GeekForce

….and thanks for the many times they helped me along.

Cudos to, in intentional order, from first to almost first to fifth first to lastly listed first:

Ben Borowsky, a towering GIANT in his field of endrochrine stuff and it’s ‘weavy and blurry’ windings; Jewish Hospital, StL, now retired (but we caught each other as we stood in liine to buy drinks for our dates–in his case, his wife of 57 years)…

Darren Haskell, a still-astonishingly young, relative-to-his-knowlege-packed cerebral content, regarding endo stuff and other stuff; St Luke’s west (where a mass is CONSTANTLY played on closed circuit TV, along with ‘help recover from bruising procedures) images…

Robert Fisher - who over and over (and over) met me, appointment-less, in the brilliantly colored Childrens’ Hospital, which I guess sort of in BJC’s fold, but seems, to my amateur eyes, to be more, uh, autonomous from her mighty corporate clutches. His administration of the nuclear medicine stuff, and this was quite a while back, came in rather handy, as my hands move and I breathe the air, pretty much it seems, forever more. He/I exchange cards, and he/I are tight; Children’s Hospital (where he happens to office–he goes to ‘big’ BJC and ‘Jewish’ BJC to help grown-ups, but his forte’ is helping out young-ins.

Dr. Dragan Svrakic - who, as I write, digging his pretty lady and pretty-like-her-mom lady, in Belgrade, celebrating the ‘Feast of the Family and of His Gift”; I learned (and learn) Eastern Orthodox stuff from him, from his terrific Director ladyfriend, his administrative assistant, et al, about all my brain’s intricacies and absolutely BORING-to-many (yes, I ain’t lying) content thereof; BJC.

T - who fixes hips and knees and buys my drinks and gyros (which she says she shouldn’t eat cause the sour cream-based cucumber stuff atop the nearly-pure and HEALTHY lamb meat; she fusses over me a bit, well, can there be too much fussing over a stubborn man?? I tend to think not; StL U Medical Ctr and BJC Christian NE.

L - my lady companion who drove (most of the way) to check ‘The Messiah’ at Chicago’s Symphony Center, Michigan Ave, when some wierdo(s) decided to NOT present it at Powell–my oldest friend of the list I’m constructing herein; SSM Health, St. Chuck.

Dr. Druck - ENT, who recoiled and called me at work–he used the dreaded word ‘disease’, and made me feel just a smidgeon startled, as in startled awake; St Mary’s Hospital’s group of exemplary and impeccable patient care. THIS, friends, woke my ass up, and I’m not lying!

Too many to mention- the comfortably-clad gang at The St. Louis Eye Center, who saved my ass over and over and over. Geez. I have no words, only (nearly) full eyesight. In greatful appreciation to: Dr. Custer, opthamolic surgeon, who begrudgingly passed me UP to the (quite) renowned Dr William Hart, the, CEO if you will, of our still-infant Neuro-opthamolagist discipline of care of eyes and their origin of God’s very gift of the majestic miracle of sight. His news didn’t make my (RN) mother cry–she knew her role of bolstering my spirit.   It did, however, succeed in making ME cry (and cry and cry and cry). Truth hurts. Or it did then. It doesn’t now, though. To quote Jumpin’ Joe Frazer, he can speak it better than I: “I’m ready, baby. I’m ready!”  Ali replied in that ‘criss-cross’ television interview in 1970;  “I’m ready to move ON, baby, I’m ready to move ON!!”  (Frazier one that fight, the world’s most famous bout, ever…)
sidetrack: I reckon I can see just fine, now…close enough, though, and that’ll work. I’m fighting again over and over and will beat whatever and whoever comes in my way to hurt me! Oh.  The doctors and my ‘tribute to my team’ herein.  I forgot a mention.I’m not yet through, but getting there; I appreciate your patience–this is a smidgen tough to write..

Dr Mark Veenhuis- Target optomostrist, who sketched on graph paper my (third or fourth) vision field test, quite a bit, ah, ‘above and beyond’ what his usual patient care protocal usually entailed. He explained EVERYTHING, the TRUTH, and gently led me to equal parts acceptance and comprehension. His office manager and my ladyfriend (spotted by my church collegues at a Webster restaraunt crib as she and I dined and whereupon my guy-friends likely spilled sauce on their shirt front space) stayed with me and kept me warm. She’s out in Vegas, now, furthering her career. Mark’s plugging along, and is better, even, at sharing that which is ‘dating advice’ with me than he even is with my eyespace. It rather has worked like a perfectly-fit charm bracelet, who’s nuggets I can see fine.

Cal Williams - my trainer for a smidgen bit of time . We NEVER seem to agree on what to do next, his idea invariably more excruciating than mine, and he essentially KICKS my ass, a rather necessary component of a boy finding himself a bit older but trying NOT to 1) slow down any, and 2) become rotund-of-the-brain.

P - who I dated exactly one (1) time, prior to her relocation to Bellevue Hospital, (NYC) which sure appears to be a very large hospital, at least as one views through the subway glass. She fixed hearts, learned the then-pioneer procedure of swapping veins from upper legs-to-heart members, was a fond member of my circle, took me, during the second phase of our one (1) date to her family’s ancestral farm SW of Steelville, MO (you’d not find it in a HUNDRED YEARS of effort. It was there that we enyoyed our first (and only, per agreement) kiss, and a total of two (2) warm embraces.
Breast cancer, prevalent in ladies in her family, cut her down in less than two (2) months after she and I watched a red sunset.  Then, perhaps a week or so later, she admitted to at least somebody (not me), that the bluish-black oval on her body she wouldn’t let me touch was IT, in rather nastily advanced form, She didn’t want anybody to know.

In fond memory, then, and I am sorry, young lady (1971-2002)…. You will fly again.

p
‘..(to) bare thy soul bare; soft needles can then share’.

Milton, John; Paradise Lost; II, vi