Category: beating

9/11: A shocking day for our great Nation; And an awful day for me!

One World Trade Center

Courtesy of https://www.architecturalrecord.com

If you have previously visited my blog, you know I wrote with great passion about the original 9/11 in A Change of Seasons.

This year, I feel like a personally devastating 9/11 is happening to me. You see, on Labor Day I met with my paralegal; she was notarizing my signature to end my marriage of 37 years! I am a romantic at heart, and even though she could file the final divorce papers that day, I asked her to wait until 9/11 so I could say that I was legally married to beautiful Mik for 37 years —Mik: nickname for my ex-wife Sally, that I gave her after she corrected me; her maiden last name McFerren is pronounced MikFerren and not MacFerren— Even though we were legally married at the Santa Ana courthouse on 8/12/1983, very few people knew about it, we consider our actual wedding day to be 9/10/1983, when we were married in the suburbs of Akron, Ohio, at a little church, where Mik’s parents, family and friends worshipped. We actually did not celebrate with our California friends until we returned from Ohio —We hosted a great party cruising on the Kon Tiki in beautiful Newport Beach harbor—

The last two and a half years have been awful, but we had 35 years of wonderful marriage. So why are we divorcing? It seems I was getting too mean! Mik would disregard my skiing misfortune handicap and make me late for all my personal and business appointments; a trait that does not define me! As a matter of fact, people know that if I make an appointment with them and they’re five minutes late and I don’t hear from them, I simply leave. I resolved that issue by telling Mik that my appointments were ½ hour earlier. But I am the male of the species and I have to take responsibility in the matter: We mismanaged a lot of money, and Mik decided that the best solution for my immediate future, was to retire me to a nursing home; Of course, after the wonderful life that I had been leading, I didn’t like this proposition at all. That and some financial decisions which I didn’t agree with, turned me mean again and she filed for a legal separation after avoiding marriage counseling that I had proposed. Because of my condition, I might end up in a nursing home after all, but at the age of 55, I wasn’t ready for it. I guess we have irreconcilable differences.

But not all should be considered doom and gloom; We have two (adult) children: A handsome young man and a beautiful girl (I know she is now a young lady, but she will always be my beautiful girl) . And I was able to provide a great life for them and Mik. They grew up in heavenly SoCal and I have always been able to provide great homes for them. Our children are not saddled with student loans and they attended well-known universities, including studies abroad. I was lucky to be able to provide financial resources, most of the time, and Mik worked as she pleased or not at all whenever possible. We were also lucky to have exotic vacations in my native Venezuela, Spain and Hawaii as well as the beautiful US southwest. All my material accomplishments were always accompanied with immeasurable love.

No matter what the future holds, I will keep telling my doctors and therapists, our families and friends and most people I meet that I wouldn’t be alive without the love and attention that Mik provided me during my recuperation from my skiing misfortune. I have always been a pretty active guy challenging myself in marathonic sports events and it could not have been easy to see your spouse almost die and with many tubes coming out of his body while in the ICU and reduced to a severely phisically handicapped person thereafter.

So what will I do know? Will I reinvent myself? 2020 has taught us not to make detailed plans because they can be unexpectedly derailed. One thing that I know for certain is that where two magnificent towers stood side by side, now a gleaming skyscraper has been proudly built. Alas, it stands by itself!

Disreflexia

Disreflexia
Coutesy of http://www.nspnvt.org/sci_info/disreflexia.html

What happened? I wear a Foley catheter that gets changed in my home, every three weeks, by a specialized nurse. Today, a nurse that I have only met once before, attempted what should have been a routine procedure four times, without hitting my bladder and without getting my urine to flow; She knew it was time to stop when my penis started bleeding (ouch!). I would had to wait a couple of hours for her emergency backup, so my caregiver and I decided to call 911.

911 and the ambulance drivers were very professional and transported me to Mission Hospital since I knew I was going into dysreflexia.

What did they do at Mission Hospital? After taking my vitals, which were very elevated by then, an experienced nurse was able to get my catherer changed and my urine flowing on the first try! All my vitals went back to normal right away. After analyzing the situation with my caregiver, we think the in-home nurse inflated the balloon (that keeps my catherer in the bladder) prematurely and that’s why I started bleeding.

Are you okay now? After being transported by ambulance back to my home, I’m in my bed waiting for my night caregiver. Everything is back to normal!

Did you have to wear a mask? That is the first thing that 911 did. Everyone was wearing masks and they put one on me the second they arrived in my home.

Were you alone? Because of Covid-19 protocols nobody was allowed to be with me or visit me! One of the things that really impressed me was how professional every one was; The 911 guys, the EMT’s, the nurses and the doctors. They weren’t doing their job because of a paycheck; They were doing it because they understand how much we rely on them and because they truly wants us to feel better and maybe even save our lives. What an extraordinary set of individuals!

Was this the worst case scenario? Without over-dramatizing the situation, because of Covid-19 protocols, I think it was close. Other than passing away into another plane of existence, I cannot think of a routine procedure turning into a worst case scenario. I wish I was into Eastern religions like my father was, and I believed in karma, reincarnation and nirvana. But I believe YOLO!

Going to California!

Courtesy of YouTube
 

 

As most of my friends know, Led Zeppelin is one of my favorite rock bands —Some others include Supertramp (go figure!), The Rolling Stones and Jimmy Hendrix; I’m really an old-school Venezuelan— One of my friends remembered the fact and he played some Led Zeppelin songs on the piano, that he had rehearsed for a recent end-of-year college-friends get-together (What a guy).

I have three citizenships: Venezuelan American and Spanish (Thanks to a “Historical Memory” Spanish law and to my maternal grandfather who fought in the Spanish Civil War); But I wish I was a Californio. California, specifically SoCal, has defined my adult life, and I consciously made the decision to study at UC Irvine and to live here.

Just today, I changed the ringtone for my (ex?) wife to this part of the song:

“Someone told me there’s a girl out there

 With love in her eyes and flowers in her hair”

I think the first sentences of the lyrics will never apply to her! [Insert emoticon or emoji here] ©

🦃🦃🦃 Three Turkyes

A Thanksgiving Poem

Thanksgiving to be spent by my lonesome

One turkey was a young hen
She was beautiful and tender
One could never feel in a pen
Her busy life didn’t make her surrender

It’s happened for the last couple of years

The other one was a handsome young Tom
He was smart, tall and somewhat skinny
He was the only known bird who won
An athletic scholarship for cross-country

But Sasha and Daniel were awesome

The third turkey was old and tough
He was going to give you indigestion
His skiing misfortune was simply bad luck
He enjoys receiving and giving affection

They stuffed me with plenty of cheers!

A Change of Seasons

Courtesy of
https://www.rd.com

September is a great month for sports. Baseball’s pennant races are heating up and the excitement of the World Series is just around the corner. The NFL and College Football previews are mind-boggling and a great distraction for any arm-chaired quarterback getting a leg up on his buddies.

The beaches of Southern California are at their best. The throngs of tourists are gone. The waters of the Pacific are still warm and somehow seem cleaner and more inviting. It is a great time to perfect bodysurfing tucks or to just horse around on the boogie boards with the kids. If I am lucky, I may even squeeze in an epic ocean kayak paddle with my water-dog friend before the winter storms exile me to the snow of the mountains

When September rolls around, there really is only one sport that consumes me: Coaching my kids’ Soccer teams. There is the challenge of learning 25-odd names and faces and the quirks that go with them. There is the sense of accomplishment of organizing reluctant parents into a circle of friends who turn into rabid Soccer fans every Saturday. There is the joy of meeting previous team members and friends on the fields. There is the pride of winning games and the satisfaction of turning losses into lessons of sportsmanship. September means coaching Youth Soccer and it is always a magical time of the year.

I can sense the changing of the seasons. My Sunday mountain biking rides are getting more pleasurable. The unbearable heat of the summer is almost gone. Cool, overcast mornings are soon replaced with glorious sunny afternoons that intensify the great feeling of being in the outdoors. This September there is another change in the wind. It is not crisp like the autumn air. It is not radiant like the equinoctial Sun. But it is more palpable. It is easy to feel it in the horrific pictures replayed on the TV, in the disturbing headlines of the newspapers and in the strident chatter of the radio.

Something is changing. It is history itself. Like watching the images of the fall of the Berlin Wall or the failed anti-Gorbachev putsch that signaled the disintegration of the Soviet Union, I find myself hypnotized, with the clear perception that an important historical event is unfolding right before my eyes.

I cannot help but share in the collective feelings of outrage, apprehension, reflection and determination resulting from the events leading to the now christened “First War of the Century.” Pundits and talking-heads seem to have all the solutions and provide us with multiple scenarios of how the future might unfold. But nobody knows; History is fraught with remarkable, unforeseen events. I do know one thing: Next September will be a great month for sports!

Originally written 18 years ago, before I discovered BlogSpot and WordPress.

The Run for the Roses

Courtesy of
https://www.kentuckyderby.com

In case you don’t know, the Kentucky Derby is also known as “The Run for the Roses.” Why? You see, the winning horse gets draped with this beautiful rose garland. And what a crazy horserace this year’s Run for the Roses was!

First of all, the track was a muddy mess, making the outcome more uncertain; The Triple Crown races —The Kentucky Derby, the Preakness Stakes and the Belmont Stakes— are for young horses only (3-year-olds, teenagers really), and most of them don’t have experience with muddy tracks. Second, it was won by a DQ; In all of 145 years of Kentucky Derby history this has never happened. If you had bet on Country House to Win you would have collected a cool +$132 on your $2 ticket (one usually gets cents on this kind of bets). Most people think Maximum Security was robbed (myself included). It was so crazy even the Donald got involved.

I have a longtime tradition to watch the Triple Crown races (and making personal bets) with Mik —That’s my nickname for my beautiful wife; it goes back to when we were dating: I learned her maiden name and mispronounced it as MacFerren; she promptly corrected me to MicFerren— We watched the race at one of our all-time favorite places, Stadium Brew while sipping mint juleps. I asked the pretty bartender to dial a couple of sports screens to the race, so we could watch it. The manager went one step further and turned all the TV’s to the Kentucky Derby, with sound, which is not usually done!

Someday, Mik and I will attend all the Triple Crown races. She has promised to wear an extravagant hat; All I have to do is to get hammered and lose exotic bets. [Insert emoticon or emoji here] © Mik and I, had also agreed that this year we wouldn’t have a Triple Crown winner before learning about this development.

By the way, I came across this video while watching sports documentaries, during my early-day warm-ups with one of my caregivers; Even if you don’t like horse racing, it’s well worth watching for its amazing story.

Open Letter to my Neurologist

Courtesy of
https://www.amazon.com

I was referred to a neurologist to get rid of an abdominal pain right on top of my bladder; I wear a catheter: I used to wear a supra-pubic and switched to a foley, hoping to get rid of the excruciating pain associated with changing it every three weeks. My bladder stoma didn’t heal properly and my urologist gave me a referral after treating me surgically.

I will not mention my neurologist’s name to protect his identity. However, the events described are real and have cost me much pain beyond the physical ones.

Instead of treating my abdominal pain, my neurologist decided to treat me for psychological problems (real or imagined [Insert emoticon or emoji here] ©) aided by the insecurities and anxieties of my wife. He proceeded to waste weeks of my life administering unnecessary tests and prescribing dangerous drugs; To this day I still suffer from my abdominal pain. Of course, the main party to be blamed for this situation, it’s really me; I should have done something about it right away. And I finally have.

At first, I was very happy to get off the valproic acid improperly prescribed by a psychiatrist that my wife took me to see, under false pretenses; In my frustration, I would become belligerent whenever she wasted my time and money and I could not do anything about it —Valproic acid is a medicine given to epileptics; its organic compound is related to the ‘cicuta‘, a poisonous plant used since ancient times to kill people. It is a dangerous drug!— Instead my neurologist prescribed Lexapro, which is what was originally prescribed by Craig Hospital when I suffered my skiing misfortune (It’s part of Craig Hospital’s protocol for all SCI patients).

I am not a crazy old coot and I did not stop taking these dangerous drugs cold turkey. I did my research to safely discontinue their use. I am not against taking medicines, if one suffers from mental illness. But I am against taking psychotropic drugs to withstand life problems. Ultimately, life problems need to be confronted in order to resolve them.

I can remember one time when I failed terribly as a husband and a father! It was the late summer of 1998; After 19 years of hard work, three major software distributors had agreed to resell my software, AutoDISPATCH™ C/S, at the national level. My efforts had finally paid off! It happened in Cincinnati, Ohio at the Solomon Software Annual Conference; And the best part was that my beautiful wife was there to witness it and help me. At the end of this conference, Solomon Software surprised everyone and told all us re-sellers and developers, that they had just bought my main competitor —My competitor’s software wasn’t better, but they had the numbers and were creating major problems for Solomon customers— Who would you rather buy expensive Field Service Management software from? From some guy with a strange name and a small office in Newport Beach? Or from Solomon-Great Plains-Microsoft? Game over! I got extremely depressed!

In any case, I have decided that I will not spend the rest of my days on this Pale Blue Dot under the influence of psychotropic drugs. It’s been several months since I’ve been off Lexapro completely and I have not suffered a depression, even though I’m going through a very difficult and emotional legal separation. My BMP is down to the low 50’s; I’m 60 years old; When I was in great shape and much younger, my BMP was in the low 40’s. I no longer have nightmares; Instead, I have pleasant dreams, sometimes in Spanish. I wake up naturally just before light announces the dawn of a new day. And yes, my physiatrist (watch the spelling) knows all about it!

To my neurologist: Maybe you want to write off my actions as being delusional in order to justify your actions. Despite your battery of inconclusive tests and dangerous drugs, anyone can tell that I am not clinically depressed. And always remember why I was referred to you!