Oscar Stops By For A Visit

The day I found out I needed Open Heart surgery, I had gone into the hospital about 6AM for a procedure called a Heart Catheter. They put a camera in an artery in my thigh, and it snaked up to my heart to take a peek. They put me under, and I woke up after an hour or less with a pain in my punctured thigh and some pretty pics of my heart. They were looking for signs of heart disease, but they found my little problem instead. They decided they needed a second opinion via a MRI, right there in the hospital. The earliest they could get me in for the MRI was about 5:30 PM that night. So I was stuck in the hospital all day and into the night.

 When I finally got in for the MRI, it turned out I was going to be in the machine for 90 minutes. I was laying flat on my back inside a small tube of a machine, with the machine making loud grinding and bumping noises and every few minutes the tech would tell me to hold my breath for 30 or 60 seconds. I was not allowed to move even a tiny bit for all 90 minutes. I was very tired, still a little drugged from the first procedure, very claustrophobic, and also a little scared about facing surgery.

Pretty long into the MRI, fighting to stay awake and not move, I had this weird vision. I saw my long deceased Dad, and he told me 'Everything will be all right Son'. I know, weird, probably drug induced, and surely all in my imagination. But still, it actually helped me get through the dang crazy procedure.

 Cheers, Nicholas

2014 - Post Script

I came across this picture of my Dad at his work from years and years ago. On the back, it mentions that he worked in the Imaging Lab at the V.A. hospital at one time. Interesting, in light of the story I just told, no?

Boyz will be Boyz

Recently, my daughter drove me down to the local library. I waited for her in the car while she went in to pick up a couple books on hold. While waiting, I put on a CD and started listening to 'Battle Of New Orleans'. Right as the line 'We fired our guns but the British kept a coming' warbled out of the speakers I looked in the mirror and I saw a man holding a pistol pointed in my general direction.

It took me a minute to realize he was actually pointing his weapon at a teenage boy in a car directly to the left. The man had a blue shirt on with a police logo. On the other side of the car, a second teenage boy was being handcuffed by a second officer. The first cop was trying to convince the first boy to step our of the car, with his gun drawn. Drugs? Stolen car? I'm not really sure what the crime was.

This true event made me think back on my boyhood. There but for the grace of God...and all that. I was a bit of a rowdy and miscreant in my day. Nothing too criminal, but risky, stupid, and at times even life threatening. I wonder at the miracle of teen age boys ever making it out of adolescence.

One time, some firecrackers placed in the right (wrong?) spot caused an old tree to burn down. That brought police and fire personnel, and we ran and hid like thieves. We used to lob water balloons from atop buildings along Indian School road at passing motorists, and China Berry's were thrown at cars on 16th Street...in some cases we were chased by the drivers wielding baseball bats.

One time we built what we called a 'Goosegun' It was made of three tennis ball cans taped together will intermediate bottoms removed. The near end had a small hole poked through the bottom. We would drip lighter fluid through the little hole and drop a tennis ball down the muzzle. When we lit a match to the hole, the tennis ball would shoot off  like a cannon ball. We took the gun out to a nearby empty field, and shot it off. Only the tennis ball caught on fire, and everywhere it bounced, it lit a dry bush on fire. We were running around throwing dirt on all the burning bushes in a frantic hurry...we were very lucky we did not start a brush fire.

At another moment in my youth, I was in a shoplifting phase. One particular day, I had lifted a pair of leather gloves...stuffing it into my jacket pocket. As I was leaving the store, something deep down told me to 86 the gloves, and so I did. As I exited the store, I was grabbed by store security. They searched me, and found nothing. They made me take them back in the store and show them where I dropped the gloves. Who knows what trouble I avoided with that lucky moment.

Probably the most dangerous moment occurred cruising Central Avenue with my brother in his truck. We had offended a car load of boys in a parallel vehicle...I think I had thrown a racket-ball at them. They chased us down. We had almost got away on side streets when my brother's truck ran out of gas. We were attached by the boys, and several of them were wielding racket-ball rackets. We really did not even fight back, we were seriously in trouble. They beat the heck out of was with the rackets, and we had to go to E.R. and get stitches. It was one thing to get my own face messed up, but why was I always dragging my brothers into my trouble? I always seemed to be the instigator.
 
Now I know, every boy does not get into the trouble I managed to get into as a youth. But I think a lot do. There is so much trouble to get into...and during those high school years...if you are not a serious student and if you are not working, there is a lot of extra time on your hands. In my case, that time was not always used wisely. I am thankful that I had a angel on my shoulder keeping me out of jail, and out of more serious crimes or danger. I wish every youth has that angel on his shoulder too....now that I have grown up daughters...I see the fragile aspects of life and that deep seated love a father has for his children.

Cheers - NCA

Mr. Fiesta

After my Open Heart Surgery, while in recovery, the Chandler Regional Hospital Staff gave me this 'Heart Pillow' to aid in my recovery. They teach you sort of how to use it to sit up and move around etc. It turns out to be quite comforting in that process, and I became quite attached to mine.

As I understand it, at Chandler Reqional they are made by volunteers, and some are more plain then this one. I sort of like the whimsy of mine though. When my daughter  was able to come in and visit me, she named it 'Mr. Fiesta'. I still find myself reaching for 'Mr. Fiesta' when I am unsure about my recovery. :)

To all the volunteers out there who pay back a little love to society, I salute you.

Cheers, nca