Thursday, April 21, 2011

The “catheter”

FEBRUARY 1, 2011

2:00 P.M.

Scottsdale, Arizona

If any of you in the western states heard a wild scream at that time, it was me as my catheter was being removed. I had thought that these devices only went into the bladder. It felt like mine was being pulled from my throat. In saying that I must admit that I am a wimp and am against pain in any form. My day at the doctor’s office began with a large but pleasant young woman escorting me to the exam room. When she told me to drop my pants and lay down on the exam table I did just that. In this state of Le Grand Exposé she began by taking the staples out of my abdomen incisions. Given the fact that I am beyond ticklish this was a mixture of hilarity and pain. For some reason at this point another young lady comes in to ask the first one a question. Perhaps the second female was just checking up on the first to see if some new form of torture had been discovered for future urilogical patients.

The “catheter” in for five days, while annoying, had not been as troublesome as I had expected. You have a large bag for nighttime use and a small bag that is attached to the inside of your calf for day use. To empty the day bag you just put your foot up on the edge of a toilet or fire hydrant whichever is closer and turn the valve.

When the office girls got done with me, the doctor came in to explain that pathology had confirmed 20% of my prostate to have been cancerous. The cancer appeared to be contained to the prostate, which is no longer among my current list of internal organs.

Then came the “Talk”. The good doctor gave me some free Viagra pills with these simple instructions: “Use it or loose it”

With those encouraging words I make my way though the waiting room wondering if my diaper make me look fat.

Mr. “B”

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Thanks for coming back Mr "B". Those relief drivers were scary !!

Perhaps less than a dozen times in my life I have felt deep emotional pain/sorrow. I don't mean the lump in your throat kind. I mean the kind that originates somewhere inside your chest and you are hoping to find a switch to turn it off. The first time I remember this happening was just before Rob left home to go to BYU. I was driving at about Broadway and Country Club. I came at that time to the realization that once your children leave home they generally only come back as visitors. That of course is part of life's plan and it is a good plan. The last time this happened before yesterday was when I dropped Ashley off in SLC on her way to BYU Idaho.

Tuesday morning I had my first doctor visit since my surgery a week before. My post surgery week had been lousy. This had been my sixth time on the operating table in one year. While it was only a one hour surgery my body seemed to be rebelling from the intrusions that involved knives and anesthesia. I had started driving several days before the doctor visit. I would drive and come home and go directly to bed after each run. I wondered each morning if physically and mentally I should even be driving a bus. It was decided by me and my doctor that I should quit driving and apply for a medical leave of absence. This in fact was the only way that I was going to be able to come back to driving without losing my seniority #, good route, and good bus. I called dispatch and told them that I would be gone for the near future and I went directly to bed.

The next morning I realized what I had done and I had my melt down. I had been driving for three years arguably some of the best students in the school district to the Mesa Academy for Advance Studies. I was their Mr"B" and I knew them by name. When I came back from my numerous sick leaves I was always greeted with enthusiasm. Thanks for coming back Mr "B". Those relief drivers were scary !! I had been practicing my departure speech for a week and I left without even saying good by. Well there you have it. A crusty 67 year old bus driver with a heart of mush.

Mr "B"

"Do you wish to state a religions preference?"

I don't know if I shared with you that I will be going in Monday morning for another surgery. The hole near my belly button where they took my prostate out did not heal up properly and left me with a hernia. It is an outpatient thing.

Friday night a lady called me from the hospital to ask me a long series of health questions. I don't like these long telephone inquires but I tried to make the best of it. This is how some of our conversation went.

"Do you wish to state a religions preference?"

"I'm LDS."

"Do you smoke or drink?"

"No , they don't let us".

"I know you are not suppose to but since I don't go to your church you could tell me ".

"Really I don't".

"Do you ever have any anxiety attacks"?

"Yes sometimes".

"When does it happen"?

"Usually when I am laying naked on an operating table".

" Who will be accompanying you to the hospital at 6:00 AM"?

" Either my wife or my girlfriend--whoever I can wake up".

Maybe I shouldn't have told her I was LDS. Actually we were both about laughing to tears by the end of our conversation. EB

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

To my Academy and Franklin passengers

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

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My Only Concert

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".

This "A" came with a price. Those who got "A's" were then invited to perform at the closing music concert at Star Valley High. This was an audience of the entire student body, faculty, and parents. What was I thinking? My biggest audience to that point was playing the hymns occasionally for seminary class. In SVHS the guy heroes were athletes not piano players. Most of the student body didn't even know I played the piano and now I was the featured pianist in the closing high school concert. There was something wrong with this picture. At the appointed time that evening I left the relative comfort and anonymity of the trombone section and made my way to the grand piano. Apparently I was too ignorant to know that there was a very real chance of tunnel vision and complete black out setting in such a situation. With the exception of playing one part twice the performance seemed to go without flaw.--------Athletes of the high school eat your hearts out. Is it possible that the meek shall really inherit the earth?

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Sunday, May 2, 2010

The Hospital

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……

Tonight I am home in my king sized bed. Elaine made some hot bread that gives a pleasant smell to the whole house. I have three new stents in my heart. No one is shampooing the carpets. L

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FW:

From: eebagley@hotmail.com
To: eebagley@gmail.com
Subject:
Date: Fri, 23 Apr 2010 18:11:44 -0700