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| February 8, 2018 |
Hold on on minute until this chiropractor sets my neck for whiplash. Real time found George dressed, calm, and dapper when we arrived at Harvard Park this morning before breakfast. He said slept well and obviously managed to dress himself despite wrestling with his oversized temporary catheter. He merely tucked it inside his pants as if it was just another accessory. He also took his pills.I find it interesting how previously offensive or disgusting things can become so ordinary. Last night, George thought nothing of holding up his catheter bag to show Vina the volume produced and the color. He had no reluctance at all. It was like show and tell in first grade. And in the hospital, he and the nurse's assistant kept up a running dialogue as she measured the urine she'd just emptied from his bag. It's like relationships, I guess. There's shyness at first; then familiarity comes; then the surprises end, and finally an accepted normal sets in. Whatever it is, George snapped right back into his new normal this morning. Stay tuned for the next ride.
Due to many factors, George and Chris didn't make it as a couple. As George says, "We both can take a little blame." George and Margaret, on the other hand, fit together like peas in a pod, a hand in a glove, a key and a lock, or whatever pat analogy you can think of. Both like to have a good time. They liked to bowl, fish, camp, gamble, play cards, and in the early years, smoke and drink. Once George reconciled himself to a new direction, he and Margaret were off on their life journey together. They were married for over fifty years when Margaret died at age 92. One thing they really enjoyed in their retired years was casino gambling. They would take their motor home to some casino somewhere and stay for three or four days. They's gamble the day away, always on a strict budget that they never strayed from. Margaret liked the penny machines-those blinking lighted games that chirp, whistle, ring, and whirr. She was lucky, too. She'd sit in front of the same machine, puffing away on one cigarette after another for hours. It was common for her to be five or six hundred dollars ahead at the end of one of their jaunts. George, meanwhile, liked the blackjack table. Good with numbers and the odds, he often came out ahead as well. At night, they'd play a card game they called "Hollywood Gin", drink beer, and generally enjoy each other. This was one part of their entertainment for many years, and it worked for them. It didn't really work for George's children. To commit to Margaret, he had to essentially abandoned his own children, although there were some visitations. Mostly, Margaret's daughter and her family became George's extended family. If holidays mean that families get together, George and Margaret's Thanksgiving and Christmas always included Wendy and hers. When George met Margaret, he had a choice to make. It was unfortunate that he couldn't make a go of it with Chris, but that became water under the bridge. He chose to move on.
Not a bad bounce back from a three day "vacation" at the hospital. Maybe George pretended he was at the blackjack table. He's got a pretty mischievous look on his face, almost like the cat that swallowed the canary.
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| February 7, 2018 |
Real time found George doing better today, although he thought breakfast, which was luke warm hash browns and cold rubbery scrambled eggs, was a poor excuse for food. Lunch was much better, especially after the nurse gave him a shave and a bath. The good news came with Dr. Gar when she arrived about 1:30 P.M. He's being released after the necessary paperwork gets done. His next step is a visit next week to Dr. Kruger, the urologist, where it will be determined what to do about the 3.2 cm complex Bozniak III Cyst on his left kidney. He also has a few smaller cysts as well as a spattering of kidney stones. Of the many possibilities for the original blockage last Sunday, the cysts, the stones, and the obvious fact that he tried to pull his Foley catheter out by its ears lead the pack. Overall, he's in good spirits, and he reports very little pain. However, if we asked him to recount a time line of his last three emergency hospital visits, he couldn't do it. All of this is to say we still face the upcoming reality that he will not be able to manage independently for much longer. This means we'll have to find a new living arrangement for him. It's unclear what that will look like. We'll know more after the urology visit. The uncertainty is troubling, more for Judy than me because I know that we'll adjust to whatever comes our way. I also know we're just the stewards in this process. If we even dreamed of control, we'd be better to realize that even the thought of such a thing is an illusion.
George took up golf when he was working for the post office. His mail carrying job allowed him to play every day. As a result, along with a good measure of talent, he became an excellent player. At his peak he was a scratch golfer. His career included two hole in ones, several local tournament wins, and several years of pleasure. He really enjoyed the camaraderie surrounding game and the clubhouse. One of the ways I maintained contact with him over the year was through golf. Every year when I'd visit we'd go play a round. It was the only round I played all year. He's hit his drive; I'd hit mine. We'd search the weeds for my ball. I'd whack at it again. George would hit his second ball onto the green. We'd try to find my ball again, sometimes resorting to just dropping a new one. I'd whack at the ball again, finally getting it to roll hotly on the putting surface. George would knock his ball in. I never remember him keeping score because he was so good, he was either plus one or minus one. He always scored very near par for the course. One other memory: His first set of clubs was designed by a guy named Tommy Arnour, a fairly good professional. The clubs became collector items after a time. For many years I had them in my possession. I finally decided to have them restored. They looked brand new when I gave them to George on his fiftieth birthday. I have fond memories of the rounds I played with George over the years. I only wish he hadn't given all of his golf clubs to his neighbor. I'd like to have had some of them for the nostalgia.
George on the way to his first MRI. He couldn't believe the noise.
George talking with his girlfriend, Vina. "I'm on my way home, Babe."
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| February 6, 2018 |
Real time found George awake and alert this morning. He wolfed down a breakfast of French toast and sausage. His urine is beginning to show signs of clearing. No doctor has come in as of 9 A.M., but the day is young, so hope is on high. George said he slept well. Last evening may have been the most enjoyable time I've ever spent with him. He was telling Judy and I stories about living in the orchards as a kid, about riding the bus to school, and about how the town kids looked down on the orchard kids. There was quite a bit of laughing going on. It felt good.
In certain ways, George allows himself to express guilt concerning some of his life decisions. He wanted very much to build a good family life, but he and Christine were like oil and water. They constantly bickered, each feeling unappreciated by the other, but as George says, "I wasn't a total bad ass, I just had some bad stretches." Somewhere around 1958, Chris had had enough. She did what she thought would work. She called one of her sisters (Diane), hopped a Greyhound with Sandy and Judy, and moved herself to Edmonds, WA. She left George with Tim and Tom to fend for themselves. George says that if it weren't for his parents he didn't know what he would have done. The three, George, Tim and Tom moved into George's parent's home on 4th Ave and 4th Street right up the hill from downtown Lewiston. George Sr. and Rosa had moved into town a couple years earlier when the five acre place became too much to handle for just the two of them. George's mother, Rosa, worked at St. Joseph's Hospital, a three block walk for her, and George Sr. worked as a brakeman on the Union Pacific Railroad. George and the boys lived almost two years in that house. At the time George worked for the postal service, and maybe it was because his personal life was in crisis that he had his accident. He had a driving route in the orchards and many of his stops included a string of nine or ten mailboxes altogether on one stand. He would slide mail in a box and move his mail truck slightly to the next. On one stop there was a toddler no more than two or three who always came out to check the mail with his mother. That was fine, but one day the toddler dashed out of the house before his mother could contain him. He darted across the street to the mailboxes. George's attention was focused on sliding the mail into the boxes so he didn't see the toddler until the kid screaming from under the truck. Fortunately, the kid wasn't injured when George ran over him, but as one might imagine, the mother was distraught to say the least. The upshot of the whole thing was that George was called on the carpet by the "powers that be". They gave George the opportunity to remain employed by offering him a walking route, but his injured pride wouldn't allow him to accept the compromise. He left the postal service in a huff. Shortly, after that, Chris who was having guilt pangs of her own, feeling she had abandoned her children, came back to Lewiston and took Tim and Tom back to the coast with her.According to George, she was "jealous" of the care Rosa was giving the boys. At any rate, George not only lost his job, he lost his family. It was a hard time for him, and as he says, "It wasn't all Chris's fault; I was to blame, too." It was also hard on the boys. Chris made the move halfway through the school year, uprooting the boys in mid stream. Tim was a fifth grader; Tom a fourth grader. In the blink of three days, they were in a new town, a new house, and a new school. It was the next wave in a sea of tumultuous times.
Judy, yukking it up with George. George likes Judy, but then who doesn't?
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| February 5, 2018 |
Real time took another dip down the roller coaster for George. For reasons yet unknown, he was unable to relieve himself last night. He said, "I was wearing the sheets out getting out of bed". The urge to go and the panic of not being able to forced him to push the "Button of Life" all Harvard Park residents wear around their necks. It was 2 A.M. In less than ten minutes a fire truck, an ambulance, and a pair of paramedics arrived on the scene. In a whisker, he was transported to Deaconess Hospital. Shortly, after the incident, I received a call, but since I was sleep and my phone was on silent, I didn't get the message until I woke up this morning around seven. Judy and I went to Harvard Park to confirm that he wasn't there. We then went to Sacred Heart because that's where they normally take him, and the person at the other end of the message I received didn't know which hospital he'd been taken to. We found him at Deaconess asleep. He'd been put on antibiotics, a new Foley Catheter had been inserted, and he had visible blood in his urine (They call that acute). Judy and I have stayed with him most of the day. He's eaten, he's in good spirits, and he's even remembered some more details about some old stories. My Holiday Inn degree and vast experience tells me that he tried to tug on his catheter which caused bleeding which caused a clot which caused blockage which caused an ambulance ride and a hospital stay. He's appears strong and healthy aside from his urinary problems. It will be interesting to see what the lab tests show. Right now they are giving him an ultrasound of his kidneys to see if any of the blood has backed up or originated from them. There is a whole list of causes for blood in the urine. None sound tempting.
George was able to add more detail about his summer at Gertrude Maxwell's ranch in Grangeville, Idaho. It turns out that Ms. Maxwell grew up there, and over time her family turned their sixty acres into a "Dude" ranch for city slickers to experience the West. George, probably because he was a pretty straight arrow and a good worker extended his two weeks into three months. He had many chores. Besides caring for the livestock, he also helped greenhorns learn to ride and any other "need" to make the dude experience authentic. One of his chores was to take Gertrude's mother a dozen eggs every day. She lived a mile down the road, so George rode down. On the way there, he said the horse walked calmly, almost as if it knew George was carrying eggs, but on the way back, watch out! The horse galloped for the barn like it was a Kentucky Derby contender. George said all he could do was hold on. He remembered several "dude" stories, but one stood out. A lady from New York came out. She was terrified of horse, but they got her up on the gentlest mare they had. Still, this lady managed to get the horse high centered on a pine tree. The horse couldn't go forward, and wouldn't go backward. George and another hand named Elroy had to rescue the lady. It was all they could do to not embarrass her with their laughter. They knew that Gertrude wouldn't approve, and both boys were wise enough to know to not test her. For awhile I could see George's mind take him back to that summer. His grin was warm to see.
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| February 4, 2018 |
Real time for George continues to amaze. We visited just about dinner time last night. George told us all about Masaki's visit. He knew what Masaki did for work; he remembered what Mitzki was doing in Japan. He told us about the boys' father, Yoshki. In short, he remembered the whole visit. He forgot to take his night pills, though. But clearly there's hope for him to maintain some level of functional cognition. My Judy thought he had quite the sparkle in his eyes. She guessed that George had gotten a few smooches that afternoon. Anyway, Vina was complaining (lightly) that he'd interrupted her nap. I think it's safe to say that life is good for George, especially yesterday.
George was quite the car guy in his younger years. I remember he had this 1956 Lincoln Continental. It was painted metallic gtayish-green with white leather interior, and it had electric windows, which of course we were told not to play with. I remember this car especially because I was about five years old when my mom's mother died. We piled into the Lincoln and mom raced up the hill to the Lewiston Orchards. I can still feel the lean of the suspension as she took the corners at speed. There were no seat belts in those days, and certainly no child seats. I was tossed like a rag doll from one side of the back seat to the other. I had to tuck and roll just to prevent myself from smashing up against the arm cushions on either side of the car. We screeched to a stop in a cloud of dust that rose up from the dirt road in front of my grandparent's shack. I stood at the back window of the car looking at my grandparent's house as the dust settled. Sometime later mom came out and tearfully took me in to see "Grandma". Her lifeless body lying prone on the table is another indelible memory in my collection. Here rugged face was calm, her plain print dress was smoothed nicely over her, and her high top leather shoes, still scuffed, pointed gently outward. All of my aunties were there, huddled like sparrows. They were crying. Grandpa Ruden sat stoically in his chair, his chin resting on his fist, like Rodan's thinker. he made no sound; he shed no tears. No telling where George was that day. Best case, he was working, Worst case, who knows?
Not the exact car, but one just like George's. Quite the sleek automobile.
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| Masaki |
Real time was a little fuzzy for George today. His grandson, Masaki (Judy's youngest), drove over from Gig Harbor where he lives and works as a specialty carpenter. George didn't recognize him, nor did he recognize a picture of Judy (His daughter). Masaki kept producing the pictures, including one of him and George the last time Masaki visited. Finally, George put it together, which is a good sign. However, the signs are clear that his cognition is failing. He continues to forget to take his night time pills. We'll go over and check again tonight. We've considered the possibility of him taking all of his pills in the morning, but that may be too much for his system. And, since he's been improving every day, it's entirely possible he'll return to his status before the UTI infection. I'm amazed at the power of that infection, and it's highly possible we'll see another before long since a permanent catheter lends itself as a excellent petri dish. Bugs just can't wait to climb the ladder. But no matter, he's doing pretty well.
I was a good swimmer in my youth. In my older state, I prefer floating, buoyed by something such as a "Sea of Cortez" seat with a cold beverage in both of the drink holders. I can still swim, but nothing like I could as a youngster. I've already mentioned a trip to the Snake River. In those days before the dams slackened the water, the Snake River and the Clearwater River (which meet at Lewiston) ran with quite swift current. The current was so swiftl that if a person pushed out from the shore softly, the current would quickly carry him back to the shore. In my youth, I wasn't bothered by the current. I'd swim up river, up and out to the middle and allow myself to come back down river before I would stroke strongly for the shore line. Though dangerous, I thought nothing of it at the time. All this is to say that George taught me to swim when i was five years old. He did it the Navy way. We went down to the local swimming pool where he grabbed me by the one arm and one leg. He swung me around in sort of a cowboy dance move and launched me into the pool. I burbled up, not quite coughing. He yelled from the pool deck, "Use your arms; kick your feet." I'm surprised I wasn't traumatized by the event. Instead, I merely survived. To this day, if I close my eyes, I can remember George grabbing me, lifting me, and launching me. Burble. Burble.
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| February 2, 2018 |
Skipped a day of real time for George, but all is well. We took him to the doctor to get some pre-cancerous cells cut off his forehead. He's never had so much medical care. He's handling it well and is in good spirits. I think it's safe to day he's over the UTI infection. I must tell you, that particular infection is a doozy. I think our only concern now is rebuilding his habit of taking his daily pills. He's pretty good about remembering his morning dose, but the evening has been escaping him.
I remember one time, I must have been around seven, that George met some of his buddies for a game of poker, cigars, and booze. The group met at the local heavy equipment store in downtown Lewiston. He took me along. I was too young to know anything about the actual card game, but I remember being entranced by the big bulldozers, ditch witches, and other big machinery. George told me that I could look, but under no circumstance was I to climb on the machines. Well, one of his buddies who must have lost out early, thought he'd be funny. He sat me up on one of the D-9 Cats, and proceeded to fire the thing up. George came running out of the back room like Usain Bolt. I could hear the poker chips tinkling as his wake caused the table to tremble. His buddies laughed and laughed, I didn't get into any trouble, but I look for that equipment place every time I'm in Lewiston, Idaho. I'm sure it never crossed George's mind that a back room poker game was no place for a seven year old, but hey, what's wrong with a little fun?
Just a small bandage; no worries.
