Juror of Last Resort

 

Brazil Times blog of February 23, 2015

Juror of Last Resort

Being on a real live jury would have to be on my “bucket list”. It something I’ve always wanted to do; and have no personal, political, or philosophical reasons to not serve.

I’ve always seen myself as Henry Fonda in the 1957 movie “12 Angry Men” fighting my closed-minded fellow jurors. The truth would come out because I stood alone in its defense. Or, something like that.

I did get called once for jury duty when we lived in St. Louis.

The court building in St. Louis is a very large structure with parking downtown minimal and nowhere near said building. Had someone drop me off at door, so only had to walk up 30 steps and take elevator to find the juror’s room on 10^th floor. By the time I got that far the clerk looked at me and said I was excused for health concerns (her concerns for me, I suspect). You’d have to see me walk more than 100 feet to understand why, and I was 20 years younger then.

Recently, though, I finally got a second chance to serve on a jury; this time in my beloved Clay County where I certainly want to do what I can to re-pay the benefits of living in Indiana.

In the mail came a very nice letter from the Clerk/Jury Administrator telling me what a “most rewarding” experience was in store for me if chosen for jury duty.

In due course I dutifully completed the enclosed questionnaire; answering “yes” where it showed what a solid citizen I am, and “no” to those items for which I might label myself a laggard.

There were, to my dismay, two questions which would certainly derail my hopes of a Henry Fonda triumph.

Question: Do you have a physical disability or condition which renders you incapable of serving as a juror?

Answer: Sorry about that, but, Yes (just ask that clerk in St. Louis)

Question: If so, is there a reasonable accommodation which the Court could provide which would allow you to serve as a juror?

Answer: Sadly, No (many have tried).

The Clerk/Jury Administrator requested a response within 7 days. I did include a note asking for consideration in this regard. I explained that between receiving their nice letter and being able to respond it had become unexpectedly incumbent on me to implement one of my surprise inspections of the Union Hospital emergency room and cardiac care facilities. But, I had gotten to their questionnaire upon ceasing to be otherwise engaged.

Last week came another letter, this time pointing out I was “required by law to attend”. As requested I called the Friday beforehand; and, yes, I would have to appear in Circuit Court.

Not willing twice to rely on the kindness of strangers, I had my family doctor, Dr. Frank Zwerner, prepare a nice, short letter explaining that jury duty was just not going to be my thing. I need not have bothered the good doctor.

As required Judge Joe Trout asked a series of questions as to citizenship, age, etc. I think it was the fifth question, something about physical inability, that Kay nudged me and said, “Raise your hand.” Neither the prosecutor nor defense attorney, both of whom know me, had any objection to my leaving.

Thus dashed was my dream of being one of twelve angry men (and women).

But, if Clay County gets absolutely desperate for jurors, as their last resort I’d give it a try. The Courthouse isn’t that big, I can rent “12 Angry Men” for a refresher course, and have memorized the number for 9-1-1.

Why I Write 2

 

WHY I WRITE

EVEN IF NO ONE READS IT

(Part 2 of 2)

“Writing is an obsessive, compulsive disorder.”

(Stephen King)

Always like to say “I write to find out what I think”. Turns out that can be a lot of work, and turns on a lot of that work is wasted effort. Going to leave my laptop for some future generation to read all the stuff I thought about but never published, or even finished writing.

Have done some small preparations in writing process: Some book learning, a couple of writing seminars, and a nifty-keen YouTube channel for not-that-good writers where the producer actually answers your comments. And, yeah, I learned a lot from my parents and teachers. Mostly, though, like most writers I learned by mistake. Learning by mistake being my primary talent.

Much loved wife says writing is my art, and artists can do anything with art they want, even learn by mistake. Following is my thus the state of how I do ‘art’.

MY PRIME DIRECTIVES

Writing is not about me
Writing is talking to people you don’t know, or like.
Writing is being curious about everything new to you.
Writing is finding out if what’s important to me is important.
Writing is knowing if it is important to anyone, it’s important.

Writing is listening
Writing is listening to things not heard before.
Writing is listening to things that can not be true.
Writing is listening to things heard many times before.
Writing is listening to things that have something to teach.

Writing is thinking
Writing is noting the thoughts before they’re gone.
Writing is filling in those notes with real, live words.
Writing is making sense of those beautiful thoughts.
Hard part is the thinking.

Writing is writing
Write like nobody’s watching, because there is nobody watching.
Write like nobody’s reading, because you want to have no interference.
Write like it’s important to you, because it must be important to you to write it.
Write like everybody’s reading, because otherwise it’s not worth anybody reading.

MY BOUNDARIES

Neither make the rules nor play, just report on the game. Limit to observations based solely on own admittedly limited experience and knowledge. Facts if I got them, opinion only if clearly so labeled.

Neither defend nor attack another. No one has given me any authority to do so, nor to I have ability to judge which is truth. I can only observe and seek the rest of the story.

Stick to writing ‘prose’ and not essay or thesis. I haven’t the mind for great research nor in-depth thinking. If it weren’t for Google and Wikipedia wouldn’t even know what ‘prose’ meant [Language that usually exhibits natural flow of speech and grammatical structure].

MY CONCLUSIONS

Remain open to everything, even if it’s ‘wrong’. Gotten too old and seen too much to know anything. I’m just an ill-informed observer of too many lost and wasted years.

Writing, as the man says, is an “obsessive, compulsive disorder”. Most of what I write is written because I can do no other. If it is, as it often is, important to no one, at least it gets out of my head.

Danger is that once it’s put in writing, there it is. If the writer learns and grows, as writing tends to make happen, said writer cannot change the maxim ‘what I have written I have written’. Write like some future generation will inherit my laptop, actually read all th junk on it, and wonder ‘what was he thinking’?

Why I Write 1

 

WHY I WRITE

EVEN IF NO ONE READS IT

(Part 1 of 2)

“No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money.”

(Samuel Johnson 1709-1784)

Don’t know original source of “I write to find out what I think”. First heard it from MASH creator Larry Gelbart. Have seen the saying attributed to Stephen King and others. In any case, it is very often what I do. Case in point, what you are about to read – if I can con you into reading it with this scathingly brilliant introduction.

As told to youngest son, then a would-be 5^th grade teacher, I really first learned to write in the fifth grade. As with most things in my life, it was learned by mistake. Got into a lot of trouble, even one of few times my father was really mad. In trouble mostly because of how my sentences were structured (okay, did figure that out too late).

By the eight grade the teacher told whole class I had real talent. And, a few high school teachers and some professors agreed. Even our most beloved daughter, the smartest of the bunch, says she can always tell when daddy wrote it.

Over the years tried to earn actual money writing, mostly in Christian publications. Can say I’m a ‘published writer’, but they don’t pay nothing. Most ‘successful’ writing gig were the 350+ unpaid blogs for Brazil Times website.

Putting it in print, paid or not, carries a certain level of risk. In 1974 I attended a writers seminar in Cincinnati. Something said by editor-in-chief stayed with me, and may be more true now than then: “Once what you write is published, it is out there forever, it can never be taken back. Years and study will always make you better informed than on the day you wrote that thing; but none of that will show up in the mind of a reader finding it some years hence.” This was before stuff went out on the Internet.

So, guess I do write well enough for what I got paid. If anyone takes serious what I write, or is offended by it, they got what they paid for. In the end, though, I will never be a ‘good’ writer because I’ve never been a good reader. Most of what I write comes from things I’ve seen, heard, experienced. As my sister the teacher tells me, it’s just the way my brain is wired. This observation, however, is that good readers make good writers because good readers have a bigger world from which to draw.

Nowadays I try to write as if everybody on earth will read it; but content if at least my kids do. If you’re reading this you are probably one of my actual or adopted kids, grandkids, or other long-suffering family member.

MY MOTIVATIONS

First and foremost, there is always more to every story. I write to find out how much of that story I actually know.

Obsessive, compulsive need to be the “rabble-rouser” who forces thought and discussion among those whose life experiences tell a different part of the story.

To warn the past is always prologue. Because ignorance of the past has always led to ignorance of the future.

To sort out what I hear on YouTube and TV machine from what I only believed because of stuff previously found credible from source I liked.

To write what no one wants to hear, so that they will have to defend what they believe without relying totally on who taught it to them.

Sometimes it’s about putting things in writing so somebody will know it happened, or at least passed through my mind.

To be read. Believing it’s worth reading is the vanity of becoming doddering old man.

It’s only ‘art’ I’m any good at:

If a tree falls and no one knows it, does it not make a sound?

If an artist creates their art and no one knows it, is it not art?

Let’s face it, I’ve got nothing much else to do now that MASH went off air.

To be continued….

the Jab & I

 

THE JAB & I

What follows consists solely of casual, somewhat benign observations of the vaccines given to prevent or reduce effects of various diseases. This is not a researched thesis, and presents only what comes from the experiences and memory of an old man – memory always being a dangerous minefield.

The idea of using bits of an existing virus to ‘teach’ the human body how to deal with a real infection is certainly not new. It goes back a very long time, somewhere heard the Egyptians did it (but then they get credit for a lot of things). According to contemporary history controlled ‘inoculation’ dates to the reign of Queen Victoria, whose official public backing stopped the plague of Small Pox. Truth be told, opposition based on ignorance, superstition, and/or rumor goes back just as long.

For hundreds of years, under greatly varied circumstances and peoples, vaccines have taken some time to develop, test, and prove. Even with all this they are not expected to be totally effective. Different people have different reactions; and better than about 70% effective is considered real good. Also, time, experiences, and availability have sometimes shown really bad side effects and outcomes (have you ever listened to those drug commercials on TV?). But, the overall testimony of history is that civilization is better off with vaccines because risks are dwarfed by benefits.

My Introduction to the subject came with the Polio epidemic in St. Louis when I was five years old. To this moment I can see the fear in my mother’s eyes when she thought I had Polio symptoms. She said that if there ever was a vaccine for it she’d sell everything to get it for her children. When in came it was free. For the record, Polio had much the same effects as Covid-19. Polio just did not have nearly as many infections and deaths in one year.

When I transferred schools for 7^th grade the principal was required to actually see my Small Pox shot scar. Don’t know if proof of Polio shot was required in schools.

Much later during my short-lived and inglorious time in Air Force we were given both Salk and Sabin dosages along with Small Pox vaccine and a lot of other government approved stuff. Most of us had already gotten the Salk & Small Pox, but nobody would have thought to refuse a lawful order. It was something we called “duty, honor, country”.

In 2020 Covid-19 was declared a “Pandemic” – that is, it’s everywhere and not just an American problem! Enter ‘Operation Warp Speed’ of the Trump administration. In about nine months three vaccines were approved for use by Trump’s CDC. They were produced by independent business entities aware of risks involved and facing incalculable financial loss if their product failed. As of now these vaccines are being administered all over world. Much of the basic research had been going on for years, computers and the Internet greatly shortened the time it would take to develop a vaccine. Even Trump has taken it, and recommended it at a recent show he put on in Ohio. Just as computers greatly speeded up creating a new vaccine, spreading nonsense on Internet speeded up the opposition. For my part, well, governments come and go; but malpractice lawyers live forever.

When the Covid vaccine became available to us old folks earlier this year I sent an inquiry to my doctor which included my reservations:

The only time I took the seasonal virus vaccine would have been in 2004. I reacted very badly; and, to the best of my recollection, in all my hospitalizations it was only time I was sick enough to let a nurse give me a bath. For reasons which he never told me my doctor at time definitively would not give me this vaccine in the years I continued to be his patient. I never asked why not and have not had one since.

With my good doctors approval, Kay’s encouragement, and my rare exercise of good sense, I got ‘the Jab’ (yeah, right, you’ve got to be a Brit to use that term).

Now comes news of something called the “Delta Variant”. Covid being a contagious disease, as required by law hospitals and Public Health departments report a scary rise in these cases. Reportedly it is much more contagious and deadly than good, old-fashioned Covid. According to publicly available information, where Delta has been spread hospitals are being overwhelmed, running out of ICU beds, and even turning away non-Covid patients. Broadcast interviews with directly involved hospital administrators, doctors, and nurses estimate about 90% of these new patients are not vaccinated. Seems situation is about as bad or worse than before Operation Warp Speed made vaccines available, except now there’s no excuse. Glad the Jab & I got together.

The 44th Wizard of Us - V

 

The 44^th Wizard of Us – Part V

from Brazil Times blog of June 20, 2013

Once more taken up is the tale told forty-three instances beforetime -- this episode of the story being the 44th Wizard of Us. The first of this tale some day to be told -- the last as yet unwritten.

The Wizard had, as they all do, long since learned no magic wand was issued to any Wizard. The problems would not solve themselves, and there would be no instant solutions to any issue making its way to the Royal Round Room. Wizards also found that taking on of the Cloak of Authority yielded no supernatural abilities. In the course of events each Wizard receives in his turn both admiration for good he did not conceive and antagonism for things done by those he would never know.

The anniversary of the year of Jubilee was again upon the Land of Us. All due honor would be done for those who so long ago laborious scribed the Dogmas of the Dominion, which must ever be honored. That the Dogmas no longer met most, even many, of the needs of the Land would again be varnished over.

It was nowhere written in the Dogmas, but everyone knew it was incumbent upon all Wizards to impose these divine truths of the Dominion on all other lands. Many Wizards before he had gone forth to battle in order to so impose. Naturally neither Wizards nor they of the Circle of Demagogues actually went themselves; preferring to send to their death sons and daughters of proletariat.

Demands for action, any action, in someone else’s land, anyone else’s land, came both from they who had chosen the Wizard and they of the Pfabricators sect. The latter fully and readily prepared to cast aspersion on the Wizard whether outcome be good or ill.

Wizards are inevitably admonished by declaration of Pfabricators, “Here, this faction of disputants is the side of righteousness on which the Land of Us must stand, and not the leading Demigod. Simply remove him and all that land will ascribe to the Dogmas. Failure to send to their death sons and daughters of proletariat would dishonor the sons and daughters of proletariat already having died.”

Such incursion, without benefit of right or law, had been undertaken before by earlier Wizards, of course. And, having far superior legerdemain, such lands quickly overrun. Unfortunately, as no Wizard seemed to learn, if the forces of the Land of Us were to stand a thousand years in these conquered lands, all would be as before on the day after those forces withdrew.

Only such as Squire Charles and those who would hear out truth understood incursion of another’s land must reap the whirlwind. But, it seems it is impossible for a Wizard to fail to do what all other Wizards had failed in doing.

So, as the tale is told, the Land of Us chooses some side in some existing battle (there is always one, somewhere). As it is with lands and humans in turmoil, each existing faction hated the other almost as much as each hated whoever happened to be Wizard of the Land of Us.

Alas, it is a tale told, with certain variation, these forty-three instances beforetime – the end not now assured by wizards or prognosticators or storytellers.

MUNCHHAUSEN

 

MUNCHHAUSEN & ME

I hate hospitals!  Do all I can to avoid them. Doesn’t help. Best guess is I’ve been in a dozen; as to exact number of times, even God has lost track. My kids no longer miss a beat hearing daddy is in hospital. To save time for the various folk who are going to ask same questions they always ask, I carry a card with my top-10 procedures.

Have developed a ‘prudent man’ rule which has meant being able to not go any hospital about nineteen out of twenty times I’m ‘symptomatic’ – ‘If chest pains are both significant and sustained the prudent man with history of heart issues goes to nearest ER’.

Upon going to ER, as any who may be asked says must be done, we travel a well-worn path. Been through schnick so often I know when they miss a step. Always ends with night in Observation Ward. As one doctor told me, given what my card tells them would get me a night in any hospital in the country “just to cover our legal liability”.

Last month had something of a 25th not-anniversary. Naturally I celebrated by making an inspection tour of two local emergency room facilities and review of area’s finest Observation Ward. It’s actually a long story, but I do have a lot of long stories.

The story I remember almost every time I do the ER thing is about that first encounter now these 25 years past.

Sunday, May 23, 2021 was the 25^th anniversary of very first time anyone ever suggested I had heart problem. A suggestion including 10-day very traumatic confinement in a ‘teaching’ hospital. A stay begun with my first ER visit. Visit made more traumatic both by having no preparation for such a situation, and by knowledge my father had died at about that age under similar circumstances. It may well have been last time I was really scared by such encounters (put a pin in that scared thing).

Apparently Interns in big city teaching hospitals are not required to have command of English language as spoken in America. An Intern of obvious Asian decent lacking a certain familiarity with English took my “medical history”. A history which at the time was non-existent regarding the heart problems they assured me I was having. He asked what drugs I was on. Is ‘none’ an answer? Should have stuck with that. Instead I answered “Advil”. Said it more than once. Nurse, probably a St Louis native, repeated it. One of us spelled it for him “A-D-V-I-L”. He wrote in to the official record that I was taking Paxil.

Was in hospital over a week, underwent numerous tests (good insurance will do that), and was given to understand I had ‘serious’ heart problem. Turns out it was not-all-that-serious. But, what did I know?

At some point I accidentally learned they were actually “treating” for Munchhausen Syndrome. FYI this syndrome is “a mental disorder in which a person repeatedly feigns severe illness so as to obtain hospital treatment”. A treatment embarked upon because Paxil is almost always issued by a psychiatrist, by whom they assumed I was being treated. Fact Check: I need spell-checker just to type word psychiatrist.

So, every time I’m overwhelmed by a ‘prudent man’ situation I reluctantly end up in someone’s Emergency Room. As much as able always try to treat everyone in a way of which my father would be proud. I do what they ask me to do, and cautiously endure hospital food.

A lot of times they find some really bad thing going on inside my body (see my card). But, as happened with last month’s round, many times they just say ‘you didn’t have a heart attack’ and send me home. When they do I find myself wondering if I’m being treated for Munchhausen Syndrome?

Kay says I should stop saying I’m in ‘perfect health’ (except for that heart thing). She might be right. Maybe it’d be harder to hate hospitals if something else was wrong? Surely Baron von Munchhausen would approve.

Dear Doctor

 

An Open Letter to the Doctors in My Life

Dear Doctor,

By actual count over these some seventy-seven years I have been one of your inmates on no less than fifty occasions in eleven different hospitals covering four states, seen by so many doctors of medicine passing my way that even God has lost track. After a while, and now having doctors younger than my grandson, an old man does make some observations worth sharing.

     One of the many things my father taught me is that if a man has earned the right to be called “doctor’ he has earned the right to be called ‘doctor”. Yeah, okay, he died never having met a woman doctor. I’ve always attempted to treat doctors with the respect my father taught.

     In writing it is called ‘the curse of knowledge’. That is, forgetting the hearer does not know what you know. Never assume the patient knows what you know, they do not. You get the big bucks for knowing that doctor stuff, not me.

     Any of us patient-types is a fool to expect the doctor to be all-knowing. My father died in 1966 of problems which have been quickly and almost routinely dealt with in my life time. A lot more was learned since, and will be learned henceforth. You don’t know it all. You may want me to think you do, but you don’t. And, I have no right to expect you so to do. Things will change. There is more to learn. You’re almost smart enough to be a doctor, so you should be able to learn from the changes.

     We patients really do go through a lot more stuff than the nurses tell you. We change doctors and the new guys don’t know the trouble we’ve seen. I can never expect you to remember everything I’ve gone through, that’s my job. Your job is to be familiar enough with my case to know I gone though a lot of stuff. BTW: If you walk in the door, as one did, not even knowing I was a heart patient, we are both in trouble.

     Don’t ask me what I “want”. I don’t want any of this stuff! Tell me what you want to do and why. That’s why we call you ‘doctor’. I’ll pretend to understand what you’re talking about and do it. And, if you ain’t worried, neither am I.

     All that is fair to ask of you is this: That I believe you care what happens to me. Make us patients feel you care about the outcome and we will all talk about what a great doctor you are wherever you go, as long as you practice, whatever you don’t know.

Respectfully submitted,

David L Lewis