Both Sides of the Law

While an Arby’s Junior dissolves with curly fries in my stomach, topped with a Reese’s bunny-shaped peanut butter flavoured bar, NASCAR drivers prepare for their usual weekend gig and Brazil nuts grow in the jungle.

A friend asked me why we no longer debate the [de]merits of having a chief executive in the White House with no military experience.

Good question.

We spend many a minute examining the minutiae of business experiences of major political candidates, including the incumbent, but we fail to notice their lack of actual, on-the-ground, basic-training, in-the-bunker or sweating-in-the-field-tent combat training.

Because I live in a town that generates a lot of local tax revenue from government-based military operations, my perspective might be different from that of a city dweller where large chunks of the economy come from the financial sector, tourism, creative arts or academia.

Sometimes, I get so wrapped up in the dual-use aspect of government spinoffs, including rocket technology and outer space life support systems, that I forget other industries prop up our modern standards of living, too.

What about the global economy in general?  It would be easy for me to get lost in reports about our hyperconnected world but I’m interested in more than that, as you know.

The global military budget is about 2% of world economic production.  Now, ask yourself, do you spend more or less than two percent of your household budget (post-tax take home pay, that is) to protect yourself, your loved ones and your possessions from the desire by others to possess what you have?

Think about these examples: the locks on your doors and windows; home security system; computer antivirus software; gates, fences and other property barriers; insecticides and herbicides; curtains/drapes; wall/ceiling/floor insulation; enclosed heating/cooling system; paper shredder; file cabinet/safe; personal weaponry (guns, knives, etc.); apartment/flat doorman.

What about the knowledge that your neighbours having some of the things above, that you don’t, acts as an implied deterrent for you?

Today, my family received the great news that my father, who served in the U.S. Army, and was recently diagnosed with ALS bulbar option, will be able to spend time in a temporary skilled nursing facility at the nearby VA medical center to aid in his rehab and preparation for longterm care.

History says we are involved in fewer and smaller wars as the years progress in this current cycle of globally-connected subcultures (a/k/a the one-world civilisation/order).

Despite our growing civility toward one another, old thought patterns prevail, meaning there is still a need for protective services of one sort or another and, in the longterm, medical care for those who served and sacrificed their time, effort and lives for the rest of us, whether or not we served and/or paid for protective services ourselves.

Our family thanks many who helped my father regain his physical strength and helped us work through the paperwork to secure a place for my father’s continued medical journey — IPC (Heather, Carmen, Anna), HealthSouth Rehab Hospital (Jennifer, Ethan, Amy, Amanda and many others), and VAMC (Heidi, PJ, and more).

If it weren’t for the battery life…

If it weren’t for the battery life I’d keep using the resistive screen of the 7-inch Sylvania Android 2.31 tablet, which meets my basic needs for checking email, listening to Internet radio, looking at some of my favourite websites (as well as a few random ones for edification) and maintaining a daily blog.

That sums up the life of one mortal human being tied to the electronic social network as defined/updated by us in this moment together.

I believe we have arrived back at a blog entry in which the storyline we’d left where the reluctant leader steps back into the picture and tells us how things are going on the Committee, don’t you?

Either that, or release random ASCII character sequences that represent the latest cracked password of a heavily-guarded secret location and let the world of script kiddies have fun for a day.

Sold by Jennifer Nye — independent consultant — the wax of a block of Amber Road ™ Scentsy wax melts in a bowl atop a Morocco warmer which sits in the place where a spider web/dropping covered book by Paul D. Ackerman used to collect dust.

As the room fills with the hints of smells of an exotic bazaar, let us step into the shoes of the reluctant leader and see what’s going on…

Hi there!  Reluctant Leader here again!  Just the other day I was nibbling samples at a shoppe called Nothing Bundt Cake, remembering the scene in some Greek-themed film where a character tries to pronounce the word “bundt.”  In front of me, an eager man watched my every move.

You know the type, always gauging the customer’s desires, trying to meet the character’s needs, catering to the curmudgeon’s every whim, no matter how surly he may be while stroking his curly, unkempt beard.

That was me, the Reluctant Leader, in ordinary disguise, acting upon my urge to Manage By Walking Around.

You see, the Committee is back in crisis mode (is there ever a moment we’re not?).

As you’re fully aware, we coordinate the activities of people you would say are aligned with major political public business entities called nations.

It’s our policy to leave pretty much well alone the individual decisions of those who feel they have been destined to reach the highest offices of their politically-oriented business paths.

For instance, we could predict when the leaders have to use toilet facilities very easily but we’ve learned it’s best to let the leaders think they’ve decided on their own, unpredictably, when they feel the urge, regularly or irregularly (in fact, it was one of my predecessors who won a wager because he accurately predicted when and where George Bush deposited his meal in the lap of another dignitary).

Do you consider yourself one of those average citizens who is mentally engaged in silent conversations with or makes extemporaneous, expository speeches to the people around you about the goings-on of the elected or appointed officials in your geopolitical zone, and get emotionally involved in the actions of officials outside your geopolitical zone?

Chances are you will, if you don’t.

In addition to herding all seven billion of us toward establishing offworld colonies, I have the assigned goal of keeping you believing that world leaders are not actively talking to each other about the apparent rogue actions they take.

Some of you know better.

The Committee is composed of direct representatives of major trends in motion, including the most common sociopolitical movements about to change your life forever.

Because trends range in age from a few fleeting milliseconds to many centuries, the Committee membership varies accordingly.

Just the other day, I found an ancient-looking mummy propped up into a dark corner of the Committee Conference Center (sounds formal, but the room is really just an old cave in, at this time, an undisclosed location near some of you).

I started to ask if any of the Committee members knew where the mummy had come from when it spoke.  Turns out the mummy is an old member of a line of Celtic leaders who’d hope to take over the world a dozen or so centuries ago, but when the vote came up, the mummy had fallen asleep and did not awaken until I started poking around in his pockets for spare change.

He gave me some wisdom that I’ll share with you as soon as I translate the curse words he had for me into something more family-friendly.

Always trust your Mummy to tell you the honest truth about yourself!

Anyway, it’s getting close to lunchtime and I’ve got a few errands to run.  Afterward, I’ll sketch out the plots, subplots and false trails we’re planning to place in the popular news media to keep you clenching your teeth or nodding your head in your belief that subpopulations are out to get you or out to support you, depending on your mood we’ve set at the time.

It’s seems silly spending so much of my time making sure your idle moments are filled with what we want you to think, but if it gets us closer to permanent settlements on other celestial bodies, I’m game.

Does that mean I have to stop calling myself the Reluctant Leader?  It’s not like I completely relish all the fine details of putting subcommittees in action to plant ideas in blogs, tweets and street protests which inspire editors and producers to send their reporters out to fill columns and video screens with the news we want you to use and spread…

But I’m just a character in a blog and that’s my only choice, isn’t it?

A Plate of Leftover Food is My Canvas

As as experiment, make a series of appointments with medical professionals, describing a part of your condition and medical history at every appointment.

Then, observe the effect your partial medical history oratory has on the attempt of a medical diagnosis.

Keep in your thoughts the fact that your complete medical record set is available to each professional in turn.

Of course, specialists will tend to focus on your malady in reference to their specialty.

Can you see a pattern emerge?

Will you receive a “true” diagnosis based on the state-of-the-art in medical practice today?

Let’s say, for a hypothetical example, that you have a throat-clearing problem which recently developed into the lack of ability to find common words in your vocabulary and then devolved into the inability to speak or swallow, which may or may not have anything to do with the “thrush” or tongue infection you can display easily.

At the same time, your garden variety of medical experts has prescribed a handful of medication to consume on a daily basis, some of the medicines requiring close monitoring (every two to three days) but your doctors only see you every two to three weeks.  In addition, some of the medicines have been shown to have moderate side effects or known contraindications for not prescribing together in the first place.

On top of all that, one or two members of your family have experienced episodes of severe depression but up into your late 70s, you have not (yet).

You end up not being able to eat for several days after weeks of eating very little, losing a lot of weight and getting admitted to a hospital emergency room due to malnutrition and dehydration.

After a few days, a PEG tube is put in your stomach and passed through your abdomen wall for nourishment.

Therefore, a few of the medical professionals think you may have had:

  1. a stroke,
  2. myasthenia gravis,
  3. fungal infection,
  4. negative drug interaction response,
  5. ALS bulbar option, sudden onset,
  6. geriatric depression,
  7. dementia,
  8. some mix of all of the above, and/or
  9. to be determined.

I know there’s a comedy skit just waiting…no, begging to be written about the above situation but I can’t imagine it because my face is up against the bark of a tree and I can’t see the surrounding forest shading me from the bright light shining on the world’s greatest medical calamity sketch.

I can use testing to eliminate the first two options above.  For some reason, the third option isn’t going away.  The remaining options are testable to some extent.  The fifth is a death sentence no doctor wants to give.

I can solve the perceived problem of world hunger (provide a Green Revolution to many parts of the world and accept that no distribution system will prevent the death of millions in some parts of the world due to political instability and wealth inequality).

I can send Earth-based lifeforms to other celestial bodies.

Yet, here in the landmark year of 2012, I can’t get a panel of medical professionals to agree to a diagnosis for my father’s current, finite set of bodily conditions.

If I hear yet another specialist say, “Well, I can’t determine your father’s condition because it requires a different specialist,” I think I’ll toss the whole medical profession into the category of high-falutin’ quackery and call it a day.

Reminds me of the recurring thought of mine that our transportation devices long ago reached their point of maximum usefulness and have succumbed to the concept of feature creep that dooms every product to creative oblivion.

The guru in me told me a story (the previous phrase is a literary device so just go with it)…

Long ago, your ancestors looked at the raging storms, the swelling seas, the spewing volcanoes and said, “This is how the gods communicate with us.  We must figure out a way to respond.”

Not so long ago, your ancestors figured out how to send message via smoke signals and said, “The gods created us.  Thus, by learning to communicate via smoke signals to each other, it must be the same way that we can communicate with the gods.”

Recently, your ancestors developed “invisible” radio signal communication technology and said, “Gods are inventions of ours.  They were alien to our less sophisticated level of understanding the universe.  Theoretically, aliens exist, maybe in godlike status to our modern-day level of understanding; if they exist nearby, they must have evolved to our point of advanced civilisation at one time in their evolution; therefore, let’s use radio signals to send messages to aliens and listen for them on our radiowave receivers, hoping that our civilisations are in similar stages of evolution.”

Today, your contemporaries not only use radiowave transceivers but also lasers to communicate across the solar system and say, repeating your ancestors’ way of thinking, “If our galaxy is teeming with advanced technological life, it has lasers crisscrossing it—tens of thousands, millions of them—and we should be able to pick up some spillover. Also, some aliens are going to try to communicate with us. Maybe they are literally pointing their lasers at us and we just aren’t looking.”

That just as easily explains the way medical science looks to me at a 1000-year perspective from now.  We have not mastered the connections between subatomic, atomic, molecular and life science systems, still basing our theories on unproved/misguided theories of the past.

Time to crawl back into my cave and contemplate the formation of limestone deposits, watching the life of our planet change one…slow…drop…at…a…time.

13,906 days to go…sigh…

Blog as health chronicle…

Question to self: am I learning anything new here?  No.  These are some of the same issues I already faced and answered when dealing my with wife’s mother and brother.  But sometimes life is repetition in service of friends and family.  In other words, it’s a new learning experience for my mother and sister.  Let it be so.  You, kind and patient reader, may learn, too, and thus these blog entries will help others in need when emotional stress runs high and logic has taken a holiday to warmer shores.

Medical inquiry answered as written by case management [imagine “sic” in the right places and “sick” in the write places]:

Hello Mr. Hill. I will answer all of your questions to the best of my ability. I forwarded this onto the attending physician and you may end up needing directly talk to him again.

1. We have a Senior Psychological Examiner on staff that performs cognitive testing. These tests require active participation and often patients with aphasia have difficulty completing the items needed for accurate testing. Upon your father’s last admission, he was seen by the examiner and I will provide you a copy of the assessment. Further assessment may need to be made as speech or more basic communication skills develop. Speech and Occupational therapy will also be working with your father on cognition during his hospitalization at the rehab hospital.

I spoke to the attending physician about the diagnosis of FTLD and he said this may be followed after his rehab stay, possibly by a neurologist as it will require more testing.

2. The attending physician said he will continue medication began at HVMC.

3. Your father’s history and physical is in his chart for both his admissions and I would be happy to provide you with a copy. Inside this document is the diagnostic results preformed at HVMC which includes an EKG and an echocardiogram.

4. I would be happy to assist your mother in the completion of paperwork to acquire the long term disability insurance.

If you would like we can plan a family conference where we can sit down with a nurse, a Speech Therapist, an Occupational Therapist, a Physical Therapist, and the Psych Examiner. You are also free to invite the VA Social Worker that I have been talking with- or anyone else that you feel may be of value in attendance.

If there is anything else I can do I would be more than happy to help.

My sister will now step in and get involved, as she wants, to answer lingering questions.  Our mother’s health is of concern here, too, while we decide where to best put her husband (and our father) to spend his last days in the least confusing, most comfortable place before he finds eternal rest, whenever that may be.

The saga continues…

Fears and Retreads

In the past few weeks, I have returned to the joy of reading the local newspaper, a major source of information in my youth.

I have also sat and analysed the relationship between my father and myself, my mother and myself, and my father and my mother.

The last two sentences have given me pauses not associated with writing an app that makes Morse Code fun, exciting and optimally efficient as a modernised means of communicating.

But I digress.

No, take that back.

I regress.

I sit in front of the glowing, pixelated dots of energy one tends to call a computer monitor, although I’m not really monitoring the computer as much as I’m using its interface between myself and the wide world of webs we’ve developed as an extension of our natural need for nurturing.  [Is the computer monitoring me, then?]

That is (i.e.), for example (e.g.), ergo, ipso facto, our permanent pacifiers (as opposed to Pacific pacifists) we’ve adopted as our own.

Computers of the desktop or laptop kind.

Mobile phones.

Tablet PCs/phones.

The 21st Century version of the security blanket.

WAAAAAAAHHH!!!  Mommy, I can’t update my social media status!!!!

Who would’ve thunk it when we were two-year olds shouting, “No! No! No!,” that our two-year olds would be wailing for their touchscreen devices instead of plastic nipples to stick in their mouths?

Indeed.

My father values a toboggan like I value writing blog entries.

My mother hovers over my father like a nervous first-time parent.

Together, the last two sentences tell me a lot about myself and my only sibling, a younger sister.

I want to call 9-1-1 and make up some crazy tall tale in order to get my entry in the local newspaper column, the Police Blotter (which, of course, many local kids are calling the Po’ Sleaze Blighter), our own version of News of the Weird, which means we don’t have to syndicate the one which its author, Chuck Shepherd, has apparently grown tired of writing.

Well, well, well…time to go be nice to people in my hometown.

“Customer Care – Incident Created”

In this day and age of multiple personality disorder — that is, our combination of official government identifications (driver’s licence, voter ID card, medical ID card, etc.) and online personalities (email address, social media identities (real and/or imagined)), etc.) — do we know who we are when we no longer know who we are?

While we work with medical professionals in private practice and public hospitals (a thanks to the folks at Holston Valley Medican Center and HealthSouth Rehab Hospital) to get my father on a track where he can have an acceptable, if not good/great, quality of life considering his conditions, my family works in the background to sort out my father’s multiple personalities.

For instance, my father kept Post-It notes of some of the usernames and passwords associated with his online personalities but not all of them, especially the most important ones.

His official government identification cards are up-to-date and don’t need fixin’, as we say around here.

However, working through the bureaucracy of getting help when help is needed most — a medical emergency — is just short of a nightmare for those of us able to sort through the payment options and insurance coverages that are written to accommodate as many diagnoses as are currently available in legible written form by the medical profession.

Woe be to those whose family members have symptoms that can’t readily be grouped into an official syndrome or disease.

I could wax and wane through many a lighted Moon cycle on the current state of the modern medical scientific community but suffice it to say that any view 1000 years hence marks this time, like all looks back into history, as rather barbaric, archaic and borderline misinformed.

Unfortunately, I don’t have a fast-forward button to take my father into a future where his conditions are rather curable by enlightened practitioners.

I have to deal with the training and knowledge at hand, such that it is.

Thank goodness, compassion, care and comfort are rather universal — human touch, in other words, is good for most of us, in one form or another.

My father responds well to communication with fellow members of his gender.  Guy-to-guy gatherings are his thing and he perks up when men ask him to perform manly tasks.

He does not want to be babied or treated weakly by women.

Otherwise, all is well that progresses well.

Me, I don’t mind attention by females in medical professional roles but I’ve noticed my father responds best when treated by men — doctors, nurses, therapists and specialists.

Probably a generational thing as well as social training — I am a child of the 1960s/1970s whereas my father is a child of the pre/during-WWII era, with other subcultural nuances thrown in for good measure.

Something the medical community should take into consideration when vocalising concerns about getting more people involved in seeking certification for jobs/roles in the medical field.

Healing is not just application of chemical treatments — treating people like desired monoculture grass lawns — it’s also understanding where the patient is coming from and wants to be treated.

The online world is no different.  How do we create a system so that when a person’s ability to recall important online identity tags diminishes, family members can step in and help without having to figure out the unique character set combinations the person’s brain created to protect online personalities, especially where bill payment and medical information access is critical to keeping the person healthy and out of financial trouble?

People to thank with more to follow: Benjamin, Amanda, Tina, Martha, Mary, Sue, Jennifer, Joyce, Glenda, Brenda…

Modal forms of odes on the theme of paterfamilias love

While my sister works with the hospital staff to provide an appropriate level of familiar homestyle comfort and care, including a bath and shave, I work with my mother at home to give her a sense of normalcy.

Raking the yard.  Bagging leaves.  Moving a car from one driveway to the other to make room for out-of-town visitors.

Taking the rubbish and recycling bins to the curb and rolling them back to the house after the sanitation crew swings by.

Reading the newspaper while seated in my father’s captain’s chair. Drinking coffee that Mom brewed.  Eating a sausage biscuit she bought.

Scanning through dozens of paper and web pages on symptoms associated with syndromes like ALS.

Remembering other motorsports venues and events my father and I attended… sitting in turn 4 of the Bristol Motor Speedway, watching Richard Petty’s battered car go around the half-mile track for the last time; watching IndyCars spin around Charlotte Motor Speedway like toy models on a Hot Wheels track; walking around the MidOhio race course, watching a variety of cars race through hairpin turns, admiring TR3s and other cars of Dad’s youth/young adulthood; local dirt/asphalt/concrete tracks from Kingsport to Bulls Gap to SW Virginia to south Florida and points in-between the points where drivers and owners make points.

My sister called.  Dad is getting more and more frustrated in his hospital room, either unable to speak or refusing to, using hand and other body gestures to describe what he wants RIGHT NOW.

Time to walk away from the computer and attend to Dad’s needs.

Family first — the rest of the world can and will wait.

Time Share

While computing quantum computer computations, the Committee today announced a joint agreement between major professional sports organisations and carpark services.

From now on, tickets to a sporting event are leased an on hourly basis only.

For instance, those attending American football events such as an NFL game may lease an assigned seat for up to two nonconsecutive quarter periods, but not the first and fourth, first and third, or first and first (figure out the last conundrum on parchment paper, preferably highly-combustible flash paper near a blast furnace).

In a motorsports event such as a Sprint Cup NASCAR race, tickets will be issued on either a per wreck or per time-period basis, as well as both.  One may use a seat for up to three wrecks in any fifteen-minute period, or three laps, whichever comes first.  No refunds for snoozefests.

Carparks may remove vehicles occupying a carpark space greater than 50% of the time length of a sporting event, towing vehicles to impound lots on the other side of the ocean via moldy cargo carriers, stowed behind impenetrable chainlink fences and guarded by dogs impervious to taser attacks.

Meanwhile, SpaceX has announced that, contrary to popular belief, Miss Baker‘s cryogenically-preserved body had not been fused with the DNA of Merkozy to create the lab specimen Francois Hollande allegedly planned for a secret launch to the ISS for the first orbital celebration of a French citizen taking office without getting elected or giving rivals the guillotine while smoking nicotine and drinking Ovaltine outside the Oval Office.

On a personal note, thanks to the cast of billions supporting my father’s health change adventure.  May the moral of this story (or the storal of this mory) be a tale worth regaling with humorous (or “humour us!”) afterthought, aftertaste and a sweet aroma of eau du backwash.

More as permits time (or Kermit mimes).

because i am speechless, i’ll let history tell its own story for now…

A Bit of Sports History from Lou Gehrig, himself:

“Fans, for the past two weeks you have been reading about a bad break I got. Yet today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth.

 

“I have been in ballparks for 17 years, and I have never received anything but kindness and encouragement from you fans. 

 

“Look at these grand men. Which of you wouldn’t consider it the highlight of his career just to associate with them for even one day? 

 

“Sure I’m lucky. Who wouldn’t have considered it an honor to have known Jacob Ruppert; also, the builder of baseball’s greatest empire, Ed Barrows; to have spent six years with that wonderful little fellow, Miller Huggins; then to have spent the next nine years with that outstanding leader, that smart student of psychology, the best manager in baseball today, Joe McCarthy?  Sure, I’m lucky. 

 

“When the New York Giants, a team you would give your right arm to beat, and vice versa, sends you a gift, that’s something. When everybody down to the groundskeepers and those boys in white coats remember you with trophies, that’s something.

 

“When you have a wonderful mother-in-law who takes sides with you in squabbles against her own daughter, that’s something. When you have a father and mother who work all their lives so that you can have an education and build your body, it’s a blessing. When you have a wife who has been a tower of strength and shown more courage than you dreamed existed, that’s the finest I know. 

 

“So I close in saying that I may have had a tough break, but I have an awful lot to live for. Thank You.”

I have a lot of people to thank, commend, comment on, analyse, etc., but now is not the time for written words.  Now is the time to live them!