Striking a Pose

Some of our hospital employees belonged to a union. They made the unfortunate choice of signing their first contract near the end of September. The incident I’m about to describe happened when their contract came up for renegotiation. A new deal hadn’t been reached as the contract time ran out. Some of the more radical members were complaining because they’d not reached a settlement and were talking strike.

The hospital hadn’t conceded certain details of the union’s proposals in the contract. It was nearing the middle of November and the more militant members were almost frothing at the mouth. Negotiations were not moving. The rank and file members were not yet willing to strike.

It bothered me to see these more avid union workers berate others, trying to intimidate them, so I started to talk with the more realistic workers. I didn’t pressure them, but just asked questions, “You know it’s almost Thanksgiving? Who’s going to buy your turkey for Thanksgiving if you go on strike? Is the union going to provide food for you and your family?”

I’d also go from another angle asking, “It’s getting cold. Do you want to walk the picket line in the snow? Do you want to huddle around a fire in a barrel to try to keep warm?”

As the negotiations dragged on, there were still some pushing for the strike “to show management our strength.” It was now the beginning of December. I was still continuing to talk with members who were my friends.

When I would hear a few people talking about “the lack of a contract,” I’d say, “You still have a contract. You’re still working under the old one. You’re not losing a thing, but if you strike, you won’t get paid.” Again, I asked questions, “Who was going to buy your Christmas gifts? Who’ll buy food for your Christmas meals? Is the union going to bake your cookies or buy your gifts?

“I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want to freeze my hands and feet on a picket line. Have you ever tried to keep warm over a barrel fire? Wouldn’t it be good to work where it’s warm and earn money until the new contract is resolved?”

The more rational voices and minds prevailed. Everyone stayed warm and they were able to buy the needed things for Christmas. The new contract was signed in the spring.

In the Red

During my kids and grandkids’ post Thanksgiving game night, I brought out a two liter bottle of Cherokee Red soda pop that I purchased earlier. It was a joke because it reminded me of a story about my children visiting their Uncle Kevin and Aunt Beverly Crider Morrison. My wife Cindy and I had an appointment somewhere and Beverly volunteered to take care of them while we were gone. It may have been just our daughter Amanda, but our son Andrew may have been born by then. Cindy and I were grateful for Beverly’s generous offer…that is until we got the kids home and they were so wound up.

We had a difficult time getting them to bed. When we thought we had them settled, eyes would pop open and sleep was the farthest thing from their minds. Finally, they wore themselves and us out. Cindy called Beverly and asked what she had fed them. She had Cherokee Red as a treat for them. Apparently the red food dye was a problem for them and caused hyperactivity.

We tried to avoid red food dye in their diet from then on.

On game night, we all had a good chuckle and some of the kids or grandkids drank some. The remainder was shelved in my refrigerator.

My blood sugars have been hovering around 150 to 170 and I was determined to get it down closer to 100. At 100 or below, I have symptoms and don’t tolerate it well. I was tired and thought I’d take a shower and as my dad used to say, “Get the stink blown off me.” Last evening after a day of light eating, stomach cramps, and diarrhea, I climbed into the shower. The hot water felt wonderful. Nice and toasty warm, I toweled off and suddenly felt weak. I was off balance and dizzy. The pit of my stomach felt like it collapsed on itself. I had those symptoms before and hurried to my office to take my blood sugar. It was 63. Usually I keep some kind of candy upstairs, but not tonight. I hustled down stairs, thinking all the way what could I use to get my sugar back up? I went to the sugar container and tossed some under my tongue as a quick fix. Knowing that I needed more to maintain my sugar level, I grabbed the chocolate milk and there beside it was my old friend, Cherokee Red.

A few swallows of each, a quick rest on the recliner and I was feeling much better. Recheck on my blood sugar was 181. Higher than I really wanted, but it was much better than the dizzy sick feeling.

Characters

As a naval corpsman I met quite a few characters. Some of them were patients and some of them were fellow staff members. Some things I share are just stories from patients past lives.

The following tale involves all three. A retired veteran was in and out of the hospital for problems from his diabetes. We had heard him say that as a young soldier he had ridden with Pancho Via at the request of the United States government to harass the Mexican officials. Later, when Texas broke free from Mexico, he rode against Pancho Via to protect the independent and sovereign state of Texas until it was annexed to the United States of America. He also protected the towns, farms, and ranches in Texas from other marauding desperados. He told us these stories while he was a patient.

His diabetes had crippled him. He had lost one leg to gangrene and finally the second one was due to be removed because of a lack of circulation. His first re-admission after losing his second leg was an embarrassing moment for my roommate and yet it was humorous at the same time.

As a health care worker, you develop a routine when admitting a new patient, asking the same questions in much the same order. This was what happened when my roommate Eric asked the old veteran what was his birth date, whether or not he had any allergies? Eric eventually asked, “How much do you weigh?”

The old man replied, “I weighed one hundred and forty-five pounds when I still had one leg.”

Eric automatically asked the next question. Can you guess what it was?

“How tall are you?” Eric said and as soon as the question escaped his lips, he recognized the question for what it was. Immediately, he understood his blunder. He was flustered and said, “Never mind” and went asking the rest of the admission questions.

Although the old man was very sick, he would smile and relish sharing with visitors and other staff members about Eric’s mistake and embarrassment.

Thanksgiving 2018 Tucked Away

As usual, I did the turkey for the annual gathering at my sister’s home of the Thanksgiving feast. I baked two pies as well, my usual pecan pie and I also made a peanut pie prepared like the pecan pie, but I added chocolate bits. It had a fairly good taste, but the peanuts lost some of their crispness. Since our dad Carl’s death, my brother Ken took over the job of making homemade, mashed potatoes. My sis Kathy made baked rolls and lasagna for the non-turkey imbibers. Everyone else brought salads, desserts, and side dishes. The vast array of food covered counter tops and a kitchen table. The eating actually was done buffet style and dining hall fashion with long tables that spanned her dining room and living room.

Still at home, while my turkey was finishing its sentence in the roaster, I had the privilege of cleaning the kitty litter. This chore made me thankful that my childhood wish of owning an elephant had never come true. And yes, I washed my hands before I handled any food.

After the meal at my sister’s home in Indian Head, Pennsylvania, I returned home with a plan to fully strip the carcass of the bird of its hidden bits of meat and make soup. I relaxed, watched T.V. and I cut up the vegetables, dumping them into the broth from the roaster. The pot is sitting on my back porch awaiting the cooking process tomorrow.

Being the masochist that I am, I decided to defrost my basement, upright freezer. I know that deer hunting season is just around the corner and needed room if… and when I bagged some venison. There would be soup to freeze if no one came to share the pot of soup with me at the holiday game night.

As I settled into bed last night, I began to count my blessings. What I have to be most thankful about is that my entire family is close by in the state of Pennsylvania. I have a warm home and friends that surround me. So many blessings that I cause me to be thankful for each day, I’m also thankful that my niece’s daughter Alyssa got engaged too. It’s all so wonderful.

I Want to Be Alone

When I was a nursing supervisor, I more often than not carried my lunch to work. With my hectic work schedule, the unexpected often happened and I was never sure when I would be able to eat or if I would be able to eat my food in one sitting. Because of multiple times trying to eat, I found that “Tater Tots” were nearly inedible after the third time they were “nuked” in the microwave.

Most often I would try to eat and do my paperwork at the same time. It was easier to complete eating my meal, doing my work, and having some quiet time in my disjointed schedule. One evening I was distracted as I carried my food to the microwave. I smelled onion cooking and I hurried to see what I was actually heating. My meal had no onions, but my salad was packed in the same type Tupperware container. I’d just made a “wilted salad.” I do have to say, that the limp warm lettuce wasn’t very appetizing.

The solitude of my office was a welcome retreat on a busy, sometimes frantic night. There were occasions that I was enticed to eat in the cafeteria when one of my favorites was being served. I liked to be able to chat with fellow workers and relax. But more often than not, I would have to get up and answer at least one page or a telephone call during that time.

The hospital provided a free meal on Thanksgiving and on Christmas for people who were on duty. The management came in to serve the food to the men and women who were on duty. I know it’s Thanksgiving, but the tale I’m going to share was for a Christmas meal. A newly-selected, higher echelon nursing manager was seriously gung-ho in her actions. She was there smiling, circulating, and not actually serving the food. I went through the serving line selecting my meal. Christmas music was playing in the background and I chose to sit in a quiet corner. When what to my wandering eyes occurred; yes, she came over and sat with me. If she had wanted to chat about things in general…but she began to “talk shop.” That was the least thing I wanted to do, but her attitude couldn’t let go of business, even for one evening. I was so glad when she got called to the phone. I snatched up my tray and made a bee-line for my office to finish eating in peace.

I pray that all of my friends, family, and readers have a wonderful day for which to be thankful.

Believe in Ghosts?

This story isn’t quite a ghost story, but it is a hospital story and has sort of a ghost theme. Some have asked that I share hospital stories, so I will tell it anyway. I had just taken the body of a deceased person to the morgue and placed the cart in the cooler to await the mortician. I was completing the necessary information in the log book when I heard voices in the storeroom next door. The sound was coming through a connecting vent high on the wall. It was one of our maintenance men, Franz and Niecie, one of the female central supply techs. They were retrieving a bariatric bed. Bariatric beds are oversized beds for the larger sized patients. The bed was stored in the room next door, directly beneath the vent.

I walked across the morgue until I was underneath the vent. I cupped my hands around my mouth, making a funnel I moaned, “W-O-O-O-O-O-O! W-O-O-O-O-O!”

They immediately stopped talking. Then I heard Niecie ask, “Franz, did you hear that?”

When Franz didn’t answer right away, she persisted, “I said, did you hear that?”

Franz said “Yes! Yes I did.”

“What was that?” She asked.

I heard Franz shush her.

They were quiet and I could tell they were listening. So I waited. When I heard them start to move the bed in the next room, I again moaned, “W-O-O-O-O-O! W-O-O-O-O-O!”

Niecie said, “Let’s get out of here!” I heard the supply room door pop open and the bed rolled out of the room at a high rate of speed.

Later, when I met Franz in the hallway, I told him what I’d done. He laughed and said, “I didn’t know what that noise was. I knew the morgue was next door, so I thought at first it could have been a ghost. The second time you moaned, Neicie’s eyes bugged out. She grabbed my arm and almost climbed up onto my shoulders. I think she would have if I would have let her.”

            We never told Neicie, so  if you read this, I apologize.

Something to Be Thankful About

Something unusual happened while I was a student at Penn State University. The incident occurred while I was in my obstetrics rotation of training. I have kept it a secret for all these years, until now. One of the doctors decided to do a saddle block on a young woman who was in labor. There was another student nurse with me in the labor room She was in her early forties while I was twenty-three.

The doctor eased a long, thin metal tube into place inside the woman’s vaginal canal to do a saddle block. The end was touching the tip of her cervix. He picked up a syringe with a long needle attached to it. The needle was at least ten inches in length. As he inserted needle into the tube, it made the rasping, grating sound of metal on metal.

I saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye. The sound was too much for the nurse standing beside me. It caused her to faint. Fortunately, she was standing between me and a wall. As her knees began to buckle, I leaned my full weight against her and pressed her tight against the wall and keeping her upright. I had barely moved at all.

When nurses are in training, there was little that was more embarrassing than for a student nurse to faint. It was a bane for a student’s name to have “passed out.’ It’s not a black mark against your training, but you can be certain that you will be teased about it for a long, long time.

I turned my attention back to the procedure at hand and watched as the doctor completed the block. He’d just removed the needle and the metal tube, when I felt a stirring of the weight at my shoulder. The wilted nursing student began to rouse. She shook her head, once, twice and then reclaimed her weight. She straightened up and I leaned away from her as she regained her feet.

A few seconds later, she leaned close to me and whispered into my ear, “Thank you.”

I can’t remember her name, so your secret is still safe with me.

Older and Wiser

Widowed and aged, she feared tonight’s visit from the Druid priests. They would soon be at her door demanding food, drink, or tribute. It was the usual fees for their intervention with the Celtic gods. If their requests were not met, they would find a way to exact payment in some way. They were not easily deterred nor were their memories of imagined slights easily forgotten.

For hours they would gather in a nearby grove with thick masses of mistletoe clinging to the oak’s ancient branches. At a clearing of the grove, they’d build a large fire and chant as they danced, preparing for the darkness of night. Beating on drums of human skins and playing eerie tunes on ivory hued flutes of men’s leg bones, they directed their worship to Anextiomarus, the protector god, to Ankou, the god of death, and to the goddess of fertility and abundance, Rosmerta.

It was rumored the instruments they used in worship ceremonies came from the victims of the priests wrath and the candles they used were made from the tallow of those who failed to pay tribute for that protection. The priests always arrived on All Hallows Eve carrying those candles. Their hooded faces darkened and lost in the shadows of the candles’ reflectors.

This year the old woman’s pantry was especially sparse. She’d have barely enough food to survive the winter. How could she keep the little provisions that she had?

She sat and thought as her small barley cake baked in the hot coals of her fire. The cake almost burned as she sought an answer to her problem. The room darkened as the night drew nearer. Was there a way to save her food?

“Berries,” she exclaimed. “I have a few dried strawberries.” Quickly, she ground them and added water. She must hurry. Surely they would be at her door soon. She barely finished with her plan when there was a loud pounding on her door. She lifted the latch and offered them the small barley cake from her hearth.

The priest closest to her moved nearer to see the proffered item. The flickering light from the candle fell on the old woman’s face and hands. He backed away. “Pox!” he shrilled. “The old woman has the pox.”

When they’d gone, she closed the door, and laughed. Wiping the berries from her face and hands, she smeared them on her cake. “This will be a sweet treat for me tonight.”

One Thing After Another

My tasks, scheduled and unscheduled, started on Friday when I drove a friend to her appointment for physical therapy. While she had her right knee replaced, she developed a partially collapsed lung and still needs to use oxygen. Assisting her to my car, hanging on each side of her walker were small oxygen bottles that reminded me of pistols in holsters like the cowboys in a Western movie. The chore was made more difficult because of the rain. I also had to drive into her yard to park near her porch near the stairs and walkway.

She asked me to drive slowly, because she was feeling nauseated. Her doctor had recently told her that along with the collapsed lung, she had a urinary tract infection and possibly pancreatitis. After the therapy, we needed to stop to have her blood drawn for further testing and to pick up prescriptions for her urinary tract infection.

As we talked, I found that she hadn’t been eating well because of the nausea, so while she picked up her prescription, I hustled over to the cafeteria and bought a container of rice pudding for her to eat later as an addition to her diet.

Getting her home to her front door was another concern. I don’t have 4 wheel drive and because of the rain, the grass in the yard was slippery and quickly became muddy. I did churn up a few places in her yard, but got her close enough to her walkway it was easier for her to climb the stairs to her door.

Saturday, I was the docent for the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society. During my 4 hours there, I didn’t have any visitors, but I wrapped the air conditioner in plastic to keep out the gusting cold wind that penetrated even through the outside cover. I was able to do an evaluation of possible feature stories for upcoming newspaper articles.

Saturday evening, I drove to Ohiopyle for the thank you dinner for those who helped during their Buckwheat and Sausage Festival. Pasta, salad, and dessert were on the menu. The meat sauce was wonderful. I think it must have been homemade. There were tomato seeds in the sauce. One of the men there who finished reading my book, “Addie” said that he really enjoyed it.

Sunday morning, I attended church and Sunday school. I was glad to get home for a break in the action and relax before going to choir practice and Sunday evening service later in the day.

Caught Flatfooted

As I pulled off my socks to shower this morning, I heard the telltale whisper that the skin on my feet were becoming dry and cracking. Being a diabetic, it was time to bring out the moisturizer and be proactive with my foot care and slow the winter calluses from forming. Of course, this triggered my memories of my aunt Helen Stahl and several stories about her feet.

My connecting thought was that she was a homebody and seldom wore shoes in her house. Her feet would become rough, callused, cracked, and painful. Eventually, she would sweet-talk someone into driving her from Orlando to one of the Floridian beaches. Dressed in her housecoat, she would stroll in the ocean wet sand. I never saw her wear a bathing suit, only the dusters that she wore at the house. The grit of the wet sand, wore away the calluses, smoothed the dry skin, and made it easier for the cracks to heal.

The second storey of Aunt Helen happened when I was a child. The place where my dad Carl Beck worked offered reduced price admission tickets to Idlewild Park in Ligonier. My parent’s asked if Aunt Helen and her family would like to join us. She accepted. Aunt Helen arrived at the park dressed to the nines. I can remember her full-skirted pale blue dress, a string of pearls around her neck, her red purse and she was wearing red, high-heeled shoes. For anyone who has frequented the old park knows, the pathways were only pea-sized gravel. Walking on it was difficult enough, without high heels. By the end of the day, Helen said she had he blisters on her feet. The next morning, my mom Sybil Beck telephoned her and teasingly said, “Are you ready to go back to Idlewild?”

Helen said, “Just let me get my shoes on,” and snorted a laugh.

My final recollection was of Helen and lightning’s attraction for her. As I’ve said, Helen hated to wear shoes. This occurred while they were living near Indian Head, Pennsylvania. She was in the midst of cleaning her house and went outside to shake the throw rugs. Standing on the wet concrete porch, a bolt of lightning electrified the water soaked porch and made her dance.

I know that she was struck by lightning a second time, but I am not sure just where it happened.

Dead Man Walking

We had a housekeeper whose job was to collect trash throughout the hospital and dispose of it in an outside receptacle. He used a cart with sides and a door to enclose the garbage inside. The cart was about two feet wide, five feet long, and six feet high including the 4 large wheels. The side door folded down to allow easier access to place the bags inside and to remove them. The cart was wheeled along an area of asphalt at the back of the hospital to the outside trash compacter. The parking lot had a slight downhill slope toward the outside trash bin.

One evening when the housekeeper took a load of trash to the outside container and the cart started to move faster than he could walk. The bottom of the cart caught his foot and he slipped beneath it. The cart ran up over part of his body trapping him on the asphalt beneath the cart. Because of the downward slope and the weight of the cart, he couldn’t escape. He tried calling for help, but he was outside at the back of the hospital and there was no one to hear him.

About forty-five minutes or so later, one of the hospital’s security guards was making his rounds. He saw the garbage cart sitting on the edge of the parking lot with no one near it. He thought that it was unusual and wandered over to investigate. He found the housekeeper trapped beneath the cart.

All he could see of the housekeeper was his head, his shoulder and part of his chest sticking out from under the cart. He helped to move the cart to allow the housekeeper to free himself. Once the guard made sure the housekeeper was okay, he helped to guide the cart to the compacter to unload. The housekeeper took a break to relax and then went back to work.

That night or the next day, someone used a piece of chalk to draw the outline of a person on the tarmac near where the housekeeper had fallen. It was just like the old time movies where the police would draw an outline of the murder victim. The image of the splayed arms, legs, torso, and head was there for all to see. The housekeeper and most of the employees thought it was funny, but not management. They were so upset that they threatened to fire the person who had drawn it and probably would have if they had known who drew it.

Into No-Man’s Land

Friday, an old friend of mine needed a ride to a temp hire agency to complete necessary paperwork and to view safety films for his new job. He was to start Monday. How could I say no? I picked him up at his home and we drove to Youngwood to the temp office. I brought a book to read while he did his thing. While we were there, I did meet one of the secretaries with whom I worked at Frick Hospital. That was a pleasant surprise.

This is the friend with whom I made a missionary trip through the northeast states, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, and Newfoundland/Labrador many years ago. Since then, we’ve talked on the phone, but this was the first time I could actually help him. After his appointment, we went to lunch and talked a bit more, catching up on the past. At home, catching up on my laundry completed the day.

Saturday, I was lured into cleaning my refrigerator. Cleaning the fridge is a land no man wants to enter. It’s a rare occasion that I actually take things out, read the expiration date, wipe the shelves, and throw things out that are no longer edible. There was a saying at the hospital, “Anything found in the fridge that is green and shouldn’t be and anything brown that should be green, toss them out.” Nothing in the fridge was that bad, but I now have several scarcely populated shelves.

I also finished an experiment. For those who argue whether the proper way to hang a roll of toilet paper, over or under, I must share. I accidentally hung a roll the opposite of what I normally do and was too lazy to remove it and change its orientation. The tissue came off the roll in much the same manner from either position. The only disadvantage I found was locating the loose end when I needed to start unfurling some of the tissue. Other than that, both ways work. When my kids were still at home, I was just thankful that there was a spare roll in the same room as I was. I did hang the new roll correctly.

I’ve been picking at a crock-pot roasted chicken. I’ve made chicken and baked potato, chicken and gravy over crescent rolls, and chicken and gravy over homemade biscuits out of its carcass, and I still have half of a chicken breast. It may go into the freezer until I feel like indulging in chicken again, but that leads me into another no-man’s land… defrosting the freezer.

Are You Catholic

This incident occurred while I was still working in the emergency room. It was B.C. era…it was the days before computers. When a doctor ordered an x-ray, the nurses would have to write the patient’s name, birthday, cubicle number, what part of the body was to be x-rayed and why it needed an x-ray on a small chit of paper. Then the nurse would have to hand carry thr requisition to the radiology room and be given to the techs inside.

When I carried a request to the radiology room and turned to leave, one of the techs said, “If you see the priest, tell him to stop in and give us ashes on our foreheads. We also want him to bless the x-ray machine.” I recognized that it was Ash Wednesday.

Just as I reached the door, my odd sense of creativity and humor kicked in and I said, “You know, when the priest comes in, you guys could set up a confessional in the dark room. He can open the doors for exposed sins and the unexposed to give you your penance. As in all radiology rooms, there were film storage bins with doors marked as to whether the films were exposed or unexposed. My mind made the comparison to the Catholic confessional chamber with confessed and un-confessed sins.

I heard them laugh as I exited. Later in the day, I was carrying another chit for an x-ray to the techs. When I opened the door, the priest was already ensconced inside. The techs had ashes on their foreheads and one of the girls pointed at me and said, “There! That’s the one.” Apparently they’d told the priest what I had said about the darkroom.

The priest turned to me and asked, “Were you an altar boy?”.

“No.” I replied.

He tried again, “Are you Catholic?”

“No.” I answered again.

He tried one last time, “Do you want to be Catholic?”

My reply was again, “No!”

My response was almost lost in the two technicians’ loud laughter. The priest didn’t laugh, but I’m fairly sure that I saw a smile on his face.