About Lugnut -- Patrick Malone

Pat,

I find it odd that your nurse thought you should present the same symptoms as a pregnant woman. That's not quite how I remember you. Has something changed?

I know exactly what you mean about a healthcare professional mis-diagnosing because they don't know you and won't believe you. Nothing could me more frustrating, or more frightening.

Several years ago Paul went into hospital with severe and worsening abdominal pain. He told them it was his appendix. Having suffered a bout of appendicitis while travelling the year before he knew exactly what it felt like.

They refused to believe him. Why? Because his temperature, "wasn't high enough." We could not convince them that his normal temp is not 98.6. It's more like 97.0, so a temp of 99 for him is like 101.6 for most people. IOW he DID have a temperature, they just wouldn't believe us.

These textbook-bound idiots kept him under "observation" (ie, they ignored him) for three days with no pain relief. When they finally went in they found, ta-da!, a hugely swollen appendix.

They also locked him up in a very unpleasant isolation ward. Why? Because a slightly built gay man "must" have AIDS, right? Talk about diagnosing with their prejudices.

This was at Yale-New Haven Hospital, which pretends to be a world leading medical research and teaching facility. Hah! When my appendix flared up I got vastly superior care at our local hospital. They checked me in and took it out in less than 4 hours.

Glad to hear they finally got that fluid drained. I hope you're comfortable enough to enjoy the concert.

Enjoy the show and the weekend visit,
Doug

With a broken thumb in an elbow-length cast, I cannot type much. So in the interest of being concise, as well as to honor Pat's request for a concert review, here goes nuthin':

First, Pat did not feel up to going to the concert. He was (and is) simply too weak and tired. Therefore, Barb and I went to the concert with the neighbor. The concert was of the Boise Symphony Orchestra, playing at Northwest Nazarine University, which sits in a park-like setting of native trees approximately five minutes drive from Pat & Barb's home. Let me back up a minute.

Yesterday, despite Pat's lack of energy, he sat and listened to music with us for several hours. His first comment as he placed the first LP on the platter was, "Sorry I don't have a system that will wow you." He was right. It didn't wow me. But what it did do was pull me into the music completely, and ever deeper by the hour. Not only was this remarkable because of the low cost/high performance ratio of the system, but even more so because it is a solid state system. Please take no offense, it's just that by and large I happen to prefer an all-tube system. And yet, following several hours of listening to Pat & Barb's system, I found myself asking, "Now how much are those Linn amps?" Not a hint of fatigue, and nothing to wow you to the point of hearing only your internal commentary ABOUT the system, while forgetting about the tunes themselves. Nope, this system just plain gets you. In fact, not unlike the live music did this evening.

The middle piece, penned by a 33 year-old composer named Puts, was the highlight of the evening, particularly because of the soloist on the marimba. A diminuitive, Japanese beauty in a rose, crepe dress, sparkling jewelry adorning her wrists, neck, and ankles, she pranced back and forth, up and down the wood-slatted marimba in her high heels, playing rhythms with the dexterity of Robert Fripp, and passaggios with the sensitivity of Horowitz. In a word, she rocked! The other pieces were pleasant, played beautifully by an excellent symphony in a top-flight hall. But that gazelle on the marimba...man 'o man!

Now hours after the concert, as I tap away on the keys of Pat & Barb's computer, a lot of thoughts flood my mind. Pat hurts in the other room. I can hear it. I know he doesn't want me to see him this way. I don't know what to say. I can't keep my thoughts straight right now. I'm wondering if they'll ever come back in a predictable flow?

I've been reading this thread since day one, and now the end is near. I know Pat won't mind me coming out and saying that, because he has already accepted this for what it is, without the need for softening the experience via euphemism, metaphor, or cliche. It's death, folks, and Pat has made us witness to his in the most generous and selfless way imaginable.

Pat and I had a hearty conversation about God today. I won't even say that it was profound, because Pat's company itself is profound. Words somehow seem terribly insignificant, like tacking a sail on a boat whose direction is being driven by a force much more powerful than the wind. Pat might refer to this force as God. That I'm not sure. He spoke of being a believer for a long, long time. He suggested that he might wish for me to believe in God, yet he was unwilling to risk driving me away with the hard sell. I clarified that like other arenas in life over which I lack provenance, I don't believe in a God for me, not in my life. But whether he believes that he hears the most beautiful music coming from his chosen brand of interconnects, or the majestic voice of God in the presence of his life, then so do I.

When I was nine, I remember hearing our rabbi reading about the chosen people from our prayer book. I kept hearing that expression over and over in my mind...chosen people...chosen people...chosen people...and I could not help wondering that if we were the chosen people, then where did that leave everyone else? Shit outta luck? Were they really born with a sort of birth defect for having not come to earth as one of the chosen? I just couldn't stomach the thought, and in my young heart, it rang false. So, I suppose that was the day I became a bleeding heart. No, not in the cliched, socio-political sense of the word. More in the sense that if others hurt, I hurt. And Pat is hurting.

Pat said today that he hopes there is an afterlife. He has some favorite historical figures he'd like to meet there, and old friends that he'd like to see again. I'm guessing that if these folks are wandering around in some version of an afterlife, they're pining for
Pat's company even more than he is for their's. Because he's just that kind of a guy. Pat is a person who brings others together. He is a person who cherishes his wife on a parallel with air. Pat is a person who listens for the music in others. And for this reason alone, I love Pat. Pat is so much about giving love in the now that the prospect of meeting him in an afterlife almost seems like a letdown. Because all you have to do is read this thread, or spend five minutes with Pat, to know a slice of heaven right here on earth.

You people are humanity's finest. That's all I know for certain. As I have been with Pat over the past couple of days, it has become crystal clear to me that you all have helped Pat to extend his life. And you did so by moving beyond the wow factor that initiated this thread. You moved beyond it by embracing the music of humanity, represented by an open-hearted, vulnerable messenger, a beautiful man by the name of Patrick Malone. What else can I say? If you say there is a God, then I say it must be you.

Love to all,
Howard

Howard, if you are having a problem with your God, I am sure Pat will let you borrow his. I borrowed my sponsor's God years ago, until I adopted one of my own understanding. You're a good guy Howard. Your post was this early Saturday morning's meditation for me. Thanks for being there for Lugnut. We have a "digital" date when you return? peace, warren :-)

Pat and I have discussed his hope and faith a number of times. Lest people fear that this thread is going to become some kind of sermon, that was Pats fear. He did not want it to become one. He is sharing the thing which causes him the greatest comfort.

It's easy to ignore the idea of God when death is a theory, but when it changes to reality there are very few who do not hope for an afterlife, and being in good standing with the diety. Pat has faced the reality of his impending death, and realized that if this life is all there is, that there is no purpose to anything. Heaven and Hell give meaning to life, they are not a tranquilizer. I have a huge amount of respect and love for Pat, and I count it among the greatest privileges of my life to have met him and been able to spend some quality time with him. His preparedness to met his future gives me strength,as it does him!

Doug, having gone thorugh the appendicitis, in a foreign country no less, you have my sympathy. It's to bad that we can't live in a world where people are seen as people instead of White/black; male/female; gay/straight. None of those things will matter 100 years after we're dead, why do they have to be so important now?

Thank you Howard;