THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, March 3, 1996 TAG: 9603030057
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: PAUL SOUTH
LENGTH: Medium: 69 lines
Free at last.
After 30 days, 13 hours and 18 minutes, I am free of the catheter that has been my unwanted companion since Jan. 30. And last Thursday, I was able to walk for a bit in the crisp sunshine, to see the grinning faces of friends. To shake hands. To embrace. To smile without forcing it. To laugh without wincing in pain.
Over the period of recent unpleasantness, and despite being cooped up in my apartment, I've learned a few things. I love to read. I love presidential politics.
I also love college basketball. But after a winter full of it, I've come to the conclusion that a coach who gets tossed out of a game should be locked for one week in a 3-by-5 room. Once there, he should be forced to take dance lessons from Al Gore, and to discuss tariffs with Pat Buchanan.
Lock and load. Cha-Cha-Cha.
Bobby Knight will love it.
I also came up with a new invention, the ``T chip,'' while watching daytime talk shows. At the punch of a button, a viewer can cause an alarm to go off in the studio. Then, three large men, dressed like your grandmother, will throttle (hence the T) the guest, give him or her a talking-to about discretion, good taste and just out and out decency. Meanwhile, backstage a real grandmother is making brownies for the offending party, once they see the light. I figure since all the guests rotate on these shows anyway, if enough people get the T chip, it won't be long until that sleezy stuff is off the air.
But more than anything else, I've re-learned some things about life.
Because of my catheter, I could only sleep on one side of the bed, and once there, I could move only a little. But Thursday night, for the first time in a month, I was able to sleep on the right side of the bed, and roll from one side to the other unfettered. I was all over that mattress.
Something else I had previously taken for granted was the ability to wear real clothes. Since surgery, I had been stuck wearing either pajamas - no, they don't have feet in them - or sweatpants. Now Hugh Hefner, with his pipe and silken robes and pool, may be into that. But I don't think my red plaid flannel robe that's missing a belt is in the same league. Donning jeans and a favorite flannel shirt was a real treat.
But more than anything else, I've discovered how much we take for granted each and every day of our lives. The ability to get in and out of the shower without requiring a Broadway production. The ability to yell at a TV when a politician says something stupid, without fear of being locked away. Being able to sit at a table overlooking Roanoke Sound and taste a good steak.
That long month reminded me that there are people for whom leaving a hospital bed is a forgotten dream, and for whom free speech is forbidden, or for whom a next meal of any kind, much less a steak, is not a foregone conclusion.
We sometimes forget how many friends we have until something bad happens, and then they come in droves. With food. With kindness. With prayers to the Good Lord above.
And then we think of the people who would weep at the sweet sound of one kind word directed their way.
I can't lie about it. Because of surgery and other reasons I won't get into, this has been a hard month.
And while it may sound a bit Pollyanna to say it, for most of us this old blue ball we live on isn't such a bad place. After 30 days with a catheter, I know.
I'm one of the lucky ones.
Free at last. by CNB