Fwd: [blind-democracy] A Few Thoughts, in Limerick, From a Mayo Clinic OR

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Carl Jarvis <carjar82@gmail.com>
Date: Sun, 17 Dec 2017 08:23:08 -0800
Subject: Re: [blind-democracy] A Few Thoughts, in Limerick, From a
Mayo Clinic OR
To: blind-democracy@freelists.org

Garrison Keillor, a victim of our latest Witch Hunt. While I have no
knowledge of the private man named Garrison Keillor, I am warmed, and
have been warmed for so many years, by the Garrison Keillor who has
presented himself in the form of a gentle, caring, kind, and not so
great of a singer.
On the other hand, NPR has once again shown how quick they can be to
distance themselves from potential negative press, not understanding
that shoving Garrison Keillor to the Wolves will do nothing to protect
Public Broadcasting from the Trumpsters.
And now, my own feeble attempt at a Limerick:

NPR has joined the hunt,
Garrison Keillor, has born the brunt.
A Witch in the Cellar,
and behind closet door.
Away with all Witches,
Keillor, and Roy Moore!

Carl Jarvis




On 12/16/17, Miriam Vieni <miriamvieni@optonline.net> wrote:
> A Few Thoughts, in Limerick, From a Mayo Clinic OR
> By Garrison Keillor, Star Tribune
> 16 December 17
>
> When you come to the hospital, you come back to basics.
>
> Coming to St. Marys Hospital in Rochester, I'm surrounded by men and women
> in blue who did well in high school math and chemistry, and here I am, who
> frittered away those years writing limericks and parodies and barely made
> it
> to graduation, depending on science for survival. It's an awakening for a
> gent of 75. I used to look down on science nerds as dull and unimaginative
> and now I am grateful for their competence.
>
> I'm here for the implantation of a pacemaker, my heart having decided to
> sometimes hesitate 3.8 seconds between beats. At 5, you faint and fall down
> and bang your head on the desk. So I get out of my suit and tie and into a
> gown and lie on a gurney and am wheeled into Surgical Prep. I have brought
> paper and pen, thinking to take notes, and my nurse, Kim, who has been
> fussing with tape and an IV, says, "You're going to be sedated, you know."
>
> "When?"
>
> "As of five minutes ago."
>
> Well, a man needs a challenge. So I write her a limerick. I've been doing
> this all my life. I can do it sedated or excited, in a moving car or flat
> on
> my back.
>
>
> A cardiac nurse name of Kim
>
> Says, "The chances of failure are slim.
>
> You're not going to die."
>
> And she points to the sky.
>
> "Any questions? Address them to Him."
>
> No patient ever wrote her a limerick before. She is impressed. It isn't
> that
> easy to impress young people these days. Meanwhile, she wheels me into the
> O.R.
>
> It's a beautiful sedative. I'm still cognizant of people around, voices,
> the
> clink and beep and hum of hardware, and I appreciate the coordination of
> the
> team, and the anesthetist who keeps me informed of what she's putting into
> me, as if I actually understood.
>
>
> Meredith who did anesthesia
>
> Said, "It won't lead to amnesia
>
> But this sedation
>
> May cause constipation.
>
> We recommend milk of magnesia."
>
> I wrote this as Dr. Bradley was scoping out the incision site. A very nice
> man whose parents were doctors, a neurologist and a pathologist. He grew up
> in southeast Minneapolis. He was a little kid running around on the
> playground when I was a grad student at the U. I asked what type of
> pacemaker he'd be installing and he was glad to discuss the merits of
> Medtronic vs. Boston Scientific vs. another one, I forget the name. So I
> wrote a few lines for him.
>
>
> The electrophysiologist Bradley
>
> Said, "This pacemaker I install gladly
>
> In your chest today
>
> Is a new Chevrolet
>
> Nova and it works not that badly."
>
> The device is the size of a wristwatch, minus the band, and a wire extends
> from it down into the base of your heart where it's anchored by a screw
> that
> your heart creates scar tissue around, and there it sits, stimulating a
> steady 60 beats per minute for the next ten years until the battery needs
> to
> be replaced. You carry a plastic ID in your billfold to show TSA so they
> won't be alarmed when the scanner beeps. Several uncles of mine pitched
> over
> and died who might've been saved by this device. One may or may not feel
> better as a result, though the device is doing its work. It does not confer
> immortality.
>
> I feel better. My niece works for Medtronic and a cousin works for Mayo and
> to me, St. Marys is Minnesota at its best, high competence combined with
> great kindness and good humor. Back when I had heart surgery here in 2001,
> Sister Generose Gervais was still patrolling the halls, the former hotel
> administrator, retired but not really, a Franciscan nun of the Our Lady of
> Lourdes congregation, one of the last of that line of valiant women who
> founded the place in 1889 in collaboration with the clinic of Will and
> Charles Mayo up the street. She died last year at 97.
>
> The procedures I've watched people work on me were front-page news when I
> was a boy and now they're more or less routine, but that spirit of kindness
> and good humor is permanent. Our society today is plagued with the strain
> of
> You-Can't-Possibly-Understand-Me-Because-You're-Not-Me but when you come to
> the hospital, you come back to basics: we're blood and bones and skin, we
> depend on the goodness of others, and it is here to be found, thanks to
> people trained to be precisely competent.
>
>
> e-max.it: your social media marketing partner
>
>
>
>