- Joined
- Mar 26, 2002
- Messages
- 1,861
Munk, you do have your head screwed on right!
Smoke, prayers and sonf for you and your dad.
As I approach 62, I feel some of the frustration of age. I can't run or jump as high and my reflexes are slower, but sometimes I, maybe, need to remind myself that I am no longer young. Honestly I look out at the world and think that I am maybe 35.
There is a strangely familiar old guy looking back at me from the mirror. Reminds me of a Frank Sinatra song. "Man in the looking glass, who can he be? Man in the looking glass, can he possibly be me......?"
I look at the lines in Anne's face and I love them all. The smiles that crease her face. A roadmap of love, fun and beauty.
One of my tenants recently told me that he felt young people were "kind of crazy, because they brains is too smooth. Ain't got no wrinkles yet."
But that old guy in the mirror has fears. Not so much about money or relationships, but about how fast time is passing and health issues.
Remember Y2K? That was yesterday! I did not get the cans of beans and batteries. Did not think it would happen, but I was a little concerned. That was five years ago.
Take it back further. I remember JFK getting shot. It was a beautiful afternoon. The sun was shining. I had a new Thunderbird convert -- ragtop we called them. White with a delicious red interior. I think that I was about twenty.
I have only had the R69 for 35 years. Got it in 1970 when a taxi cut in front of me and I hit it with the Vincent. Broke my left wrist. Got $15,000 damages from the taxi guy. I had a good lawyer. My wrist sometimes pains when the weather changes.
This was a time when the Viet Nam war (we called it a "police action") was raging. We were worried about the draft, out of wedlock pregnancy and the clap, but there was "free love!"
My father went in the hospital for a simple knee replacement about ten years ago. He was to have an epidural, but they gave him a general anesthetic instead. He was never "right" again when they brought him out.
Powerful visual and auditory hallucinations. Charles Bonnet syndrome they called it. I called it "something wrong with the operation." They assured me that everything they did was absolutely right. Should have sued, but was too depressed.
I had to take his car away from him. He was a danger. He accused me of "getting back" at him for the times he grounded me as a 16 year old.
Then the endless visits to a man stuck in the memories of WWII. Now confined to a small room in an "old folks home." The ONE place and he never wanted to be.
My sister was better at taking care of him than me. He ran her in crazy circles. He was of the "Old School" where men did not take orders from women.
The women doctors and nurses would tell him they needed tests. My sister would tell him he needed the tests and he would refuse. My sister, God, can she now be 60? My sister would argue with dad for hours. No dice. Let me add that my sister is a powerful woman. Very strong and capable, but dad would not listen to her.
She would call me and ask my help. I would call or visit dad and just tell him to take the tests. He would immediately agree.
Since this happened often I asked my sister why it was necessary for me to tell dad to take the tests? She replied with a voice loaded with frustration, "Because you have a dick and I don't! And it REALLY pisses me off!'
We watched dad sink past the place where he knew he had a problem. He wound up with his mind deteriorating to the point where he thought that he was a child again, but a very sick child.
His mind died, then very slowly, his body.
The doctors tell me I need a knee replacement. This scares me. I remember too clearly dad and the knee replacement that slowly killed him.
Could Anne run our business without me? I think not.
Do I fear the hospital with the mistakes the doctors make? The wrong medications being given? The 'resistant' infections? The pus from the wounds?
Yes.
Smoke, prayers and sonf for you and your dad.
As I approach 62, I feel some of the frustration of age. I can't run or jump as high and my reflexes are slower, but sometimes I, maybe, need to remind myself that I am no longer young. Honestly I look out at the world and think that I am maybe 35.
There is a strangely familiar old guy looking back at me from the mirror. Reminds me of a Frank Sinatra song. "Man in the looking glass, who can he be? Man in the looking glass, can he possibly be me......?"
I look at the lines in Anne's face and I love them all. The smiles that crease her face. A roadmap of love, fun and beauty.
One of my tenants recently told me that he felt young people were "kind of crazy, because they brains is too smooth. Ain't got no wrinkles yet."
But that old guy in the mirror has fears. Not so much about money or relationships, but about how fast time is passing and health issues.
Remember Y2K? That was yesterday! I did not get the cans of beans and batteries. Did not think it would happen, but I was a little concerned. That was five years ago.
Take it back further. I remember JFK getting shot. It was a beautiful afternoon. The sun was shining. I had a new Thunderbird convert -- ragtop we called them. White with a delicious red interior. I think that I was about twenty.
I have only had the R69 for 35 years. Got it in 1970 when a taxi cut in front of me and I hit it with the Vincent. Broke my left wrist. Got $15,000 damages from the taxi guy. I had a good lawyer. My wrist sometimes pains when the weather changes.
This was a time when the Viet Nam war (we called it a "police action") was raging. We were worried about the draft, out of wedlock pregnancy and the clap, but there was "free love!"
My father went in the hospital for a simple knee replacement about ten years ago. He was to have an epidural, but they gave him a general anesthetic instead. He was never "right" again when they brought him out.
Powerful visual and auditory hallucinations. Charles Bonnet syndrome they called it. I called it "something wrong with the operation." They assured me that everything they did was absolutely right. Should have sued, but was too depressed.
I had to take his car away from him. He was a danger. He accused me of "getting back" at him for the times he grounded me as a 16 year old.
Then the endless visits to a man stuck in the memories of WWII. Now confined to a small room in an "old folks home." The ONE place and he never wanted to be.
My sister was better at taking care of him than me. He ran her in crazy circles. He was of the "Old School" where men did not take orders from women.
The women doctors and nurses would tell him they needed tests. My sister would tell him he needed the tests and he would refuse. My sister, God, can she now be 60? My sister would argue with dad for hours. No dice. Let me add that my sister is a powerful woman. Very strong and capable, but dad would not listen to her.
She would call me and ask my help. I would call or visit dad and just tell him to take the tests. He would immediately agree.
Since this happened often I asked my sister why it was necessary for me to tell dad to take the tests? She replied with a voice loaded with frustration, "Because you have a dick and I don't! And it REALLY pisses me off!'
We watched dad sink past the place where he knew he had a problem. He wound up with his mind deteriorating to the point where he thought that he was a child again, but a very sick child.
His mind died, then very slowly, his body.
The doctors tell me I need a knee replacement. This scares me. I remember too clearly dad and the knee replacement that slowly killed him.
Could Anne run our business without me? I think not.
Do I fear the hospital with the mistakes the doctors make? The wrong medications being given? The 'resistant' infections? The pus from the wounds?
Yes.
Yesterday I was only 18 and just joined the Navy. My whole like, the world, ahead of me. 
