So, listen, Mr DJ . . .

Music has always been an important part of my life. As a child in the 50s I think I looked forward to watching "Your Hit Parade" even more than my parents did. Rock n' Roll was liberating, and just enough dangerous to make it exciting, but the music that really grabbed me was the the Brazilian music of Gilberto and Jobim of the mid-60s, and the jazz they influenced of performers like Stan Getz. Later folk music took its hold on me. I would even take my guitar with me when I was in the hospital.

The Rest of the Story

Put your right foot in, take your right foot out . . .

One of the few ways I can still amaze my wife after almost thirty years, at least when I'm not irritating her by doing the very same thing, is by remembering little details of of a place and time. What really makes her shake her head is that I can tell you, draw a floor plan if I must, exactly how the ER was set up in 1954 when I would be passing through on my way up to the wards; but, except for a very few exceptional bleeds I will not be able to remember what was bleeding where to save my soul. It completely baffles my wife.


The Rest of the Story

Don't know much about history . . .

Over at "Bringing Generations Together" is very nice article in honor of Hemophilia Awareness Month. It's another reminder, to me at least, that you can't know where you are if you don't know where you've been. Give it a look.
The Rest of the Story

Number nine, number nine . . .

I think the one question that is guaranteed to drive me completely mad is:

On a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst pain you can imagine, how would you rate your pain right now?

I hate that bloody question. Mostly because I never know how to answer it. Is this pain a 6 or an 8? It hurts a lot, but nowhere near a couple of hemorrhages I have had. So do I say it's a 5 because it is only about half as bad as the bleed I had in my arm, or is it an 8 or 9 because it still hurts like hell. I think that for most people the worst pain they can imagine is pretty much the worst pain they have experienced, and when I was twelve I was pretty sure I had experienced the worst pain imaginable. As it turns out, I might have been wrong, but that is a story for another time.

The Rest of the Story

Going for a ride in the car, car . . .

As Chairman Kaga would say, if memory serves me correctly, out of the two hundred fifty some times I have been hospitalized (such an odd word—sounds like I was made into a hospital, but I digress) I have only been in an ambulance twice.

The Rest of the Story