“Only Crazy On ‘Y-‘ Ending Days” Tanka 21??

(November 29, 2018)

Began ‘The Practice’

of post-midnight pee that time:

not a comfort still!

 

Later, I did stop smoking

though still I whizz at The Door!*

*(I woke just after 3 a.m. December 9, 1970.  Since I was in a bunker for the first time ever out in ‘The Bush’ at a platoon patrol base permanent site even in a cold mist I usually stayed outside wrapped in poncho-line and poncho and sharing my misery with no one, I gave in to creatured comforts just one time before heading out in the morning to a Marine Corps combined unit pacification (CUPP) team to spend a week shooting pictures of Marines walking point and writing notes for a long spread in Stars And Stripes Pacific, I dreaded even more than usual going out to The Bush. Again.  But the only way to beat that particular beast was beat it over the head each and every day.  So I had a secured (back turned to the bunker opening, match flame shielded and cigarette shielded) a smoke before I walked to the door for a pee.  I would never be back, so sue me for peeing just past your door.  I was miserable and tired and scared and about usual. So I went back to my temporary bed, a built-up second-story pallet with a 12×12 beam for a headrest pillow…later I heard what I though for damsure was a ‘pin’ being pulled on a mortar round to arm it…but as usual I was wrong again…’twas an arming pin being pulled on a B-40 Rocket Propelled Grenade. Yes. I had exceptional hearing.  My ear-test chart had no dots registering below the card’s title lines and only a few touching the graph itself.  There was no way to determine my hearing…at all ranges in boot camp the test scores came back 0-0s through six or so columns.  I though I had failed the test and thus was going to be rejected.  Saved my life instead.  I raised up and said out loud: “That was no mortar…it’s a%$#*&@&^(%$ and my world went white and I was blind and heard not a thing and said if this is being dead it’s not so bad…I can hack it…and then things got scary. Again.

*

 

 

One More Night, Gimme Just One More Night

Ross Murray’s saga continues. I actually have a connection with the man: I spent slightly more than three years being Canadian. Free-state, kindergarten, First Grade and a small portion of Second Grade at Argentia Naval Air State (with a preliminary stop in Placentia), Argentia, Newfoundland, Canada. Loved every minute of it: even school (we had a playground in our classrooms in all three grades…each class was a whole wing of a regular-sized barracks wing!). When you consider Winter sometimes begins in August and ends sometimes in April, indoor recess facilities for elementary-aged youths are probably even more important than restrooms. And, Ross’ tales of prostate procedures perhaps even moreso.

Drinking Tips for Teens

Cupcakes by Annie and Clough Street Cakes. Ain’t they sweet?

The last thing I want is to be a bore. (Not true; the last thing I want is another biopsy, but I think I made that pretty clear already.) However, I did leave my post last week on a bit of a cliffhanger, so I thought I would give an update on my medical progress before returning to regular programming.

First of all, hello, I’m still here. So that’s good news.

I reported to surgery last Thursday at 6 a.m. where I joined a group of about seven others scheduled for various procedures. We changed into our gowns (not together, obviously) and were escorted en masse to a staging area with numbered chairs and beds.

We each sat in our assigned place, and one after another we were approached by members of the surgical team who asked questions and then…

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A touching, sometimes hilarious, tale of prostate cancer by someone I “follow.” A cautionary tale (tail?). Well worth The Read. And more comes.

Drinking Tips for Teens

Try not to think about it.

It’s rare you can put your finger on the precise moment your life changed. In my case, it involved an actual finger.

In late July, I had an appointment with my family doctor before she skittered off to Abitibi. Near the end of the exam, she said, “Okay, let’s do it,” so I dropped my pants, lay on my side and took a deep breath.

And then I (uncomfortably) felt that finger hesitate, as if to say, “Wait a sec…”

“You have a bit of hardness on one side of your prostate,” my doctor reported. “It could be nothing, but let’s do a blood test.”

The blood test revealed a high PSA, and for the first time we were saying the word “cancer.” Prostate cancer. Of course I would get the most comedic of all the cancers, perhaps the only comedic one. It’s…

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