It’s been 30 days since my beloved (aka Ms. Freud, Mo, or Munchkin) had open heart surgery — a quadruple bypass and an aortic valve replacement. She is still in the ICU today. The ICU, the place where Mortal Fear reigns supreme.
“Mortal fear is as crucial a thing to our lives as love. It cuts to the core of our being and shows us what we are. Will you step back and cover your eyes? Will you curl up with your eyes closed and die? Or can you fight your way out of it and fly?” —–author unknown
I see a whole lot of new names in the comments section. Therefore, by way of introduction, my name is Stucky. I’ve been here on TBP since the beginning and have written many articles about a great many topics. This has earned me the recognition as a “Big Dog”. I don’t think that’s accurate anymore as my literary contributions have decreased significantly since my dad died two Marches ago, my 89 year old mother’s health keeps declining, and, of course, Ms. Freud’s travails. Now I just feel like a plain old dog, and a mangy and tired one at that. I call her Ms. Freud because she’s a licensed psychologist and is a lot smarter than me.
They sawed through her chest bone, separated it, cut into both legs in four different spots to harvest veins for the bypass, installed a new aortic valve constructed from pig parts …. and all that took a grueling near five hours. Five hours of pure HELL for me because the fact of the matter is that patients do die on the operating table, and although I find her beautiful beyond compare, she’s no spring chicken at 74 years old. What a RELIEF it was when the surgeon came out and said the operation was a success. Little did I realize that “success” and “post op complications” were two totally separate issues.
The surgeon said it would be a few hours until I could see her. I wish he, or one of the nurses, would have prepared me for what I would see. Of course, she was attached to all kinds of tubes and machines and fluids of different colors … it reminded me of a Borg living room. But, I expected that. What I didn’t expect was how tremendously bloated and discolored she was. “Is that really the love of my life??” She looked like someone beat her with a rubber tube and then threw her in a lake. And she wasn’t moving a muscle, not even her eyes were twitching. “Don’t worry. This is normal for some patients.” they said.
They kept her sedated for two full days. “Don’t worry. This is normal for some patients.” they said.
Before I met Ms Freud I was dating another woman, Karen. She had a son, John, who lived in Vermont, and who owned a long-board shop. One day he was long-boarding down a steep hill and at a high speed when he lost control and his helmet-less head bounced along that tree lined Vermont street a hundred or so feet and his brain turned into mush. I drove her from NJ to the hospital on two occasions, about two weeks apart. John was being kept alive by machines. The brain surgeons said there’s truly no hope for John to ever recover, and even if he did he would surely never function on his own, and that Karen should just let him go. She would have none of that. Both times when I was with her she spent every available hour talking to John, reading to him, touching him, playing him music, and even singing to him. It was a beautiful thing to witness (and, heartbreaking) – a mother’s love for her child. She believed her son could hear her, and she didn’t give a damn what science or the doctors had to say. She quickly sold her blueberry farm and moved to Vermont to continue ministering to her son round-the-clock. I lost touch with her but, as a way of raising money she did blog about what she was doing, and I followed along. I did so for about two months and stopped. It was just too painful to read … all this false hope she had. Hey, I saw John – the kid was brain dead, imho! Almost two years passed when I suddenly one day remembered Karen and John, and I logged on to her blog. It appears that one day, about 15 months into her daily visits, John simply opened his eyes and said, “Hi mom.” Holy crap!!!!!! He has lingering issues; for example, his speech is slurred and he needs a cane to walk. But, doctors wanted to pull the plug yet, he lived. John said he heard his mother’s voice. Did he really? What cured him? His own belief? His mother’s belief? Or, is this story – something I have seen with my own eyes – just pure bullshit? Meaning, John would have gotten better regardless of his mother’s actions – that faith and belief are irrelevant to enlightened minds.
On the third day Ms Freud was off sedation but, did not wake up.
On the fourth day she did not wake up.
On the fifth day she did not wake up.
Well, I wasn’t taking any chances. I’m all-in on belief and faith. I don’t have much of either, I really don’t … certainly no bigger than a grain of mustard seed, the smallest of all seeds. I’m allowed 6 hours a day in the ICU; between 11AM-1PM, 5PM-7PM, 8PM-10PM. I had never forgotten about Karen and John. So, from Day 1 of this ordeal I have been following in Karen’s footsteps. I talk, read, play music, and sing to Ms Freud the entire six hours.
On the sixth day she did not wake up.
On the sixth day I went to the library and searched for handguns-for-sale. I’ve had six days to think about it … 20 hours a day, since I could hardly sleep (or, eat). If Ms Freud dies, then I die. Simple as that. I have no love for this world and the things in it. I don’t give a rat’s ass about the pleasures of this world. I don’t give a shit-damn about land, houses, property, cars, clothes, vacations, or anything else this sick sick world offers. I shit on this world, and even that is a waste. I have no fear of death. It’s living that scares the shit out of me … living without the love of my life, my only reason for living. Every day I whispered in her ear – “I will never ever leave you. Where you go, I go.” I don’t know where that “place” is. Ultimately, are we nothing but food for worms? Or, are we destined for things far more glorious, eternal beings connected to The One? Don’t ask me – I don’t know. I do know with absolute certainty that where Ms Freud goes, there I go soon after.
On the seventh day Ms Freud woke up. And our problems were just beginning.
The neurosurgeon finally did a brain scan a couple days before Ms Freud woke up. The nurse told me Ms Freud had a stroke during the surgery, albeit a “minor” one. Then the very next day she said the doctor now described it as a significant stroke. WTF??? Of course, I had a thousand questions as to what the effect will be on my beloved. Except for in general terms, they could answer none of them … at least not until she woke up. The doc was pissed off that the nurse didn’t adequately explain the difference between “minor” and “significant”. He said the terms only reflected the amount of area the stroke covered, and NOT the damage caused. In other words, a “minor” stroke could have far more devastating effects than a “significant” stroke. At any rate, the stroke occurred in the parietal lobe which the dictionary defines as ——— “the parietal lobe is at the back of the brain and is divided into two hemispheres. It functions in processing sensory information regarding the location of parts of the body as well as interpreting visual information and processing language and mathematics.” Well, that’s not so bad. If it means she won’t be able to find her ass with both hands, then at least she and I are now on equal footing.
The heart surgeon said the surgery was a difficult one with some complications … for example, her blood pressure at one point dropped so low that they thought they were going to lose her … and that she was “teetering between life and death” for a good portion of the almost five hour surgery.
During post-op her kidneys stopped functioning. She was on dialysis pretty much every other day for about two weeks. Then, suddenly and just like that, her creatinine level (a measure of kidney function) went from very bad to perfectly normal literally overnight. PTL!!! (See? This update isn’t only gloom and doom.)
Lastly, during her surgery her lungs collapsed. One web site says – “it is the most common pulmonary complication after cardiac surgery occurring in about 70% of cases”. What kind of surprised me (and pisses me off … just, because) is that heart surgeons ALLOW the lungs to collapse “to functional residual capacity. When the lungs are subsequently re-expanded then variable degree of pulmonary atelectasis remains”. Whatever the hell that means. All I know is that her lungs have not re-filled and she is still attached to a breathing machine via a tracheostomy. On the bright side she was able to breathe on her own for almost seven hours yesterday, and the respiratory therapist said the key numbers are improving day by day.
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The staff at Saint Barnabas has been amazingly wonderful. For example, Ms Freud got to celebrate a birthday there on Nov 5th. They hardly allow anything in the ICU … not even flowers. Or, food. So, I snuck in a Red Velvet Cupcake with a couple fake candles on it. I told the attending nurse about it, and then asked her if she wouldn’t mind singing ‘Happy Birthday’ with me …. since just one person singing is pretty pathetic, especially since I can’t carry a note. She told me she can do a lot better than that. Hmmmm. Well, she gathered EVERYONE that was in the ICU at that moment! There were about 20 workers stuffed in Ms Freud’s room singing to her, and they sang loudly! Ms Freud responded with biggest smile she could muster. And as soon as she smiled at them … they all cheered!! Talk about touching my soul ….
Speaking of souls …. one of the things I read to Ms Freud is a book I bought just for the occasion. The author is Max Lucado, the title is “you’ll get through this, hope and help for your turbulent times”. It’s a Bible study that examines the trials, tribulations, and triumphs of Joseph (in Genesis). I read her a chapter per day. On one of those days my libtard seester happened to be there. My seester rolled her eyes so hard and often I thought they we going to pop out of her head. After visiting hours were over we went downstairs and had a coffee in Starbucks. Right off the bat she comes at me with – “You’re not getting back into that Jesus stuff, ARE YOU!???”. “Yes, Chris, I’m giving Jeebus another shot. It can’t hurt.” I told her there’s nothing wrong with a little hope and a little faith to ease the weariness of my heart. She objects saying it’s all a false hope … and false hope is even worse than wearing a MAGA hat. She’s telling me all this while eating her soy muffin and wearing a sweatshirt that says “Animals Have Rights Too”. Not kidding. I told her sometimes I feel I have nowhere else to turn and saying a short little prayer brings me a bit of happiness. But, liberals are only happy when everyone around them is as unhappy as they are.
There’s a small waiting room with about ten seats just outside the ICU. One day I walk in and every seat is taken …. by the same family. As I turn to leave one of ladies insists that there’s room. She gets out of her chair and somehow squeezes herself as the third person into a couch meant for two people. Sweet lady. About five minutes pass. Another man walks into the room. Everybody knows him (I soon discover he’s the son of the patient in ICU). He goes to every person in the room and shakes their hand, says something (in Spanish), and gives them a heaty hug. There’s a lady to my right who would be the last person he’d hug. As he passed me — I didn’t plan this, I just did it — I shot up, shook his hand, said ‘God be with you.’, and gave him a hug. He gave me a who-the-fuck-are-you look …. As did everyone else. I said, “Sir, you don’t know me but I need a hug just as much as all of you.”. The entire somber group burst out in laughter. We chatted a bit, got to know each other …. It was just great.
That’s the nice thing about the ICU. The place is absent of niggers, spics, joos, dot heads, dagos, krauts, and other vermin. There are only people. “Stop virtue signaling, Stucky!!” Ummm, bite me. We are people who will leave that place either with Great Joy or Great Sorrow. We are people who know first hand how brief life truly is. We are people who finally realize there are only three things that really matter in life. Faith. Hope. And, Love. And the greatest of them all is love.
To my beloved Maureen, I love you more than life itself and I will never leave you ….
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Note: Please forgive any spelling and grammar errors. I’m pretty much writing this as a single pass through. I have no desire to go back and read what I wrote. If I did I probably wouldn’t submit it at all.
Touching.
Wow, you are growing up!
Keep up the good work.
Damn Stucky, I’m ever so relieved to hear from you, lots of folks are and were worried about you. I went through similar issues with my mother with her heart, the surgeries, the waiting, the fears and worries and to top off the misery she was a diabetic with all that that entailed. Keep the faith, sometimes it’s all we have and it may seem inadequate at times but it’s there. You have to pity the person who has none. There is one thing I really need to say here and that is about your wanting to off yourself should Mrs. Freud pass. Don’t do it, it doesn’t matter how bad the hurt, the grief, you can’t go before your time, there is a plan, a Divine plan, you are part of it and as long as you draw breath, you are here for a divine purpose. God Bless you, remember that you are loved and loved most greatly.
Prayers with you and yours Stucky. May the grace of God be with you all.
1 Corinthians 13:13 KJB… “And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.”
Read about charity in that entire chapter and, as a rather amazing aside, not that I am trying to alter Gods word, substitute “Christ” where “charity” is written. Wow…
Dear Stucky, may your beloved Maureen fully recover her health
with the blessing of God. I shall kept her in my prayers.
God speed!
Keep the faith, Stucky. I will pray for you and the missus-healing for her body and healing for your anxiety!!! He does work in mysterious ways. I have experienced it so many times in my 71 years!!!
Prayers for you and Ms. Freud Stuck. You will always be a Big Dog around here.
For a big guy, you’ve got an enormous heart. Your TBP family here is praying for you and your wife. Hang in there brother.
Stucky,
When my dad had his first heart attack – a massive one – I visited him in the ICU.
You are right. No amount of preparing yourself is enough for the first sight of a loved one with all of those tubes, wires, and equipment hooked up to them. That was my dad underneath all of that. In fact, he was more than just my dad. He was my best friend.
He survived that one only to succumb later to another attack. That was in July of 1977.
But
There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of him. I have a picture of us together when I was about ten sitting right here next to my computer. In my thoughts, he is still here with me.
Perhaps that is the best reason of all, sans religious dogma, to remain behind. That they live on in our thoughts from one microsecond to the next gives them a kind of extended life.
I know that these are tough times for you. Hang in there Stucky.
I send you an Internet hug. I hope it helps…
Great to ‘hear’ your voice, Stucky, even if it is in such horrible circumstances. My heart goes out to you for such anguish you’ve been going through, and my soul is lifted by your victory. Obviously there’s a long rough road ahead, but you and your munchkin will walk it together. I am so, so glad that you are seeking the comfort of God. He is, after all, all about relationship. Something that you and Maureen obviously know a lot about. Blessings, Brother, and a few prayers as you come to mind.
I’m sorry Stuck, I could not read the whole thing. Too painful. Know that you are loved.
You are loved, missed and prayed over by a bunch of bead counting maniacs in Maryland.
I’m just here taking a few pictures and waking up the Ghost!
I will share this with the “other red rope” and I think she’ll be touched too.
I revised this a long time ago with plans to post it here. It got so busy after I got so sick I can’t remember if I did.
Sue Lehner and her son Micah came to visit us when they came to visit the place Micah had heard about all his life and never knew. When my son met Micah, they shook hands awkwardly and then my son said “Hey, dude… I’ve heard about you. Nice to meet you.”
And Micah said, “you too.”
And my heart cried a little because I planned for them to be best friends and just live down the road from one another. Then, God saw my plan and smiled.
CHOOSING A MIRACLE
by
M G aka Maggie but really just Martha
About thirty years ago, I discovered something significant about my relationship with God. I faced my own arrogance before Him and learned about human weakness. After three decades of a somewhat casual belief in God, I found faith in humility. Though I lack the wisdom to completely understand what happened, I witnessed the presence and the essence of God.
I have spent most of my 58 years in formal education of one kind or another. As I tried to complete my master’s degree, I observed this odd contradiction; the more knowledge I gained, the more meager my comprehension of life’s truths. But since that moment years ago, I’ve learned to find relevance in routine episodes of my life that I was blind to before. I still seek knowledge, but I temper it with appreciation of simple things.
It began at midnight, September 26, 1995, when Tom’s motorcycle was struck by a drunk driver.
The telephone rang. My husband, Nick, answered sleepily, then sat upright with a strangled, “Oh, no.”
Our friends, Tom and Sue, had been struck by a driver failing to stop at an intersection near our home. Nick dressed quickly and went to their house to relieve the baby-sitter. Three-year-old Micah slept blissfully unaware of the profound change that had just occurred in his life. I carried our own two-year-old son from his crib into living room where I drank coffee, cried, and just looked at my baby and worried about hers.
Sue and I have known each other since we went through Air Force technical training more than 15 years ago. By coincidence or fate, we lived close by each other. Since becoming mothers, separating from the service and becoming college students, we lacked time to visit. I looked forward to the day when our boys would be able to play together untended while she and I reminisced about the old days over iced tea or lemonade.
During the previous two years, Tom had cleared a plot of land they’d purchased relatively cheap. They designed a home together and hired contractors for each phase of its construction. As their dream home was nearing completion, they planned to move during the month of October 1995.
In the middle of packing belongings at the rental house, they decided to ride to the acreage to check the last contractor’s progress. Usually cautious with protective gear, Tom and Sue wore no helmets for the short motorcycle ride to their newly finished home.
As they neared the intersection, Tom noticed the approaching truck was not slowing. He turned the handlebars and yelled “Hold on!” to Sue, who wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face to his shoulder.
Those were his last words to her.
Tom died instantly, pitching forward over the handlebars of his motorcycle to receive a death blow to his heart. Momentum propelled Sue to the asphalt, head first, crushing her right leg as her body followed to the ground.
Taken by helicopter to the hospital, she lived. She was deep in a coma, but she lived.
The next days were a whirlwind of telephone calls, trips to the hospital, and the memorial service for Tom. Barely able to concentrate during classes, I faced the fact that life just goes on.
I prayed.
I called Mom and asked her to pray.
I asked casual acquaintances at college to pray.
Three days after the accident, I felt compelled to make a trip to the hospital during school. Alarmed because no family members sat in the waiting room like they had the previous three days, I rushed to intensive care.
The nurses looked solemn when they told me that Sue’s brain was swelling. The pressure unchecked would cause strokes and, ultimately, death, they said. The surgeon planned to remove part of her brain the following day to save her life.
I walked to the bedside and looked at the photo of Micah on the wall above her feet. I moved close to her motionless form, its stillness broken only by the respirator forcing her to breathe.
I took her hand. Its coldness frightened me.
I spoke to her of Micah, of my son, of days gone by when we ran around a military training field clasping hands to help one another go the distance. I asked her to wake for Micah and for Tom’s memory. Then selfishly, I asked her to wake up because the sadness of it was too much for me to bear.
As tears streamed down my cheeks, I prayed that God would spare her. I closed my eyes and prayed harder than I had ever prayed before. As I stood there clutching her cold hand, it occurred to me that I was unfit to stand before God to ask a favor. I saw the nature of my own hypocrisy and I acknowledged my selfish motives for begging for my friend’s recovery.
And I stood awash in my own insignificance before God. Then, I asked Him to spare her anyway.
I stood a few moments, hoping for a token gesture of awareness from Sue’s limp hand. There was none, only the rhythmic gurgle of the breathing tube down her throat.
As I left, I asked the nurses if the operation would help. They were noncommittal, saying only it had to be performed to relieve the pressure on her brain.
A few days after the operation, Sue opened her eyes and began to speak.
Six months later, she began outpatient therapy. A few weeks later, Nick and I went to help her say goodbye to the home Tom and she built. Her father was taking her back to New York where he and other family members could help her and Micah rebuild their lives.
Her speech was measured, her thoughts often hard to follow. But she lived, she spoke, and with little Micah running ahead to clear toys from her walker’s path, she carried herself along.
Sue now lives in New York with her father, where her family continues to help with Micah. But she is stronger every time we speak. She uses a cane, but walks alone. She pauses before answering, but speaks with clarity. She is aware of her limitations, but optimistic for her and Micah’s future. She is marvelous proof of Eternal Hope.
I suppose it could all be coincidence. I suppose it is a tribute to modern medicine and the skill of fine surgeons. I know it is a tribute to Sue’s resilience and her love for Micah. But in this world where the routine obscures the sublime, miracles are hard to find and harder to prove. I’m willing to give the skilled surgeons their due. But I hold dear the memory that taught me about choices.
I choose to believe in the miracle.
Day 28 of 54. St. Jude. The Dude for Desperate Causes.
By the way? Do you think Prince was a narcissist or a musical genius or did I repeat myself?
At a time when MJ and Kiss ruled the airwaves, it was reported that Prince was given a blank check to record his music. The best story I read of him was the time he kicked KimKa off the stage for being boring, he actually told her, get off my stage. He hated her forever and that has got to be worth something.
One of your best writings, Marta.
Her name is Martha.
Actually, MarGar which leads to Margaret which leads to Maggie. A vicious circle.
and I had/have really nice legs too…
Say…is that a black walnut?
See that big cypress log back there? I rode home on that log when my father drug it to the farm and built its own little shed. Literally, the LAST of the swamp cypress in the whole of Stoddard County. Haha… that’s how he’d say it… “the whole of …”
I miss his strange precise way of speaking.
Nice. Is that a black walnut and what did dear dad use the cypress stump for?
You stole 200. I was getting ready to pounce.
The cypress is still there. Snakes lived in it. I have pictures of my nephew in there with them. Dad thought it was funny and they controlled the rats and mice around the house. That was about 50 feet from our back door. To the right of that log was the “sorghum shed” where Dad made homemade sorghum for a while. I helped as little as I could possibly get away with.
But, guess what? Part of the “estate” (roll eyes here) includes several big cypress trees stored under an outbuilding for decades. Not as big as that one but two or three feet in diameter. Along with an entire log cabin stacked and stored. The man was a hoarder of wooden things and old tractors.
I think that was the walnut tree. The pecan was behind me. Two pear trees were beside the house.
One or two cypress stumps Dad turned into big chairs by hollowing each half out down to the seat of the chair. They were/are pretty cool yard furniture.
I can relate to pining for a sweet mill as Dad must
ve. Ive a volunteer cherry and a small cypress thats been laying about crying out to be sawed.200+ and life is good. Thank you.
Stucky broke my heart and you crushed it. Whenever I want to relate a story of this kind to the Salvy Queen, I save time explaining what TBP is and simply say ‘el sitio de los viejitos’ – the old timers site. That’s all she knows of this place that she suspected I was carrying on some online affair. I tell her stories of Maggie mostly since she has seen pics of the scarlet Rope but the other person I mention often is Stucky. It has always sounded a bit shallow to hear people say our thoughts and prayers.. but now I realize it’s true..our thoughts and prayers accompany Stucky.
Maggito, that is an excellent piece and I guess you saved it for just the right time. I enjoyed the song selection and though it may be a bit of a stretch, this one’s for you:
Viejitos? Doesn’t that translate to “little old people?”
Yes, sorta….
My son, after a year of being pissed off at me for falling ill at another of his life events (I do seem to be skipping graduation events via hospital stays) my son finally decided to make amends for being a brat. I suppose he really does Aspergers and guess what? I think my father had it too… it is just that in the 1920s nobody was concerned with making sure people who thought differently had a special room to sit in. My father was a flim-flam man and could entertain an entire high school gymnauditoiumballroom full of people for a few minutes but he was really a very serious and thoughtful man.
So, my son says to me and his father, “You know what Mom? You aren’t nearly as bad as I thought you were.”
Like your song choice, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to take that. But, at this stage in my life, I’ll take anything I might possibly be able to spin as positive.
Thank you, Me Hoe!
And, the money shot!
And, by the way? Burning Platform oil on canvas is still available. Is not a twat.
(That was to make Stucky smile if he looks back here.)
That’s one great money shot
I hope nobody bought my claim that she’s topless in that beach pic above. She is wearing a light brown tank top. Martha is a good sport to play along. Red ropes knew how to rebuff airmen offers to show her their pet snake in their dorm room – let’s not and say we did.
Actually, it was a light brown bodysuit… those were pre-burka days!
Let me go into the photo files… if Stuckenmeister manages to take a peek at his post, perhaps we can make him laugh. Or embarrass him. I’ll take either.
The vajayjay pic is back.
It is a Fire on Kentucky Lake. It was my Aunt Martha’s thesis when she graduated from college with a degree in ART!
That was when a degree in art meant something!
Haha!
EC is correct ………… you saved that beautiful story just for the right moment.
I’m printing it off, and going to read it to Munchkin this evening.
Did you know, Maggie, that you have TWO Nicks who love you?
You asshole… you hadda go and make me cry. I hope you print this one out… it is a classic. My mother very rarely rode in the parade with Dad, but for some reason, he talked her into it. They were a pair.
I will tell you this… there are times when I think about some of the things you’ve written here and I laugh out loud.
I used to say I grew up with my my feet half buried in the alluvial soil of the Mississippi mudlands lounging in the protective shade of giant cypress and a man who was larger than life. I know what “larger than life” really means. Stucky? You are larger than life and I’m a better person for having known you.
Now, let’s focus on the miracle and stop with the sentimental stuff. I’ve got a big buck to kill and get gutted tonight!
Maggie.
Now that’s a tractor.
He had a “Green Acres” tractor too, but he kept that under an outbuilding to protect it and only drove it in “special” parades.
I really do think he “survived” POW camp (he was 6’2″ and tall men tended to get beaten but he said he never did) because the Japanese thought he was a bit crazy and so they left him alone because they were superstitious about insane people.
There’s really no other explanation. My mother would have beaten him senseless many times if she could.
By the way, Flea? When I ended up on a bus riding from Bahrain SA to Riyadh SA one night, we drove through hundreds of miles of desert. Do you know there are a bunch of 60s/70s model tractors just kind of sitting out in the desert there, abandoned?
How many tractors do you think the US government negotiated for trade to the Saudis before they realized they lived in a desert and they couldn’t grow food, even with tractors?
A few shots at a doe. No kill.
I found where the buck beds down with the two does this morning. I actually filmed him for a bit!
He’s not going to be a trophy kill, but some tender venison. A six-pointer… some good backstrap on that!
Buck hugger down voter.
That is “Huck’s Buck!” and that is my Nick (foreground) and Huck’s new daddy, all camouflaged elbow deep in deer guts.
The dogs will eat well for some time, won’t they? So shall we.
(Nick shot Huck’s Buck and I griped at him because I wanted Huck’s Daddy to shoot it. Seriously, didn’t Nick realize I’ve been training that little buck for Huck? Didn’t he notice the alfalfa cubes? Men! Geesh.)
Huck’s daddy will be back. I guess he’s taking one of the does.
Guess what? The real Prince of the Forest showed up, folks! Our neighbor got a deer cam shot of a BIG buck. I hope no one gets him, but I want to get a picture.
Stucky, best of luck and God Speed. Best wishes to the Misses for a quick recovery… Chip
Well that touched MY heart, Stuck. Very poignant, even funny in parts and definitely awe-inspiring. And, oh, but for the kindness of strangers. Be of good cheer and never give up. Always seek the silver linings in gratitude. You’re not alone. You and yours will remain in my thoughts and prayers.
Stuck
Whenever one of the TBP big dogs doesn’t comment for an extended period of time, I always fear the worst. Ever since AWD I have a feeling of dread. I thought about emailing you, but I know you rarely check email, so I just waited and prayed for your return. It sounds like you’ve been through an emotional ordeal, but there is still hope. The story of the ICU people singing to Maureen is the kind of inspirational anecdote that will sustain you and gives us all hope that good people still exist in this world. More than we think.
Your family at TBP will always be here for you, even in your darkest hour. Peace, my chief shit stirrer. LLPOH will be thrilled when he sees this post. His last article, that had 500 comments, referenced his missing you as his number one worry.
Totally thrilled. But still a bit concerned.
Stuck, there’s nothing profound in the way of comfort, that you big dog brain hasn’t already turned over and over , that my little lap dog brain can offer up other than, remember this. You have a bigger impact on many more lives than you can ever know. Prayers move mountains and time heals even the brokest hearts.
People need you and your family needs you . Even your liberal sister, whether she is brave enough to admit it or not needs you, too. We all have those relatives, but when heartache befalls one, they’re always there , regardless of their tact for expressing their deepest felt sympathy. Pain and grief is something no one ever gets right. It’s just too damn hard.
I’ll keep you and Maureen in my prayers. Be strong . People look up to you and need you. Always remember that.
Peace
Heart rending story Stuck and full of inspiration and hope. So don’t give up. Prayers and thoughts for you, Maureen and your family. We’re all rooting for ya.
Bot
Damn, Stucky.
If I was there I’d give you a hug (a manly one).
I hope/pray Mrs. Freud keeps improving.
Hang in there brother. God loves you.
If I were there, I would give him the other kind of hug.
Stucky,
I can’t imagine what you and Maureen are going through, even after reading your very moving article. My thoughts and prayers are with you both.
I really missed you.
You are doing something far more valuable than you realize and it’s effects ripple out far from where you are.
Nothing but good thoughts and prayers for peace-
Stucky..
I sat here for 15 min. with the comment box open trying to think of what to say…….I can relate to your words in more ways than I care to admit, and our circumstances have followed closely paralleled paths. I even have a ‘seester’….
I’ve missed your antics.
I believe “the effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much”
Righteous by the Blood of Jesus Christ….keep prayin even when it seems no one hears !
annuit coeptis novus ordo seclorum
P.S. I wish I would have had a kid.
There truly are no atheists in a foxhole. May God richly bless you and yours in these struggles. And out of them as well. And your “seester”, like all mankind, will have her turn there as well. Hopefully she will fare as well as you seem to be. Please take heed to what Maybe girl….. maybe wrote.
Blessings:-}
Stucky..
I understand the gun thing if nobody else does. It’s got nothing to do with suicide.
Incorrect Anon.
“Living” or “Remaining behind” has EVERYTHING to do Stucky being the sole responsible individual to PRAY(daily) for Maureen`s Resurrection, Absolvency of Sin and Entering into HIS Beatific Vision. Should God decide to task Stucky with this.
Neither her daughter or son appears to be ready to undertake the immense task, from what I understand.
No living soul could possibly replace Stucky in this!!!
Is why I enlisted/recruited rosary prayer volunteers in Maryland. I figure it this way: I get “credit” by doing my prayers my way and they get “credit” for doing their Super Novena to St. Jude. If they don’t do it, they face Purgatory if it is for real. If it is NOT? we all all doomed to Oblivion.
Me? I dunno… some days I feel blessed; others just worn the hell out from asking God to have mercy on us all in our hour of need, which is almost upon us.
Thank you for the update. My daily meditations about you and yours will continue. Peace be with you and a big bear hug from me to you.
My father succumbed after his third open abdomen aortic aneurysm surgery. These following a quad bypass years earlier. He woke up paralysed from the nipples down, which was a known complication resulting from lack of circulation to the spinal cord because the small arteries feeding the spine were obliterated. Kidneys went too.
The family knew his desire was to check out should that occur. I was first to visit him post op. His throat was filled with breathing tubes and could not speak. He frantically pointed with his head and eyes towards the machines keeping him alive. Begging almost, for them to be turned off. His biggest fear was to saddle his wife, my mother, with the duties of caring for a bedridden invalid.
I told him everything was arranged and his wishes would be respected. A calm came across face that never left in the ensuing week he remained alive. Relatives came to say farewell. We prepared for the end.
It was totally consistent for the man I knew who had never shown fear or weakness. His last words to me were to take care of his wife.
She took it as well as can be expected. I am proud of her determination and resolve to continue on as my father had undoubtedly told her. She processed her grief not without bouts of anger at what life and Providence had dealt her. She became quickly angered at little things.
Time healed her grief and sadness slowly.
Two years ago I had my first aortic aneurysm repair. Last Monday I had a procedure to repair a leak that had developed. Outpatient procedure but 9 hours in the hospital and three hours under sedation. I am now the same age as when my father passed…I looked for sympathetic faces in those who cared for me in the Catholic sponsored hospital. I am glad to hear you found a bit of humanity amid the machines and jargon.
I am grateful for the mentoring and courage of my father in his passage to the next realm.
You say you do not give a rat’s ass about some things. You shit on this world. I am calling you out on that!! In the kindest way I can.
The last two or three years you have provided me with profound insights with your inimitable banter and discernments. And I look forward to more. Please, do not abandon those here who love you. I know I am not alone in this.
“I looked for sympathetic faces in those who cared for me in the Catholic sponsored hospital.”
Hope you found a few, KS.
For all its faults, flaws, warts and shameful actions at times, they laid the groundwork for early hospitals and caregiving centers.
The faithful among them have good hearts, and believe in spirituality.
The Paraclete, your advocate, was offered to each of us, as Christ promised.
All we need do is welcome that Holy Spirit, and express gratitude for its guidance and connection to our Creator, through acceptance of His son Jesus Christ as our savior.
That’s a Christian principle, not exclusively reserved for Catholics.
May the staff at St. Barnabas continue showing our friend the most sincere and capable care to his wife that they are capable of.
Cue up Journey’s
Don’t Stop Believing.
Well put, Whosie Susie. Well put.
It was perfect. Wish you and your small family the best.
Hi Stucky – We don’t always agree here on TBP but I’m 71 (72 in Jan.) and have lost both my parents so know something of what you’re going through. Stay the course, keep doing the next right thing, and your Higher Power will provide what you need to get you through your life’s journey.
Hi Stucky. I’m happy her situation seem to be improving, little by little. Take things a day at a time.
My deepest sympathies and best of wishes brother
I’d been thinking about you and your wife and your boy and even your seester. I’ll add you all to my prayers. I’ve had plenty of worries and sadness about my own kin, so I’ve been praying more than usual.
Thank you for sharing, Stucky. All the best to you and your bride.
Dear Stucky,
My wife worked ICUY for many years and was always pained by the way people spoke in the presence of patients who were in a coma. She always insisted that it was possible they could hear and she always insisted on speaking as if they could. When she was doing something she would quietly explain herself and apologize for the pain and discomfort it would cause, but explain that it was necessary and why. Her coworkers teased her about this.
One day she learned that one of the coma patients had woken up and while she was doing her thing with him and speaking as she always had, he told her he recognized her voice and she was the only one who always spoke to him, and whomever else might be in the room, as if he were alive. He also told her it was a wonderful act of kindness and thanked her. God’s truth. She’s cried numerous times after coming home from work. That was one of the times.
Keep talking to her. Let her know how much she is loved.
I was coming out of anesthesia one time after a surgery and I could hear everything discussed in my room but was too paralyzed to speak. I felt like a ghost in a flesh tomb. Wanting to tell the people in the room to quiet down, when I told my mouth to speak, my body would not respond.
Then my dad told me one time that my grandma was in a coma and told him later that she could hear everything. So now whenever I’m in a room when someone is unconscious, I speak softly and only positive words of encouragement.
Your wife is not unconscious, she might be Jewish.
Wonderful post, best to you and your bride Stucky.
Sorry to hear about what Maureen and you are going through and hoping for a full recovery.
Stucky, Best wishes to you and your munchkin. All of your TBP family is praying for you both. Stick with the Jeebus thing and pay no attention to your seester. Prayer works, and as others have said, keep talking to Maureen. You’re a good son and husband. Peace.
Thanks for this update. I will continue to pray for you both.
Been through open heart and valve repair myself. It’s a tough thing. I just remember my wife saying, “I’m scared” and I told her “I’m scared too. We just have to put my life in God’s hands. It’s all we can do.” Thoughts and prayers for you both.
You are not alone, my friend. Even as you sit waiting, the Lord is watching you.
See? I knew you were a decent human being. I don’t care what Mary Christine and Bea Lever said about you.
I’m worried about Mary Christine now. I hope there are no more issues… Day 32, St. Jude. Get a move on!
Yes, indeed. and that goes for you, too, EC. 🙂
Ministers of a New Covenant
1Are we beginning to commend ourselves again? Or do we need, like some people, letters of recommendation to you or from you? 2You yourselves are our letter, inscribed on our hearts, known and read by everyone. 3It is clear that you are a letter from Christ, the result of our ministry, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts.…
Stucky, healing thoughts go out to Maureen and you. Your friends here at TPB are amazing !
Everyone hopes for the best. FWIW I have had open heart surgery twice. It may explain my horror any time I hear a hand held circular saw. At 39 I had a disintegrated aortic valve replaced. At 53 I had the aorta itself replaced because of an aneurysm. In addition to being full of shit I am full of plastic, teflon and Gore-tex.
Based on what I have seen from spending time in such places, it sounds like Mrs. Freud is moving in the right direction. Steady improvement opposed to steady decline. The single most important thing is to do everything possible to help her breathing on her own. That breathing therapy contraption with the tube that the patient inhales through was the single most significant thing leading to improvement both times. I prayed my ass off too. Now that we know what is going on I promise you there will be many, many more prayers offered daily from here on for “Mrs. Freud.”
What I ought to do is express gratitude to each of you directly. But, that’s not practical for me right now. Just know that each and every response has touched my inner being to some degree or another. I say this with tears … not filling my eyes … but rather flowing down my cheeks. I am not kidding.
So, from the depths of my heart I want to thank everyone who has commented so far …. and also to my friends who will comment later today and the next day or so.
The good news is that Ms Freud’s daughter flew in from Chicago to see her mom, and she’ll be coming in again over Thanksgiving and Christmas.
The bad news is that Ms. Freud’s son didn’t even come to our home (15 minutes away) to visit his mom the day before the operation, and he didn’t even come to the hospital (10 minutes away) the day of the operation. My seester did come two times, but only after I begged her several times. And my mom said something so ignorant I will not repeat it.
So, you see ….. while I am a rock for Ms Freud you guys are a rock unto me! Really.
=========================
I am typing this during my 1PM – 5PM break …. and from the Livingston Public Library … less than 5 minutes from the hospital. I’m going to be back on Tuesday evening and print off all the responses, and read them to Ms. Freud.
I’ll provide an update when something significant happens and as time allows.
Although I have 5 hours free time during the 11 hours while at the hospital every day … I don’t like leaving the hospital. That’s because Ms Freud has that tube in her throat — and the problem with that is when she has to cough, clear her throat, etc. There’s no danger to her when she coughs. HOWEVER ….. to her, it feels like she’s choking or drowning. Her blood pressure raises to over 200, her heart beat escalates, and she has a look of sheer terror in her eyes. There’s only one known cure for this. ME!!!! I’m not kidding. The moment she starts coughing I put one hand behind her head, my other hand on her chest, my cheek rests against her cheek, and I whisper to her things like —> “It’s Ok Maureen. It’s Ok. Don’t be afraid. I’m here. It’ll be over in just another second or two. You can do it. You can do it. I won’t let anything happen to you. There ya go, there ya go, you’re doing great.” This calms her right down in just a few seconds. In fact, I do most of my waiting in the little waiting room just across from the ICU …. and when she has a cough attack … someone from the ICU staff comes to get me even when vising hours are over!! I mean, really, how cool is that?!
To all my TBP friends, may your kindness to Ms Freud and myself be richly rewarded.
Stuck,best to you and the Munchkin and hope things continue to improve.Sorry for the quick note as limited net connection and actually dealing with a family member and health issues also.I look forward to getting well news next time I have a connection.
Day 28 of 54. St. Jude.
All I can tell you, old friend, is that one day, farther along, we will know all about it. And, I would actually sit down and play and sing that for you, if it would make you feel better.
Or perhaps, I’ll just let Brad do it for us.
Well, I for one feel richly rewarded for having read your writings, listened to your counsel when caught up in a poo fling and seen you in action with others here at TBP. As to the family others, well, their karma will be interesting. Your Mom is old and old people aren’t hitting on the cylinders like they used to, they get some slack just because old age is a bitch. The seester is a liberal, I have one similar….oh boy, oh joy. Shall add a prayer that the son gets some enlightenment going…thankfully the daughter is a mensch.
I have a thing about rocks.
Best.
No need to introduce yourself, Stucky. You are legend.
Hi Stuck – so sorry to. You would not have seen it, but recently I posted a LLPOH ten things I think, and number one was thinking of you and wishing you and yours the best. You are my friend. Take care of yourself, and your family. If you need anything, let us know.
Stucky, my God man. You are made of solid steel. What a roller coaster ride you’ve been enduring. I will pray for you, for your better half (and she is DEFINITELY better! 🙂 ), and for her caretakers, because they need blessed hands, too.
This sounds stupid, but you make me want to be a better husband and father. I don’t think I’ll be at your level anytime soon. May Christ be with you.
Stucky,
Wow. Your essay about real life and your trials, tribulations, pain, suffering and happiness embodies what life is all about, on a daily basis for so many in different ways. The most sincere issue is you are right that we are all human but we allow the distraction of race, sex, religion and political issues to divide us. One day hopefully we all see the elites want us divided because our being one scares the shit out of them. They need us to see color, race, sex and life differently. That is the power they need. But what really matters is you and your family’s happiness. With so many trying to make everyone unhappy as they are glad to see you are ignoring them. Prayers for you and your wife! Tempus Fugit Momento Mori
Once a big dog.Always a big dog. Your right they are wrong.Let them deal with it. God Bless…..
Put the damned pistol far,far away, Stucky.
Understand your calling now and later through all this.
You are irreplaceable in this period beyond your knowledge!
Stuck, I agree with the above! Most people who would give you this advice are doing it out of concern but with no personal understanding.
I feel you, brother, offer up that pain to God and put away the pea shooter. 🙂
My heartfelt thoughts and prayers are with you, Stucky, and your wife. I know exactly how you feel about the love of your life. Peace.
Thank you for the update. It is a relief to hear from you again as like others here I had begun to worry about what your absence might portend. I have said this before Stucky but it needs to be said again. You are not only a Big Dog to me but a Big Brother as well. I would miss your irreverence dearly if something would happen to you.
Today I went for a drive with my wife to Cape Breton. Hiked to Uisge Ban Falls Provincial Park.
The Good News is that I have found Mountains that are holy places…..
Afterwards we went to Baddeck for supper. A wonderful meal and had a beer or two. While my wife was indisposed I started to read your article. Didn’t have time to finish but thought I’d snap a picture with the thought that maybe it might provide just a bit a levity in your day..
A toast to you and Ms. Freud
On the journey home I listened to this song..
Beautiful just like the day.
Tell Ms. Freud to get well….
There are still Mountains to climb.
And best of all the Beauty is free….
There is so much that is beautiful…
Who is the ugly guy with the hot babe?
She could do better, I guess he’s loaded.
Ugly
most definitely yes
Loaded,
now that is funny!
But not likely
Just lucky and Blessed
RiNS, I’ve had friends wonder why my better half is hanging out with me.
“You must be loaded” they grumble.
I say in response: “Yeah, I’m loaded, alright. She tells me I’m full of shit so often, it is why my eyes are brown.”
Sometimes its hard to see
Why the fortune Of Odin
has shone on lil’ ole me.
Having gone to that mountain
Seen the forest for the trees
To wit the photograph
and in my defense
Done with Jest of course
and at my expense
With the hope it would make Stucky Laugh…
Rather Than Cry..Instead.
The poem is a bit lame
At work Can’t play
May revisit No worries
There be Mountains to climb
Moar sunny days
Never apologize for a lame attempt for a friend when it is the best you could do.
It’s deer season at the ponderama!
The coonskin has a rendezvous with destiny.
I took a video of the 6-pointer I’m tracking for Huck’s Daddy. Next time they come, I will be able to show them where he beds down with his sibling and mother. That big buck who died the other day? That was their sire. Now that they are missing the leader of the herd, they have had to find new bedding grounds.
If I didn’t want that kid to be able to kill one of them, I’d be a little sad.
I’ll get a single image off the film of the young buck and post it. I don’t need a bunch of PETA types tossing turds at me.
Thanks Mags! I just wanna help any way I can..
This one not only comes with a funny story, it comes with a hilarious photo, of course. Get yer popcorn, Mrs. Freud… I’m going to tell you what Huckleberry Finn found in my son’s closet. My son swears it was never his. (It wasn’t… I got it as a joke for RiNS and never got around to sending it.)
The story:
So, Huck and I got cold out stirring up the deer on the south end of the land while his daddy hunted the north end. At 5, Huck is much better at stirring up deer than hunting any. We came in the house to warm up.
He also taught me how to make chocolate milk from fudge intended for ice cream. It worked rather well, I had to admit, and it was worth letting the little guy have some of my precious fudge.
Huck does not like television. He likes to stay busy. He took all my cans in the storage room and resorted them, by color and size. He’s like my son. He and my son share a birthday. Twenty years apart. He went into my son’s old toys and found the cars and these two dolls. He brought the dolls to me and asked me if he could have them.
Um, NO. Good God! The kid’s almost in protective custody from my family. Criminy!
Then, I’m going to offer to mail it to your husband via Admin or HSF. For the Hand Jive.
I’m pretty sure she showed up during the Mary, Undoer of Knots Supernovena last Spring. A miracle I suppose… (I bought her and the little weird blue doll at my friend’s pawn shop… B&L Coin, Cape Girardeau… howdy Larry!)
RiNS, you and your wife make a very handsome couple.
Mostly because of Mrs. RiNsEy. Old Robbo could stop a runaway clock.
lol
I will take that as a compliment varmit…
Thanks!
Thank you Stucky.
And now with the correct email.
Glad to hear from you Stucky. My smart phone went crazy this week so I couldn’t post anything this week. I finally bought a new one so here goes.
Now it’s going crazy. I will figure this out sooner or later. I had open heart surgery about two years ago . Same one . A quadruple bypass and was on that damn breathing machine all day. My mom and an old school buddie was there when I woke up . First thing I remember is thinking I made it. God must want me around for while longer. Don’t forget that Stucky . God and the good folks here at the Burning Platform want you around so don’t give up. I know how frustrating this life can be but life has some wonderful moments as well. I am glad to hear you will give your faith another try. I will be praying for you and your love one. God bless.
I put it like this, BB. I figure God isn’t done with me yet because I’ve almost died enough times to embarrass a cat. Or to be one.
But, if you look at it another way? Maybe God has been aiming.
Either way, I figure I’ve got a ways to go before I sleep. Like Robert Frost said. Miles to go, in fact.
Glad you made it to the Stucky Reunion and good wishes post! Remember when I used to call you a toad and post this ugly frog? Oh, the gold old days where I was simply annoying. Now? Posting privileges and, also, annoying.
By the way? My friend in Oklahoma trained her cat to use the toilet. So there.
Who puts carpet in a bathroom or was that done just for the cat.
It is what Okies think of as luxurious.
Hopefully their aim is as good as the cat… otherwise
You are right. I am betting it is a NO Boys allowed zone.
Did you see the Horned Viking Doll? I think it will be a good “omen” for Mrs. Freud, don’t you?
By the way… I need to post this where Stucky might see it. I canned the tongue with some seasonings and onion. It looked disgusting.
Seriously, the tongue LOOKED like a tongue after pressure cooking at 15 psi for 90 minutes. That is one tough tongue.
If I tilted the jar a certain way, you could see the bottom of the tip of the tongue, which had black pimply looking dots on it that spelled MOO in Morse code, I think.
So, I took it to the chicken yard and took it out of the jar and fed it to the chickens, who laid a few more eggs. I will tell you this… once you get past that leathery exterior? The meat inside that tongue looks about like Prime Rib. Dense and lean. Next time, I’ll just slice it up before I cook it. Maybe no one will know.
Now, that’s a tongue that would put Gene Simmons to shame!
Maggie- Please keep that tongue action under wraps, I’m getting queasy. Bleeech………
So, you see why it ended up in the chicken feed.
We remove the outer sheath before preparation by blanching. Flavors get in better and it doesn’t look so unappealing. They taste great*, it is just getting past the ick factor.
*double entendre
I actually canned it whole after Stucky posted that “how to cook a beef tongue” post, responding to my little joke about the tongue and the heart in my freezer.
By the way… I still have the heart in the deep freeze. I could probably get it into a half gallon mason jar and pressure can the heart for any takers!
Heart is to the left of me; tongue is to the right! Here they are, stuck in the middle of my shoes!
EC? That was clever. admit it.
Red Ropes are selected not only because of their fine character and high level of intelligence, they are selected because they are usually taller, able to see over the marching heads for lollygagging road guards.
I also happened to have a nice rack.
Heart is a delicacy for us folks thin-sliced crispy is best. My gramma used to do tongue in olde country style – seriously delicious.
I hope you didn’t offer those *clues on your standup show.
Not at all… Am taking a day off from deer camp. Am worn out. Is hard, good fun.
I was beginning to worry about you.
Know that there are many of us on TBP who care and are praying for you and Mrs. Freud. You are a shoe in for the Big Dog Hall of Fame. However , not yet.
shoo-in
Then why is it a “foot in the door?” I suppose you would say “afoot in the door?”
stucky,
it’s good to hear from you again,even if it is under trying circumstances–
like everyone else i wish you the best & we’re praying 4 you here–
while i read i listen to music & a few minutes ago springsteen’s jersey girl came on–get mrs freud well so you can take her down to the boardwalk–
take care–