Tag: hospital

Tuesday’s Theme Music – Wrong

Ashland, southern Oregon. Tuesday, September 15, 2026.

Going to warm up to 80 here, giving us a warm late summer day. 57 F under blue skies.

I spent time on the phone with Mom the last several days. Or tried. I would call her and she wouldn’t answer. She would call me but I would be out doing things.

Per a text agreement, I called her at 9 AM yesterday. Didn’t get her. She called me hours later. They took her to Forbes Hospital in an ambulance. Another UTI infection. Severe pain. She was given an antibiotic by IV.

She asked me to ask some favors of Gina, my sister who is Mom’s primary helper among the family in the area. Gina agreed but warned that if Mom said anything nasty, Gina would cut her off.

But Gina is helping Mom, visiting her in the hospital, helping her sit up to eat lunch (chef’s salad), sending us a photo of Mom in bed. Mom is getting an IV of Ertapenem now. Gina stayed longer with Mom, telling Mom stories and making her laugh. Peace is at hand for a few hours.

As for Trump and the United States…

Satisfying that the Roberts Court ruled against Trump and the mail-in ballot scam he’d concocted with the USPS. I laughed and shook my head when I read comments on the ruling that ‘the liberal judges had done it again’. Yes, such a VERY liberal Roberts Court, isn’t it?

Naturally, Trump attacked the justices he appointed for this decision.

Your Trump Quote of the Day:

Clearly, the deep state got to those justices…right? That’s how the Trump and MAGA mind work.

Donald Trump Jr had his wedding paid in part by a Russian oligarch. Many are making a big thing about it. But c’mon, man, you know how expensive weddings are. And Donald Trump Jr barely has a crypto to his name. Sad face. So happy that a Russian oligarch was there to bail those young lovers out. I’m sure there’s no sweet deal going on there, no reciprocity expected, no politics, scheming, and conning involved. No, this was just an oligarch being magnanimous to the billionaire president’s poor son.

Besides, it’s not like the wedding was a lavish affair. Like most Americans, it was a small thing, involving only friends and family, lasting only three days, held on two private islands, with a fireworks show.

I’m sure that Americans struggling with food and gas security, worrying about paying off credit card bills, coping with the rising cost of healthcare, gas, water, and utilities totally understand.

A Federal judge also ruled that Trump’s name can’t be added to the Kennedy Center. Judge Christopher Cooper was pretty clear about it:

“Simply put,” the board “cannot install memorials for President Trump or anyone or anything else at the Kennedy Center without Congress’s blessing.”

Thank you, Judge Cooper.

Too bad someone couldn’t tell Trump that Congress needs to approve what he does with the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool and the White House east wing.

For the record, Trump’s Iran War continues, driving up inflation, causing death, and costing our nation and world.

With things going so poorly for Donald Trump on multiple fronts, I expect some fresh AI-generated posting featuring Trump as someone else who is more respected and admired than him. Either that, or he’ll launch more military attacks, screw up another monument or Federal building, or complain about how much he’s not appreciated. Operation Epic LOOK — SQUIRREL! never rests.

Busy day ahead for me. Don’t get me wrong — I have a cushy life. ‘Busy’ means medical, dental, and haircut appointments, and I’m always staying busy with writing. Reading, too, as I’m trying to finish reading “John of John” before the library summons me to return the book. And house and yard work.

Thinking about being wrong, as in, “Trump is always so wrong”, as in war, tariffs, economy, manufacturing, grass, AI, history, intelligence…I have Dr John’s 1973 song in mind. “Right Place, Wrong Time” is a fun blend of rock, pop, R&B and funk. He has a lot of fun with the lyrics.

Love the trombone player in this video. She’s enjoying herself.

Sample Lyrics

I been the right place
But it must have been the wrong time
My head was in a place
But I’m having such a good time
I been running trying to get hung up in my mind
Got to give myself a little talking to this time

Just need a little brain salad surgery
Got to cure this insecurity
I been in the wrong place
But it must have been the right time
I been in the right place
But it must have been the wrong song

I been in the right vein
But it seems like the wrong arm
I been in the right world
But it seems wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong

Slipping, dodging, sneaking
Creeping hiding out down the street
See me life shaking with every who I meet
Refried confusion is making itself clear
Wonder which way do I go to get on out of here

Time to go out and see the world and let the world view me again.

May this day pass for you in comfort and security, perhaps with a little booze.

Cheers

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Pittsburgh is tucked into a light gray blanket this morning. Sunrise was at 6:57 AM but the sun is taking it easy behind the clouds. Sunset is anticipated at 7:36 this evening.

It’s September 11, 2022, in America.

Muggy 20 degrees C weather lays on me. The air is fine, a green 18 according to Purple Air. No smoke. Deer strolled across the lawn, mama, two yearlings, and a fawn. Mama eyed me like, “Who are you? I don’t know your smell.” The rest nibbled and chewed.

As I left the hospital yesterday, I heard someone tell another in the parking lot, “Don’t let the world bring you down.” The Neurons nibbled on that overnight and then brought Soundgarden and “Blow Up the Outside World” (1996) into the morning mental music stream. It’s a little harsh for a quiet Sunday morning, I told them. They didn’t care. The Neurons follow their own paths.

Stay positive and test negative. Hope you find joy and satisfaction in this day. Yes, I’ve had coffee, thanks. Had to help overcome the three-hour shift from my normal times. Here’s the music. Off to visit Mom in the hospital. She’s doing much better, thanks, but danger remains. Cheers

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The Ear Dream

I was with friends, apparently at one of their homes, in a small dining room. It seemed like a casual setting. Some folks from current RL were present.

I abruptly lost a piece of my nose. Without anyone noticing, I hastily put it back on. Then my left ear came off and fell onto the floor. Others noticed that. Horrified, I grabbed it and stuck it back on. We talked about this and one of the others, J, said, “I wouldn’t worry about it. Happens to me all the time.” He then pulled his ears off and put them back on.

Well, seeing that, I was less worried. My wife and others arrived. As I was talking with them, both of my ears came off. She was aghast. I tried reassuring her, first sticking the ears back on my head and then telling her that J said that happens to him all the time. I looked for J to corroborate my truth and couldn’t find him. My wife insisted that I should go to the hospital. I resisted but my ears fell off and this time they wouldn’t stay on.

Off to the hospital I went with my ears in my hands. A shabby little place with missing lights, the hospital’s appearance didn’t do anything for my mood. Short nurses and doctors came out to meet us. Turmoil rose as everyone started speaking at once. I tried explaining why I was there, showing the doctors and nurses the ears in my hands and then re-applying them to the sides of my head. The hospital visit collapsed under conflicting stories about what was going on and why.

Dream end.

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Personal Daily News

Awoke at two in the morning with some issues with urinating, went to the hospital at seven, was referred to another hospital at nine, and was discharged and home with catheter in my bladder by one fifteen.

When I awoke at two, I was thirsty. Had a drink and a pee. The pee was problematic because it was a tiny trickle. Drank more water shortly after that, and entered a prolong state of tiny trickles and increasing pain. The pain was in my lower back, flank, and groin, and shut down my ability to sit or stand in comfort. I headed to the hospital with my wife shortly before seven.

Once there, I went into emergency care. I stripped naked, put on a backless hospital, and introduced to a bed. A bladder scan showed my bladder holding eight hundred plus CCs. A full bladder is about one hundred CCs.

My blood pressure was two-thirty over something. A pain med was injected into my right ass cheek by my hip, and an anti-nausea med was given. Attempts were made to enter my bladder with a catheter. First, a size sixteen was employed. It was painful having a catheter pushed up my urethra through my penis. Everyone kept telling me, “Breathe through it.” My wife said, “Pretend you’re giving birth.”

The med team met a wall which appeared to be an enraged prostate gland. The sixteen wouldn’t go into the bladder, but I pissed out a bunch during the attempt. A new bladder scan showed I was down to six hundred CCs. Between that reduction and the pain meds, I was comfortable, and my BP was down to 180/130.

With a numbing agent first injected into my urethra, another attempt using a smaller catheter was made, and failed, and resulted in some bleeding from my penis. The fourteen size catheter lacked the strength and rigidity necessary to reach the bladder. Consulting me, they decided to try another sixteen. This time, a doctor would try. After having the same results, a call was made to a urologist at a sister facility and a transfer referral to the other hospital’s emergency room was issued. I then puked several times. More anti-nausea meds were given via an IV. I was discharged forty-five minutes later.

It was a ginger walk back to the car.

I’d been warned to keep my eyes closed during the thirteen mile drive to avoid nausea. I ended up retching five times once I was in the next emergency room. My stomach didn’t have material to puke.

One again, I was led to a room, took everything off, and put on a backless gown. A new bladder scan showed I was down to five hundred eighty-three CCs of urine in my bladder, but I wasn’t having any pain, thanks to the meds. BP was lower. A new attempt to reach my bladder was attempted. This time we went up to a twenty. Yowza, that hurt. It failed, but more urine was drained out. Hurrah. A urologist arrived with a plan to put a camera up my urethra to see what was going on and determine why they couldn’t reach my bladder.

I was given Fentanyl. The plan was a long, messy, and painful effort, but attempt number five worked in the end. A guide wire was introduced. The guide wire managed to reach the bladder. With it and the camera in place, a catheter was inserted. At last, my bladder was emptied. After that, a nurse gave me my new tube and bag with instructions on how to use it. I was given a cloth to clean up and then dressed. As before, my bed and garments were soaked.

That was my morning and early afternoon. Back home, I tested my movement limits while my wife made me a small meal of scrambled eggs with toast. We joked about how little my poor pecker had looked during these procedures, and how many strangers had handled it that day. I drank twelve ounces of water, ate, and then explored my new catheter and bag arrangement. Some fluid was in my bag, but more was in my tube. Gravity wasn’t letting it empty into the bag. Removing the bag and tube and examining it, I realized it the bag was reversed, which pinched off the receiving end. I fixed that, and now have a steady flow going into the bag.

Through it all, my med team were professionals and polite. They communicated with me about everything, constantly apologized for my pain, and checked on me. Most supporting and powerful, though, was my wife. She made a huge difference by being there with me throughout the day, talking to me, holding my hand when possible, or rubbing my feet.

All this curtailed any writing and walking efforts today. That’s the downside. The upside is that I’m not in any pain, although there’s a small pain where the catheter is in my bladder and bending over and walking have their difficulties. I should have this out in ten days, and then will proceed with addressing the prostate issue.

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