Note to my Academy and Franklin passengers; If any of you read my stories I do wish you all well. It has been an unexpected pleasure to be your bus driver at this point of my life. Mr. B
If the walls of a home could absorb music and then reflect it back some day, the music in the walls of the Grover ranch house would be Franz Lists' Leibistraum.
Sometime in my last years of high school I took in upon myself to memorize this reasonably difficult piece. I have a good ear for music and I am all right at interpretation. Reading the music and transferring it from brain to fingers was an exercise that I had to work for. This work happened early in the morning sometimes even before Dad was awake and after school. I'm sure it made Mom happy as she had encouraged any of us who would pursue the piano beginning with my first piano teacher Ruth Clark. For the rest of this small three bedroom one bath household there would have been no escaping these endless drills on the Kimball piano.
Sometime after I had memorized this music someone talked me into performing it at the regional high school music contest at Evanston Wyoming. I think I only agreed to this, because I knew that was no real audience. The individual performers played only before a judge [A BYU music professor] and what few other performers happened to be waiting for their turn. The place for our performance was the LDS Stake Center and I was scheduled to play in the afternoon. Several of us wandered over to the stake center in the morning to see what was going on and the professor told us that if any of us wanted to play at that time there were openings. I didn't want to play ever but I was dying to get the anxiety cloud that was following me gone. I went outside ran around the entire stake center to calm my nerves, came back in and told him I was ready. To my surprise he gave me an "A".
Tuesday I entered into the bowels of the Banner Baywood hospital complex. Signs were posted around reminding those who entered that this was one of the one hundred best heart hospitals in the United States. Their billing department is one of the best also. By the time I left they had separated more money from my healthcare provider than my employer had paid me in wages for the past two years. The angiogram showed that I had extensive obstructions in my arteries. I would like to think the reason for this is 90% genetic 5% KFC and 5% DQ. That is probably not the case. Wednesday the cardiologist began the repairs.
The most uncomfortable part of the whole procedure was getting my upper legs shaved for the groin catheter to be inserted. I am so ticklish and sensitive that it was all I could do to stay on the bed while the male nurse did the prep. After this torture a husky nurse wheeled me towards the operating room. As we were passing a rest room she asked if I would like to make one last visit. At my age one should never pass that opportunity so I agreed. She helped me off the wheel bed while attempting to preserve my modesty. She said if we get a peek at this point it is called an I C U. Any humor was appreciated.
Upon reaching the operating table the torture began anew as a new male nurse began the sterilization of the insertion site. I suggested that I did not know how I would ever be able to hold still while the doctor gained access to the artery. The next thing I remember was waking up and the whole thing was over. Back we went to the room for, four hours of not being able to bend my leg for fear of opening the wound at the artery insertion spot.
The night nurses have many duties. First among these is the wake you up if you should ever be fortunate enough to fall asleep in this house of healing. They did this all night taking blood and checking your vitals. One of them would even make my bed if she ever happened to find me out of it. I would come out of the bathroom to find my bed make up in tight military fashion. This maneuver helped keep you awake longer as you tried to regain access to the inside of your sheets. The night I stayed there they decided to shampoo the hall carpets. They brought in a riding shampoo machine as big as a small tractor. I had never seen anything like it. What were they thinking? The only reason the death rate is so low in this hospital is because no one can find a peaceful time to die.
The next morning when my sleep depriving nurses finally told me I could go I gave one of them a hug and the other one a high five. They called for a young girl to give me a wheel chair ride out. By the time she found me pacing in the halls she looked up at me and said, " You would probably just as soon walk out wouldn't you?" " I'll escort you". Good girl……
