Wednesday, May 8, 2019
Monday, February 11, 2019
The shock of losing your spouse
I've never really put into words the story of losing my first wife about 14 years ago. It's not something you ever prepare for and don't even think about. You expect to lose your grandparents and your parents and you become older, that's pretty much a given. But I don't believe many think too much about losing your wife for husband.k
My loss came on a late winter's eve when I least expected it. Pat had been in declining health with some major heart issues but seemed to be doing well. After a couple of hospital stays and some time in rehab at Heartland Healthcare in Henry she was a little more active than she had been.
One day she told me that there was a seminar at Heartland that she would like to attend so I agreed to take her to Henry. I dropped her off and left to run some errands and returned to wait for her to finish. I was sitting in the lobby near the door where I had a partial view of the nurses station down the hall. I saw Pat walk to the nurses station where she was talking with ladies she knew from her previous stays. She then disappeared from my view and I figured she had moved to another position out of my view. A couple of minutes went by and I noticed some of the CNA's scurrying around the nurses station. As I watched this I was thinking this can't be good so I got up and walked down the hall to find Pat on the floor in the midst of a heart attack. As I watched I had a sinking feeling that she might not survive this. She was not conscious but was breathing. The ambulance finally showed up and they were going to transport her to Perry Memorial in Princeton.
I left behind the ambulance on what by now were some icy roads and the trip seemed like it would never end. We finally arrived at the hospital where they rushed her into the ER and began trying to ,keep her alive. The doctors worked on her for a while and then one came out and told me I better come in because it didn't look good. I went in and was able to talk to Pat but she was barely coherent. The doctors were wanting to life-flight her to Peoria but the weather was bad enough to ground the helicopters so that was out of the question.
Previous to all of this Pat and I had had a discussion months ago about being kept alive by machine because of her earlier close calls. We both agreed that neither of us would want to live under those conditions. And because of the amount of time between Pat going down at the nursing home and finally arriving at the hospital I was having serious doubts about her survival and what shape would she be in if she did survive.
So, as I stood beside her in the ER she had another incident so the doctors jumped back in to try and keep her breathing. I watched this for a few minutes and finally told them to stop. They stopped and stood back while I went to Pat to try and talk to her. I knew at this point she was not going to make it. She was getting weaker by the second and I told her I loved her and didn't want her to go. She told she loved me and a moment later she was gone. Before she passed I had asked for last rites to be administered and they were.
The rest of what happened in the hospital is a blur and I really don't remember it. I then walked outside to my van and got in.
I think then I was in shock and at that point had never felt so alone in my entire life. I just sat stunned in the parking lot for about 20 minutes. I finally headed for home knowing I was going to make some phone calls.
The first person I called was my brother Tom and filled him in. I was, by this time, starting to come apart. I asked Tom to make the call to the rest of the family as I didn't think I could hold it together enough to make the calls.
Pat and I had been married almost 37 years and I had dated her for three years before we got married so by the time she passed I had spent 2/3 of my life with her. I was lost and was in no way prepared to deal with her passing. Coming home to an empty house was a new reality for me and I have to say it was difficult. With Pat gone now I had only the cats, and they were pretty much hers anyway.
I don't really know what the point of me writing this is but I just felt it was time for me to put it on paper. You just never know what the good Lord will put on your plate and some things are a real test.
My loss came on a late winter's eve when I least expected it. Pat had been in declining health with some major heart issues but seemed to be doing well. After a couple of hospital stays and some time in rehab at Heartland Healthcare in Henry she was a little more active than she had been.
One day she told me that there was a seminar at Heartland that she would like to attend so I agreed to take her to Henry. I dropped her off and left to run some errands and returned to wait for her to finish. I was sitting in the lobby near the door where I had a partial view of the nurses station down the hall. I saw Pat walk to the nurses station where she was talking with ladies she knew from her previous stays. She then disappeared from my view and I figured she had moved to another position out of my view. A couple of minutes went by and I noticed some of the CNA's scurrying around the nurses station. As I watched this I was thinking this can't be good so I got up and walked down the hall to find Pat on the floor in the midst of a heart attack. As I watched I had a sinking feeling that she might not survive this. She was not conscious but was breathing. The ambulance finally showed up and they were going to transport her to Perry Memorial in Princeton.
I left behind the ambulance on what by now were some icy roads and the trip seemed like it would never end. We finally arrived at the hospital where they rushed her into the ER and began trying to ,keep her alive. The doctors worked on her for a while and then one came out and told me I better come in because it didn't look good. I went in and was able to talk to Pat but she was barely coherent. The doctors were wanting to life-flight her to Peoria but the weather was bad enough to ground the helicopters so that was out of the question.
Previous to all of this Pat and I had had a discussion months ago about being kept alive by machine because of her earlier close calls. We both agreed that neither of us would want to live under those conditions. And because of the amount of time between Pat going down at the nursing home and finally arriving at the hospital I was having serious doubts about her survival and what shape would she be in if she did survive.
So, as I stood beside her in the ER she had another incident so the doctors jumped back in to try and keep her breathing. I watched this for a few minutes and finally told them to stop. They stopped and stood back while I went to Pat to try and talk to her. I knew at this point she was not going to make it. She was getting weaker by the second and I told her I loved her and didn't want her to go. She told she loved me and a moment later she was gone. Before she passed I had asked for last rites to be administered and they were.
The rest of what happened in the hospital is a blur and I really don't remember it. I then walked outside to my van and got in.
I think then I was in shock and at that point had never felt so alone in my entire life. I just sat stunned in the parking lot for about 20 minutes. I finally headed for home knowing I was going to make some phone calls.
The first person I called was my brother Tom and filled him in. I was, by this time, starting to come apart. I asked Tom to make the call to the rest of the family as I didn't think I could hold it together enough to make the calls.
Pat and I had been married almost 37 years and I had dated her for three years before we got married so by the time she passed I had spent 2/3 of my life with her. I was lost and was in no way prepared to deal with her passing. Coming home to an empty house was a new reality for me and I have to say it was difficult. With Pat gone now I had only the cats, and they were pretty much hers anyway.
I don't really know what the point of me writing this is but I just felt it was time for me to put it on paper. You just never know what the good Lord will put on your plate and some things are a real test.
Saturday, January 26, 2019
Civil War Reenacting; How I Started in the Hobby, Part 1
I began reading books about the Civil War when I was in high school, in fact, I read everyone in the high school library. Although we didn't have an extensive library I was able to get the basic history of the war from what was there.
As I got older I still was interested in the war and later discovered there were groups who actually reenacted Civil War battles. I thought I'd like to check it out and saw an ad for an event at the Chicago Historical Society. My wife and I went down but the event had been moved inside because of the weather. I met members of the group, a Union group from Joliet, IL, who basically said because I lived in Chicago that I was too far away and they didn't want me. I'm thinking that's no way to grow a group and by the way, kindly go fuck yourself.
Shortly after that I took a job that required me to move to North Carolina. I went to work for Dynamic Graphics from Peoria, IL and took their southeast territory, six states, including Kentucky, Tennessee, Virginia, West Virginia, North Carolina and South Carolina. I chose that territory because of the number of Civil War battlefields. The other territory I could have taken was Washington and Oregon. No thanks.
After moving to Gastonia, NC I began again to think about Civil War reenacting when my aunt sent me a newspaper clipping about an event which was happening locally. I decided to go to the event and met members of the 49th North Carolina who were very cordial and interested in having me join their group even though I was a Yankee. So here I am about to join a Confederate reenacting group but I was so eager to become involved that I didn't care which side, just let me at it.
One of the first events I went to was the re-dedication of the North Carolina monument in Gettysburg, Pa. The monument had been removed from the battlefield and sent to Cincinnati, OH to be refurbished. For the re-dedication the Park Service wanted some reenactors from North Carolina to be part of the ceremony. I don't remember how many went but they were from several groups in North Carolina. I remember there were men from the 26th NC, 49th NC, 31st NC, and 6th NC. So here I am in borrowed uniform, accouterments, hat, shoes and gun. Nervous as hell because I barely knew any of the drill or manual of arms.
Dealing with the Park Service was one giant pain in the ass in those days. First, all our weapons had to be inspected by their "black powder" expert, who was a lady ranger that had just completed her certification. She was a smug asshole who thought she was an expert on everything black powder. She managed to piss off everyone, even the veterans in the hobby. My weapon failed inspection because of a tiny crack in the wood stock which meant I wouldn't be able to fire for the weekend. The park service also wouldn't allow the reenactors to bring any powder or caps and they handed out what our firing squad would need for the ceremonial volleys.
The statue depicts four Confederate soldiers leaning forward in a charging position. One solider kneels down and points toward the enemy in the front. It was designed by Gutzon Borglum, who is most famous for sculpting Mount Rushmore.
As I got older I still was interested in the war and later discovered there were groups who actually reenacted Civil War battles. I thought I'd like to check it out and saw an ad for an event at the Chicago Historical Society. My wife and I went down but the event had been moved inside because of the weather. I met members of the group, a Union group from Joliet, IL, who basically said because I lived in Chicago that I was too far away and they didn't want me. I'm thinking that's no way to grow a group and by the way, kindly go fuck yourself.
Shortly after that I took a job that required me to move to North Carolina. I went to work for Dynamic Graphics from Peoria, IL and took their southeast territory, six states, including Kentucky, Tennessee, Virginia, West Virginia, North Carolina and South Carolina. I chose that territory because of the number of Civil War battlefields. The other territory I could have taken was Washington and Oregon. No thanks.
After moving to Gastonia, NC I began again to think about Civil War reenacting when my aunt sent me a newspaper clipping about an event which was happening locally. I decided to go to the event and met members of the 49th North Carolina who were very cordial and interested in having me join their group even though I was a Yankee. So here I am about to join a Confederate reenacting group but I was so eager to become involved that I didn't care which side, just let me at it.
One of the first events I went to was the re-dedication of the North Carolina monument in Gettysburg, Pa. The monument had been removed from the battlefield and sent to Cincinnati, OH to be refurbished. For the re-dedication the Park Service wanted some reenactors from North Carolina to be part of the ceremony. I don't remember how many went but they were from several groups in North Carolina. I remember there were men from the 26th NC, 49th NC, 31st NC, and 6th NC. So here I am in borrowed uniform, accouterments, hat, shoes and gun. Nervous as hell because I barely knew any of the drill or manual of arms.
Dealing with the Park Service was one giant pain in the ass in those days. First, all our weapons had to be inspected by their "black powder" expert, who was a lady ranger that had just completed her certification. She was a smug asshole who thought she was an expert on everything black powder. She managed to piss off everyone, even the veterans in the hobby. My weapon failed inspection because of a tiny crack in the wood stock which meant I wouldn't be able to fire for the weekend. The park service also wouldn't allow the reenactors to bring any powder or caps and they handed out what our firing squad would need for the ceremonial volleys.
The statue depicts four Confederate soldiers leaning forward in a charging position. One solider kneels down and points toward the enemy in the front. It was designed by Gutzon Borglum, who is most famous for sculpting Mount Rushmore.
When we arrived for the weekend we camped behind Seminary Ridge where the Confederate troops staged for the 3rd day battle of Gettysburg. One of the reasons the wanted North Carolina reenactors was to have them stand guard at the statue until the unveiling ceremony. We all got to choose what watch we wanted to stand and I got the 1 a.m. to 2 a.m. watch with another member of the 49th, Brad Bush. I have to admit it was kind of spooky being on Seminary Ridge in the middle of the night. There was a slight breeze making a little noise as it passed over the tarp covered statue and rustled the leaves. When our watch ended there were several who decided to walk the route of Pickett's Charge. I just wanted to sit there for a while and soak it all in, then decided I'd like to do that too. I started into the wheat field and had gone a hundred yards or so when my eyes started to itch so I decided to turn back and go to the camp. As I was walking down Seminary Ridge I couldn't help but notice how quiet it was... dead quiet. Then, suddenly from above my head, a very loud WHO, WHO! A damn owl hooted and damn near gave me a heart attack. Scared the crap out of me.
The next morning we did the ceremony, which went off without a hitch and so ended my first Civil War event. I was hooked and eager to go to the next event.
I will say that over the course of some thirty years in the hobby I was able to learn a helluva lot about the war and participate in some events that armchair historians will never experience, ever. I was eager to learn more about the daily life of the Civil War soldiers, how they lived, what they ate, how they drilled and prepared for battle. Over the years I did get a taste, a very small taste of their lives. The only element we didn't have to worry about as reenactors was death. When we died in a battle we were resurrected when it was over so we could go to work on Monday.
I don't know how many parts this will take for me to tell this story but if it interests you check back occasionally and I'll also put a link on Facebook. I plan on detailing some of the experiences which I felt were unique and will generalize on others. I hope you will enjoy my looking back on over thirty years in the hobby.
Monday, January 21, 2019
Things I didn't expect...
When I began to have problems with my left leg last summer I never in my wildest dreams imagined it would morph into what it did. After the operation in July to remove the bone in my left foot I expected it to heal and go on with my life.
As July turned into August and I returned to the Wound Clinic for my weekly appointment I thought my foot was healing, however I was experiencing mounting pain and not at the site of the surgery but along the bottom of my foot. I complained weekly about the pain only to have nothing done about it. Toward the end of August after more complaints about the pain I was instructed to go to the ER where they would administer a bag of antibiotics in case of "possible" infection.
While this was going on I was dealing with recurring bouts of depression which would only last a couple of days. But even with that, I couldn't get any work done because I was in so much pain. I normally have a great outlook on life and figure everything will work itself out. But still I was dogged with periods of staring out the window wondering what was going on in my life. I can't even describe what was going on in my head but whatever it was I was having trouble pulling out of it. Performing my everyday tasks was becoming much more difficult because of the pain. I continued to do my grocery shopping because I didn't feel right asking someone else to do it. The shopping cart became my crutch to get around the store. Without something to hang on to there was no way I could have walked through the store. It got to the point where I was having one of the kids take my groceries to the van and put them in while I lagged behind just trying to make it back to the car. It had gotten so bad that when I got into the van I had to grab my left pant leg and physically pull my leg into the van.
Bear in mind that all this time I had two magazines to publish but would often find myself sitting at the computer just staring at the screen or turning my chair and looking out the window. By the middle of September the pain was excruciating and was destroying my ability to concentrate on anything. My last two trips to the Wound Clinic I had to call the receptionist and have someone come to the parking lot with a wheelchair so I could get inside for my appointments. They were also kind enough to take me back to my van in a wheelchair.
While all this was going on I had prescription painkillers which were supposed to be taken every 4-6 hours. I took them and kept to the prescribed dosage. I was scared of becoming addicted to them and fortunately for me I have a very high pain threshold so was able to limit myself. I've always used the painkillers to just tamp down the pain to a tolerable level because I've never had a painkiller that actually took the pain completely away.
Depression was taking its toll on me and I even quit going to the museum in Lacon where I have volunteered since 1993. I just couldn't face the pain and effort to go there and try and put on a happy face. Around the middle of September I had two trips to the ER at Proctor and on the second trip I was finally admitted and they actually started running tests. After a couple of days my podiatrist came to see me and tell me I had Osteomyelitis (bone infection) and they recommended an AKA, which in hospital lingo means Above Knee Amputation. I didn't hesitate a nanosecond before saying, "Just do it." If it would end the pain I was all for it. Apparently after a nuclear test they discovered the infection was too far spread in the bone to save.
When I came out of surgery the pain was gone but little did I realize just how much my life was going to change. I was in the hospital for a little over two weeks before being sent to Heartland Healthcare in Henry. I chose Heartland because I had heard they had an excellent therapy department and would be a big help in getting me ready to eventually go home and resume a somewhat normal life. While at Heartland I continued to suffer bouts of depression having to deal with all I saw going on around me. Those of you who read my COUNTING FLOWERS ON THE WALL... are aware of a lot of what I went through. I tried to be as honest as I could about my thoughts and feelings.
Now that I'm home I'm still dealing with minor depression on some days but for the most part I'm doing well. The one person who has been there through this whole deal is my house keeper/friend Brandy Bridges. She took care of Callie while I was gone, got my mail and brought things to the nursing home that I needed. Now Brandy comes by daily and changes the dressing on my leg and does my laundry and shopping. I've come to depend on Brandy and sometimes I think she's like a Mom figure. lol She has turned out to be my guardian angel.
What I learned in rehab is being put to use daily and without that program I wouldn't be able to survive here basically by myself. I don't know yet where I will be doing therapy to learn to walk on my new leg but I'm hoping I can return to Heartland on an outpatient basis. We'll see, first I have to get the leg.
I wrote this to just put some of my feelings on paper (or in the ether) but it helps me to deal with what is going on whether anyone reads this blog or not. If you do thank you.
As July turned into August and I returned to the Wound Clinic for my weekly appointment I thought my foot was healing, however I was experiencing mounting pain and not at the site of the surgery but along the bottom of my foot. I complained weekly about the pain only to have nothing done about it. Toward the end of August after more complaints about the pain I was instructed to go to the ER where they would administer a bag of antibiotics in case of "possible" infection.
While this was going on I was dealing with recurring bouts of depression which would only last a couple of days. But even with that, I couldn't get any work done because I was in so much pain. I normally have a great outlook on life and figure everything will work itself out. But still I was dogged with periods of staring out the window wondering what was going on in my life. I can't even describe what was going on in my head but whatever it was I was having trouble pulling out of it. Performing my everyday tasks was becoming much more difficult because of the pain. I continued to do my grocery shopping because I didn't feel right asking someone else to do it. The shopping cart became my crutch to get around the store. Without something to hang on to there was no way I could have walked through the store. It got to the point where I was having one of the kids take my groceries to the van and put them in while I lagged behind just trying to make it back to the car. It had gotten so bad that when I got into the van I had to grab my left pant leg and physically pull my leg into the van.
Bear in mind that all this time I had two magazines to publish but would often find myself sitting at the computer just staring at the screen or turning my chair and looking out the window. By the middle of September the pain was excruciating and was destroying my ability to concentrate on anything. My last two trips to the Wound Clinic I had to call the receptionist and have someone come to the parking lot with a wheelchair so I could get inside for my appointments. They were also kind enough to take me back to my van in a wheelchair.
While all this was going on I had prescription painkillers which were supposed to be taken every 4-6 hours. I took them and kept to the prescribed dosage. I was scared of becoming addicted to them and fortunately for me I have a very high pain threshold so was able to limit myself. I've always used the painkillers to just tamp down the pain to a tolerable level because I've never had a painkiller that actually took the pain completely away.
Depression was taking its toll on me and I even quit going to the museum in Lacon where I have volunteered since 1993. I just couldn't face the pain and effort to go there and try and put on a happy face. Around the middle of September I had two trips to the ER at Proctor and on the second trip I was finally admitted and they actually started running tests. After a couple of days my podiatrist came to see me and tell me I had Osteomyelitis (bone infection) and they recommended an AKA, which in hospital lingo means Above Knee Amputation. I didn't hesitate a nanosecond before saying, "Just do it." If it would end the pain I was all for it. Apparently after a nuclear test they discovered the infection was too far spread in the bone to save.
When I came out of surgery the pain was gone but little did I realize just how much my life was going to change. I was in the hospital for a little over two weeks before being sent to Heartland Healthcare in Henry. I chose Heartland because I had heard they had an excellent therapy department and would be a big help in getting me ready to eventually go home and resume a somewhat normal life. While at Heartland I continued to suffer bouts of depression having to deal with all I saw going on around me. Those of you who read my COUNTING FLOWERS ON THE WALL... are aware of a lot of what I went through. I tried to be as honest as I could about my thoughts and feelings.
Now that I'm home I'm still dealing with minor depression on some days but for the most part I'm doing well. The one person who has been there through this whole deal is my house keeper/friend Brandy Bridges. She took care of Callie while I was gone, got my mail and brought things to the nursing home that I needed. Now Brandy comes by daily and changes the dressing on my leg and does my laundry and shopping. I've come to depend on Brandy and sometimes I think she's like a Mom figure. lol She has turned out to be my guardian angel.
What I learned in rehab is being put to use daily and without that program I wouldn't be able to survive here basically by myself. I don't know yet where I will be doing therapy to learn to walk on my new leg but I'm hoping I can return to Heartland on an outpatient basis. We'll see, first I have to get the leg.
I wrote this to just put some of my feelings on paper (or in the ether) but it helps me to deal with what is going on whether anyone reads this blog or not. If you do thank you.
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