Category Archives: medicine

Gaining Face 

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Well, I’ve finally gone and done it.

For many years, Nancy has been on  Facebook.  When people have asked me if I am, too, my answer has been, “No, I have a life.”

But as of December 12, 2023, I have joined the 21st Century. Or at least stuck my toe in 21st Century waters. Nancy helped me put together a Facebook page.  I wudn’ta done it except she had just discovered a thing called Diabetes 101, which has a lot of information about, well, you can see the name.

We were in Kansas City to record some podcasts for the Missouri Bar (called Is it Legal to…?  They’re programs that explain the law in language you and I can understand, people who didn’t to go law school to learn all of the clever Latin words that are used to refer to something that can just as easily be explained in English but using Latin emphasizes that the speaker or writer is learn-ed.  You might check them out. I think they’re interesting.).  We had had some really mediocre barbecue at the place in Crown Center that is not Arthur Bryants’ or Gates’ for dinner on September 14 and I woke up the next morning very thirsty.  Breakfast included two glasses of orange juice and a glass of water and I consumed water all day like a camel and got rid of it like a race horse. Blood draws on two days the next week showed very high blood sugar rates and a loss of thirteen pounds in three weeks and I was told to get a finger-punching kit and a prescription for insulin filled.  Right now. I don’t know the exact hour but I do know the exact date that I became a Diabetic.

Since then I’ve met scads of people who have been dealing with this thing for decades.  I’ve learned from them and from personal experience it’s not bad.  But it does change one’s lifestyle.

For instance—-the Girl Scouts have just lost a significant customer.  I used to buy Thin Mints by the case and keep them under my desk at the Missourinet, breaking out a box to celebrate a good day or a great story or just to pep up the staff.  Goodbye Thin Mints.  And Oreos. And big cups  of Black Walnut ice cream at Central Dairy.

BUT one day last week I had two (2) Sausage-Egg McMuffins at McDonald’s—just without the muffin.  Early on, my spirits were lifted when I learned I could have chili and popcorn. I’ve been to Wendy’s a few times since and I’ve developed a tremendous desire to go see a movie but the offerings at our local theatre at this time of year have been ghastly. The closing of our favorite drug store cut off my main supply of daytime popcorn. We’ve been binge-watching a TV show about a public hospital in New York, New Amsterdam (until the next season of Grey’s Anatomy is released) and streaming programs on ACORN such as Martin Clunes’ (of Doc Martin fame) called “Man and Beast” instead of going to the movies.  But the experience is popcornless. Roku is a wonderful invention.

I’m doing fine.  Nancy has bought me several pairs of pants that will stay up (I’ve kept losing weight, 30 or 35 pounds or so).  And I’m about to become acquainted with some additional doctors of new specialties previously unencountered.  I’ve learned a lot of other people are in the same sugar-free boat I’m in and they’ve been rowing it for many, many years.  So that’s comforting.  And I don’t feel badly.  But creating a whole new diet that involves things I like to taste is an ongoing adventure.  I haven’t had real milk since September; that’s what I miss the most.  We got through Thanksgiving just fine and I wasn’t bothered too much watching other people eat dressing and mashed potatoes with gravy, and cranberry stuff out of a can.  Nancy made a pumpkin pie I could eat, as long as I didn’t eat the crust.

Peanut Butter, crunchy, has become a major part of my life.

So where was I?   Oh.  Facebook.

Well anyway, I’m there.  I’ll probably use it to tell people what’s on the blog next week and I’ll probably be a regular viewer of Diabetes 101.  Friend me if you’d like but we are not going to spend our days exchanging selfies or passing along cute cartoons or the latest editions of Wal-Martians.

I’m just showing folks a new Face. I’ll be friendly. But I have my own life and I’m going to keep living it for a good long time.

OMG!!!

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While our Congress has been acting like children who should be spanked and sent to bed without dinner—

While the Israel and Hamas are blowing each other up===

While Ukraine is hoping to hold on somehow to its own survival—

While hurricanes are growing more severe, water shortages are getting more serious, millions of people are still starving in Africa, China is building islands in the South Pacific to extend its reach, gas prices are as difficult to understand as airline fares, and Covid is on the rise again—

It is news that baseball great Alex Rodriguez has

Ta-dah!!!!

Gum disease!

Oh, the horror.

“I just recently went to see my dentist and not thinking anything about any gum disease and the dentist tells me the news, and then I come to find out over 65 million Americans have this gum disease.”

He made the heart-stopping announcement on the “CBS Mornings show a few days ago.

But it’s only early-stage gum disease.

Whew…..we were really concerned until we learned it’s been caught early and is treatable.

As sometimes happens when big star people contract some dreaded disease, A-Rod, as he’s called, is becoming a mouthpiece for a cause.  He has “partnered” with OraPharma, a  health products company to increase public knowledge about this ailment.

(We wonder if he knew he had gum disease before OraPharma contacted his agent.)

His advice:

See your dentist for regular checks.  And take care of your teeth.

You bet, A-Rod.  I’ve already made my next dental appointment. It will be in December.

But there are other major ailments that require celebrity spokespeople with courage enough to go public with their problem so the public will be more aware and seek proper medical attention.

Hangnails.

Ingrown toenails

Dandruff

Think of the possibilities for TV commercials with your favorite sports stars or has-been sports stars elbowing their way between insurance, patent medicine, and medicare commercials.  We need the variety.  Flo and Doug and their associates are getting so monotonous.

In A-Rod’s case, be watching for him telling you that Arestin and Ossix are essential fighters for good oral health.

But until that happens, we hope you’ll send your thoughts and prayers to A-Rod as he enters a long fight against his early stage gum disease.

 

Us vs. It—part XIII, Empathetic edition 

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We began this series in the early days of the pandemic. It’s been a long time since the twelfth chapter that likened what we have been going through, or went through, and yesterday.

An odd thing sometimes happens to the historical researcher.  Names and addresses become more than words and numbers on a printed page.  Something empathetic happens sometimes.  I like to say that ghosts live in those boxes of letters and journals or in the stories on the pages of microfilmed newspapers that make yesterday immediate.

Maybe it’s because the address is a place the researcher has driven past many times without a thought.  But now, knowing something that happened at that address produces a peculiar personal tie to the place. These are some of the Jefferson City Sites of Sadness during the great Spanish Flu expidemic of 1918.

1022 West McCarty

1029 West Main

1303 Monroe Street

708 East Miller Street

804 Broadway

Particularly, in this case, is this note in the newspaper from December 10, 1918:

Mrs. Fred Landwehr died at her home east of the city.

The house was east of the city in 1918. It’s well within the city in 2022.  I used to drive past this house almost every time I went to my home on Landwehr Hills Road where we lived for twenty years.  Mrs. Landwehr was one of the victims of the Spanish Influenza pandemic.  One of her descendants is a former Mayor of my town.

In most instances, the people who now live at the addresses above where part of that terrible history happened in 1918-19 have no knowledge of the small but enormously tragic event that enveloped their home so many years ago. They don’t know that the living room of their home might have held the coffin of a loved one who died in that pandemic—funerals often were held in homes in those pre-funeral home days.

We don’t know if such information would be particularly meaningful to the way the current inhabitants live their lives.  But these houses remain memorials to the citizens whose name mean little or nothing to most of us but who were part of the fear and the sadness that was there in that awful historic time.

And in the past three-plus years some modern addresses have been added that were the homes of victims of the worst pandemic since the Spanish Flu of 1918-19.

History is more immediate and more valuable than you might think if you know you are in a place where life and death happened or if you know as you drive past what circumstance of life was played out behind those windows.

But What About Jenae?

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The recent traffic crash in St. Louis that has cost a 17-year old volleyball player her legs has triggered outrage focused on St. Louis Circuit Attorney Kim Gardner—who has been something of a political lightning rod throughout her career.

The Missouri Senate is considering a remonstrance—a word describing a severe grievance or protest against a person or institution, usually demanding corrective action—against Gardner, who is accused of letting the driver of the car remain on the streets despite having a revoked driver’s license and having violated his bond in a robbery case at least fifty times.

The remonstrance is signed by every Republican in the Senate.  Gardner is a black Democrat and her defenders say the remonstrance and the Attorney General’s ouster petition filed against her are politically partisan and racist.

We will leave that fight to be waged in the political arena. We hope, however, that those who are and who will be focused on Gardner do no harm to Jenae Edmondson, the young volleyball player from Tennessee, for it can be too easy for them to use her as an instrument of their political rage at a time when she might desperately need support and hope.

What will they say to her?   What should they say to her?  What should you and I, most of us along in years with legs that carry us in the halls of power, on the playing fields and hiking and biking trails, and even on walks with our grandchildren?

Legs are part of our identity, particularly when we’re young. They’re part of running through life, part of our future, part of our social involvement—we dance with them; we jump to our feet when our team scores in a close game; we begin to drive a car with them.

If you and I—and the senators and the Attorney General—were to send her a letter, what would we tell a 17-year old girl who is dealing with the terrible question double-amputee Drake McHugh asks in King’s Row, “Where’s the rest of me?”

She is not the first person to suffer such a tragedy. But she’s the first person in her own body and in her own mind to go through it. And those who become immersed in the political fallout of this disaster should remember that and not victimize her additionally.

There are others, too, who intimately share her tragedy.  Her parents are doubly affected because they must deal with her injuries and with sustaining her character while they deal with suddenly becoming parents of a disabled teenager and the costs of her care now and in the future.

They are getting help from the Middle Tennessee Volleyball Club that has set up a GoFundMe account that is about halfway to meeting its one-million dollar goal to help pay medical and other bills.

There are many who can give her hope, who can inspire her at the right time to live through this, who can teach by their examples that there will be bikes to ride, trails to hike, games to be played, life to be lived.  Thousands of those who returned alive but damaged from Afghanistan are the ones we hope she will focus on.  At some point, Paralympians can provide inspiration. At some point, the remarkable U.S. Senator Tammy Duckworth of Illinois can become an inspiration—a woman who lost her legs in a military helicopter crash and who told Vogue magazine that when he sees her artificial legs, painted to match her skin tones, she sees “loss.”  But when she sees her steel and titanium prosthesis, “I see strength.”

But that is in the future.  Jenae and her family are living very much in the present with its present challenges.  We hope she does not become a pawn in a developing political battle.

She and her family have more important things to do.

 

 

The Fourth of July

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This is a day of eloquent words.  The celebration of that eloquence is overshadowed by the festival this day has become.

We’re not talking only about the eloquence of the Declaration of Independence, approved by the Continental Congress on this day (but not signed by the 56 delegates for some time), but for the eloquence of a speech by a special man before thousands of admirers on this date.

This is the day in 1939 that Lou Gehrig, one of the greatest players and greatest people to play baseball, said goodbye—with words of courage and gratitude before a crowd of almost 62,000 people in Yankee Stadium who had come for baseball games but mostly to pay tribute to Lou Gehrig.

The words were spoken a little more than a month after a consequential trip to Missouri.

The most memorable line came at the beginning, not the end—as is the case with the Declaration’s most famous line.

“Fans, for the past two weeks you have been reading about the bad break I got. Yet today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of this earth. I have been in ballparks for seventeen years and have never received anything but kindness and encouragement from you fans.

“Look at these grand men. Which of you wouldn’t consider it the highlight of his career just to associate with them for even one day? Sure, I’m lucky. Who wouldn’t consider it an honor to have known Jacob Ruppert? Also, the builder of baseball’s greatest empire, Ed Barrow? To have spent six years with that wonderful little fellow, Miller Huggins? Then to have spent the next nine years with that outstanding leader, that smart student of psychology, the best manager in baseball today, Joe McCarthy? Sure, I’m lucky.

“When the New York Giants, a team you would give your right arm to beat, and vice versa, sends you a gift – that’s something. When everybody down to the groundskeepers and those boys in white coats remember you with trophies – that’s something. When you have a wonderful mother-in-law who takes sides with you in squabbles with her own daughter – that’s something. When you have a father and a mother who work all their lives so you can have an education and build your body – it’s a blessing. When you have a wife who has been a tower of strength and shown more courage than you dreamed existed – that’s the finest I know.

“So I close in saying that I may have had a tough break, but I have an awful lot to live for.”

As far as the trip to Missouri—

Gehrig had sensed something was wrong when he hit “only” .295 in the 1928 season with 29 home runs and 114 runs batted in—the kind of season most of today’s major leaguers would love to have.  But it lowered his lifetime batting average to .340 and left him 287 hits short of becoming the seventh player with 3,000 hits, an achievement he could have expected to reach in 1939 under normal circumstances.  It also left him seven short of 500 home runs and six short of 2000 runs batted in, both statistics he would have achieved in ’38 if he had had a normal year.

He was troubled at the start of the 1939 season by the fact that he was only four for fourteen in the World Series, all of the hits being singles, and going four-for-28—again, all singles—to start the year.  He didn’t hit a home run during spring training and his coordination in the field was off.  He played his last major league game on April 30, then told manager Joe McCarthy he was benching himself after 2,130 straight games.

But there would be one more game. Gehrig was still the Yankees’ captain, often the man who took the lineup card to the home plate umpire at the start of the game, as he did during a series in June against the St. Louis Browns. It was there that Gehrig told reporters he was going to the Mayo Clinic soon for some tests but expected to return to the playing field during the summer.  “I can’t help believing there’s something wrong with me,” he told them. “It’s not conceivable that I could go to pieces so suddenly. I feel fine, feel strong, and have the urge to play…I’d like to play some more and I want somebody to tell me what’s wrong. Usually a fellow slows up gradually.” But this year, he said, “Without warning…I’ve apparently collapsed.”

After wrapping up the series with the Browns, the Yankees went to Kansas City for an exhibition game against their best minor league team, the Kansas City Blues, team that matched rising Yankee star Joe DiMaggio against brother Vince, who played the same position for the Blues against the Blues’ up and coming double play duo of shortstop and future Hall of Famer Phil Rizzuto and second-baseman Jerry Priddy, who combined that year for 130 double plays, a league record. They were called up by the Yankees in ’41.

Lou Gehrig played his last game on June 11, 1939 in Kansas City. He played in great pain, but played errorless ball at first base. His last at-bat was in the third inning. He grounded out to Priddy.

While the rest of the team took a train to Cleveland for a series there, Gehrig and his wife, Eleanor (in this AP photo from 1936), flew to Rochester for tests on the 13th that she had arranged.  Six days later, the clinic’s Dr. Harold C. Habein issued a “Two whom it may concern” letter telling Gehrig he had been diagnosed with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, an illness that “involves the motor pathways and cells of the central nervous system and in lay terms is known as a form of chronic poliomyelitis—infantile paralysis.”

The letter concluded, “The nature of this trouble makes it such that Mr. Gehrig will be unable to continue his active participation as a baseball player inasmuch as it is advisable that he conserve his muscular energy. He could, however, continue in some executive capacity.”

Gehrig took the letter to manage Joe McCarthy and team president Ed Barrow on the 21st.  They released the information to the media that day and announced that July 4th had been set aside for Lou Gehrig Appreciation Day at the stadium.

Gehrig admitted he was shocked by the findings. He told New York sportswriters, “Mrs. Gehrig and I are fully resolved to face the situation calmly” and he called the trip to the Mayo Clinic “the best move I ever made.” But he didn’t ignore the reality of his situation. “My friends tell me not to worry. They slap me on the back and say, ‘Don’t worry, Lou. Everything is going to be all right.’ But how can I help worrying.”

He was honored during a forty-minute ceremony held between games of a doubleheader against the Washington Senators.  There were a lot of gifts including a fruit bowl and two candlesticks from the New York Giants. The one that might have had the most meaning was a 21-inch silver trophy from his 1939 teammates, their names and a poem by New York sportswriter  John Kieran engraved on it.

To LOU GEHRIG

We’ve been to the wars together;
We took our foes as they came:
And always you were the leader,
And ever you played the game.

Idol of cheering millions:
Records are yours by sheaves:
Iron of frame they hailed you,
Decked you with laurel leaves.

But higher than that we hold you,
We who have known you best;
Knowing the way you came through
Every human test.

Let this be a silent token
Of lasting friendship’s gleam
And all that we’ve left unspoken.
Your Pals of the Yankee Team.

When Gehrig walked back to the dugout that day, the only one of the many gifts he took with him was that trophy.

Kieran said his poem was a “feeble interpretation” of how the players felt about Gehrig, who was his neighbor in the suburb of Riverdale, New York. Kieren often visited Gehrig as his health declined. One day, Kieran later related, Gehrig pointed to the trophy and said, “Some time when I get—well, sometimes I have that handed to me—and I read it—and I believe it—and I feel pretty good”

Lou Gehrig died, only 37 years old, On June 2, 1941.  Six months later, the Baseball Writers Association of America voted unanimously to ignore the traditional waiting period for admission to the Hall of Fame and unanimously elected him.

When Eleanor Gehrig died in 1984 she donated that trophy to the Hall of Fame. It and other Gehrig memorabilia are on display in Cooperstown.

Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis is known as Lou Gehrig’s Disease. There still is no cure for it. Nor is there an effective treatment to stop it or reverse its progression.

July 4th.  A day we normally observe eloquent words.  Perhaps a few of us today will remember, too, words not only of eloquence but of courage in the face of a life to come and gratitude for the life that had been.

 

It’s Not Over   

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Regardless of your feeling about the U. S. Supreme Court’s abortion ruling last week, here’s something to remember:

It’s not the final word.

It’s not the final word any more than the 1973 ruling in Roe was the final word.  It just turns the tables on the argument.  Abortion opponents have spent the last fifty years chipping away at the ruling and looking for the right legal lever to overturn the whole thing.  Dozens, probably hundreds, of state laws (somebody might add up all of the ones in Missouri) have attacked the issue only to be thrown out at some level of the court system. This one finally worked.

The ruling obviously does not end here.  The anti-abortion element of American society is on the defensive for the first time in almost a half-century. We will be interested to see if a pro-choice population that has watched as pro-life elements have attacked Roe will be galvanized into activism.

It is not generally a good idea to poke a dozing Tiger with a stick.

Survey after survey has indicated a general approval of Choice by Americans.  The Gallup organization in early June reported, “A steady 58% majority believe that the…ruling…should stand while 35% want it to be reversed. These sentiments are essentially unchanged since 2019.”

The wording on Gallup’s poll question has changed somewhat through the years but, “Dating back to 1989, support for reversing the decision has averaged 32%, while opposition has averaged 59%.”

In the most recent poll, the question focused on the impact of an overturn and whether respondents favored letting states set their own standards.  That survey, run last month, showed 63% of respondents thought it would be a “bad thing” to let states set their own policies. Those who said it will be a “good thing” were at 32%.

There has been no doubt this issue has been a partisan thing for a long time. In the most recent Gallup survey, 80% of Democrats and 62% of Independents favored the status quo.  Among republicans, 58% favored what the court ultimately has decided. Only 34% of independents and 15% of Democrats favored reversal.

But the U.S. Supreme Court is not ruled by polls although its makeup might be determined by people whose political positions ARE ruled by polls.

Catholic voters, for example.

A Pew Research Center 2019 survey found 56% of Catholics felt abortion should be legal in all or most cases. Forty-two percent disagreed.  The 56% is close to the 60% of non-evangelical Protestants and 64% of Black Protestants who supported legal abortion. In one of the fastest-growing demographics—people who are not religiously affiliated—83% told pollsters that abortions should be legal in all or almost all cases.

Writing in America, the Jesuit Review in 2018, Patrick T. Brown, a former government relations staffer for Catholic Charities USA, said, “Since 1973, no institution in the United States has been more firmly committed to protecting the unborn than the Catholic Church. Yet Catholics are just as likely to procure an abortion as other U.S. women. Why?

“According to the latest numbers from the Guttmacher Institute, 24 percent of women who procure abortions identify as Catholic, almost the same as 22 percent of all U.S. women who called themselves Catholic in a 2014 survey by Pew Research Center. In the same sources, evangelical Protestants made up 27 percent of all women in the United States but only 13 percent of those who underwent abortions, revealing a greater reluctance toward choosing abortion, a greater reluctance toward revealing their religion on a survey or both.”

Here’s one thing you won’t hear:   Republicans who are critical of “activist” judges when discussing this ruling.  You won’t hear Republicans railing against “legislating from the bench” either.

Again, this ruling tends to reverse the table.

There are fears this ruling is just the beginning of court-established national policies on contraception, LGTBQ+ rights, and gay marriage being dismantled and becoming matters of states’ rights.  Roe does not mean the court’s rulings on those issues automatically will be part of the Right’s version of a cancel culture but those who want them reversed should ponder how hard they want to poke those Tigers and what the reaction will be when they have poked too hard.

This ruling is certain to become a significant election issue in November when we will learn if it and reactions to findings of the January 6 Committee as well as fears of the present court’s future actions will produce less of a Red Wave than many on the Right expect.

Pro-life interests have prevailed.

For now.

But a younger generation born and raised in an era of birth control, abortion, and gender recognition in its various forms might be maturing with different outlooks.

In times such as these and decision such as this, we often return to former New York Governor Al Smith, a Catholic who ran for President in 1928, a time when there was a lot of “anti” attitudes in our nation.  Many think Smith’s greatest liability in the election was his religion.  He warned:

“It is a confession of the weakness of our own faith in the righteousness of our cause when we attempt to suppress by law those who do not agree with us.”

Notes from a Quiet Street  (Hot Summer Days & Nights Edition)

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We have officials from Missouri and many other states who are threatening to punish school districts and local health departments, in particular, if they institute mask mandates.  Our Attorney General, Eric Schmitt, is the chief guardian against local mask mandates and he now has a class action lawsuit forbidding school districts from having the mandates. He says parents and families should decide if children wear masks, not those who act in loco parentis when hundreds of children are together.  Parents and families, he says, should make decisions based on science and facts—-as if officials in charge of hundreds of children in close contact with one another can’t make decisions based on science and facts.  Or should not be allowed to make decisions based on science and facts.

The lawsuit also cites a low COVID death rate among school children.

Isn’t one child dying from this plague too high a death rate?

We find all of this energy by governors and attorneys general—almost unanimously Republicans—on this issue peculiar.

Remind us again which party is it that does the most griping about government over-reach, especially the federal government telling states (who know what’s best for their citizens) what should be done.

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One thing we’ve noticed about the pandemic, and now “the pandemic of the un-vaccinated,” is that no preacher has tried to capitalize on it as God’s punishment for this or that nation condoning this or that whatever.  Perhaps it is because all nations, whatever their faults, are fighting this thing—and deciding what human trait is being punished is impossible to determine, even by those who in the past have claimed exclusive knowledge of God’s intent.

But maybe God can’t get in a word edgewise amidst all of the conspiracy cacophony that has helped give the pandemic new vigor.

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There’s been a slew of book released revealing more about the more chaotic last chaotic days of the Trump administration. It is unlikely—we certainly hope it is unlikely!!—that we will ever again see so many books from so many insiders so critical of a president. But there’s one insider book we are waiting for although it might not come until the author determines that he will be more benefitted than damaged by his words.  Potential bombshell-author Mike Pence seems to think the success of his future is still too closely tied to his recent past to discuss it.

But, boy oh boy, the tales he could tell…….

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We notice, by the way, that the former VP is becoming more visible on the public speaking circuit.  He’s hitting some of the big venues—a few weeks ago he repeated his lamentable attack on Critical Race Theory at the inaugural Feenstra Family Picnic in Sioux Center, Iowa.

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Watching the drought envelop the West, we are reminded of some jokes that we heard back in the very hot summer of 1953 while growing up on our little Illinois farm.  That was the summer when the thermometers reached the 90s in late May and the heat wave ran well into September with several days in the triple digits.  In fact, the last 90-plus day was not until October.  Few homes or cars were air conditioned and I can recall my mother closing the curtains in the morning to keep out the sun during the day.

It was so hot that I saw three dogs chasing a tree.

We got a little rain one day and we sent what was in our rain gauge to the University to be analyzed. It came back only 35% moisture.

That was the winter is snowed a little bit but the snow was so dry we just shoved it into the ditch and burned it.

Not sure but those might have been told by Sam Cowling on Don MacNeill’s Breakfast Club that broadcast from Chicago for 35 years on the NBC Blue Network (which became ABC Radio) and is known as the program that created morning talk and variety as a viable radio format.

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Several months ago we told the story of a Cole County man who got married into a family situation that sounded like the story told in the song, “I’m My Own Grandpa.”

Well, we’ve found another one.  From the Sedalia Capital, a newspaper founded when Sedalia was making an ill-fated run at taking the seat of government away from Jefferson City, February 21, 1925 issue.  Page 5 has a picture of a nice-looking lady captioned, “Miss Ruth Davis’ marriage to her stepbrother, Andrew Jean Stormfeltz at Kansas City, Mo., made her mother also her stepmother and her mother-in-law, and her stepfather her father-in-law. She’s her own stepsister-in-law.  Figure it out.”

We’re not genealogist enough to know, but would that make their children their own cousins, or their own aunts and uncles, step or otherwise?

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It’s about time

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The capitol started to cool at 6 p.m. last Friday, the official adjournment time of the 2021 regular session of the legislature.

Actually, as we understand it, the heat and the hard pulse of the building began to diminish at mid-afternoon when the Senate adjourned, deadlocked in an intra-party fight about the most notorious bill-killer issue for the last twenty or thirty years—abortion.

Tack some language on a bill that forbids any funding for any program that involved anyone who might say or think “birth control” and that bill goes to the grave’s edge with one foot on a banana peel.

That’s what took whatever wind was left in the sails of this session out of those sails.  Unfortunately, the effort this time was tied to a bill that continues a tax on hospitals—that are willing to be taxed—so more federal money is available to provide healthcare to poor people. Democrats let it be known the birth control amendment wouldn’t fly, especially after the Republicans refused to find funding for the expanded Medicaid program voters put into the Missouri Constitution last year. The Democrat leader moved to adjourn early and although the R’s had more than enough votes to defeat the D’s motion, it passed, leaving the House the only chamber still in business. The House, to its credit, slogged on despite expressions of urinary agitation toward the Senate.

It’s about time—-too little time to iron out problems assuming anybody wanted to do any ironing.

This isn’t the first time, by the way, that one chamber or another has quit early for one reason or another.

On the other hand, “it’s about time” has another and more positive meaning.

It’s about time the legislature approved a fuel tax increase that does not require a public vote.  The refusal of voter twice to support increases has left our transportation system in desperate straits and this observer thinks our lawmakers deserve a friendly pat for doing what had to be done—-although it should have been done years ago.

But discussing what should have been done has little value. What has been done is what’s important today.  Now.  My car is grateful and so am I.

It’s also about time the legislature finally decided state sales taxes should be collected on internet sales.  Again, it’s something that should have been done years ago but this year, it got done. Will it keep local stores trying to compete with internet super-super-super stores from closing?  In reality, not many probably.  But it’s nice to see the legislature get past the idea that having people pay sales taxes they should be paying is some kind of an onerous tax increase.

But there seems to be some kind of a tiny irony here.  Missouri will start collecting taxes on internet sales of things that lead to birth control.

We’re mulling what seems to be a logic disconnect in that but we haven’t figured it out yet.

The Constitution and the vaccine: and the danger of selfish people

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Drew Vogel was one of my early reporters at the Missourinet.  He has had a lengthy career as a nursing home administrator in Ohio and since his retirement from a fulltime directorship has held several interim positions.

There’s a special place in my heart for people who work in nursing homes.  And for those who have been working in the industry during this COVID era, well, I’m not sure I can measure the depth of my admiration. Drew has a blog, too, and last week he let off some steam about people who think it is their constitutional right to refuse vaccinations and put others at risk.

Drew has been on the front lines in the fight against disease.  And we all know that THE front lines have been our nursing home.

He doesn’t mince words about vaccinations and the selfish use by some of the Constitution to avoid the responsibility all of us have to each other.  Listen to this good man.

I have just ended an interim (temporary) assignment as administrator at a nursing home Near Dayton, Ohio.  I have done, without bothering to count them up, something like 13 interim assignments the past seven years.

 I joke that interim work is great because you don’t stay around long enough to get fired!

 In reality, I am lucky enough that I don’t need to work a permanent fulltime job.  But I do need to work – especially since my wife passed away last September.  Work is good for my psyche, my emotions – good for my soul. There is a dignity element also – although no one has ever accused me of being very dignified.

 This recent building was one of my best interim assignments.  The staff was great, hard-working, friendly and fun.  I feel like in those 3+ months I made some friends for life.

 The guys were very positive in their approach to long-term care, in spite of, or maybe because of, the fact that they had been through some adversity.

 The facility was COVID-free in the early stages of the pandemic last year until around Thanksgiving. Then there was a major outbreak.

 Ultimately, 75-100 total people – staff and residents – contracted the disease.  By the end of the year about 15 residents had died.  No staff died, but some got very sick.

 When I arrived in January two employees were off sick with the coronavirus, but the outbreak was pretty much under control. Temperature checks, questionnaires and masks were required to get in the door.  Only people with a purpose could come in. Vendors dropped their goods outside – food, oxygen, supplies – and the staff dragged them inside.

 When visitation resumed, visitors were first tested, masked and confined to a room that did not require entry into the building proper.

 In January, the first week I was at the facility, I received my first vaccination shot – Pfizer – and in February I got the follow up injection.  I was happy to receive it.

 However, even though it was free and had been proven to work, not everyone took the vaccine. 

 It is voluntary almost everywhere in America. In my facility some staff and some residents – or their families – said NO!

 The month of March went pretty well.  Then in April, over a couple weeks’ time, a housekeeper, a cook and a therapist tested positive and were sent home to quarantine. 

 Yesterday, my last day, a nursing assistant tested positive – with symptoms.

 The COVID-19 protocol was immediately initiated.  A text was sent to all staff to come in immediately to be tested; all residents were swabbed.

 As of when I left yesterday afternoon, two more cases had been discovered – both residents.  There may be more by now.

 Six cases in April and NONE OF THEM HAD BEEN VACCINATED! 

 No cases in April among people who had been vaccinated – people working side-by-side in exactly the same confines as the people who developed COVID-19.

 As the saying goes, you don’t have to be a rocket scientist ……………..

 I’ve always believed our Constitution is the world’s greatest document – at least the greatest created by a government.  It contains enumerable individual rights.  But those rights cease at the point they infringe upon the rights of others – like the right not to die because of another’s misconceptions, fear and/or puffed-up ego.

 In other words, I am an advocate of MANDATORY vaccines.  Don’t give people a choice.

 Think about it, we need a license to drive a car.  We need a license to cut hair, catch fish, or be a nurse.  Nursing home administrators must be licensed, so do stockbrokers, real estate salesmen and ham radio operators.

 The licensing list in unending.  So why not issue a license to people to go out in public only if they have been vaccinated.

 Radical thinking?  Damned right it is. And I’m aware it will likely never happen.

 But dammit death, like ugly and stupidity, is forever.

 Amen, Drew.  Perhaps one or two self-righteous defenders of their right to privacy at the expense of the right to life of others will read your words and recognize the selfishness of their attitudes.

 

 

My cabbage crop

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We conclude this week with a short personal note.

Technology enables us to post entries on these pages to be displayed even if we’re not in the office, the home, or even in the world.   Such has been the case these last two weeks.

I got into the cabbage business on Monday, April 12

It’s pronounced “cabbage,” but in medical circles it’s formally CABG—Coronary Artery Bypass Graft.

My surgeon—an amazing man beyond his skills of repairing the world’s greatest pump—thought I was going to get a triple.  But once he looked at the playing field, he decided I deserved a Grand Slam.

It’s not routine but it’s hardly unique any more. I’m one of about 240,000 people who will become “cabbage farmers” this year in America.  I sat in a chair the next day (Tuesday), taking a brisk walk through the halls of Capital Region Medical Center on Wednesday, a nurse hanging onto my belt with one hand while trying to keep up with a metal stand filled with hanging bags of this or that medication, taking another nurse on a similar but longer walk on Thursday, and back at home a week ago today.

I feel good.  Not good-good.  But I don’t feel bad other than a few aches here and there and a diminished energy level that will come back. For a couple of days or so, I felt bruised. And looked it, too.  And no you’re not going to see pictures.

Some of you have been through this and I hope you’ll agree with saying to those who will go through it that feeling anxious is understandable. But what happens is nothing short of amazing—although somewhat ghastly when the doctor starts removing various tubes.  The most awful part of the experience has been the removal of the dressings taped to my chest. Do not work yourself into a serious state if you are told you need to grow some cabbages

But knock me out first if I ever have to have a chest dressing removed again.

(The cabbages, by the way were parts of the artery in my left leg which has about five small incisions and extensive bruising but works just fine; Nancy and I walked across the street to see some neighbors on Sunday after coming home on Friday) and yesterday I was buzzing all about the house and even made a couple of out-of-the house trips. It’s okay when Minnie the cat wants to sit on my chest.  STANDING on it is a little different.

As odd as it might seem to say, I think I had a pretty good time at the hospital.  I got to know little bit about the nursing staff and found them to be the kind of folks I’d like to know better.  And my surgeon—–a man older than me who has been doing these operations for decades because  he considers it a sacred calling: I won’t get sick again just to talk more with him but I hope we have a chance for more conversations about everything from politics to books and TV series….and more.

See you around one of these days.