The Suit

Wearing a government issued Polyester Suit – complete with flag lapel pin – and using a booming baritone “press conference” voice - the Monday workshop opened with the requisite “Suit” – representing a high level government office. Speaking like Reverend Lovejoy from The Simpson’s, we got to listen to gems such as:

“In their present form-MA….”

“Trying-GA to develop novel approaches that increase synergy-YA…”

“Plans are like airports! Think about airports – you collect passengers in a location, move them to other locations, and launch them on their way to their destination. And all airports-za, do it BADLY! Plans-ZA are like that!”*

“No data-bay-us will be sufficient to answer all questions-ZA…”

“The Special Summaries are like airports-ZA, too – except they’re always fogged in! Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk…” 

Mercifully, The Suit only spoke for about 15 minutes. Had it gone any longer, i’d have considered taking up smoking again - but only for the opportunity it would provide to put cigarettes out in my eyes, distracting me from the audio-pain.

Are such windbags born or bred? Do they start out as normal humans and adopt the ways of the beast during an assimilation process or are only the windbaggedly inclined drawn to - and ascend to - such positions? Important questions to ponder as i consider retirement and the rest of my life - tending bar…

_________

* no idea what this fucking analogy was about, but since he was of sufficiently high level, it got a polite chuckle from the “brown snorkel” brigade in the audience

Rock? Meet the Hard Place.

It was a difficult decision, but since Mom was stable - and the rest of the family was on call, and prepared to handle the potential discharge to the cardiac rehab facility on Monday or Tuesday - i decided to press on with a planned business trip this week.  The first portion (Annapolis) of high relevance to my job, the second portion (Chicago) less important, but a meeting of an industrial advisory panel, for which i am chairman, and therefore, feel obliged to attend.  At least to kick it off…

So here i sit in a hotel at O’Hare Airport.  i just got the text message from DQ telling me that Mom’s lung is no longer collapsed.  Mom’s fine.  Last night i had a bad night.

Aimless in Annapolis

Wandering the historic district in Annapolis, Maryland prior to the start of a business meeting – mostly to get my blood circulating so i could stay awake through yet another series of unnecessary meetings* - i received a call from The Girl.  It seems the “at fault” driver’s insurance company proposed doing repair with “used” parts.  The Girl wasn’t comfortable making a decision on this without parental consult, so i agreed to weigh in, and perform the magical “Insurance Adjustor – Body Shop” Kabuki dance to get it sorted out…

 

While weaving amidst tourists, elder-yachtsmen and their wives, Naval Academy Midshipmen on their lunch breaks, i put the cell phone to work, and managed to get the necessary information from the body shop – the issue was that the body shop would not be able to guarantee parts/labor for the repair if the insurance company provided “used” parts. 

 

On the phone with Mr. Flounder**, the insurance adjustor, i explained that this was unacceptable.  i was informed that The Company would provide guarantee on parts and labor, and he claimed it was written on the repair estimate – although the body shop manager hadn’t noticed that clause.  Inquiring as to the origin of the “used parts”, he said he’d been able to locate a suitable “front end” from the same make/model/year car.  Asking for the serial number, i informed him that i wanted a complete history on the vehicle***.  He replied that the serial number was on the repair estimate, and that i’d be able to do so.

 

To close the conversation, i just needed to leave him with something to remember me by… and informed him that if there were any issues with either the parts or labor, i’d make sure that the Ghost of Johnny Cochran pays him a visit.  Followed by “Are we clear, Mr. Flounder?”  A confused “Yes, Ma’am”, and i closed it out with a cheery “Great!  Have a Super Day, Mr. Flounder!”

 

In other words, “If the parts are used, you will be abused!”

 

From there, I proceeded grab a sidewalk table at an old tavern, ordered some crab balls**** and hot tea for lunch, and set about people watching.  It was only then that I stumbled upon the new City Slogan for Annapolis…

 

“Annapolis – It’s All White!”

 

Holy fuck!  Between the gaggles of Aryan school children and the hordes of Stepford wives with freshly botoxed foreheads, i was buried in a sea of “white”… i haven’t seen this many white people since i walked past a Klan Rally and Bake Sale during a business trip to Mississippi*****.

 

Another day, another town…

 

________

 

* One of those “We’ve always had this workshop, so we’re going to do it every year, regardless of need” old-man, group groping, ankle grabbing, back-slapping cluster fuck meetings.  Appropriate that the meeting is being held in an historic hotel facility.  i suspect some of the dinosaurs attendees were present when the keystones were placed…

 

** Not his real name, but i like to visualize the faceless people i’m mercilessly badgering negotiating with on the phone.  i pictured this particular gentleman thusly…

 

*** This was “saber rattling” – simply a tactic to let him know that i have done this particular dance a few times, and will not take it quietly up the ass - no lube, no flowers - when dealing with insurance adjustors. 

 

**** Slightly smaller than crab cakes, crab balls are quite tasty!  Salty, melt-in-your-mouth crabby goodness…

 

***** Perhaps the Republican National Convention would offer a similar concentration, but i simply can’t imagine a scenario where i’d be in the same neighborhood during that event.

Conversational snippets

Snippet 1:  When providing an update for The Boy on events in The Park this week, i emphasized how tremendously functional DQ has been regarding Mom’s care.

The Boy:  Nice to hear she’s finally pulling her own weight.  Well, um… I’m not sure anyone could be that helpful.

Snippet 2:  There was much more adventure for out little family this week than just the medical drama in The Park.  While settling in to a much anticipated Happy Hour “Strategery” Session with colleagues from work on Friday afternoon, i received a call from The Girl.  She’d been in a car accident, but was uninjured.  Another driver turned in front of her, and an unavoidable T-Bone was served to the errant motorist. 

The Girl handled the situation perfectly - address safety, assess injuries, contact police & insurance company, in that order.  Relieved, i asked if she needed me to assist.

The Girl:  No, I’m fine.  The cop offered to drive me home.  Sweet.  I’ve never been in the back of a police car*!

________

* Unlike The Boy, who said he’d been on the plastic police car bench seat twice.  His first offense i knew about - a misunderstanding about a borrowed car.  The second?  “I wasn’t arrested.  I was detained. For skateboarding.  Or maybe it was trespassing or something…”

The ICU Follies

With just a few lesser tubes remaining, Mom is up and walking. This morning, after two full hours of sitting up for respiratory therapy and breakfast, and a walk along the hallway in the cardiac intensive care unit, she needed to stop by the restroom before settling in for her morning nap.

The nurse had given her the morning medication just after breakfast - which included a mild pain pill since the walking puts some stress on her body. As Mom came out of the restroom, the nurse noted that she seemed a little wobbly - and asked “Are you feeling dizzy? You seem to be more unsteady.”

Without missing a beat, Mom said “I’d be a lot more steady if you’d remembered to pull up my drawers”. Looking down, they were still around her ankles…

Her sense of humor is coming back. This is a very good sign… 

An artist’s rendering.  Much, much better than the real deal…

Sneakin’ and geekin’…

Two steps forward, one step backward today in the cardiac ICU with Mom. Pneumonia threat has backed off - whew! That’s the scary one… And the intestinal problems have been managed more effectively, making her more comfortable. But the newest issue is a slight heart arrhythmia - common a few days after heart surgery.

An annoyance today regarding her IV’s. She had plugs and tubes coming from her neck, arms, and hands - and they began to get dicked up*.  Morning Nurse recommended a pericutaneous intravenous catheter to manage ports better - and it would also make Mom more comfortable.

In the meantime, the damn IV pumps would become “obstructed”, and alarms would sound.  Around lunchtime, Mom had been up all morning and was exhausted.  The IV pump alarms had kept her awake the night before, too.  She was trying to sleep, but the damn alarms kept waking her up.  The nurse would come in, play with the lines, then hit the “reset” button on the pump.  Alarm off for five minutes.  Alarm on again, waking her up.  Repeat for about 30 minutes…

Finally, since the nurse had explained that it was just the saline line becoming “dicked up”, i started hitting the reset button myself.  At least until Nurse Ratchet** caught me - and recommended that i stop playing with the equipment.  i apologized, of course, promising not to do it again - but continued to sneak over and hit the reset until Mom’s nurse returned from lunch and just shut the damn thing off…

It’s during the family medical situations that i regret not going into the medical field.  Unfortunately, i’m insanely squeamish about the gooey-sciences, and have a tendency to pass out at the sight of puncture wounds. 

But give me electronics and gadgets?  Hoo-AHH! 

________

* It’s a medical term. When i hang around hospitals long enough, i pick up the lingo… i’m a veritable sponge for occupational lingo.

** Not Mom’s nurse for the morning, so she wasn’t used to me and probably thought i was trying to “put her down” to collect the inheritance to pay off gambling debts or something…

Teddy Bears and Marxism at the Hospital

Mom’s doing ok - about 2 days post-operative and she’s been up walking, is gaining strength, but still very tired.  Issues with trailer park behavior are minimal - although i’m considering bringing a baseball bat tomorrow just in case.

Scores and Highlights:

     - Recovering from invasive surgery, such as bypass, includes a regimen of coughing.  It helps keep pneumonia at bay, brings up excess lung-butter and exercises the pulmonary system.  The challenge is the suture line - too much pressure and internal organs make unwelcome cameo appearances.  Hospitals routinely use a device known as “Sir Koff-a-lot” to aid patients.  It’s beautiful to see all of the patients in cardiac intensive care - mostly elderly - clinging tightly to their bears.  Mom is quite fond of her bear, and wants him tucked in with her before sleeping - “in case i need to cough”.  If she didn’t look like hell, i’d take a picture.  When she’s feeling better, we’ll need to name him.  My suggestion?  “Loogie”…

Tales From The Crypt (?)

Yesterday, while chatting in the intensive care unit waiting room, my brother hacked up a most juicy morsel regarding family dynamics.  While my brother was visiting Mom on Mother’s Day, she called the assembled children together to provide some “direction” regarding the worst case post-surgical scenario.  At the table were my brother, my niece, DQ, and my sister, S (the weepin’ wailer). 

Mom wanted them all to fully comprehend her desire not to be prematurely taken off life support.  S, of course, waved her arms and quit listening, deflecting all that nasty reality Mom offered.  DQ and my brother nodded, acknowledged her wishes and continued to listen.  Further, Mom made it clear that daisyfae - as the holder of medical/durable power-of-attorney - was not to make a unilateral decision on this matter, without consulting the rest of the family.

i’m not surprised that Mom emphasized this point to my siblings. 

She and i ultimately had to “agree to disagree” regarding the decision to end life support measures for Dad after he became non-responsive - not whether to do so, but when.  He had made it clear - at least to those paying attention - that he wanted no heroic measures, did not want to suffer, and did not want to linger on life support.  After five days, and many obtuse discussions with his physicians, it was clear that he would not recover.  In fact, on the fourth day, DQ and i were beside his bed.  During a brief moment of mental alertness - although he couldn’t speak - he looked from one of us to the other, vigorously shaking his head “no”.

i had no doubts.  But ultimately, Mom had to be comfortable with the decision.  For the next five days i made sure she was present for all medical discussions with staff - i asked pointed questions*, they gave squishy answers.  On the 6th day she signed the “do not resuscitate” order.  By the 7th day, it was a grim, agonizing wait… Finally, on the 10th day, with the entire family present she said “daisyfae** thinks it’s time… i guess we should…”

Fast forward to current events.  i had to chuckle when my brother told me she was adamant that there must be a family discussion and family decision before drastic measures are taken.

Does she really think i’m going to harvest her organs and sell her kidneys on eBay? 

For christsake, if she’d taken better care of herself they might be worth something… i may be heartless, but i’ve got some business sense.

_____

* Doctors won’t tell you “it’s over”.  They will eventually say “we’ve done all we can do and he’s not getting better” if you press them.  Competitive bastards… i think they just hate losing.

** i was ok with her need to put it on me.  Annoyed, but ok.  Dad and i had even discussed this part… it was part of my annointment as “number one son“.

A tale of willpower. A tale of stupidity.

 

My mother is one tough nugget.    

 

After 65 years of sucking tar, she quit smoking.  Completely.  She smoked her last cigarette about a month ago.  i am in awe of this – having assumed it wasn’t possible to ditch a 3-pack a day habit that fast.  But she did it.  She took Chantix, prescribed by her surgeon, but stayed at the low dose – probably not enough to have made much difference.

 

This was sheer willpower. 

 

Where did it come from?  Yesterday she told us that a light bulb went off when Robo-Doc said – “You’re here to talk about bypass surgery.  I assume that means you want to live.  You need to quit smoking – for at least 2 weeks prior to surgery”.  She realized she really does want to live…

 

Just right…

My children are special.

Yes, this is the mantra of all parents - whether we bother to state this fact out loud, or keep it tucked smugly in our heads, we somehow believe that our genetic products are talented, brilliant, gifted and without question - above average.

For Mother’s Day this year, they have once again nailed it.  Like Annie, we’ve generally kept this as a low key holiday.  Like Annie, over the years i’ve been delighted with the school art project gifts - many of which are still displayed in my home.  Granted, the year they had their Dad kick in to get me a Bose Sound Dock for my iPod was pretty cool, too…

No firm plans for this year, The Boy and The Girl arrived home yesterday - with The Boy driving almost 2 hours after work, arriving at 1:00 am.  We stayed up, they drank my beer, and yakked a bit, then i crawled back to bed around 2:30 am.

Scratching and shuffling down the hallway this morning at 9:30 to let Mr. Pickles into the yard for his morning bio-break, i discovered that my kitchen had been prepared for quite a celebration!

Looking at the detail, i saw touches from both The Boy and The Girl.  Clearly the color selection was from my daughter - bright primaries!  Always the artist!  The beer bottles that say “Par-TEEE” were from The Boy.

But the final touch?  It has become a tradition in our little family to find new and exciting ways to frighten amuse the sweet ladies at our local bakery*.   This was the hand of The Boy.

In fact, my children are talented, brilliant and gifted.  And the sentiment on the cake - quite true. 

________

* The Boy turned 18 on the day that i had my biopsy (and learned i had breast cancer) followed by a mortgage closing to settle divorce arrangements.  i was swamped that day and asked the kids to go to the bakery and pick out a cake.  The cake, under the artistic hand of The Boy, said “Happy Birthday You Sexy Bitch”…

Post-party pictures:  After the break…