Adventure 440: The Story of George, 17

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."