I turned 69 on the 1st of this month, and I am 50 today.
April 9, 1975 (coincidentally Bill's 20th birthday; happy birthday, Counselor!) I died 4 times on an ER operating table.
Many thanks to my late friend Paul Mulcahey (who shoved his shirt into my face & said "Shut up, sit down, and hold this there!") and the fine folks at Presbyterian St. Luke's Hospital in Chicago (luckily it happened a block closer to St. Luke's than to Cook County; if I'm shot or stabbed, take me to CC, anything else I'll take St......), especially nurse Ann Pas, who tended me wonderfully for 22 days - and looked amazing doing it. She was also, on a side note, the first RN I ever saw wear a white pant suit instead of the then-traditional white dress (but I don't hold that against her).
4/9/75 was also the date of one of proudest moments. I woke up in the ICU with a catheter where they put catheters, an IV in each arm, a tube down my throat, a tube down down my nose and my whole head save my nose & right eye bandaged - and I freaked; started yanking at stuff.
A tiny little absolute smoke show of a nurse grabbed my hands & tied then down. I took a deep breath, calmed myself, and made a writingf motion with my hands. She puts a pen in my hand & holds a pad of paper under it.
I write "Are you married?"
Peter (who will note that Bill once almost died on my birthday, too)
