HAFA ADAI:
JTG is a pan-dimensional sentient life-form composed of pure quantum energy. In order to more easily observe and fully interact with the mostly harmless resident beings of this space-time continuum, JTG acquired a corporeal humanoid form via a materialization process from a Monterey Bay fog bank into a lettuce field in the Salinas Valley of Central California. As incredible as it seems, JTG's life is based on a true story. Via this virtual interface, JTG issues interesting and important random reverberations about Life, the Universe, and Everything. And now you know more than you ever thought possible. So long and thanks for all the fish! Lather. Rinse. Repeat. We now return you to your regularly scheduled Astrology reading.
AD ASTRA!!!
Categories Watch this space
0 50 100 | % | Openness
| 93% | Conscientiousness
| 51% | Extraversion
| 56% | Agreeableness
| 49% | Neuroticism
| 65% |
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Posted Saturday, September 4, 2010; 2:37 am
So here’s how it all went down. 
On the afternoon of Friday, September 4, 2010, I took Dad to the Old Town Salinas branch of the Bank of America to cash his social security check. Dad refuses to get direct deposit because he wants to have the tactile feel of cash in his hand each month. 
I parked in the handicapped spot outside the front door and Dad went inside. While I waited in the car for him, I decided to call our cousin Marian England-Graham, who is Dad’s 88 year old second cousin, my 2C1R, whom we had recently discovered and visited. Neither Dad nor I had ever met her until a few weeks previouly. Marian had been in the hospital with pnumonia, and then she had small stroke, and we’d not heard anything in a few days, so we were both worried about her. We share a common ancestor, Daniel Archibald Green, Dad and her Great Grandfather and my Great Grandfather. Daniel’s bearded face is my current Facebook profile pic.
Marian answered the phone and it seems that while weak, she’s ok and slowly recovering. While I was talking to her, I noticed that suddenly the parking lot had filled up with police cars. There must have been about ten police vehicles and twice that many police officers. I looked around and said to Marian on the phone, “The Bank’s being robbed”. 
I gave Marian and description of what was happening as a police officer came up beside my car and stood by it, gun drawn, leaning over the roof pointing at a man by the ATM, holding a small brown bag and it appeared he was using the ATM as thought I saw him holding a card. I looked at the officer as He looked at me and quickly said “stay in your car”. I heard another officer shouting at the man, calling him by the name “Junior” and telling him to get on his knees, and saying “IF YOU MOVE, YOU WILL BE SHOT!” 
At this point it occurred to me that if this guy had a gun and started shooting at the officer using my car as shelter, some bullets might wizz through my car. 
The man was acting like he didn’t hear nor understand at first what was being said, but he did drop to his knees as several other police officers came over to handcuff him to take him away. I later wondered if he had really been attempting to use the ATM, or was just trying to pretend he was just another random person so the police wouldn’t notice him, or what his tale was. 
I continued to tell Marian all that had happened, and wondered what had happened to Dad. I hadn’t hear any shots, nor did I see any ambulance or medical people around, so I assumed that nobody had been injured. 
As the lot wa full of police cars and police, I waited and kept talking to Marian. After about ten minutes or so, Dad came out. He told me and via phone cousin Marian that he’d been in there and that bank employees had suddenly started shouting, “get to this end of the bannk”. At first Dad didn’t know what was going on until he heard someone say “he’s got a gun”. Dad said the bank tellers looked terrified with “wide eyes”. Dad, being a retired Correctional Officer from both California and Nevada Prison systems took it calmly. He said he told one of the bank employees after it was over, “well, this is the place to come if you want a few extra bucks”, and the employee laughed. 
Apparently the gunman had never actually entered the bank. Dad never saw the gunman nor what had happened. I had a front row seat to the action as it happened about 20 feet from my car, and told him the story that I’d just told Marian.
We chatted with Marian for awhile waiting for the lot to clear of police vehicles, one of which was blocking me in the parking space. Among other things, she asked about Norman Doggg, and then we let her go rest. 
Finally, after sitting in the car for awhile, the officer who’d stood behind my car came over and thanked me for being patient about things. He said that the man had not actually entered the bank, but had done something at another downtown shop that had gotten the attention of the police, and they’d been tracking him to this bank. The officer also said that this man had a history with the Salinas Police, and they knew him well. 
So with a pathway finally clear, I backed out and Dad and I drove away to where Dad could spend part of his newly acquired cash.
And that’s Dad’s Adventure with the Bank Gunman. 
 
Posted Sunday, April 11, 2010; 4:51 am
Dad told me a story that when he was a young teenager, the family cat, who may or may not have had a name, drug in a living half grown rabbit.
Dad’s mother told him and his brother Buddy to kill it so the family could eat it for dinner.
This was during World War 2 and the family was poor and meat was scarce and this would be a welcome addition to the table.
Dad said neither he nor Buddy could work up the nerve to kill it. Meanwhile the rabbit got very still and they laid it down, thinking it was dead or dying.
Suddenly the bunny sprung to life and ran away.
Dad said that one of his neighbors, a “Mr. Bates” heard the story and berated Dad and Buddy saying something about how there was a war on how their inability to kill something would not be good if they ever got into combat.
As it turned out, both Dad and Buddy later went into the Navy and while Buddy did see combat, it was on a ship and not face-to-face, and the war was over before Dad got shipped into the Pacific.
Posted Friday, April 9, 2010; 1:50 pm
Dad told me a story today about when he was working as a carpenter putting up the Salinas Valley Memorial Hospital.
As they were clearing the land, they came across a nest of quail eggs. The construction was diverted around the nest and the eggs were allowed to hatch. The little chicks grew up and just got to the point of flying when they disappeared.
Dad said he was later told that one of his fellow construction workers came back on the weekend when the site was abandoned and shot the chicks and ate them.
Dad was angry about that, especially since construction had been delayed to let the eggs hatch, a decision that had to have come from the top.
Dad had no idea if there was any punishment for the guy who shot the quail chicks.
This story also illustrates how much that part of Salinas has built up. Finding quail in that part of town is not something one would ever expect nowadays.
Posted Monday, March 22, 2010; 3:44 pm
Dad’s been weak the past couple of days. After the Fall a few days ago, he started getting quite week. It seems like cause and effect, but there doesn’t seem to be anything connecting the two things. He doesn’t seem to have injured himself in any way; no pain or swelling or other obvious problems.
I’m beginning to wonder if this weakness and past spells of weakness are linked to low oxygen saturation. Now that we have our own oxyimeter to measure Dad’s oxygen saturation, we can see it dropping into the 80s and even 70s when he walks about without any oxygen at times.
Dad has had weakness before, so perhaps it’s connected with low oxygen saturation that went unmeasured in the past?
Also, Dad was getting nebulizer breathing treatments while he was in Rehab and he doesn’t yet have a nebulizer at home. An organization called “Advantacare” was supposed to be bringing a nebulizer and other medical stuff to him, but so far nothing, and it’s going on a week. I’ve tried to call Advantacare, but the phone rings and rings with no answer. Odd. I’ve called Washlin at the Ridge Rehab to ask him if he knows what’s going on and if he can do anything.
So, hopefully Dad’s oxygen levels will go back up and he won’t need oxygen 24/7 in future. But if he does, then a fundamental change in both our lives has begun. He’ll require a lot more direct care, and I’ll be even more tied to him.
Time will tell.
Posted Sunday, March 21, 2010; 3:51 pm
Dad is still feeling weak today. His oxygen levels are low when he isn’t using oxygen, so this seems to be more than psychological. He took a shower awhile ago, and when he got out of the shower, his oxygen reading was down to 71%, very very dangerously low.
Now he’s using his oxygen and his Oxygen saturation level is in the 90s.
I want him to come with me to go walk in Northridge Mall, but he’s refusing, and he’s being very angry and mean to me again. He shouted “EVERYTHING AROUND HERE IS GOING TO SHIT”, and in saying so implied it’s my fault. I tried to tell him that he’s not helping himself by making life so miserable for me that I can hardly stand to be around him, especially when I’m the only person around to help him. Maybe a nursing home may be the only option if he can’t control his anger.
But I hope not.
Posted Sunday, March 21, 2010; 3:31 am
Friday night Dad had another fall.
Dad had been having a good day. We’d gotten up early to take him to a Foot doctor to look at the toenail on one of his big toes that had been smashed in his fall that got him in the hospital this last time. The toenail had been hanging on barely, but neither the Hospital nor the Ridge Rehab would do anything about it.
Now that Dad’s out, we went to have it taken care of. Afterwards, we went to Northridge Mall, had breakfast at the McDonald’s in the Mall, and we walked through the Mall. Dad did pretty well and only had to rest a couple of times, compared to about 10 times the day before.
We came home and spent the rest of the day at home. That evening we watched a couple of Smallville episodes. We had been watching the whole series from the Pilot episode as I’d recorded it on the DVR from the HD-Net channel, and Dad’s going into the hospital meant I had recorded about 20 episodes for us to watch.
That evening about 10 pm, just as I was thinking of going to bed, Dad walked through the living room and tripped and fell. Fortunately, he didn’t seriously hurt himself, but that was not clear at first.
He scraped his hand and there was a lot of blood all over the place, in part because He’s been taking a blood thiner drug called Plavix. Dad kept saying that his ankle felt “weird”. I kept asking Dad what he meant by “weird” and he only repeated “weird’. Dad is not very articulate, particularly in describing how he’s feeling.
Putting my Eagle Scout first aid into effect, I did a quick examination of his ankle while he laid on the floor. I didn’t see any obvious swelling nor discoloration nor poking of bones through his skin. Still, Dad kept saying his ankle felt “weird’, so I kept looking over his ankle and had him lie on the ground and calm down and rest. I told him to wait to try to get up because if his ankle was broken, trying to walk on it would likely make it worse, and I further told him that if he thought his life was tough now, imagine what it would be like if he lost that foot because he insisted on walking on it while broken.
After a few minutes, I got Dad over to a chair and he scooted up into it. I told him to rest in that chair and did another exam of his ankle, which he still insisted felt “weird”. I pressed gently in the regions where he said it hurt, but it didn’t cause him any extra pain, and there was still no swelling nor discoloration. However, Dad has very bad neuropathy, so his sensation in his legs isn’t very good, and I considered that in spite of this, he could have a broken ankle, minor as it might be at this point.
So, I got Dad to stay in the chair and talked about taking him to the Hospital. He insisted he didn’t want to go, and that he “had enough of that place”. I again pointed out the consequences of not going if he indeed had a broken ankle.
I got some hydrogen peroxide and a warm washcloth and got the blood cleaned up, and it turned out to be just a couple of small scrapes.
I went out into the garage and brought in a wheelchair we’ve had for years to wheel him out to the car. When I got it in the living room, Dad insisted we wait because he was “feeling better”. So I said we’d wait awhile and see how things developed.
We watched another episode of Smallville. It was Season 7 Episode 6 in which Kara El, aka Supergirl, breaks into a secret government lab, but is captured and injected with liquid kryptonite which acted like a truth serum.
When it was over, I again checked Dad’s leg, and he said it still hurt, but insisted it didn’t hurt, so I helped him get up, asking him questions about how he felt, did he feel any grinding of bones or pain and he didn’t
He got to bed soon after that and slept in to about Noon.
He said his ankle was sore, but not too bad. He said his back hurts, but that’s the same ache he’s had for years.
He’s said that he feels weak today. The fall may have been physically quite draining, but I think that the shock of the fall may also have been psychologically quite draining as well. We’ll see after a day or so of rest.
We didn’t go out together today and he just rested. Tomorrow we’ll go walking again and see how he feels. I think he’ll be OK soon, I hope.
Tonight Dad started talking about going into a nursing home. I was very surprised because Dad has often insisted he would never go to one. The fall really shook him up. I told him that I didn’t think going to a nursing home would be much of a solution because they wouldn’t be pushing him to walk and exercise the way I do, and just being in a nursing home didn’t mean he wouldn’t fall. Also, his experience in rehab and nursing homes in the past while recovering don’t give a lot of confidence that he’d get very good care at all. After all, his first Rehab Room mate in the Ridge had pressed the nurse call button and nobody came for about a half hour, and he was having a heart attack, and died the next day–and the Ridge is a “skilled nursing” facility. A regular “nursing home” would be even worse.
I am getting concerned about his memory. For example, he has no memory that my brother John came to visit him while he was at the Ridge Rehab. One day when Dad had been in Rehab for several weeks, a doctor asked him how long he’d been there, and Dad said “about a week”, and when I told him it had been several weeks, Dad was surprised it had been that long. He remembers his past very well, but recent events seem to fade soon. I’m concerned that he’s slowly sliding into a total loss. That may be a long time away, because he’s still quite alert and aware most of the time, but it’s still a concern.
It seems that just as Dad starts to get better, something new happens.
Posted Friday, March 19, 2010; 2:17 am
Today was Dad’s first day out of rehab.
A nurse from Visiting Nurse Association (VNA) came by to do an initial evaluation of Dad, and to fill out and sign paperwork.
After she left, I asked Dad if he would go with me to drop off the list of prescriptions at Dr. Patton’s office, and he initially said no. I got on his case about this. I pointed out that on his first day out of Rehab, I shouldn’t be begging him to get up and get out. I said that i was very tired of begging hi to do things he should do to extend his life. and he finally agreed to go.
After i dropped off the list of his prescriptions, We went for a drive out to the coast and up to Watsonville and back to 101 and back to Salinas. Not much of a drive, but it was better than the nothing he’s been staring at for weeks in Rehab.
On the way back we stopped at Northridge mall and I had him walk all the way through the Mall. He objected at first, but I pushed hin to keep going. “What else do you have to do?”, I asked him. I told him we had plenty of time and he could rest all he needed.
He eventually made it all the way from one end of Northridge to the other and back again. He had to rest every few hundred feet, but he made it, and he said he felt better.
I think he should have been walking more in rehab, but walking carries with it the risk of falling, and I think the Ridge Rehab was probably afraid of him falling. It’s also a lot more work to get someone to walk, follow alongside, and watch them to protect them from falling than to hand them a few weights and tell them to do 20 reps and wait until you come back to them.
So now it’s my turn to work out the Pa.
I told him we are going to go walking almost every day for awhile. I don’t know if he’ll keep it up or go into fits of anger and I’ll have to back off soon. We’ll see.
Posted Thursday, March 18, 2010; 8:34 am
Dad’s home from Rehab.
Yesterday we went for a drive out through Castroville and into Seaside, where we stopped at Church’s Fried Chicken and got a box of chicken. We came home and sure enough, with two minutes he was screaming at me, saying that everything I’ve done for him over the past month was “nothing”.
Posted Tuesday, March 16, 2010; 9:23 am
I just got a call from Washlin, the social worker at the Ridge Rehab facility. Washlin said that there had been a snag, Dr. Patton didn’t sign a medical release for Dad, and he’s out of town today and won’t be back until tomorrow, so Dad’s in for another day. I thought of asking if another doctor could sign, but I still have a lot of work to do about the house, and Dad still has another day of antibiotics to take, so I didn’t.
Washlin asked how I thought Dad would take it. I said he wouldn’t be happy, in fact he’d likely be mad, but probably wouldn’t take it out on him.
So another day to get things arranged. I might just get it done now.
Posted Tuesday, March 16, 2010; 7:54 am
Dad gets out of Rehab today, I suppose pretty much when I go to get him.
I’ve been up all night cleaning the house and getting ready or him, but I already know that even if the house were cleaner than when he left, he’d still be angry.
I’m glad to see him get out, but I have some anxiety. It has been somewhat of a relief to be away from his anger and rages since he went into the hospital, and I’m concerned that his homecoming will resume those rages. I hope the past month in hospital and rehab have mellowed him somewhat, but I guess I’ll be seeing soon.
jtg
Posted Sunday, March 14, 2010; 11:13 pm
Dad’s one more day towards release, two days and a wakeup as we’d say in the military.
He’s doing much better, and each day he appears alert and strong, considering he’s almost 83.
A couple of days ago at Dr. Grogan’s office, the doc asked him how long he’d been in Rehab, and Dad said “about a week”. I informed him it’s been several weeks, and Dad was surprised at how much time has passed. I’ve noticed over the years that he has lost a sense of time passing. This latest thing of not realizing how long he’s really been in rehab is an example. Another example from the past was when Lindsey had some pups, and when they were only about 3 weeks old, he was insisting they were 3 MONTHS old, and we had to “get rid of them while they were still cute”.
His Rehab Roomie BillyBob is quite a character. Last night when I took Dad a pair of pants because the facility hasn’t done his laundry lately and thus had no clean clothes, I ran into BillyBob in the hallway, and Billybob proceeded to tell me that he was trying to get Dad to agree to have a hooker he knew service him, but Dad was refusing.
Tonight while I was visiting Dad, BillyBob went outside with another Rehab resident and when he came back, he was staggering and incoherent and flopped into his bed, and asked me to call for a nurse. The nurse came in and checked his vitals, and from what I heard, they were normal. She asked him if he’d taken anything, and he denied it. About an hour later, he was back up and alert.
It reminded me of what I’ve heard about some kinds of drugs, particularly some kinds of injection drugs, in that one goes through a brief high period of 30 minutes or so, and then you’re ready for more. Billybob went through that pattern.
I think Billybob could be bad news, and I made a point of telling Dad that I didn’t think it would be a good idea for him to find out where we lived. Our phone number is unlisted, and unless Dad gives him an address, we should be OK unless he’s more persistant and has some connections to find us. I do not want to have to deal with him showing up at the front door at 3 am some night, high off his ass asking for a place to stay.
So, another reason to get Dad out.
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jtg
Posted Friday, March 12, 2010; 11:25 pm
Dad’s current room mate in Rahab is a guy named BillyBob, or Bill Williams.
He’s a former Navy guy, a Radioman second class, who was shot in Vietnam.
He’s in rehab because several years ago he broke his neck in an auto accident. The way he tells it, he left the hospital as soon as he could, before he should have. After several years, complications of his poorly healed neck bones finally forced him to have an operation to try to fix the problem. He’s in rehab now to recover, but he is an idiot about it as he keeps getting up and going outside to smoke, literally every few minutes while he’s awake. He also has been leaving the rehab facility to go out and do things around town. While the facility is not a prison, he should stick around and rest. He’s also refused all physical therapy. On top of all this, he is constantly whining about how much pain he’s in, and blames the doctors because they won’t give him lots of drugs to ease the pain, ignoring that if he’d rest in bed, and not be jumping up every few minutes, maybe he’d heal.
Today he told a story, bragging, of how he had just been thrown out of the Community Hospital of Monterey Penn, CHOMP. He told a strange disjointed story, but here’s what I got.
He knows a 28 year old woman who he described as smart and beautiful. She is in CHOMP with less than 48 hours to live because she’s a Crack addict and has abused her body. Aside, she doesn’t sound too smart nor likely “beautiful” to me. She has a couple of children Billy described as “toeheaded”, which he said means “blonde”.
He went over to CHOMP and told the hospital staff that he was her “stepfather”, which is is not. Her real mother was there, and apparently they wouldn’t let him in to see her.
Billy has a way about him that is outright crazy, as in violent criminal crazy, at least potentially. He shouted “FUCK YOU” at one of the doctors who told him he couldn’t see his friend. WHen he was told he had to leave the hospital, he said “NO” and further said he was “going to the cafeteria to get a piece of cake before he left”. He told this part as though it was some clever act of defiance. He was finally escorted off hospital grounds by security guards.
I am not clear just what the relationship between Billy and his dying friend was. Since he claimed he was a stepfather, it doesn’t sound like it was sexual, but among Billy’s other vices he seems to be a pervert, so it’s likely his relationship with this woman isn’t merely plutonic.
He is a conservative, says Sarah Palin is a “good person”, claims he knows John McCain, and spouts Faux News talking points about “Freedom” and “Liberty” while denouncing socialism, but at the same time, he is taking advantage of a socialized medical system.
He’s also been abusive to the Rehab staff, shouting at nurses and rehab therapists, and sexually harassing the pretty ones, particularly the Philippinas, whom he seems to have a thing for.
BillyBob is getting the boot next Wednesday. Unlike Dad, I get the feeling that this isn’t totally his decision, but a result of his poor behavior.
Posted Thursday, March 11, 2010; 11:37 pm
Dad’s coming home next Wednesday.
He’s quite glad about that. He really doesn’t like being at the rehab facility and I don’t blame him.
Today he had an appointment with Dr. Grogan, his cardiologist. to talk about his heart rate doing silly things, like dropping down to the mid 40s and even high 30s while he exercised. Dr. Grogan seems to think that this is not real, but an artifact of the unusual heartbeat his pacemaker causes.
Last week Dad wore a “Holter Monitor”, which is a 24 hour EKG. It measured his heart rate for 24 hours, and it showed his heart rate was good throughout the time frame. The Holter monitor is much more accurate than the finger sensors the rehab therapists and nurses use, so the conclusion is that he has nothing to worry about.
So Dad’s coming home soon.
jtg
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