Hell of a Guy
We didn't lose the game; we just ran out of time. - Vince Lombardi

Tuesday, March 14, 2017

Hell-of-a-guy Lives on…


It has been a while since I posted anything to http://www.hell-of-a-guy.com The o.nly reason for my absence is merely and mostly because I am lazy, not to mention I just don’t think about it all that often, and generally when I do I am in the car or somewhere else other than nearby my laptop. Believe me, I have composed some beautiful stories in my head. Unfortunately, due to the cerebral atrophy associated with aging, the thoughts don’t hang around in my brain very long.

There was a time when the program my son-in-law runs my website through had apparatus to count the number of hits on this site. That software developed some serious issues (listen to me speaking as if I know what happened) not allowing me to post anything and new software he found to run the program does not have a counter. I have been on this new system for several years, but the last count I saw a few years ago was well in excess of 500,000 hits. Knowing there were people accessing the site made me feel good and also motivated me to write. Some of what I wrote was really good, others not so much, but it was fun.

Recently The Nancy and I were visiting her dad and celebrating his 88th birthday with family. One of the grandsons told me he and his girlfriend had visited Hell-of-Guy and read some of the posts. That made me feel good, but also a tad ashamed I have neglected it, hence, this post. So…as it goes…I promise to write some more “stuff” and post it.  Until that time, enjoy some of the older shit I wrote.

And that is all I have to say about that…

Thursday, January 05, 2017

Birthdays Suck, Unless You Don’t Have One…


As I have one of those nasty birthdays ascending on me as a rapid pace, I cannot sit here and say I am very excited at the prospect of it. It will by my 73rd of what at juncture is a downhill slide, and I am okay with that as long as the downhill grade is not at an acute angle.

I remember a time when I was still a working stiff, in my sweet company car driving to an appointment as I listened to a man and woman talking on the radio, I think they were out west somewhere. They were talking about various news stories, one in particular caught my ear. The guy was reporting on a story about a California woman who was about to become the oldest known woman on the planet at age 116. The woman began to giggle and quipped, “Who in the world would ever want to be 116?” Well, it took me about a second to scream at the radio, as anyone with half a brain might have done at that moment, “Someone who is 115.”

Think about this for a second; how many people in their right minds really wish to die? I would suspect those whom fall in this category are a mere fraction of 1%, probably pretty close to zero.

As a rational person, at least I think I am, I truly do not mind getting older, though it does give me something to think about. It is not the getting old that bothers me as much as the loss of function. I do not hear or see as well as I once did. My bowel habits are fluctuating, my prostate gland isn’t working as it once did or is supposed to work. My knees are weak – when I get down, I plop down the last few inches and when I attempt to rise I need something to assist me, something to grab onto. My back aches 99% of the time. And then there is the funniest scene ever, me trying to put on socks (I remind me of my dad).

But in the end, well, not really the end but close, all is good. I have no complaints. In my case I view it as the Universe unfolding exactly as it should. I am in this for the long haul.

And that is all I have to say about that… 

Saturday, October 01, 2016

A Pain In My Back Is A Pain In The Ass…


A saga.

This saga began on September 15th with a visit to the National Spine and Pain Center in Hagerstown, MD, my second visit to this office to see if something can be done about my constant back pain.

Result…not much. I was told they could “burn a nerve” to reduce the pain sensation, but that is just a masking of it not relief of it. They recommended I see a neurosurgeon, which is what I wanted to do in the first place. Since I already have a doctor in mind, a referral was to be sent that day.

Nancy left that Sunday for a meeting in Orlando, and I was to fly out on Friday and meet her in Phoenix for the Association of School Business Officials, International’s annual conference. On Monday I checked with the surgeon’s office on the referral, and was told none was received and that they used a specific form for referrals. Now know I had on two occasions visited this highly recommended and capable doctor’s office, asked about getting an appointment, told I needed a referral but not told of a special form. I gave them the Spine Center’s number and asked the form be faxed to it. Checked with the Spine Center the next day and told no form was received. Called the surgeon’s office and asked again to fax the form (they told me they could not email it). The young lady I spoke to told me she was doing it while I was on the phone.

Friday on my way to the airport I stopped by the Spine Center, again I was told no form was received. I thought perhaps one was sent but my name was not on it, so nothing was done because they did not know what who it was for. The Spine Center then, after calling the surgeon’s office and getting a different fax number faxed their original referral form to the surgeon. The following week after we got back home from Phoenix, Nancy’s dad was to have a colonoscopy and an endoscopy, so I put this issue aside, took Nancy to Joe’s on Wednesday and Thursday got back into my problem.

First thing on Thursday I faxed a note and the referral forms I had copies of to Dr. Underwood’s office. I checked later and was told the carbonized form I faxed could not be read and that the report I sent was not what they needed. I made a trip to my doctor’s office and got a copy of the MRI report. I went home determined to make progress on getting this referral properly done and submitted. Asked again the proper form be faxed to the Spine Center, checked the Spine Center and was told again no fax was received, called the surgeon’s office and was told they got confirmation the fax was received at the Spine Center at 12:47pm. Called the Spine Center…no fax could be found.

Exasperation sets in…I am on the verge of being really ticked off. I called the surgeon’s office and asked they fax a copy of the form to my doctor’s office. Called Doctor Quarantillo’s office and asked they fill out the form and return to the surgeon. They tell me they cannot do that until the doctor sees me. I told them I had been there with him three times on this issue, and that my original request was to refer me to this surgeon and it was my doctor’s idea to try the Spine Center first. Again, they told me I must come in for an appointment. I nearly told the lady to fuck off, but held my tongue, but nonetheless she knew I was pissed.

Called the Spine Center and after a lengthy discussion got a lady who gave me the fax number that was at her desk, got it to the surgeon’s office. Viola! Finally the Spine Center had the required form. Now all the needs to be done is to get the PA I saw there to fill out the form and transmit it to the surgeon. I will check on Monday to see if it has been received.

This will be a test to the power of prayer.

And that is all I have to say about that…

Friday, September 16, 2016

Camping, Not for Me…


Not long ago The Nancy and I decided we would take her dad up to his camp and spend the night there with him. He is 87 and not very agile, he walks with two canes (too proud to use a walker). We wanted him to have one more night there before he is completely incapable of doing it.

We got to the camp at Big Bear Lake around noon that Wednesday and made preparations for his arrival. His caretaker was bringing him, the four of us excited to stay. Unfortunately after we had eaten lunch and had some time to sit around the fire pit, which is something he has always loved to do, The Nancy’s dad decided he was not feeling all that well and he and the caregiver headed back home.

Now, The Nancy and I could have packed up and left as well, but she decided since we were there we should continue with the plan and stay. I am not a camper. Even a remote thought about spending the night at any place without running water and an in-house bathroom give me chills.

In 1957 I joined the Boy Scouts. At some point not long after I joined, the scout troop went on a one night camping trip. We spent the night in tents in woods – no running water, no bathrooms, no nothing. The entire time I felt dirty and as if things were crawling all over my body. The experience left me traumatized. I never wanted to camp out ever again.

Fast forward to 1980, my youngest daughter was in a father/daughter group sponsored by the YMCA called the “Indian Princesses.” Twice I went on a father/daughter outing with her and spent the night in the woods – about 12 girls and 12 dads. It was not a particularly exciting event for me, but I did it. I never wanted to do it again. Thirty-six years later I found myself in a similar situation. This time I did it for my father-in-law. It’s a damn good thing I love the guy.

With her father gone, we sat around the fire for a couple of hours – there was no TV or other entertainment there, finally about 10pm we went inside the camping trailer and to bed. Some facts: 1. No one had spent any real time in the trailer for a couple of years, 2. The trailer had had no maintenance in a couple of years, 3. It was musty, dusty and very warm in the trailer, 4. The trailer’s beds were nasty.

Rather than attempt to get into one of the beds, we decided to sleep in recliners that were there. We covered them with sheets, opened a sliding door and aimed a fan at full speed at the chairs to try to cool the place down. Not ideal but manageable…or so we thought.

To be fair, it was less awful than I thought it would be and worse than I would have liked. I did not sleep well and The Nancy didn’t sleep much better than I, either. Fortunately morning came, albeit not that quickly, and we were able to pack up and get the hell out of there.

Note to self: I hope this experience is permanently burned into my memory so that if I ever again have an asinine idea to camp out again, I puke.

And that is all I have to say about that…

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