Camp Dad

My house is a mess. Absolutely everything is covered with dust. Some of the dust is plaster dust. Some of it is wood dust. A little of it I suspect is coal dust. This is the result of a marathon visit from dad. Dad retired earlier this month and is relishing his new found freedom. I am very pleased that his first adventure as a retiree was a trip in his new van back to see me. He brought every tool known to dad-kind. He used every one of them, too. He and My Beloved fixed the furnace, installed a garbage disposal, and hooked up the ice maker. Then they really got down to business. They used something with a name that sounded like "Sawzaw" to cut out a section of the main sewer pipe from the upstairs bathroom. This pipe had a big crack in it that My Beloved had temporarily fixed with some metal glue. Now there is a section of PVC pipe in there with the old iron stuff. Next Dad had to build a box around it since it is right there in the front hall and all. The Boys also reopened a doorway from the hall to the dining room. This doorway existed at some point in the past and had gotten walled over. The doorway had to be drywalled and required a lot of horrible "mudding. " The mudding is horrible because it requires lots of sanding and plaster dust is nasty I've discovered. They also stripped and sanded the floor and woodwork in the hallway. Hence, more dust. Needless to say (needless if you looked at the pictures anyway) a good deal remains to be done. The floors need polyurethaned, the woodwork needs paint. Let's not even start about the foyer. There is about a million years of sweeping and dusting and mopping and wiping up to do.
Now through all of this the boys got along pretty much okay. You've got to know that my dad is one of those loner types. Something Clint Eastwood as The Man with No Name meets Johnny Cash. And, that My Beloved has what he thinks is an extremely mild case of Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. At one point he wore on dad's nerves so bad that dad would only grunt at him for about a day and a half. Dad asked me later "has he got that same thing your sister's got?" Yep.

Dates to Remember

When I was in high school history class Sister Jean made us memorize only one date. That date was December 7, 1941. I remember asking my grandmother what she was doing when she learned of the attack on Pearl Harbor. As I recall she said she and grandpa were at home getting ready to drive out to Aunt Jenny's house for the afternoon. Sundays were usually spent cooking, smoking and playing cards. This was when everyone was first married and in first homes but hadn't had the first kids yet. The Ivanovich baby boom didn't start until 1943 when grandma, her sister and her sister-in-law all gave birth within a 6 week period. That particular Sunday was spent the same way except with the radio on and the knowledge that none of the men in the room would be present in 3 months time.

In Junior High we studied presidents and we had an assignment to ask our parents what they were doing when they learned Kennedy had been assassinated. On November 22, 1963 my mother had a 18 month old baby at home. My sister, not me. Mom was watching her soap opera on TV. Probably Another World which I remember her watching when I came along. She called dad at Minneapolis-Moline Farm Supply where he worked. They tuned in a transistor radio and listened to the story there but dad had to keep unloading trucks.

There were some days I thought would be important as I was growing up. I remember thinking that when the last colony in Africa became an independent nation it was a memorable occasion. I also thought when Egypt and Israel signed a peace treaty it was worth noting. I was a geeky kid. As it turns out the massacre in Jonestown is the only thing that gets periodically revisited. I was sitting on the couch doing my homework in front of the TV when I heard about that. I was home alone. It is the first time I ever remember them warning viewers about disturbing footage and recommending that children leave the room. I was probably 12 and I remember looking around the room and thinking "If I leave the room how will I know when it's over?"

Now the Big Obvious Date to Remember from my adult life is September 11th 2001. If I ever have children or maybe great nieces and nephews I fully expect to be asked where I was and what I was doing on that day. So for the record on September 11, 2001 I was scheduled to spend the morning with Dr. B. Any interaction with Dr. B. was what we used to call "high yield" so I was looking forward to it. My mornings started then much as they do now. Wake up. Brush teeth. Pee. Apply clothing. Go to the hospital. This particular morning I allowed enough time to stop by the resident's lounge to pick up a pop-tart; the resident's staff of life. As usual the TV in the lounge was on and playing to an empty room. On the screen was the image of the first tower ablaze. They announced that it had been hit by a plane. An Internal Medicine resident I didn't know came in and asked me what had happened. I repeated what I'd heard and proceeded to my meeting.

We spent the morning sequestered in Dr. B's office looking at slides and learning all kinds of useful stuff I've since completely forgotten. At one point his phone rang and he took the call. He said "no" and the "yes" a few times followed by "everything is okay" and got off the phone. We picked up where we had left off in the bland "I heard nothing" way that doctors tend to use when something is none of our concern. In the late morning we took a break and stepped out of Dr. B's darkened office into a completely different world. Someone had moved a television set into the conference room and one of the attendings was sitting very close to it listening with the volume low. A few others were standing around. I saw the first tower collapse. I don't actually know if it collapsed at that moment but for me it did. I stood there stunned but the part of my brain that never stops quickly thought through the time elapsed between the first crash and the first collapse and estimated how many people could be evacuated from those buildings in that time if evacuation had been initiated promptly and carried out in an orderly fashion. I pessimistically reduced the number some assuming neither of those things had happened. When my non-emergency response brain came back on line I called My Beloved. We had heard a plane had crashed near Pittsburgh but at the travel agency where he worked they hadn't heard anything yet. One of us called over to the ER. If the local trauma centers were overwhelmed with casualties all the medical cases in the city would end up at our hospital and they would need help over there. They reported the trauma centers where not on divert. We could only assume no one had survived the crash.

I don't know what the mechanism is by which a person learns to walk away from a tragedy and move on but we all learn it. Without admitting defeat or despairing over loss we seem to recognize that there is still life in us and we go to the living. We returned to our lessons because we must learn to be the best possible doctor for the still living. A few minutes after we resumed my semi-contraband cell phone rang. It was a 515 area code phone number which I didn't recognize. I excused myself to answer it saying usually no one calls from back home unless it was an emergency. It was my dad. He sounded shook up. I immediately imagined him hurt or in danger but he was only calling to see if I was okay. The news had made it sound like the other plane had crashed in the city of Pittsburgh itself. Of course to him this could only mean it had landed directly on his daughter. Being a parent must be really hard because it took a while to reassure him. The earlier call it turns out had been from Dr. B's son.

Normally at noon the residents feed as if from a trough and consume a lecture at the same time but on this day at lunch a few people sat pushing food around on their plates. Others ate mechanically their eyes fixed on the table a few inches in front of their plates. Lecture was cancelled. The TV in the corner by the ceiling was on. Once we were done eating conversation slowly started up. One of the international residents was dismayed because everyone was assuming this was the work of foreign terrorists. I remember explaining to her why we thought this was the case. Our home-grown terrorists tend to be in the West and Middle West. They also tend to attack symbols of the federal government. Finally most American homicidal maniacs are too paranoid to work with the number of people needed to pull off an attack of this size. She thought about her experience in this country and decided these statements rang true. In the end I felt a strange relief that none of my grandparents had lived to see this. At least they had lived out their lives able to believe that the sacrifices they had made would keep us safe at home.

Cusco-Pittsburgh

Down in Cusco there is a bar called Norton Rat's. I had heard of it once from a friend who'd traveled there. He described it as a friendly and interesting place with lots of motorcycle stuff. Maybe a year later I met a guy who is currently known as My Beloved. Back when he was still just a guy we covered the life story stuff and I learned he had not only quite an adventurous past but a vast network of friends the world over. In October 2001 when he was not yet My Beloved but more than Just a Guy, something along the lines of a Perennial Favorite, he took me on my first trip to South America to meet his old friend and travel partner Jeff. My Beloved and Jeff had taken off from college in Tucson in the 80's and rode motorcycles all the way down to Cusco. I will not try to tell you the story of their trip since I was not there but suffice it to say that Jeff stayed on in Cusco and opened the above mentioned motorcycle bar. You can't really see it on the website but all around the bar is a series of pictures of two guys on bikes. These are of course Jeff and My Beloved. One of the friends traveling with us commented in the way that mostly only children tend to do "Oooh. That's you? My you were handsome!" He would know.

Needless to say we had a spectacular time in Peru and even though there are lots and lots of place I have not yet been I would go back there in a flash if I had the chance. Lacking that, the next best thing is a visit from Jeff who still has family up in Cleveland. Labor Day weekend provided an opportunity for Jeff to air out his Up North Norton and come down to Pittsburgh for a visit. Jeff has a charming daughter who goes to school in Cleveland and is not only a seasoned motorcycle rider but fortunately a very patient girl since she came along for the visit and as it turns out Norton's are finicky. High maintenance even. On the way down there was a problem. Something to do with vibrating and oil leaking. While it seems I heard everything and even saw the problematic bits none of it found anything to hang onto in my brain so the mechanical details are gone now. All I know is that we had a nice Monday hanging out in the back yard and garage while Jeff fiddled with the bike. Later Jeff and his daughter roared off in success and our little group of former travel companions sat a while longer pretending the stones of our garage were an Inca wall.

Pittsburgh Tourists

Don't let it get around but Pittsburgh is a really cool town. Our recent visit from Out-of-towners included a physician from Croatia and a New Yorker. Now we may be cool but honestly it is a little bit of a challenge to compete with NYC as a tourist destination. But, My Beloved who is a natural born travel guide, and I were up for the task.

Out of the millions of things we could do we planned out an itinerary that started in the Strip District. The Strip gets it's name from the narrow bit of land it occupies between a limestone cliff and the Allegheny river. This neighborhood is a warehouse district where produce, fresh meats, and fish of all sorts can be bought for cheap. The prices are guaranteed to wow the Big City Folks. You can pretty much get anything here that you could get in New York it's just that there's only one or two places to get it instead of a hundred. Also in the Strip District is St. Patrick's Church. In the middle of the warehouses is this tiny church set behind walls which enclose a beautiful and tranquil garden. The church is one of the only I know of around here which is open 24 hours a day. I also know of no other church that consists largely of a flight of stairs. You open the door and in front of you is a flight of stairs which you are meant to climb on your knees. Right at the top is the altar.

We also visited the Warhol Museum. I spent most of the visit sitting in the lobby talking to my patients on the phone. Just one of those occupational hazards. I did have time to visit the gift store though. My guest and I both bought package tape imprinted with a series of Warhol likenesses of Jesus. This will make easy work of Christmas wrapping this year. Too bad for you dear reader. You cannot get the tape on line. I recommend the switch plates however.

Finally we had a good "Hunky" lunch at a place in McKee's Rocks which I call the pierogie palace but which is actually called Pierogies Plus. Need a starch fix? This is the place for you. If you are going to each the stuff you might as well eat the best. You can order them on-line....

Dinner and a Lecture

In May it was decided that an evening lecture on the topic of opiate addiction treatment would take place here in the 'Burgh. Ever since then I've been scheming away. I made flyers. I pestered everyone I could to advertise the event. I sent out invitations to people I either wanted to come or thought needed to come. I booked the hospital auditorium. I arranged for AV equipment. I ordered food. I was not this involved in planning my own wedding. My Beloved was a much better bride than I was. Somehow I managed to update my talk and deal with AV glitches.

So right on the heals of the methamphetamine conference came my big event. It was pretty well attended. About 50 people by one count. My talk went fine with the minor exception of my not being able to breath. This is a modest improvement over having a florid allergic reaction while speaking. If I ever get around to putting the video on a CD I may be able to provide a link to it. Most surprising was the public discussion which took place afterwards and lasted for an hour. I was also very happy with the mix of people in attendance: doctors, nurses, social workers, therapists, patients and family.

Afterwards we had planned to go to our house with our VIPs but ended up having dinner at the Elbow Room.

Meth Baby

The famous conference on methamphetamine my sister and I attended in August deserves a little more comment here. First of all there was a really great presentation by Patricia Case called "The History of Methamphetamine: An Epidemic in Context." I wish you could hear it. She took the panic being spread currently by the media and shut it all down. It was almost embarrassing because she said things I mostly knew but had forgotten about or had failed to apply to this situation. The historical facts she reminded us of included that Dexedrine was passed out in the weekly ration kits to the soldiers in World War II and it was freely prescribed to bored and overweight housewives in the 50's and 60's.

Ironically, while I was on my way home from Salt Lake I was sitting in the airport at Dallas-Ft. Worth emailing my sister when I heard this "news" report on Fox about "meth babies." Some idiot doctor somewhere was interviewed saying how babies born exposed to methamphetamine have all this horrible diarrhea which is caused by them having to excrete all the acid in the meth. I was unaware that there existed a medical school that didn't require physiology but apparently this doctor found one. Complete and utter bull-diarrhea.

It dawned on me while listening to Dr. Case that I am in fact a meth baby of sorts. In 1965 when my mother got pregnant with me she was deemed too fat and was prescribed some kind of amphetamine, probably Dexedrine. Yes, you read that correctly. She was too fat and through out the pregnancy was prescribed amphetamines. She weighed less when she was due to give birth to me then she had when I was conceived. Now this may or may not explain a few things about me but I more or less turned out okay so I guess there's hope for those poor little diarrhea-ing meth babies the world over.