wanted to visit was Canal Street, rumored to be the LEGAL Red Light District. Being cheap, brainless young G.I.’s, we set out on foot, and were soon quite lost in a residential part of the city.

We came across a slightly tipsy Hollander, whom we approached for help. Speaking with the full grasp of his High School English, he spread out the Amsterdam City map on the back of his parked car, and asked us where we were trying to go.

Unfortunately, being dumb G.I.’s, our grasp of PROPER English was not up to the job.

“We wanna find the place with the CHICKS!”

“Pardon? Chickens?

“No, no! The BROADS!”

He replied with an uncomprehensive look. He probably wondered what language WE were speaking.

Being cool, I stepped in: “We are looking for the street of WOMEN!”

His understanding of PROPER English was MUCH better than the polygot idiom of my companions.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, “You seek Canal Street?!” We all agreed that, yes, it’s true, we were typical young G.I.’s seeking companionship of the feminine side of life.

Returning to the map, he quickly pointed out where we were, and the route that we needed to take to go where we wanted. We profusely thanked him, and he wished us luck as we departed.

Unfortunately, by the time we had gotten to Canal Street, it seems to have closed for the night. But we were among America’s finest, we survived, and made it back to our tiny hotel, to face the tomorrow anew.

We never made it back to Canal Street, or to any of the “not illegal” hashish houses where hasheesh and marijuana could be purchased and smoked on premises. We wandered the streets like typical tourists, returning smiles to the strangers that constantly smiled at us, and admired the many girls in miniskirts on bicycles that were constantly passing by on the street.

We ate lunch at a Popeye’s Chicken, which like most European fast food restaurants, offered beer. I had a Coke. After lunch, we came across a Madame Tussauds House of Wax, and figured that it was something worth seeing.

We entered, and the first room, there was somebody famous being admired by a couple of tourists. To get a better look, I accidentially bumped into one of the tourists. I apoligised, then was amazed to realize that he, too was a wax dummy, part of the display! Upon studying this figure, I noted the incredible detail! Individual stubbles on his face showed a 5 o’clock shadow!

The wax museum was an amazing place! There were leaders of state, including JFK and other famous politicians, the BEATLES (!), and on and on. I don’t remember if there was a chamber of horrors. If there was, I must not have thought it was remarkable.

My favorite exhibit was a “Joke Set.” You entered the room of what was obviously an artists studio, but the entire room was splattered with every color of the spectrum. You could see the artist at his canvas, but it was positioned that all you saw was the back of what he was painting.

As you followed the path, eyes ablaze with the riot of colors, you eventually came to the point where you could see the front of his canvas. Understand that EVERYTHING in this exhibit was splashed with colors. the room, ceiling and floor, everything IN the room, the painter in his smock, the easel, back and SIDES of the canvas. Except the front of the canvas was totaly devoid of even the slightest bit of color, shockingly white, with only the artists signature at the bottom of the “painting!”

I was pretty impressed with that, I have to say! 

Afterwards, after one of the guys had bought a tourist set of wooden shoes, we soon left Amsterdam, heading north for Madurodam, then the North Sea.

Oxygen man

Just recently, I was given an Oxygen Concentrator (it sucks Oxygen out of the air, and pumps it to my nose) for assistance in breathing. I guess that was one of the contributing factors on my ER visit, not getting enough oxygen.

The compressor is about the size of an R2D2 unit, and sits nicely in my bedroom sucking up oxygen and electricity, and sounding (amazingly) like a compressor. Happily, the sound it makes  acts as white noise, and incredibly, helps me sleep!  There is a long blue plastic tube that connects me to the oxygen. The tube is long enough to easily reach from my bedroom to all other parts of my house, which means that I have this oxygen tube pushing me oxygen wherever I go in my house, and to a certain amount, outside. I can easily reach my patio, and probably my trash cans.

For away from home, I was issued 6 “number 5” portable compressed oxygen tanks, along with a little cart with wheels and a handle to transport the OXY, so that I would not have to carry the tank like it was a large, ungainly football. The therapist even explained how to position the tank on those electric carts that they so kindly furnish for the people like myself, that have difficulty walking for an excessive amount of time. Happy to say, her information was invaluable!

There are a couple of problems. In my kitchen, my stove is gas. What that technically means is: Open Flame. The biggie is No Open Flames around my Oxygen Flow. Well, OK. The Respiratory Therapist and I agreed that when I found it necessary to actually cook (to prevent starvation and the like) I could temporarily turn off my compressor, which otherwise would run 24 hours a day. No biggie, I will probably do that. We ignored the existence of the living room gas heater.

The biggest problem is that 50 ft tangled mess of hose that connects me to the Oxygen device. It is a nice shade of medical blue, and, I suppose, about the size of a typical computer device connector. It’s a transparent plastic. What it isn’t is a long, straight, kink-free stretch of plastic. It certainly is not well-behaved like a vacuum cleaner power cord! It loops and curls and tangles all over the floor.

I KNOW that my cat, Tom would have made short work of it. He would have chewed it into many short, better behaved pieces in no time flat. Something that twisty and springy, so much fun to chew on! I would be on my third or fourth tube by now!

Unfortunately, it’s just me and the mass of kinky tubing. I swear, that tube physically and constantly wraps itself around my ankles when I move, trying to trip me up. It hasn’t succeeded yet, but not for lack of trying. When it is not doing that, those same loops and kinks are wrapping themselves around anything else it can find between the Concentrator and myself. My trips to the bathroom are more troublesome than ever!

The couch, my computer chair, the stored portable oxygen bottles and rack. My 40 year usable kitchen/drafting chair. Needless to say, I now know how a dog feels when it reaches the end of its leash! I am constantly getting more exercise than I planned, by, after almost reaching my destination, having to reverse my steps to unhook the tube wrapped around the couch, my chair, or whatever, to gain the few inches that I need to reach my destination.

I am also constantly stepping on the tube whenever I stand. So far, I have avoided stepping on the (probably breakable) plastic connectors attaching my short tube to the longer one. I’m still trying to figure out how my chair rolls over that tube without me feeling it, causing me to have to lift my chair to unwrap an inconvenient obstruction, usually when standing at an uncomfortable position.

I guess all that extra exercise and concentration is a good thing, but someday Alice…

Madurodam, Holland

When I was stationed at Wiesbaden Air Base in the late 60’s, The guys and I did some touristy stuff, visiting Europe and the like. One of my favorite places that I visited was Madurodam in Holland.

I’m not sure what you would call Madurodam; exhibit, amusement park, display, or what. What it was, was a miniature city. I don’t know the scale, but it was a tiny city that tourists got to wander through like giants. Godzilla had nothing on us. Except, of course, we were just looking, not smashing!

The buildings were beautifully detailed, and were mostly famous, or at least, well-known buildings of Holland, and Europe in general. Homes, city buildings, churches, government buildings, windmills, landmarks, CASTLES.

There was an Autobahn, complete with quick-moving traffic, AND a wrecked Mercedes on the median with an ambulance in attendance. There was an airport, with taxiing 707’s. There was a harbor scene, complete with a burning cargo ship and fire boats spraying water onto the inferno. After a while, the fire was put out and the fire boats retreated, only to return as the fire started again!

A beautiful castle was having a never-ending parade (complete with music), that went on and on. There was movement everywhere in the city! It was a city sized city. Just walking around the scenic path probably took a couple of hours, not counting the stop and stare moments, of which there were many.

There was a huge cathedral, that towered over us, in scale. Buildings from as recent as a couple of years old to medieval structures hundreds of years old. There was rows of houses, one of which was labeled Anne Frank’s house.

AAIIIeee! Giant Tourists!

I would have loved to have gotten pictures of myself threatening these tiny buildings, in the best tradition of the “50 Foot Monster,” but, unfortunately, personal photography in the park was verboten.

We all bought the tourist remembrance packages showing typical views of the city, and I am sure my booklet remains secure somewhere in the hundred boxes stored in my U-Stor-It storage room!

If I was ever to return to visit Europe, this is one of the places that would be on my itinerary! This visit was probably the starting point for my fascination for HO scale buildings. I was attracted to them before, but this is the place that turned it into an obsession.

I envisioned myself having my own miniature world, in HO scale (HO scale is a popular model railroading scale, equal to 1=87). Maybe someday, but I’m going to be needing a lot more room.

 

The story teacher

I wish that I was better at remembering names, or, at the very least, had easy access to my FTHS Yearbooks! I had a social studies teacher in high school that used to tell some great stories.

Often, the whole hour was spent in the telling of his stories, which was fine by me and the other students. We had only taken Social Studies because it sounded easier than the other offerings. (I don’t remember what the others were, but they sounded HARD!) Here’s a couple of his stories that I remember.

One he liked to tell was of his student past, studying to be a coroner. It was a fine tale, having to do with the absconding of the head of one of the “practice corpses.” It wasn’t he, but his mad roommate who stole the head, according to him.

It seemed that he wanted the head for the skull underneath it. Something to put on the mantle, I suppose. “Alas, poor Yorik…”

According to my teacher (a font of wisdom in many things) the best way to clean the organic matter off of a skull was to boil it in a pot, until it all fell away. I’ll bet THAT had a strange aroma!

Well, the landlord, probably alerted by the smell, and more than likely having rented the apartment under a “no cooking clause,” went to investigate, as landlords were pretty much inclined to do in those days.

As the landlord opened the door, the roommate was LIFTING the head out of the water BY IT’S HAIR to check the progress of the treatment. I don’t remember, but I’ll bet that after all was said and done, those roommates had to seek new rooms.

Another story from this teacher was from an earlier period after he was already working as a teacher. It seems he had a student that INSISTED that recently the Earth had temporarily reversed it’s orbit.

The student would not listen to the teacher’s denial, because he KNEW it had happened. Sadly, it turned out that it was merely a story from a Captain Marvel comic book.

(Those comics were before my time, but after that I was determined to obtain, and read some Captain Marvel comic books!)

My St. Joseph’s Vacation addendum

The Number Two incident

Shelly INSISTED that I break the Too Much Information rule, and tell about my “Number Two” incident. It is somewhat embarrassing for me, but I guess she deserves that! I can almost blame Shelly for that one. Well, ok, no I can’t. I’d LIKE to, but stretching things too much just doesn’t work!

Anyway, it was (I think) late Wednesday, and the possibility was sounding good that I might be discharged, so in anticipation of that possibility, I had put my blue shorts back on. I was more comfortable not being that much of a blue moon, if you know what I mean.

The shorts had dried nicely from the rinsing I had given them from the first incident, when I had had my Number One accident, trying to use the “urinal receptor,” and instead, using my shorts and sheets. Let’s call it “The First Embarrassment.” There are opportunity for many non-fatal embarrassments on the road to wellness.

Anyway, the Number Two incident came by as I was lying in my bed, with Shelly and one of my Nurses (My favorite one, a cutie that did not look old enough to be a High School student, much less a Nurse, Cutie-Pie) in attendance. I felt a “whoops” of muscle spasm in my “you know where” region, and rapidly tried to stagger out of bed, actually already too late, but still not THAT late. I won’t go into detail.

With Shelly’s help, I managed to stand, and clench-marched off to the bathroom, where, once again, I was almost too late but not quite. Business quickly done, I tried to repair what I could of the damage to the shorts with a damp towel. I’d be danged if I was going to rinse them AGAIN! Besides, truthfully, a rinse REALLY wouldn’t do it. I fixed them up to the best “guy in the woods” standards, and put them back on.

Shelly helped the Nurse change the sheets on my bed while I was “cleaning” my shorts, so I was able to return to my nice. clean bed afterwards.

I’m a guy! I’m allowed to do that. Shelly did wrinkle her nose at me a couple times in the car ride home, but she survived the trip!

*************

I want to thank Shelly, not just for being the editor of these stories, but for saving my life as well. No matter what else I say about Shelly, she is a gem and a wonderful person! Thank you, Shelly! This whole verbiage is dedicated to you!

My St. Joseph’s Vacation pt 7

But all in all, the staff, if not just tolerating us, seemed to enjoy our presence, especially the (entertaining?) bickering that Shelly and I constantly went through, Many of you know what I am talking about. Quite often, one or the other of the staff would inquire about her after she had left for the day. Probably trying to get an insight on how such an outspoken saint (!) was able to tolerate a rascal such as myself! I’m sure I have no idea!

Of course their other choice for visiting was the moaning woman who finally made it up to our wing. You remember, the one that was in ER the same time as us? I’m sure that poor woman was in some kind of horrible pain, I cannot imagine. Never the less, such caterwauling is noticed, to the point that when my phone rang Wednesday afternoon, and expecting Shelly, I answered the phone with a “MOAN.” 

A hesitant voice came back, “Is this Mister Burroughs?” Quickly regaining my normal voice, I replied that indeed it was, and went on to listen to what she had to say about the delivery of my “authorized through the VA” oxygen bottles. I have no idea what that poor woman thought. She probably believed she was having Audio Hallucinations or something! 

Wednesday was the day that was originally a really big maybe for discharging me, but they did not want to send me home without the Oxygen tank delivery that was arranged through the VA. The VA supplier was late, and by the time my first bottle had arrived, it was too late to discharge me. Darn the luck! I would have to spend another evening, laying on my back, all my medical needs being cared for. But, I endeavored to persevere. I am manly, I was able to get through it! 😉

On Thursday, the last thing they got to do to me was the ritualistic removing of the chest hair by way of the ripping free all the EKG Monitor sensors (6!), and the tape that helped to hold them on.

In preparation for the removing the sensors and tape, the angels, Tech Mac Girl and Tech Blondie, the day before my discharge, removed the old tape and sensors, the ones taped on with the wide mummy tape, so that they could RE-APPLY all six of the sensors fresh (!). 

It was, with smiles all around, “Sorry” RIP, “Sorry” RIP, “Sorry” RIP, “Sorry” RIP, “Sorry” RIP, “oops!” RIP,“Sorry” RIP, “Sorry” RIP. I think Shelly MAY have “helped” with that session. NONE of those “Sorry’s” sounded THAT sincere to me, man! Just saying.

At least this time around, some of the spots were shaved. But still, more sensors, more tape. Pain, but a manly pain.

Finally, the big day rolled around. Mac Girl and Blondie appeared in my room, and with the usual BIG SMILES, announced:

“It’s time to take ALL the hospital stuff off!”

“Yay!” I faintly proclaimed. It would be nice to be free, but of course there was the promise of pain, from all the tape. Not only all the EKG sensors, but the “heart sonogram” sensors, plus the IV Drip spigot, ALL if not held on by tape, was held on by sticky bottoms.

My only “regret” was that Shelly was not there to “help” them. She would be SO disappointed. Darn the luck!

This time, the removal process was reversed. At first they did a “1. 2. 3.” RIP, but quickly went to a RIP “Sorry” routine. Except for the ones that only PART was ripped off. That got TWO RIP RIP “Sorry-sorry’s!” But all good things must come to an end and soon my angels had ripped all the medical stuff off my body, leaving my chest bare. I guess there might have been a little bit of hair left, but it DID look like I had a bit of the mange. But it was OK! I also got rid of the gown! 

I rapidly put on my T-shirt and shoes, to await Shelly’s arrival. My nurse brought me a handful of paperwork and went over it with me. Of course, it was all over MY head. I told her so, and asked if she could go over it with Shelly when she got here. Not a problem. They wanted to say good bye to Shelly as well

My angelic interns came by for their personal good-byes and well wishes. Did I mention how great this place was?

I wonder if I can get a prescription for a couple of attractive nurses to hang around my house, just to talk to me and place their hands on me. (NO dirty thoughts, people! I’m warning you! These were ANGELS! You know where thoughts like that will get you!)

My St. Joseph’s Vacation pt 6

Did someone say hallucinations?

Indeed, I was having some minor visual hallucinating going on with my eye. I was thinking that someone was beside me, and upon turning my head, finding no one. Now, granted, that one may have been the old “time warp” thing, where I am frozen in time, and by the time I get ticking again, the person that WAS there is long gone.

It was something working on how my eyes see things. In the bathroom, when I was pulling down my shorts (once they had dried from the “mistake”), a glimpse of the inside of the blue shorts was bright red, but only for a flash before it returned to the proper same shade of blue, but in shadow, of the outside. Come to think about it, the visual hallucinations tended to like red. I glanced down at my shorts once, and saw a red tab sticking out. It wasn’t there. I checked!

But the most entertaining, and the one that freaked out Shelly the most was from one of those reflective dome lights in the ceiling reflecting onto the TV screen! At first, I couldn’t tell what the reflection was. Being warped in the dome, and my present state, it was a difficult task. I FINALLY figured out that it was reflecting, strangely warped, the other things on the ceiling. There was a ventilation gizmo and the oblong block of fluorescent lights. That took a while to figure out, I’ll have you know!

Once I had figured exactly what it was reflecting to my satisfaction, that’s when the fun began! I was staring at it, fascinated for some reason. After a bit, the construction of the vent became these tall, skinny, almost cartoon like people standing heel to toe. From the side, clothed in worker garb, Or maybe regular, drab clothes. It changed as I thought about it. The shading of their clothes tended toward shades of brown, worn by three or four (maybe more) people standing, like I said, heel to toe, their left sides facing me. The person in the back of the line had a hat, I’m pretty sure. the others may have had sticks or something, maybe. It was sort of hard to tell. The whole thing leaned towards the murky.

Then, all of a sudden, they schlep forward three synchronized steps and stop. Even though I saw them move, not just treading, when they stopped, they were still exactly where they had started from. I’ll admit, it was a little odd. But they continued this for a bit. Three steps. Stop. Three steps. Stop. It was almost like I was watching REAL TV! After a bit, the scene morphed into something else that wasn’t as interesting, and I lost interest. It wasn’t like they were GOING anywhere!

Speaking of hallucinations, during a conversation with Shelly and myself, my favorite RN Nurse Cutie-pie looked back and forth at me and Shelly and asked:

“Brother and sister? Which one of you is the older?” 

My face almost cracked open on that one, I tell you what! It was the hardest thing I have ever done to not laugh out loud! I have to be egotistical on this one and believe that she was saying that I looked a LOT younger than I am. It IS the only possible solution! Or, PROBABLY it was my favorite Nurse trying to make me feel good! (It WORKED!) 😉

Tomorrow (FINALLY) I get discharged!

My St. Joseph’s Vacation pt 5

Real food. My first morning, I unexpectedly got breakfast. Who am I kidding? I smelled it for a couple of hours before a tray finally came into my room. But, doctors orders, I had to have a blood sugar test FIRST, and the technicians were running a little late. But finally, my blood was tested, my blood pressure taken, and my meal was set down in front of me. Scrambled eggs, a large English muffin and a couple of halves of canned peach. It wasn’t a husky-man amount, but it wasn’t tiny either. I know a couple of people who probably not been able to finish it (I’m looking at YOU, Karen!).

Oddly enough, it was satisfying to me. I did not feel hungry after I had finished. I believe that the usual urges for food were being supplanted by the constant presence of my angelic medics, their warm hands touching me. Better than food, more satisfying, and NO calories!

The food continued to be delightful and filling throughout my stay. It reminded me of school, where last period before lunch, the smell of the food would permeate the building. One never had to wonder if it was almost time to eat! Once it was a pork chop with some kind of mild salsa, another was a slice of roast beef with penne pasta (?), and one time, when I was feeling daring, Baked Cod! I normally don’t eat any fish but deep fried, but the cod was delicious! I must admit, the quality of the food that I received at St. Joe’s certainly added to the feeling that I was on some kind of Spa Vacation!

So much more went on. After it turned out that I was staying for a second night, Shelly spread the word that I was in the hospital, and the phone number where I could be reached. The first to call was Shelly’s Sister, Shari. She didn’t slip that Shelly and I were not related, so I talked to her for a while.

I sure hope that I don’t forget who all called me, because (big excuse) I was on a LOT of drugs.

Skip called, and when talking to Skip it is difficult, if not impossible not to get loud and boisterous. I sure hope I didn’t let loose any family secrets! Skip called me again the next night during one of his sets at his gig. Lots of background noise. I even heard a guy thanking Skip for the song he had just finished. I hope it was a large tip, bro!

A couple of genuine blasts from the past, two of my nieces called a couple of times, Ruth and Anita. They have a strong presence on my Facebook Page, with texting and the like, but no actual face to face conversing. Those were voices that I had not heard in probably over 30 years. That was great therapy, let me tell you. I had good long conversations, much quieter than the Skip hyperconversation! 😉

Cheryl called. I haven’t seen her in a while, and we got caught up on her end of the world. Thank goodness Shelly had posted regular reports on my progress, so I didn’t have to do much stumbling through my side of current life. It would usually go, “Shelly posted…” and I would wittily reply “That sounds about right!” Heh. For all I know she could have said anything, and I would have said “That sounds about right!” 

“She posted that you had a Voodoo witch doctor dancing around your bed?”

“That sounds about right!” 

“And the Nurses are considering a pagan ritual?

“That sounds about right!” 

What I’m building to, I I’m pretty sure that someone called that I didn’t really expect, and I’ve forgotten who it was. I am truly sorry if I have forgotten who you were. But like I said, I was on massive amounts of drugs. Many of the conversations would take place while I was getting the numerous “indignities” done to my person, and those events would come and go while I talked. There WAS one of the angels, with black, curly hair that I would have liked to talk with, but we can’t have it all! 

I LOVED all the phone conversations!