- Oh, boy! A HOT date!!!
- This time from Mia... another SPAM-buddie to add to my little black book.
- "Hi, handsome man! How is your life?
- You have no idea how unbearable it is to sit here all alone! I dream of having sex with a stranger like you! I want to meet you online before seeing you in real life! I am dreaming to show yu my funny photos to wind you up! You can find me any time at the hot dating site. Enter my private chat, honey!
- I am waiting for you!
- With kisses,
- Mia"
- Wow! Now that's what I'm talkin' about! There's nothing like a Russian girl.
- And just in time, too.
- "Hi, Beautiful! Life is wonderful!
- It's 5:30 am. I woke up a half-hour ago - in more pain than my younger self ever imagined, but already the pain is subsiding. And I slept for SIX hours, without ever waking up to pee! The zinc is working.
- Now I'm looking in the mirror and I see a much thinner man - having lost all of half a pound this past month. Best of all, one of my man-boobs is shrinking. The other is on it's way out. My wife calls them "moob-ies". (But she's a nurse.)
- My hair is turning a nice silver color, too. And talk about rock-hard abs. Go ahead... punch me in the gut! I can hang.
- Of course, my memory fails me, but that's a minor thing. Sure, I forgot to take my heart pills last night. And I forgot to put in my teeth before answering the door, yesterday. So what? Gums are good. The "Happy Hooker" said to be creative. (Yes, I read that book. And I'm trying to think of a way to sneak past the cash register with the "Kama Sutra". I may be 62, but my imagination boils.)
- Look, Mia, I appreciate your email. I really do. You're irresistibly cute, and I'm sure you know how to make an old man happy. But I don't think you're ready for me, yet. Come back in 40 years. I'll be waiting. Where am I gonna go? And say 'Pryvet' to your Mom for me.
- Still warm in Dayton,
- Bob"
Saturday, February 2, 2013
A HOT DATE!
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Three Days Of Spring - And A Few Indians
I have been hearing stories of miracles, and amazing events that happen all
around us. Wonderful gifts. I am told that all I have to do is open my eyes and
look - and there they are! Or, open my heart to them - and they will be mine!
Well, I don't doubt that at all. But I would wish for a miracle, or an amazing
event, a little closer to myself, and within my own life.
I woke up in the middle of the night (a few hours ago) after dreaming about a
house filled with ghosts. These were not the scary ghosts of movies, who come to haunt us, but pitiful souls who had died and seemed to be lost. Or maybe they were frightened by what was happening to them and tried to turn back. I am not criticizing them nor making fun. They died, after all, and that is not a pleasant thing for most people.
Well, here's an Amazing Event in my own life. On April 6, 2008, at 4:00 pm on a Sunday afternoon, I died. It was a sudden cardiac arrest, diagnosed as "Sudden Cardiac Death" in the hospital. That alone is not amazing. What amazes me is that it was so easy to die - and so pleasant! I had been exercising on a stationary bike, and feeling disappointed with my poor physical performance.
I was 57 years old with a diseased heart and should not have been disappointed, but I was. I wished for the strength I no longer had, to be the man I could no longer be. And I tried - very hard - to be greater than I was. I pedalled that bike, furiously, determined to win a race against time, and against myself. I was like a man flapping his arms faster and faster, hoping to leave the ground and fly. Then, in an amazing moment, I did!
I not only left the ground, I left my body. I left the Earth. I left this world, and I left my life behind. No more body. No more need to breathe. No more
weight to carry. No more pain. No more disappointment. I was free. I was a soul - nothing more, and nothing less.
Confused at first, I soon realized that I was really dead. Not the "dead" we see in movies or read about in books, but dead for real. And "dead for real" means "still alive!".
That was Miracle #1 and an Amazing Event. I was dead, yet still alive.
[April 6, 2008]
I remained that way, in a hospital bed, for 13 days. My family stood on the
shore of a silent sea. Looking out into the endless dark. As if looking for a
missing boat. Wondering what had happened to me. Where did I go? Would I ever come back. Would I lie there in bed, in a coma, forever? I could not tell them where I was. I could not remember who I had been, nor where I had been. Then, after 13 days, the ventilator was removed from my body, with no one knowing if I would breathe on my own again.
At that time, I remember falling back into my body, and with a gasp, I started
breathing without help from anyone. It was like being born all over again. But I was reborn into the same old body, now brutally injured from the trauma of
death. But I was alive in my own body, again.
That was Miracle #2. I was reborn. [April 19, 2008]
The recovery time was easy for me but terribly hard for my wife and my son.
The complete loss of oxygen, and absence of a heartbeat for 12 - 15 minutes, following my cardiac arrest, had left my brain in a kaleidoscope of confusion. I didn't know who I was, or where I was, and I was mostly blinded by tunnel vision - also known as partial cortical blindness; and surprisingly, I didn't care at all.
I babbled, and talked about God and Spirits, especially the Spirits of Native American "Indians", whom I claimed were there in my hospital room, protecting me from any harm - physical or spiritual. My family was told that I might never return to sanity again, and that I might never be able to live outside of a medical institution.
To their credit, my Indian friends, Spirits I now love dearly, did a fine job of preserving me during the next four weeks. A beautiful Indian "Princess", forever carrying an orphaned, and injured, baby deer in her arms, saw me through open-heart surgery, and along with Hopi Spirits, stood guard against a terribly evil, unearthly being whose insatiable desire is to steal children away from their parents, and from their genetic legacy. He wanted my soul, as if with a vengeance. During my 13 days of morbidity, the Spirit of a medicine man/chief named "Old Man" (from the year 1833) had warned me about this "evil one" - who had been, and is also to come, and said "His name is called Stork". (Might be spelled "Storch")
Everyday since, I have searched the internet for such a man - as a favor to the "Old Man", who lost his future generations to child theft, and to whom I am gladly indebted.
Those were a few more of my Amazing Events.
Finally, after a total of six weeks in the hospital, my "sanity" returned to me, along with my normal vision. It happened overnight, as I was sleeping. I
simply awakened at about four o'clock in the morning, and I was "me" again.
Today, I refer to "sanity" in quotes, because I doubt that our earthbound
reality is anything less than bizarre. While I was dead, I had no body parts,
did not need them, and there was nothing in me that could malfunction. I was
sane for two eternal weeks. I now miss that freedom, greatly.
So, after six weeks, I was released from the hospital, able to return to daily
life. This story has been about me, so I haven't recounted the death of my
father, in 1973. Let me just say that he, too, died of a sudden cardiac arrest
on May 16, 1973. On that date, after failing to resuscitate him, I followed his
ambulance to the hospital, from which he never returned.
I, on the other hand, as if forgiven by my father for having failed to save his
life, was released from the hospital, on that same date, but alive!
Both a Miracle and an Amazing Event. [May 16, 2008]
And if that wasn't enough to humble me, the time from April 6 to May 16 was Forty Days - and Forty Nights! It protected me, sheltered me, quieted me. While hospitalized, the state of mind in which I was captive was an Ark for me. It isolated me from the storm of life that is all around us. It gave me time to heal. It brought helping hands and compassionate hearts to my bedside.
Grateful, you ask? Of course I am! For forty days and forty nights, I was safe
from it all.
Today, four years later, I appreciate the insights and teachings of the wisest
among us. I understand 'wonder', and 'gratitude', and 'thinking positive', and
'opening my heart and mind to the wonders of life', etc. It's just that when I
desire the benefits of such actions, I don't have to look outside of myself - not anymore. I've had my Miracles. I've had my Amazing Events. They are a part
of me, now.
If others don't believe what I have experienced, then I would like to remind
them that there is so much more to Life than "only us". Humans are not the measure of all things, nor of anything at all. We are not here to receive. We are here to give. We are here to give what is greater than us - to give what we do not possess. And yet, it is granted to us that we be the givers of it.
That, to me, is the greatest, and most amazing, miracle of all.
around us. Wonderful gifts. I am told that all I have to do is open my eyes and
look - and there they are! Or, open my heart to them - and they will be mine!
Well, I don't doubt that at all. But I would wish for a miracle, or an amazing
event, a little closer to myself, and within my own life.
I woke up in the middle of the night (a few hours ago) after dreaming about a
house filled with ghosts. These were not the scary ghosts of movies, who come to haunt us, but pitiful souls who had died and seemed to be lost. Or maybe they were frightened by what was happening to them and tried to turn back. I am not criticizing them nor making fun. They died, after all, and that is not a pleasant thing for most people.
Well, here's an Amazing Event in my own life. On April 6, 2008, at 4:00 pm on a Sunday afternoon, I died. It was a sudden cardiac arrest, diagnosed as "Sudden Cardiac Death" in the hospital. That alone is not amazing. What amazes me is that it was so easy to die - and so pleasant! I had been exercising on a stationary bike, and feeling disappointed with my poor physical performance.
I was 57 years old with a diseased heart and should not have been disappointed, but I was. I wished for the strength I no longer had, to be the man I could no longer be. And I tried - very hard - to be greater than I was. I pedalled that bike, furiously, determined to win a race against time, and against myself. I was like a man flapping his arms faster and faster, hoping to leave the ground and fly. Then, in an amazing moment, I did!
I not only left the ground, I left my body. I left the Earth. I left this world, and I left my life behind. No more body. No more need to breathe. No more
weight to carry. No more pain. No more disappointment. I was free. I was a soul - nothing more, and nothing less.
Confused at first, I soon realized that I was really dead. Not the "dead" we see in movies or read about in books, but dead for real. And "dead for real" means "still alive!".
That was Miracle #1 and an Amazing Event. I was dead, yet still alive.
[April 6, 2008]
I remained that way, in a hospital bed, for 13 days. My family stood on the
shore of a silent sea. Looking out into the endless dark. As if looking for a
missing boat. Wondering what had happened to me. Where did I go? Would I ever come back. Would I lie there in bed, in a coma, forever? I could not tell them where I was. I could not remember who I had been, nor where I had been. Then, after 13 days, the ventilator was removed from my body, with no one knowing if I would breathe on my own again.
At that time, I remember falling back into my body, and with a gasp, I started
breathing without help from anyone. It was like being born all over again. But I was reborn into the same old body, now brutally injured from the trauma of
death. But I was alive in my own body, again.
That was Miracle #2. I was reborn. [April 19, 2008]
The recovery time was easy for me but terribly hard for my wife and my son.
The complete loss of oxygen, and absence of a heartbeat for 12 - 15 minutes, following my cardiac arrest, had left my brain in a kaleidoscope of confusion. I didn't know who I was, or where I was, and I was mostly blinded by tunnel vision - also known as partial cortical blindness; and surprisingly, I didn't care at all.
I babbled, and talked about God and Spirits, especially the Spirits of Native American "Indians", whom I claimed were there in my hospital room, protecting me from any harm - physical or spiritual. My family was told that I might never return to sanity again, and that I might never be able to live outside of a medical institution.
To their credit, my Indian friends, Spirits I now love dearly, did a fine job of preserving me during the next four weeks. A beautiful Indian "Princess", forever carrying an orphaned, and injured, baby deer in her arms, saw me through open-heart surgery, and along with Hopi Spirits, stood guard against a terribly evil, unearthly being whose insatiable desire is to steal children away from their parents, and from their genetic legacy. He wanted my soul, as if with a vengeance. During my 13 days of morbidity, the Spirit of a medicine man/chief named "Old Man" (from the year 1833) had warned me about this "evil one" - who had been, and is also to come, and said "His name is called Stork". (Might be spelled "Storch")
Everyday since, I have searched the internet for such a man - as a favor to the "Old Man", who lost his future generations to child theft, and to whom I am gladly indebted.
Those were a few more of my Amazing Events.
Finally, after a total of six weeks in the hospital, my "sanity" returned to me, along with my normal vision. It happened overnight, as I was sleeping. I
simply awakened at about four o'clock in the morning, and I was "me" again.
Today, I refer to "sanity" in quotes, because I doubt that our earthbound
reality is anything less than bizarre. While I was dead, I had no body parts,
did not need them, and there was nothing in me that could malfunction. I was
sane for two eternal weeks. I now miss that freedom, greatly.
So, after six weeks, I was released from the hospital, able to return to daily
life. This story has been about me, so I haven't recounted the death of my
father, in 1973. Let me just say that he, too, died of a sudden cardiac arrest
on May 16, 1973. On that date, after failing to resuscitate him, I followed his
ambulance to the hospital, from which he never returned.
I, on the other hand, as if forgiven by my father for having failed to save his
life, was released from the hospital, on that same date, but alive!
Both a Miracle and an Amazing Event. [May 16, 2008]
And if that wasn't enough to humble me, the time from April 6 to May 16 was Forty Days - and Forty Nights! It protected me, sheltered me, quieted me. While hospitalized, the state of mind in which I was captive was an Ark for me. It isolated me from the storm of life that is all around us. It gave me time to heal. It brought helping hands and compassionate hearts to my bedside.
Grateful, you ask? Of course I am! For forty days and forty nights, I was safe
from it all.
Today, four years later, I appreciate the insights and teachings of the wisest
among us. I understand 'wonder', and 'gratitude', and 'thinking positive', and
'opening my heart and mind to the wonders of life', etc. It's just that when I
desire the benefits of such actions, I don't have to look outside of myself - not anymore. I've had my Miracles. I've had my Amazing Events. They are a part
of me, now.
If others don't believe what I have experienced, then I would like to remind
them that there is so much more to Life than "only us". Humans are not the measure of all things, nor of anything at all. We are not here to receive. We are here to give. We are here to give what is greater than us - to give what we do not possess. And yet, it is granted to us that we be the givers of it.
That, to me, is the greatest, and most amazing, miracle of all.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Herman Muncher XVI
OK, I don't really know if Herman Muncher is the sixteenth. I don't even know if he's a "he". I only know that he's a baby, and a Cottontail rabbit.
Twenty-two years ago, when we moved into this neighborhood of closely-packed houses and modestly sized lawns, we were annoyed at the number of rabbits that lived here. Not that we don't like rabbits. We do. In fact, I used to have a compulsion to chase rabbits - on foot! - all in good fun, of course. I've caught a few over the many years. One was a domestic rabbit gone wild. I learned to corner them, and I learned it wasn't easy. I learned that they can kick like mules and break a bone in your hand. And the teeth? Forget the teeth! The teeth are a power saw. Yet, it's the agility that is most impressive. I still have pain in my right knee from one memorable rabbit-chase in 1987, during which I fell, twisting my knee and injuring it.
What I learned... don't run on wet grass.
Well, we had a pair of English Setters (hunting dogs) at that time and it wasn't long before they, Gus and Milo, began catching rabbits that ran across our back yard. I was able to save one baby rabbit from them. We 'nursed' him back to health and then let him go, alongside the house. We named him "Herman Muncher I", in honor of Herman Munster; and also because he was a "muncher".
So, last night I was on the back patio with our two present-day dogs, Tino and Sofi, when I heard an awful squealing. Then, I found Tino with a baby rabbit in his mouth. I recovered the little rabbit and brought him indoors, worried that he might be seriously hurt, but he seems to be just fine. Covered with sticky burrs and a little dirt, but otherwise OK.
I wanted to help him in his time of great need because just four years ago, my wife and emergency personnel rescued me from a Sudden Cardiac Arrest. Now, I return the favor in which ever way I can.
For the dogs, it wasn't much of a contest. Tino and Sofi are Italian Greyhounds and the Cottontail is just a baby - about 5 inches long, 3 inches high, and 2 inches wide. His little ears about an inch long - dark grey fur with some streaks of white and reddish-brown - and yes... he's cute - but the dogs don't care.
In the house, I set him down on the floor to see if his legs were alright, and WOW! - the little speedster took off running. Like a rabbit-toddler. He ran this way and that way, and that way and this way, and I had a hard time keeping up with him. I can't catch 'em like I used to. But he was no match for the enormous pile of boxes, books, TV, and other junk that is sitting on the living room floor these days, awaiting disposal. He simply got himself trapped, and then I had him... that's all. No victory for me. As I write this, he's sleeping on a towel, in a cardboard box.
So, I think I'll take him over to visit the grandkids tomorrow. I'll also keep him for another day or two - just for the photo-op.
But then I'll have to release him into the wild and untamed green grass, along the side of the house. I hope he'll be alright and the neighbor's dog doesn't get him. Of course, there are still the bees, and the crows, and the racoons, and the possums - all out there. A snake in the grass? Yes, very possible. (And I live in a fairly civilized neighborhood.)
I hope that one day, later in the year, we'll see him hopping happily on our front lawn at night; just as we used to see his ancestor, Herman Muncher I, hopping on the lawn. I hope that Herman Muncher XVI lives on. I hope that I live on. (Sigh...)
Hey. Life ain't easy for nobody.
Twenty-two years ago, when we moved into this neighborhood of closely-packed houses and modestly sized lawns, we were annoyed at the number of rabbits that lived here. Not that we don't like rabbits. We do. In fact, I used to have a compulsion to chase rabbits - on foot! - all in good fun, of course. I've caught a few over the many years. One was a domestic rabbit gone wild. I learned to corner them, and I learned it wasn't easy. I learned that they can kick like mules and break a bone in your hand. And the teeth? Forget the teeth! The teeth are a power saw. Yet, it's the agility that is most impressive. I still have pain in my right knee from one memorable rabbit-chase in 1987, during which I fell, twisting my knee and injuring it.
What I learned... don't run on wet grass.
Well, we had a pair of English Setters (hunting dogs) at that time and it wasn't long before they, Gus and Milo, began catching rabbits that ran across our back yard. I was able to save one baby rabbit from them. We 'nursed' him back to health and then let him go, alongside the house. We named him "Herman Muncher I", in honor of Herman Munster; and also because he was a "muncher".
So, last night I was on the back patio with our two present-day dogs, Tino and Sofi, when I heard an awful squealing. Then, I found Tino with a baby rabbit in his mouth. I recovered the little rabbit and brought him indoors, worried that he might be seriously hurt, but he seems to be just fine. Covered with sticky burrs and a little dirt, but otherwise OK.
I wanted to help him in his time of great need because just four years ago, my wife and emergency personnel rescued me from a Sudden Cardiac Arrest. Now, I return the favor in which ever way I can.
For the dogs, it wasn't much of a contest. Tino and Sofi are Italian Greyhounds and the Cottontail is just a baby - about 5 inches long, 3 inches high, and 2 inches wide. His little ears about an inch long - dark grey fur with some streaks of white and reddish-brown - and yes... he's cute - but the dogs don't care.
In the house, I set him down on the floor to see if his legs were alright, and WOW! - the little speedster took off running. Like a rabbit-toddler. He ran this way and that way, and that way and this way, and I had a hard time keeping up with him. I can't catch 'em like I used to. But he was no match for the enormous pile of boxes, books, TV, and other junk that is sitting on the living room floor these days, awaiting disposal. He simply got himself trapped, and then I had him... that's all. No victory for me. As I write this, he's sleeping on a towel, in a cardboard box.
So, I think I'll take him over to visit the grandkids tomorrow. I'll also keep him for another day or two - just for the photo-op.
But then I'll have to release him into the wild and untamed green grass, along the side of the house. I hope he'll be alright and the neighbor's dog doesn't get him. Of course, there are still the bees, and the crows, and the racoons, and the possums - all out there. A snake in the grass? Yes, very possible. (And I live in a fairly civilized neighborhood.)
I hope that one day, later in the year, we'll see him hopping happily on our front lawn at night; just as we used to see his ancestor, Herman Muncher I, hopping on the lawn. I hope that Herman Muncher XVI lives on. I hope that I live on. (Sigh...)
Hey. Life ain't easy for nobody.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Why Do We Have To Grow Older?
[Note: This is a final (?) draft of an earlier article that got posted before it was finished. Most of all, the type font was left very small and hard to read.]
A couple of comments were made before I could edit the text, and for now, I have to publish this later version along with the other one. Sorry! ]
- - - - - - - - - -
I woke up feeling very sad this morning. It had something to do with a dream I had but couldn't recall.
As I got up and wandered into the kitchen, I thought of my grandchildren who would be waiting for me to show up for a visit, today. One has his problems, and the other is so happy that I worry about the day when he starts walking, because that seems to be the time when a dark little cloud forms over our families and we begin to see which cards we've been dealt. I feel like stopping the clock for them so they can go on living as they are - innocent and happy - forever. Most of all, free from illness and pain.
Or is it because I woke up thinking, "Oh, Hell! I really AM sixty-one and a half years old!" (half a year matters to me). But why do I complain when 4 years ago, after my sudden cardiac death, life was given back to me? Well, maybe I complain because I've become a bystander, watching the parade of life pass by, and now I feel that I'm no longer a part of it.
I don't know, but in a little while, I'll be on the floor with my 4 year old 'Little
Big Guy', who loves to wrestle with me and jump in the air and land on my big belly. Yeah, that hurts; but seeing the smile on his face is worth the pounding. And then there's the younger one, 16 months and trying to walk on his own, and looking so proud of himself which each toddling step. Then he climbs up on Grandpa and messes up my TV viewing by pushing every freaking button on the remote! Later, he may take a nap on my shoulder and I won't be allowed to move or even cough for an hour or so, so that he can get his rest, before starting in on me again.
I just don't know if I am feeling sad because I'm getter older, or because they are. For now, they're caught in a vicious, inconsiderate game of life. And as much as I want to rescue them from it, I also want them to live it - but with never a tear in their eyes.
A couple of comments were made before I could edit the text, and for now, I have to publish this later version along with the other one. Sorry! ]
- - - - - - - - - -
I woke up feeling very sad this morning. It had something to do with a dream I had but couldn't recall.
As I got up and wandered into the kitchen, I thought of my grandchildren who would be waiting for me to show up for a visit, today. One has his problems, and the other is so happy that I worry about the day when he starts walking, because that seems to be the time when a dark little cloud forms over our families and we begin to see which cards we've been dealt. I feel like stopping the clock for them so they can go on living as they are - innocent and happy - forever. Most of all, free from illness and pain.
Or is it because I woke up thinking, "Oh, Hell! I really AM sixty-one and a half years old!" (half a year matters to me). But why do I complain when 4 years ago, after my sudden cardiac death, life was given back to me? Well, maybe I complain because I've become a bystander, watching the parade of life pass by, and now I feel that I'm no longer a part of it.
I don't know, but in a little while, I'll be on the floor with my 4 year old 'Little
Big Guy', who loves to wrestle with me and jump in the air and land on my big belly. Yeah, that hurts; but seeing the smile on his face is worth the pounding. And then there's the younger one, 16 months and trying to walk on his own, and looking so proud of himself which each toddling step. Then he climbs up on Grandpa and messes up my TV viewing by pushing every freaking button on the remote! Later, he may take a nap on my shoulder and I won't be allowed to move or even cough for an hour or so, so that he can get his rest, before starting in on me again.
I just don't know if I am feeling sad because I'm getter older, or because they are. For now, they're caught in a vicious, inconsiderate game of life. And as much as I want to rescue them from it, I also want them to live it - but with never a tear in their eyes.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
It Takes A Brain
Sometimes, it just takes a brain. But when that brain malfunctions, a test called an EEG is often used. It reads the electrical activity of the brain.
Now, I've been looking for a model of a heart and a model of a brain, for my grandson. He's interested in, and concerned about, my heart, and I am concerned about his brain.
He really needs an EEG, to find or rule out seizures, but he won't allow it. They have to put electrodes on his scalp to "read" his brain activity. They tried using sedation the first time, to overcome his protests. It was a disaster, trying to "hold him down" while they injected Fentanyl (!) and then another "knock out" drug, into his sensitive little elbow. From what I've heard, it was a most disgusting and brutal display of professional vengeance and stupidity. [expletives deleted] He was understandably traumatized. Because of this, the chance of EVER giving this 4 year old an injection again is probably zero.
There was a reason for his refusal/tantrum, of course - that being the reason why the child was there for the EEG in the first place! He had some behavioral issues. Like they didn't know this? It was a testing center.
I've seen this inexcusable behavior before, and the cruelty with which people can sometimes act, is flabbergasting - especially in a children's hospital named "CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL!
Well, thinking about this makes me angry, and I get chest pains (angina) if I get angry.
Apparently, the narrow circumflex artery that grows down the backside of my heart instead of starting in the front, contracts - reducing blood flow and oxygen immediately, and causes pain. It's too narrow for a stent. It was possibly the reason for my Sudden Cardiac Arrest (SCA) in 2008, and I don't want another SCA - not just yet, anyway.
So, I've been taking more heart pills ('Nitro') than I should have to, to stop the angina; while thinking about this ongoing conflict between my little 4 year old buddy and those great big neurologists and psychologists. I need a solution and maybe I have found one.
First, I get a model of a brain. A real model, not a silly toy. This way, I can use this with my grandson to show him what a brain is. He will absolutely love it, and the learning experience that comes with it. He is a very talented "make believer", and NEVER passes up the chance to learn something new.
Next, I buy some EEG leads (the wires that stick to the head) and show him some YouTube videos of EEG's in actual use. We practice putting the leads on each other's heads to see whose brain is "working better".
Finally, IF he's convinced that a real EEG presents no problems and won't hurt him, we can try another, real EEG - without sedation! A sedated brain doesn't show very much.
So, that's my plan. I think it's a good one but it shouldn't require this on my part, since they had him in the hospital's neuro-clinic for 3 hours before they assaulted him with the syringe - without warning. A toy brain rehearsal would have worked so much better.
They couldn't have done this, themselves?
It is it ironic that some health providers, like the ones in that hospital, are the
ones who make me sick!
Monday, March 26, 2012
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