"There is a history in all men's lives." (Henry IV II)

.....Well, today was a wonderful day--there were no hurricanes, floods, tsunamis, or snowstorms.  However, I left my bed at 9:30 with severe pain emanating from the sore on my foot.  You know--you see a sign in the ER that allows you to make a choice--choose the level of your pain from 1 to 12.  I would venture to say my very own pain was about a 9.  In school lingo that's supposed to be a grade of honor, so I was very proud of the pain in my heal primarily because the pains in my groin and hip were only an 8.  I then went from the walker to the scooter, looking forward to sitting on it and alleviating all the pain in my body.  And so, it came to pass.  

.....I felt sick and had no plans to eat breakfast, but Val arrived and an English muffin with cream cheese suddenly appeared accompanied by some Swiss and coffee.  So, I ate them.  It turns out that Val, the aide, had arrived while my head had been covered with my arms, and she was the culprit (or Genie??) who provided the early morning repast.  While I was eating my breakfast, Geri, the wound care nurse, who appears every other day arrived to dress the wound on my foot--and so she did.  I informed her about the pain in my leg, but she didn't seem impressed.  After dressing the wound on my leg, she took my right arm and dressed the wound there.  You really don't want to know how it got there.  

.....And now, dear readers (if you're still there) it was time to go to the Hyperbaric/oxygen treatment the wound doctor ordered EVERY DAY!  It's rather comical that I get to nap in a glass bubble for an hour and a half when I could easily do that at home--except for the fact that I have no oxygen which the bubble nurse provides in doses three times greater than I breathe normally.  But I still don't know if it's effective in getting rid of the sore on my foot--or if it's a jolly good way to make a few bucks.  Well after this experience, I'm sorry to say it was not the last today.  I had to make a stop at the dermatologist's digs.  

And dig it was; his assistants stuck needles in my face and back, and I rightly guessed they were taking out some cancer cells; or, at least, I think that's what they were doing.

They planted about 7 or 8 bandaids where they had been working--on my nose, my cheeks, and my back.  If your head has been turned, and your brain assaulted perhaps you need to read this post over again.

"Life is just a bowl of cherries--maybe popcorn."

Let’s try something here.  I’m feeling creative…and “elderly”…and admiring Shakespeare’s sonnet 73.  Understand this—I don’t feel sorry for myself, I’m simply seeing what is—and what is, is.  I love my life, and I love my wife—a treasure that keeps me on an even keel.  But in this sonnet, I see that Will was writing about me and he didn’t know it.

That time of year thou mayst in me behold

When yellow leaves or none or few do hang

Upon those boughs which shake against the cold

Bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang.

Well, yes.  That time of year in me is 87, and the yellow leaves (which soon will fall) represent all the things that I once was able to do and where none or few am I now  capable of. The bare ruined “choirs” where the birds once sang sweet music for me represent the life that has passed me by, and where all the abilities that once I had are now shaking against the cold;  no longer are they burning bright with fire.  What is left for me is writing, and perhaps that’s the last leaf on the bough—but stubbornly is holding on although all the others are gone--my teaching, my coaching, my jogging, my golf, my stage performing, etc., etc.

In me thou seest the twilight of such day

As after sunset fadeth in the west

Which by and by black night doth take away,

Death’s second self that seals all in rest.

If the passing of the day into twilight represents the passing of life into the twilight years, then I find myself now in that twilight zone that comes after the sun fades in the west—and which, inexorably turns into black night—or the last light of life.  (But my last yellow leaf still has not fallen).

In me thou seest the glowing of such fire

That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,

As the death-bed whereon it must expire

Consumed with that which it was nourished by.

So, my dear, there remains in me, a glowing fire, Which feeds on the ashes of my youth and all the experiences that are allowed to one before the yellow leaf falls. If you see all this, and you understand all this, according to the Bard, it should make your love more strong  to love that well which you will betimes lose when the last leaf falls--and who knows when that will happen? Aha! The Shadow knows.

.....Incidentally, I received an email today from Ned McAdams a student from the class of 1957.  They are going to celebrate their 55th at a reunion in Atlantis here in Florida in February.  Rhoda and I have been invited as guests of honor, so I better write something wise, profound and funny before we get there.

"I will drink life to the lees" (Tenn)

.....Well, I'm still being treated in a hyperbaric chamber--or bubble as I call it. The Mayo Clinic describes this treatment as breathing pure oxygen in a pressurized chamber. It is commonly used to treat serious infections, bubbles of air in your blood pressure, and wounds that won't heal.  In a hperbaric oxygen chamber, the air pressure is raised up to three times higher than normal.Under these conditions, your lungs can gather up to three  times more oxygen than would be possible breathing it at normal air pressure. The increased oxygen dissolves in your blood during this therapy and circulates throughout your body.Oxygen-rich blood stimulates your body to release substances called growth factors and stem cells which promote healing. I've had a sore on my heal since March which refuses to heal.  Hopefully this therapy will help because the wound is very painful.

.....Val, our aide, who at this time we cannot do without, drives me to the facility about 11:30 every morning and I spend an hour and a half in the bubble. There's nothing I can do in the chamber but nap or watch TV at a set placed outside the chamber.  Let me tell you, it's really quiet and peaceful in there.  I kind of like it.  There's no one to bother me.  When I'm released, Val usually drives us to lunch at a local deli.  Rhoda often comes to join us. At home I have to contend with a wound care nurse who comes every three days to dress the wound, and then a physical therapy nurse who comes to give me her version of therapy which includes torture. So, in other words, I'm a physical wreck.  

.....I've been enjoying the banter on the comments to this blog, and the chatter among my readers mostly of whom are Phil B, JR, EllenJ, and Ruth, my compatriot and new cousin across the ocean. Recently there's been a dialogue involving why and how medals are awarded, and it has been of great interest to me.  I only hope there is no rancor developing because of different theories by different participants. All is past, anyway, I have the medals and they're hanging on the wall and one of my four will get them when I'm past. Actually, the medals aren't there at all. They are in a briefcase in my closet.  The ribbons representing them are on the wall. The medals are beautiful, and you're allowed to wear them on your tux at bar mitzvahs and weddings.  Since there are no bar mitzvahs in the near future, perhaps there will be a wedding. The grandchildren ought to stop fooling around and look for a partner.  I did--and look what I found!

"Be wary then, best safety lies in fear" (Hamlet)

.....One day  we were on submarine patrol in the English Channel.  Our mission was to protect the convoys that were shipping armaments and supplies to England from the United States.  Subs had attacked and torpedoed and sank two ships to this time.  I was on the radio and navigating the flight for two hours before returning to the tail guns.  Suddenly, flack began to appear in our path.  Unfortunately, I had mistakenly navigated us over Guernsey and Jersey which we were told to avoid, and we were the target of the German guns on those islands.  The flack was all around us from Nazi guns, which were very accurate.  The flack tore a hole in the plane near the bomb bay doors and also wounded Norman England in his right leg as he manned the waist guns.  Blood was pouring out from this wound, and so immediately I tore my skivvy shirt and applied a tourniquet to England’s leg while he grit his teeth in pain Our plane was hit so hard by the flack that it rendered us unflyable; we had to ditch into the English Channel.  England did not know how to swim and his leg needed much more attention than I was able to give him, but at least the tourniquet stopped the bleeding.  We were going down into the dark water, but strangely I had no fear. When something like this misadventure occurs defenses come to the fore.  I was 17 and I would not, could not die.  The plane landed with a thump, thump, thump and when it came to a stop, and before it sank I grabbed England by his collar and swam out of the plane’s waist hatch.

…..Luckily, I was a very good swimmer having lived a block from the Atlantic Ocean in my younger years.  I knew I would  have to keep England afloat; and I was able to do that for a while,  and feared that I could not do it for much longer in the freezing water. But what I saw coming directly at us, made me hysterical with joy, tearful though it was.  An English rescue boat fished us out of the freezing water in a second or two and supplied us with warm blankets.  Norman was brought to the medical room where he was attended to by a couple of RNs.  I did not see any other members of my crew, but when we got to Plymouth I met them all in the hospital.  It was a fearsome thing to be shot out of the sky, but the skill of our pilot, Lt. Noehren, made our ditching easy enough for all of us to escape into the water and await rescue by the English, and so it came to pass.

"We few, we happy few, we band of brothers." (Henry V)

.....Several readers have indicated that they would like to know a little more of my experiences in WWII that would warrant the award I received of the DFC, (Distinguished Flying Cross.)  I have been reticent about writing or speaking about anything  I had done because the memories of these events are painful, and have required the need for therapy; for the PTSD that evolved, although in WWII it was called “battle fatigue”.  But in deference to my readers, most of whom are former students-- during my years in the classroom they never really knew too much about me.  In deference to them I will recount one of the more dangerous acts that occurred in mid flight in the Bay of Biscay—not too far from the shores of Spain and France. Our mission this day was to hunt and kill enemy submarines that were causing havoc to the shipping of weapons across the Atlantic to our allies. But first let me bring to your attention the criteria for the award of the DFC.

. Criteria: The Distinguished Flying Cross is awarded to any person who, while serving in any capacity with the Armed Forces of the United States, distinguishes himself by heroism or extraordinary achievement while participating in aerial flight. The performance of the act of heroism must be evidenced by voluntary action above and beyond the call of duty. The extraordinary achievement must have resulted in an accomplishment so exceptional and outstanding as to clearly set the individual apart from his comrades or from other persons in similar circumstances. 

…..Let me tell what I encountered this day as simply as I can.  We all had to check our turrets and the 50 caliber machine guns that were operated hydraulically.  Don Fraser was busy in the nose turret when his guns jammed. He had problems getting them into working condition. I volunteered to replace him in the turret to see whether or not I could fix the problem.  Down on the ground, during training, I was pretty good at getting jammed guns unjammed.The working condition of the nose turret guns was of extreme importance in the event we were attacked by enemy aircraft. As I lowered myself into the turret-- ,just at that moment two Junkers 87 Stuka German fighter planes swooped down at us out of the clouds; I was swiftly able to get the turret and guns in working condition and I notified our pilot, Lt. Noehren to that effect and he took evasive action even though he never saw the planes.  But then I witnessed these two fiersome aircraft flying directly toward me while I occupied the turret. With great good fortune (or was it skill?) I was able to hit, with my bullets, one of these planes and severely disabling the other. 

.....My condition was not of the best; I was shaking uncontrollably. I never had occasion to kill anyone, never fired a weapon in anger at anyone,and I was suddenly saddened by the fact that I killed, most likely, a young man who had his whole life before him, and now he was dead because I had the good fortune to hit my targets as quickly as I did.  I witnessed a thin plume of smoke emanating from one aircraft and then a great flame that caressed its whole body as it plunged into the sea. Perhaps this man left a wife and kids back home; perhaps parents who would grieve endlessly at their loss. I found these thoughts very unsettling; I left that turret as quickly as I could and I found an empty pineapple juice can and promptly threw up into it.  Now, dear reader, study once more the criteria for the award of the DFC to see for yourselves whether or not I deserved this medal, and whether or not I was totally remiss in not recounting this event—or others—in the classroom during my years as a teacher.

"There's many a good tune played on an old fiddle."

.....Well the bottom line is this--I am happy to report that I am pain free. I don't know when it happened or where or why, but the only pain that remains is the sore on my heel, but that "pain" is bearable.  I am going to that hyperbaric treatment every day and that is supposed to bring oxygen to my heel, and by some magical event--heal the heel. I don't know what it does or how it does it, and I am anxiously awaiting whatever result results. I still am having a wound care nurse coming to the house every three days, and a physical therapist also comes every three days.  Val, my aide drags me to the hyperbaric therapy every day. 

.....Enough already with the medical history as it goes along; right now, I feel like writing about sports.  Tonight is the All Star baseball game, and I will be watching it for sure.  I have to root for the National League because I am a Marlin fan, and they are in the National League.  Perhaps we'll witness something extraordinary just as the last minutes of the girls' soccer game.  I'm a coach, and always will be, and I marvel at the speed these girls have carrying the ball.   They are just as fast dribbling the ball as they would be without it.  And it's exciting to see them speeding down the wings and crossing the ball.  Maybe Amy Walmbach(SP?)will put a header in the goal tomorrow as the US team plays France.  I wonder at the French team; I thought French girls were more interested in fashion displays than they are kicking a soccer ball.  If the US wins, I believe they will win the World Cup.  Well, enough of sports; don't want to lose  my English cuzzin for lack of interest.  

"Be near me when the sensuous frame is racked with pains that conquer trust..." (Tennyson)

.....I just got home from a hyperbaric session which sessions are getting to be very boring even though ESPN is available for viewing without audio. I'm concerned about Wednesday when the girls are playing France in the semi-final of the World Cup.  The game is scheduled for 11:30 so since I will by in the big tube at that time, I should be able to watch at least the first half.  These gals are terrific soccer players and I love the way they get down the wing to cross the ball.  Sooner or later someone is sure to get a header goal.  Speaking of heads, it appears that the great one, Phil B, eschews aid from doctors for his head wounds.  God forbid that he should forget all he knows that is registered in that magnificent head. In one of his communications he says that, "...until a few years ago, I never fell.  ."  This appears to mean that he fell a few years ago??  As for myself, I plan never to fall again; I only have two hips to lend to the remainder of my life.  And who can tell how many years are left to me. I spend my time now mostly at this blog and then converting them into book form.  And who knows who will be reading these books in the future. It has been going now since August, 2007, four years ago, and the result has culminated into the publishing of nine books.  Perhaps I am wasting my time, and should be doing something else; but what?

.....At the present time, I can ambulate either with a walker or a scooter, depending upon how far I have to go. Before my accident I was able to walk using a cane.  I don't know if I can ever get back to that condition. I do hope to.  It would at least allow me to audition for a show if there is one, and I believe there will be one next winter.  I doubt very much if there will be much call for a man with a walker...unless in "The Producers". All of this concern, now, for a guy who used to run 10 miles every day and two marathons.  Gosh, do I miss those days!  I do believe I might be able to get 10 miles out of my scooter without recharging. I could race someone. Might get on TV as the ultimate scooter race restricted to those over 85.  

This is what is, is. (2)

.....I am sitting here at the computer, alone, with the alarm button around my neck just in the event that I might fall or get caught in a hurricane; or a gator might come up from our lake with the intent to devour me.  The chance that I might need to push the button on this device to summon the medics is nil to nada.  I have now gone into the hyperbaric oxygen tank 20 times, and the pain doctor has prescribed 20 more times for me.  I really do not know how much good it is doing me--if any. I'm told that the sore at the bottom of my foot is getting "smaller" whatever that means.  Then there is the wound care nurse who comes here every three days to dress the wounds on my leg and the physical therapy nurse who also comes here every three days to give me physical therapy. The pain that I have suffered in the past month still haunts me, but I have mounted a defense against it, so it can pain me all it wants; it won't affect me in the least.  

.....The truth is, that I am getting really tired of the routine I find myself in with doctors of every ilk and kind; that is, ilk doctors and kind of doctors.  I would like very much to stop taking every single pill I have and stop seeing doctors.  I'm afraid, though, that this option is not currently viable.  RH+ would definitely not allow it, and at the current time I am under her control. So, the facts of life are these: I can't do anything about the situation I am in with the residual effects of my hip surgery.  The pain is what is, is and will remain so for no one knows how long. The only thing that has brightened my days has been the visit of Bonny, Sean, Joel and Barbara.  They helped me to forget my woes.  (See second blog this day)

The Newhall Visit Caper (1)

.....Unfortunately, the Baron was not able to blog the Newhall visit becaused at the time, he was in no condition to blog anything.  It is true; Bonny, my adorable daughter, and my grandson Sean appeared out of the blue on Fathers' Day and made their brief stay a golden one.  Bonny was a great help in unpacking boxes here and putting stuff where they belonged, and getting our house in reasonable condition.  Sean helped whenever we required a strong hand.  One night we went out to a Japanese restaurant for dinner and we enjoyed a nourishing and thoroughly fulfilling dinner.  A couple of us downed some lobster and filet mignon with fried rice.  Then on a following night we came down from the gourmet stuff, and stuffed ourselves on baby back ribs. On another night Bonny cooked dinner; she is quite the gourmet kid.  

.....Bonny now has had her shop for over 20+ years.  She always loved animals and after high school I sent her to the New York School of Dog Grooming.  I am in awe at what she has accomplished; she is an extremely hard worker, and I simply adore her; when she was here, I couldn't take my eyes off of her; she is the delightful little twin that I relish and remember.  I am also proud of what Sean has accomplished.  He is now Sean, BFA and that is something.  (I'm not sure of what surname he uses--probably Tully after his dad)  Sean is a real California guy, a surfer and an artist and so he carries some of the Ross blood!  And so, now, Baron apologizes to the Newhall kids for not recognizing their visit in my blog as timely as it deserved.   The reason for such neglect has been duly documented and so now they are now immortalized in these pages.   (See second blog this day)

The Virginia Visit Caper

.....For the first time in several years, we were treated to a visit by my son, Joel and my daughter-in-law, Barbara.  They stayed only for three days, but it was sufficient for us to enjoy each other's company.  The first night they were here we went out to have dinner at an Italian restaurant.  Unfortunately, it was closed and we wound up at Bonefish.  I don't cotton to fish, so I ordered a filet mignon and a crab cake.  Barbara seemed to enjoy "bang, bang" shrimp.  I tried one and it was very tasty.  Next time I'm in Bonefish, I'll probably order that dish.  The following night we dined at Massimo's.  I had lasagna which was thoroughly filling and enjoyable.  The others appeared to enjoy their own dinners.  Meanwhile we were able to chat and catch up on what each of us were doing.  I could not walk, but I was able to ambulate with my walker.  When we got back to the house we all watched "America Has Talent" which was very nice--only I did not notice any act that had talent.  The three judges appeared to be passing every act on to Las Vegas.  We did the same thing on the following night after we returned from a  Chinese buffet; we did interrupt the viewing for a while discussing what will be left in my will.  I've been collecting coins lo these many years and I gave Joel my entire collection.  I hope he doesn't get a back ache from loading the books on his back.  Now, I don't have much more to leave to him, and I'm trying to think about what I can leave to his siblings.  I'm sure I'll come up with something that they'll treasure as a memento from their father.  It was a sad farewell when they left here last night.  They are a delightful couple, and who knows when they will return?

.....They both had an opportunity to see that in order for me to get around, I need my walker and my scooter.  As a matter of fact, Joel had to drive me to the VA Hospital one day and I did have to take my scooter there where I had some dental work done.  He learned how to drive that scooter himself and how to load it onto the lift on my car.  That was helpful.  Now, I think he may go out and buy his own scooter.  I am still taking hyperbaric oxygen treatments every day, and I'm not convinced that they are doing me any good although the wound care doctor thinks otherwise and prescribed twenty more of those treatments.  Nevertheless, in spite of all the physical problems and pain I am coping with, I have a spark within me that will never burn out.  It will sustain me, as it has so many other times in my life.  So, friends need not be concerned about my giving up; that cannot happen.

"I could be well content to entertain the lag end of my life in quiet hours.." Henry IV

.....Tomorrow should be my last day to be stuffed into a big glass tube that they fill with oxygen. I'm talking about the cyberbarack treatments.  I'm required to be there every day at 11:30 am.  But I'm used to sleep until that hour. Before I get in I feel like an astronaut; they take my blood  pressure, they look in my ears, and for some reason they test my sugar level which is quite low.  Meanwhile I'm lying on a bed just in front of the tube; a bed where they give you pillows and shove a couple under my knees.  When all is ready the bed slides into the tube, and you're there captured for an hour and a half.

The bare facts are these: I'm completely immobile.  I have great pain in my left leg whenever I get into or up from something, be it chair of a car or a car.  We figure maybe the rod that is in my leg from the hip surgery may be rubbing against bone or something else. The doctors give us zip.  We do have an appointment with a pain manager doctor next week,,,I'm 87 year's old; why do I have to deal with this problem at this stage of my life?  Oh well, this too shall pass.  As my aide and I were driving to the hapabaric place, I thought of my father, who died on July 2, and I  didn't get a chance to have fun with fireworks.  My father was completely immobile also.  Like father, like son.