Pincushion

July 29, 2010

Hermetic. Anesthetic. Clean. Sterile. So far that’s what I have discovered about Rhode Island. Not very appealing adjectives when you are looking at the sights and sounds of your new home. Pretty good though if it’s how you might describe the inside of its hospitals. Being that those are mostly what I have been able to see since I’ve been here, I can’t really use any other words.

Yes, I was in the hospital once again last night. Fortunately they didn’t need to keep me over night, but Melissa and I spent the better part of five hours in the emergency room. FUN!!!

Since we moved here I haven’t had a new cardiologist, so we made an appointment for yesterday afternoon. We filled out all the paperwork and then headed back into the examination room which was surprisingly warm and comfortable, not the cold and uninviting I have grown accustomed to. The nurse tried for about five minutes to attach the leads to my chest and abdomen for the standard EKG test while shooting small talk back and forth with Melissa. Eventually she had to acquiesce and shave some patches of hair in order to get the proper connections made. Apparently I was the first patient she had ever needed to shave, so I was feeling pretty proud of myself if not a bit frustrated. Why is it that I can grow hair all over my chest and stomach, but not on the top of my head? Oh well!

After all the fuss and struggle, the EKG took all of thirty seconds to complete. A few minutes later the doctor came in with a very concerned look on her face. “Hello. It’s nice to meet you. You should be in the hospital.”

Not really the first words you want to hear from your new doctor.

My heart had fallen back into an irregular rhythm and was beating at close to 180 beats per minute as well. If I was doing wind sprints or catching the winning fifty yard touchdown pass, it might not have been such a problem. But lying down on the table and being at rest, not so good.

So for the second time in a few months, I found myself in the hospital.

The first thing I always tell the nurse when I get there is that I have deep veins that like to hide. I don’t say this trying to tell them how to do their job or anything. It’s just that the least amount of time I can spend as a pin cushion, the better in my opinion. Some of them actually listen and try valiantly to put the IV in on the first stick. Mostly they brush me off and start poking away.

Can you guess what happened last night? Yup. Just call me Pokey. Or I could use the inside joke “Pinboy’! She tried my forearm, she tried my wrist, she tried my left hand, and she tried my right. Finally she realized she wasn’t going to be able to get a good vein. The doctor came over and sarcastically blew out the comment, “We don’t have an IV set up on him yet? Let me do it.”

Then another, I assume more experienced nurse came over and started to argue with her saying that she would do it. Back and forth they went for a few minutes while I sat there holding cotton pads down on my five new blood escape hatches. Eventually the doctor threw up her hands and walked off while the new nurse stomped up to me, tightened the tourniquet around my right forearm and jabbed the needle into the back of my hand.

I could describe the searing pain of a needle piercing the skin and fumbling around the inside of my hand looking for purchase. I could describe how angry I was that here I was again being subjected to endless torture while trying to bring my heart rate down. I could, but at least she got it on the first try. So I decided to be generous and just say thanks.

To be continued…

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My first holiday in a small town

I spent my very first holiday in a small town yesterday. A lot of people where I am from don’t really even consider Memorial Day to be a real holiday. Maybe that’s why yesterday was so special to me.

For most of my life we would have the typical backyard parties with a barbeque and maybe some fireworks on Memorial Day. If we ever wanted to go to a real festival or concert it cost a lot of money and we had to deal with traffic and grumpy crowds of people. Most of the time we never went too far from home. Other than a few short stories about how my Great Uncle Herb fought in World War Two, there was never much talk in town about remembrance or honoring those in uniform. I’m not saying people were disrespectful or that there were no memorials occurring, I just have no memory of them.

Yesterday we went to the local parade which took place in the center of down town. Keep in mind, down town here consists of the local library which is an old one room school house from the 1800’s, three homes, the volunteer fire house, the police station for all five officers, the city council office (a one room building) and three roads that intersect where the parade stops. Pretty much the entire town was there. Folks were waving flags and wearing all sorts of patriotic outfits showing off their red, white and blue pride. Taking the one word description from my wife, it was very “sweet”.

We were standing at the bottom of the library driveway when the parade started coming towards us from up the road. The local VFW came through first. A group of fourteen men all carrying heavily used rifles on their shoulders and a deep sadness in their eyes. I could see that they were all very proud as we spectators applauded them walking by, but there was a hint of resignation on their faces as well. As if they were happy to be there, but when they looked at each other there was something else communicated between them that I would never be able to understand as a civilian.

Fire engines and water tanks from all the surrounding towns came through giving out little flags and candy for all the kids. I kept looking for a Dalmatian sitting proudly in the passenger seat of one of the trucks, but that was the only missing piece to the Rockwellian portrait. Then the boy scouts and cub scouts came marching proudly in step right before a group of early twentieth century automobiles sputtering and coughing their way down the street on their hard rubber and wooden wheels.

The out of sync drums of the high school and junior high school marching bands rumbled through a herky-jerked cadence as they marched by to cheers and applause from their families and friends lining the road. Wearing their white tuxedo shirts I could see some of the upperclassmen looking around almost embarrassed, most likely wishing they were someplace else doing something cooler. I knew how they felt having been there my self. At least they didn’t have to follow a group of horses in the parade having to manage carrying a set of heavy drums and dodging landmines as they went.

The parade ended at the city council building’s flag pole and memorial stone which sits at the edge of the street to be seen whenever you come through town. A few local dignitaries gave short speeches and the high school band played a couple of slightly out of tune songs. Then the chair of the city council spoke and she read the lyrics to the song “Taps”. I had never known there were lyrics to this music and had certainly not heard them before, but they seemed very fitting for the event.

"Fading light dims the sight,
And a star gems the sky, gleaming bright.
From afar drawing nigh -- Falls the night.
Day is done, gone the sun,
From the lake, from the hills, from the sky;
All is well, safely rest, God is nigh.
Then good night, peaceful night,
Till the light of the dawn shineth bright;
God is near, do not fear -- Friend, good night."
-Unknown

One lone bugle played the mournful tones of the song when she finished. Before the melody faded another horn played from far off behind one of the buildings. Almost as if in echo, the song was being sung back to us from all of those we have lost over the years. It was serenely haunting and one of the most beautiful things I have ever heard in my entire life.

My son grabbed my hand and squeezed as I realized I was fighting back tears. I am still choked up now as I sit here at my keyboard thinking about it. I don’t know if it’s really a matter of small town versus big city but I don’t think I will ever look at Memorial Day the same way again. It’s not that I didn’t have respect and admiration for our soldiers. I have always been grateful to everyone who has ever sacrificed to keep our way of life alive. It just seems more real to me now. It seems more personal.

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