Othopedic Thuesday

So, today after a month of waiting since an MRI, I finally got to see an Orthopedic Doctor, for my shoulder. All things considered, with VA and veterans health care issues, I guess that is really not so bad.

Anyone that knows me, knows there is not much that I despise worse than Doctor's offices. I don't like cheerful receptionists, that ask how are you today? Hell, if you were doing great, you wouldn't be in a doctor's office. Then there is the dozen odd pieces of paper work, were you have to sign your life away, before you are even allowed to enter into the inner sanctum of examination rooms.

Then there is the waiting, I spent 32 years in the Navy, where events that are designated to occur at a given time, will occur at that time. No so in the modern doctor's world. After waiting for half hour or so in the main waiting area, where I might add they have a bad home improvement show on the television provided for your entertainment, you get to move through the magical door to the second waiting area, in a hallway full of even more magical doors leading to examination rooms. Here is where I get to sit and watch the other patients come and go. Some seem happy, they, I gather are the success stories, the ones who's treatment worked, but oh, the others who look like they might expire at any moment worry me much more. Some do not seem happy, period, I'll leave that right there.
Now, an hour and a half past appointment time, I move into a room, where I get to wait longer. At least in the examination room, I get to explore all the drawers and play with the computer that has pictures of my shoulder on it. Think about that next time you are stuck waiting in an examination room, maybe the person waiting before you may have rambled through all the drawers and cabinets. I also enjoy the ambiance of the decor, break-down diagrams of knee and hip replacements. I, being fairly mechanically blessed, studied these pictures, at length, for over another thirty minutes, and I am now sure that I could replace either joint, so if you want a discount job done, let me know.

Once I finally meet the doc, he is a nice young man, who seems to know what's going on, lets me know that my MRI is inconclusive, and he would like to have another one done with dye. Oh boy, got to wait on insurance to approve that, I'll see how long a wait that will be. Also, he over-loads me with talk of supraspinatus and infraspinatus tendons, spurs, tendonitis capsulitis, and possible tears. We also talk about ice and no heat, physical therapy, and steroid injections, and did I happen to tell you it is now after 1600 (4 o'clock pm ), and I am in Riverside. Luckily I know the back roads to a great eatery, and they have cold beer and wonderful food;  that makes it much easier to wait out rush hour.

Ok, so not a great hunting or fishing report, but happy to say I am safe, back in the shack  between the swamp and the sea. Once again, waiting, at least this time, I control the television.

Old Captain Sends.
 

Rainy Monday And Memories of Hong Kong

It is a rainy dreary Monday here between the swamp and the sea, no hunting, fishing, or yard work. I watched the news until I was saturated by information, as much as the rain.

I was watching the clips of the protesters in Hong Kong, desperately trying to hang on to their little outpost of democracy in the country of China. All my time spent on the island of Hong Kong was prior to the return of the island from British rule to that of China. Makes me wonder now if the citizens of Hong Kong still think that was such a great idea.

Hong Kong means "Fragrant Harbor", and it is indeed fragrant with all the smell of Asia, both pleasing and not so much ones. I first saw Hong Kong from the flight deck of the USS Midway, sometime in the mid 1980s, the exact date now evades my memory as so many things do, I can still imagine the smells and the sights.

The following text comes from some notes I found that I made after a night of standing duty on the Midway in Hong Kong harbor.

The steam of burning grease rising from the tracks of the catapults on the flight deck combined with the rank damp smell of the harbor water, burned my nostrils like the inhalation of an acid. Looking starboard I see the flashing spectrum of lights detailing the unmistakable shore line of the city that is Hong Kong.  I remember how much I wanted to be amongst those lights, but having watch the first night in port, that was not to be.

The scene from the deck house known as flight deck control is breath-taking. Small floating craft of every description; junks under sail, ferries running to and fro, container ships, and walla walla boats bobbing up and down, sail and scurry around while being dwarfed by our mighty war ship. I think I could almost walk to shore across the decks of all those vessels, stepping deck to deck. In this great harbor which at one point in history was filled with massive creaking Chinese Junks and Portuguese sailing ships making there way slowly under sail plying their trade, in and out of one of the busiest cities of the silk road trade routes. Today space age hydrofoils and jet boats scream through the squalid, cluttered water way in route to the glittering casinos of Macau.

The great carrier moans, as she shifts heavily against the anchor holding us solidly to the muddy harbor bottom. A cold damp wind blows suddenly from the north, off the mainland of China. I shiver against the wind, and tighten the collar of my foul weather jacket, closer against my neck. Making rounds, crossing the flight deck, our aircraft sit chained and silent like dinosaur bones in a museum. As I glance to port, I see the Star Ferry crossing the harbor from Kowloon side to Hong Kong side, the clanging of her bell sounding clearly against the horns and bells of all the other assorted craft. The Star Ferry makes this trip every half hour, steadily moving passengers back and forth.

Time seems to always pass more slowly, when you have the watch at night in a great liberty port, and I grow tired. If only I did not have the duty, I know that I would be full of vigor, and be readily running the streets of Wan Chi, and the world of Suzy Wong.

Now days I wish I could stand those watches still and smell the smells of exotic ports of call in person, but at least I have the memories.

Old Captain sends.

  

Gold Star Mother's Day

Today is Gold Star Mother's Day.

Gold Star Mothers are those who have lost a son or daughter while in service to their country while as a member of the United States armed forces.

The origin of the Gold Stare Mother's organization dates back to the first world war and a lady by the name of Grace Darling Seibold. Her son George , volunteered, requesting assignment in aviation. He was sent to Canada where he trained to fly British planes, since the United States had neither an air force nor planes. He was deployed to England, and assigned to British Royal Flying Corps 148th Aero Squadron. George did his best to keep up correspondence with his family while engaged in combat over France, but one day the letters stopped. On October 11, 1918, George's wife in Chicago received a box marked "Effects of deceased Officer 1st Lt. George Vaughn Seibold".

George's body was never identified.

Grace Seibold, realizing that self-contained grief is self-destructive, devoted her time and efforts to not only volunteer in military hospitals, but to extend a hand of friendship to other mothers whose sons had lost their lives in military service.

Grace organized a group consisting solely of these special mothers, with the purpose of not only comforting each other, but to giving loving care to hospitalized veterans confined to government hospitals far from home.

The organization was named after the gold star that families hung in their windows in honor of the deceased veteran.

A proclamation by the President of the United States was approved by congress on June 23, 1936, designating the last Sunday in September as "Gold Star Mother's Day".

I remember and am thankful for our fallen comrades every single day, but to day is the day to honor the Mothers of all the fallen. I pray is that their ranks do not have to swell, but bear in mind, as a nation still at war, our sons and daughters are today and every day in harms way. God Bless Them All!

Old Captain sends