Roads Not Taken Part Four

Back to our program in progress after that good news yesterday of my improved prostate PSA score.

My Mother made an appointment with our family doctor, a small, humorless and disagreeable man named Dr. Samuel Specter of Coatesville, PA.  Yes, I spelled out his whole name because I want his treatment of me on the record....forever.

Not my actual doctor but very similar in appearance and attitude towards  me

Dr. Specter looked at my papers and examined me and then pronounced that I had a hernia.  I had a hernia?  Not that I knew of.  In his usual irritated manner he told my Mother "He were born with a hernia. He didn't pass your Army physical because he has a hernia.  His hernia is inactive but could become active during the strain of physical activity during basic training and the Army doesn't want the expense for treating him.  He cannot join the Army until he has an operation to repair his hernia." 

Dr. Specter scheduled me for surgery to repair my hernia.  I didn't have any say in the procedure, they decided for me.  I was damaged goods and I should be fixed.  That was "Fifties" thinking.

On June 21st, 1959 I had my surgery to repair my hernia.  This was the first surgery I had since I was nine years old when I had my tonsils taken out.  I remember at that time I was knocked out with ether.  All I remember before going out was sinking into a black and white spiral.  This time I was knocked out without the B & W spiral.  However, when I woke up I had this tremendous pain in my left abdomen.  It felt like I had been slashed with a sword.  Actually, I had been cut open on my left abdomen right through all that muscle.  It was the same as if I had been on a medieval battlefield. Damn it hurt!  

As I came out of my anesthesia haze, I saw my Mother sitting beside my bed looking at me.  She said they had operated on me and the operation was a "success." 

I was in the hospital for the next nine days. On Tuesday June 30th, 1959 I was discharged from the hospital with a huge bandage on my left side, which I had to change daily.  It still hurt like hell.  I was so sore.

Chester County Hospital - where I was born in 1941 and almost died in 1959

I was given instructions to "go easy" and not to walk too much and definitely don't do steps.  Thus I began my convalescence from this very invasive hernia surgery at home.

One week....two weeks....three weeks...gradually the soreness of the gigantic cut in my left abdomen subsided only to be replaced with pounding headaches.  Since I wasn't allowed much physical activity I attributed my headaches to my lack of exercise and sitting around our house all day eating family size bags of potato chips and boxes of Whitman chocolates.  I was bored. 

Yes, I ate everyone - I ate so many boxes of chocolates those days that I haven't eaten any since

My weight ballooned from 160 to 202 pounds.  My headaches got worse.  At time my headaches got so bad I couldn't even stand up.  I had to lie down....to eat my potato chips and chocolate candy.

Me, 17 years old and 200 lbs - my heaviest weight ever

When my headaches got to where they felt like an anvil banging in my head, my Mother took me back to Dr. Specter.  He was annoyed (as usual) and said nothing was the matter with me.  I believed him.  After all I was lazing around the house, stuffing my face and getting no exercise.  He said I should get more exercise. 

We went home.  My headaches became worse.  We went back to the doctor.....one, two and then three times.  The last time we visited him he shouted to my Mother "There's nothing the matter with him!  It's all in his head!" 

We returned home again.  By now I was popping aspirin like Pez tablets, hoping to alleviate the pain of my splitting headaches (which I can remember so well even to this day).  I had to lie down, I could not stand or walk; the pain was that great.  I actually believed the doctor that it was "all in my head." 

Then one night, I awoke in the middle of the night and my headache was gone.  I turned over in bed and I felt something sticky on my side.  I smelled a sickeningly sweet odor.  I thought I had the biggest wet dream ever.  I turned on the light.  What I saw in my bed, what I was lying in, was a huge mass of purple and red pus.  My incision was open!

I panicked.  I thought my guts were going to fall out if I got out of bed.  I called for my Mother whose bedroom ajoined mine.  She came in and looked aghast at the mess in my bed.  I was confused and scared.  I wasn't in pain but my foot look incision was opening and closing like a mouth everytime I moved.  I was in shock.

My Mother called the ambulence.  It was about three o'clock in the morning when the ER people snaked their way through our narrow ranch house to my bedroom.  They placed me on their gurney.  Again, I was so afraid my insides would fall out.  I only had my tee shirt on.  I had removed my underwear because it was soaked with that sickenly sweet pus.

The ER guys took me out of the house and slide the gurney with me on it into the back of their ambulence with the flashing lights twirling around.

They roared out of our driveway, down Hopewell Road, then Creek Road into Downingtown.  By now it was about five in the morning and people were starting to stir for a new day.  The ambulance went screaming down Lincoln Highway (Route 30), right through the center of town.  It's funny to think of it now but my main concern then was how embarrassed I was to be riding through the center of town in this ambulance with only my tee-shirt on.  Of course my lower extremeties were covered with a blanket but still, why did the ambulance have to have all glass windows on BOTH sides?

Note:  this is the type of ambulance they took me to the hospital in - glass windows on both sides right through the center of town! Not like today's ambulances which look like Brink's trucks. (Disregard Buddy Ebsen and David Canary at the beginning of this video and the Los Angeles Freeway.  This was the only You Tube video I could find that had the same kind of Cadillac ambulance with the see through windows that took me through the center of my hometown, sirens screaming and lights flashing so everyone could see me!)

After the ambulance careened through the main street of Downingtown it continued onward to Rt. 322 and the Chester County Hospital in West Chester, the hospital where I was born 17 years earlier.

Chester County Hospital - West Chester PA - the beautiful Mediterranean style building where I was born in 1941

When the ambulance arrived at the hospital I didn't go through the main entrance but instead the ambulance went around the back and entered the hospital through a below ground level garage, the "Contagian Unit."  I still remember the sign outside the entrance:

NO ENTRY!  CONTAGIAN UNIT! INFECTIOUS DISEASES!

BUBONIC PLAGUE
CHOLERA

Hospital contagion ward similar to the one I was put in 1959 - very 1930's

I didn't remember the rest of the diseases, all I remember is that they were listed in alphabetical order and if I didn't die of what I had I surely would die of something I caught in the Contagion Ward. What I do remember clearly was that I couldn't get out and the windows were wire mesh.

This is how I would receive visitors during my month long stay in the contagion ward. 

Next up, the highly infectious and contagious disease that shot me like a wet wad out of a cannon into the hospital Contagion Ward.

Prostate Update

The door to my doctor's office at the VA Outpatient Clinic

Good morning folks!  I'm delaying the next installment of "Roads Not Taken" for one day.  Partly because I was called into work yesterday unexpectedly due to an emergency so I wasn't able to complete my blog post.  I'm also working today and tomorrow.  Another three day work week thus putting be behind in my normal activity.

Also, this morning I had a much anticipated visit with my doctor at the VA Outpatient Clinic in Georgetown.  This is the visit where I would know the results of my labs (blood test) that I took on Monday.  Why is this blood test so important?  It is the first blood test since my prostate surgery on May 2nd in which I had radioactive seeds implanted into my prostate gland to fight my prostate cancer.  To say I was concerned about the results of my blood test and PSA score would be a very big understatement.  Yes, I was VERY CONCERNED.  Life and death matter here folks, life and death.  I had already decided that if my score didn't go down significantly I wasn't going for any further treatment.  The side effects from my brachytherapy surgery are just about all I can handle now.  

My appointment was at 9 a.m.  Right at nine a physician's assistant check's my height (6'3" - I didn't shrink).  My weight (171.2 - I just CAN'T seem to lose that extra 10 pounds of that I picked up somewhere over the past few years or else my clothes weigh a lot more these days), and my blood pressure was 118 over 66 (which he said was good).  Then I snuck in a question "What's my PSA score?"  Before my surgery it was 8.4.  Anything over 4.0 is cause for concern.  He said "The doctor will tell you when he goes over your labs with you."  

My doctor's desk (he was away on a cell phone call)

I took a good look on his face to show if he was showing any signs of my imminent doom.  He was as expressionless as George Zimmerman was when he heard the jury's verdict and was exonerated for his killing of Trayvon Martin....nothing.  Then, just as I was getting up to go into the doctor's office he said "Your PSA is 1.9".  I let out a YELP!  I said "You just made my day!  That is GREAT!"  He looked at me and put his finger to his lips and said "Shhhh! Don't let the doctor know I told you."  

Of course I couldn't hide my glee.  I said "This is better than winning the lottery!"  I saw him smile. When I went into the doctor's office I tried to put on my George Zimmerman Bland Look but I wasn't successful....he knew I knew.  

So folks.....my PSA score is 1.9!!!!!!!!!!

I wish you could have seen how happy Bill was when I got in our car and told him.  He banged his hands on the steering wheel and big smile spread across his face.  This is what it's all about folks.  

A happy day today here at Casa Tipton-Kelly.

Something different - me smiling at my doctor's office (after the good news!)

Roads Not Taken Part Three

Elvis laughing at his Army induction physical - I wasn't so lucky - I wasn't laughing

Picking up where I left my story off yesterday, I now had my "papers" to join the Army.  The Army recruiter supplied me with a round trip bus ticket to Philadelphia.  I was to report to 401 North Broad Street in Philadelphia for my physical.  I was about to embark on the scariest adventure of my young 17 years of life.  

I took the bus from West Chester to the big city of Philadelphia.  The first time I took a "big" trip like this by myself.  I had been to Philadelphia before when I was in fifth grade for a class trip to see a Cinerama movie and the Boyd theater.  I was scared to death.  Butterflies in my stomach all the way.

I arrive at the gigantic building of 401 North Broad Street.

401 North Broad Street, Philadelphia, PA

I took the elevator to the 7th floor (I believe, if I'm not correct my friend Lar will correct me).  Once on the 7th floor I saw many other young men like myself.  I don't remember too much about the details but I do remember that we were told to take our clothes off and line up. 

The fact I wasn't alone didn't help ease those butterflies in my stomach.

Grasping my "papers" in my hand I quickly followed instructions.  Again, I don't remember to much about the sequence of events but I do remember being totally naked and told to put my toes on this broad yellow line.  A phalanx of white coated "doctors" faced us with their clipboards.  

Then one of the white coated "clipboard doctors" went to the end of the line and told the first man to cough.  Uh oh, the "cough test."  The Clipboard Doctor worked his way down the line.  He got to me.  He looked me up and down and then cupped my testicles in his right hand while holding his clipboard in his left hand.  He told me to cough.  I coughed.  He told me to cough again.  I coughed again.  He turned around and said something to one of the other clipboard doctors.  Then he told me to go over to a nearby paper covered gurney and lie on it.  I was naked.  The paper was cold.  People were walking around.  I was naked, lying face up on a "table", exposed for all to see.  And everybody was walking around.  Clipboard doctors, uniformed Army personnel, white uninformed WOMEN nurses and just plain civilians.  They might as well put me and the gurney out on Broad Street.

I ended up on The Table - Naked, ready to be groped, prodded and squeezed in full view of everyone.

The "doctor" continued down the line, cupping balls and asking the cuppee to cough.  Everyone else "passed"........except me.  Talk about butterflies.  Now I was actually getting sick.  What was the matter with me?

Several of the "doctors" came over to where I was lying face up NAKED on the gurney.  More poking, cupping and coughing.  They mumbled something among themselves, and wrote something on my papers and told me to report to a certain desk.  I HAD NO IDEA WHAT WAS THE MATTER WITH ME.  NO ONE TOLD ME.

I reported to the desk I was told to report to.  The secretary looked at my papers, marked something on it and told me to take them to my doctor.  

I left the building with my legs shaking.  I thought I was going to die.  I really did.  I had no idea what was the matter with me.  NO ONE TOLD ME.  I looked at my papers and couldn't make sense of it.  I thought I was going to die.

I took the bus home and gave the papers to my Mother.  She looked at them and made an appointment with our doctor.  Thus began a series of events which almost cost me my young life.

Contagion Ward, Chester County Hospital.

Roads Not Taken Part Two

When I graduated from high school in June of 1959 I had little prospects.  My Mother already told me that our family didn't have the money to send me to college.  She told me that when I entered 9th grade.  That's why I didn't take the academic college preparatory courses. I took the commercial courses.  My default career choice.

Since I ran afoul of my bookkeeping teacher who wrongly accused me of helping some of my classmates to cheat, I couldn't transition into an office job in my hometown of Downingtown because I was blackballed for quitting my bookkeeping class in my senior year.

Me,, far left, with my cousins on graduation day 1959 - no job prospects and ripe for the Service

I didn't want to be a steel worker like my father, uncles and (eventually) my brothers.  I wanted to break out of that mold.  What choices did I have left?

I always loved the water.  I would join the Navy!
Sure, the uniforms were a bit goofy but at least I wouldn't be shot at.  I had several reasons for joining the service right out of high school:

1. Not to be drafted
2. To get it out of the way
3. To "see the world"

Thus I presented myself to the local recruiting office at the U.S. Post Office in Coatesville at 250 East Diamond Street.  All the service recruiters were located in the basement of the post office.

U.S. Post Office Coatesville, PA and service recruiting stating (basement) - very unglamorous

My Mother was in agreement that I join the Navy. She accompanied me (drove me actually since I still wasn't allowed to drive the family car) to see the Navy recruiter.  So on a fine, summer day in June of 1959 I visited the Navy recruiter.  He interviewed me, I took tests.  I was a candidate!  He drew up my papers for me to review and sign.  He gave me a date to return to his office with the signed papers once I agreed to join. The tour of duty would be four years.

The next week Mom

My Mom - 1960

took me back to the Post Office on Diamond Street.  I went downstairs with my signed papers.  I went to his desk. He wasn't there.  I was told by the man in the Army uniform (sitting at the desk next to the Navy recruiter's desk) that he was out to lunch.  I said I would wait.

While I was waiting the Army recruiter, who wasn't interviewing anyone at that time, asked me "Why did you decide to join the Navy?"  I answered "Because I want to see the world, and I don't want to get drafted because I don't want to be in the Infantry."  He said "Did you know you could join the Army and also see the world and not be in the Infantry?"  I answered "No, I didn't know that." Then he added the kicker, he said "And you would only have to serve three years."  Now he had my attention.

I got up from the side chair of the Navy recruiter's desk, carefully avoiding eye contact with both the Marine (NO WAY) and the Air Force (didn't appeal to me either) and sat my butt down at the Army recruiter's desk to hear him out.

He told me "You can join the Army Security Agency.  We will send you to school for six months and you can see the world and not through a porthole."  He said "97% of our graduates travel the world."  More on the "travel the world" later but he had me sold.

By the time the Navy recruiter came back from lunch I had already signed my papers to join the Army.  Thus, another fateful Life Choice I made. I was about to embark on a life changing course that almost resulted in my premature death at age 17.

Army physical exams - I didn't pass and; YES, we were naked when they examined us.  I ended up on the table to the right - this isn't me in the photo but I still ended up "on the table" for "further" examination.....naked

Rick Santorum Files For Divorce

I knew it!  It was only a matter of time before Mr. Family Values filed for divorce.  

Rick Santorum, former senator from Pennsylvania and a staunch and unwavering advocate of "one man-one woman" marriage has filed for divorce blaming "the gays" for the crumbling of his 23 year old marriage.

Next thing you know the Internet will be swirling with rumors that Rick and Lindsay will be setting up house.

I wonder how these Internet rumors get started.

Roads Not Taken Part One

Front cover of my yearbook - 1959

From my vantage point in life now I look back with interest and see the roads that I didn't take when I had the opportunity.  I also see the roads that I did take and wonder what why life would be like now had I not taken those roads.

Me in the "Center Square" - our high school yearbook photo and yes, that is me standing in the doorway 1959

Perhaps the first road I chose to take was when I quit my bookkeeping class when I was unfairly accused of helping some of my classmates to cheat.  This one day I had forgotten and left my book and homework home.  My teacher, Mr. King, knew there was cheating going on in his class, which there was.  However, I wasn't involved.  I never cheated in class in my life, a fact that most find hard to believe but it is true.  I just never saw the benefit of cheating, especially risking my reputation for integrity to help fellow classmates who were to lazy to do their homework.

Mr. King called on me and I told him I had forgotten my homework.  I must have been the straw that broke the camel's back

because he erupted and blasted me in front of the whole class. Up until that morning, Mr. King and I had gotten along just fine.

I tried to explain to him that I had really forgotten my homework but he didn't want to hear it.  I left class angry and frustrated.  

I saw our guidance counselor Mr. Kline, who was totally worthless.  We all knew it but what other choice did I have?  As expected I got nowhere with Mr. Kline, he sided with Mr. King.  I forget, but there was some kind of punishment involved.  There was no way I was going to be punished for something I didn't do and something they couldn't prove.  I decided then and there to quit Bookkeeping.  I was a senior and had enough credits to graduate so I didn't need Bookkeeping credits to graduate from high school.

My report card for 12th grade - note that my Bookkeeping grades ceased halfway through the year

And that folks is when the fit hit the shan.  I was told "You can't do that!"  Oh yeah, watch me.  I wasn't about to take blame for something that I DID NOT DO.  Especially when I knew there were classmates of mine who WERE cheating.  Why not go after them?  Of course I was asked to identify them but I wasn't about to rat on anyone.  Because I wouldn't squeal is probably why their attitude hardened on me. Hey, I have to live with my classmates.  I wasn't going to be the stool pigeon.

The next few weeks went by in a blur.  Mr. Cline, the waste that he was, insisted that I could not quit Bookkeeping.  He contacted my Mother, who agreed with him!  I told her that I was quitting.  I was adamant.  I quit.  I told them all "Just watch me."  

Well of course I won the battle but lost the war.  I quit Bookkeeping and did graduate.  But this is where my decision changed my life forever.  Because I quit Bookkeeping I wasn't eligible for the student work program.    That's where Commercial Course students got to work at a local business for half a year and attend their high school senior class for half a year.  I was fucked (although I didn't used the "F" word at that time - didn't find out about that all purpose word until I joined the Army the next year).  

So here is how my decision affected the course of my life from there on out.  When I graduated from high school I didn't have a job.  I couldn't get a job.  I had to join the Army.  And therein begins the next chapter of my life, The Journey of Ronald W. Tipton.  Stay tuned.  

Cry Me a River

"Wahhhhh! They don't have same sex marriages in my state."

Last night I read a column in the local gay rag where the columnist complained that "I have become obsessed with the unfair truth that 30 percent of gay/lesbian Americans now are able to enjoy the full-fledged federal marital rights while the rest of us cannot."

This columnist goes on to bitch because he lives in the oppressive state of Florida that he and his partner will not likely enjoy the key marital benefits now afforded to those who live in the less oppressive states that recognize marriage equality.

He said friends of his have suggested that he rent a moving truck and MOVE to a state that recognizes marriage equality instead of continuing to live in the SOUTH or one of those other states that are slow to recognize that the right to marry applies to EVERYONE.  

Now I know and recognize that some of my blogger friends who live in THOSE STATES will strongly disagree with what I'm about to say but here is my message to those crybabies: (yeah, I said it)

MOVE!!!!!

Here's one thing that really gets my gall.  Some of my gay brethren, specifically those who used to live in Delaware decided a some time ago that they had to move to warmer climes.  They just had to move to Ft. Lauderdale, Sarosota or wherever in Florida because they were just soooooo much better than their less affluent gay brothers (and sisters).  They are BET TAH than us, they live in Florida.  Know what folks, I know quite a few gay guys who moved to Florida from Delaware because Florida doesn't tax their grossly generous retirement incomes from the Federal government (for which we taxpayers PAID FOR) or local public employees and teachers' retirement (for which we taxpayers PAID FOR).  Yes Virginia, these folks have Florida as their legal address to SAVE money whilst they continue to spend time in the marriage equality state of Delaware.  But oh, Florida is their LEGAL residence. 

Now these same flush retirees from the public sector want MORE BENEFITS, specifically the now available federal benefits accorded to married couples.  In other words they want it BOTH WAYS.  Know what I have to say to those folks?

CRY ME A RIVER

Oh sure, I know there are many of my gay brothers and sisters who PREFER to live in those states that still legalize discrimination against same sex couples.  I have a message for them too.  You have two choices:

1) Go to a state that recognizes marriage equality and get married.  Then go back to the state where you live and challenge them. In other words, DO THE WORK LIKE WE DID HERE IN DELAWARE.  Don't expect marriage equality to be handed to you on bended knee on a silver platter (studded with rhinestones of course!).  

You other choice is to MOVE to a state that recognizes marriage equality.  Hey, I lived in my home state of Pennsylvania for most of my life.  I hated to move but they were taxing me out of existence.  What did I do?  I MOVED!  I didn't bitch and crybaby about it.  I MOVED!

And don't give me this lame excuse "But I have a job and I can't move."  Hey folks, it all depends on how important marriage equality is to you.  Either stay in your backward, discriminatory state and live under their hateful laws or MOVE.

2) Of course your second choice is to MOVE.  It's not the end of the world you know.  MOVE.  

Why anyone would want to continue to live in one of those southern states (or western "Dick Cheney" sates), is beyond my comprehension.  Sure, those state have beautiful scenery, friends, relatives, cultural events but the state DISCRIMINATES AGAINST SAME SEX COUPLES.  What is so hard to understand about that?

I've always believed people are in the situation they have created for themselves.  Sure, you may temporarily be in a bad situation but you can change it.  YOU CAN.  

Believe me, if I did it anyone can. So guys (and gals), put on your Big Girl Panties and make your decision.....and stop crying. It's not butch...or ladylike.

MOVE!!!!!!!!!