I Learn The French Can't Build Decent Doors.




About 6 months after Steve put a bullet in my back(ok it was only a b.b. pellet) I started to have some problems. It was right after I had turned four. I discovered to my horror that my urine was now red. Even at four I know this was just not right. When Mom found out she freaked out and I was sent back to the hospital. They told Mom it was most likely just a kidney infection. I was given a prescription of penicillin and sent home. 24 hours I was back in the Emergency Room. It turns out I'm deathly allergic to penicillin. I swelled up and turned blue. At one point they thought I might die.
But thankfully for you the gentle reader I recovered.
My near death experience didn't help my pissing blood problem. In fact it was getting worse. As time went on I was urinating more blood than urine. I spent much time in the hospital off and on while they tried to figure out what was wrong with me.
At one point I pointed to the Doctors that perhaps it had something to do with the b.b. that was supposed to be lodged in my spine. The Doctors laughed and said basically, "You're just a four year old boy who doesn't know anything."
About three months after my blood problem I was admitted to the University of Iowa hospital for some quick checks.
I wouldn't come home for 3 months.
I became a unholy terror in that hospital. At first I was hooked up to an EEG machine that monitored my heart rate. My room was stark white with only me in it. I gently asked for a television to watch. They told me that I couldn't have one until I was unhooked from the EEG machine.(for some reasons the early ones didn't work well with TV's) By the third day I was horribly bored. I asked again if I could have a television. They said," Not yet. Wait until we are done running our test." That afternoon I rolled the table the EEG was on over to the window and tossed it out.
The Doctors screamed at me. The Nurses screamed at me. When Mom and Dad visited they screamed at me.
I got my television set.
Later I demanded 3 television sets so I could watch all the channels at the same time. I started screaming. They told me screaming wouldn't do any good. They shut the door. I kept screaming. I screamed for a whole day.
Soon I had three television sets.
I kept them all on the same channel.
About 2 weeks after I was there they inserted a catheter in me. I thought that was the most painful thing that could ever be done to me until they gave me a kidney test. I knew I was in trouble when they strapped me into the bed and had two big orderlies hold my arms and legs for good measure.
I was so pissed off after that , that I decided not to help them any longer. They would empty my catheter bag at the same time every day. Then they took away the contents to be tested. It was still very red.
So a few minutes before they would come in I would empty it myself into a bedpan by my bed. Sometimes I just put it in the toilet , but usually I tossed it out the window.
At first they thought my kidneys may have stopped working. They thought I might be near death. My parents even had a priest come in and baptize me.
They were again, not amused when they found out.
I demanded and eventually got a newspaper every day. I couldn't read but liked to pretend.
There were two main Nurses that tended to me. I can't remember their names but rather I remember them as "Pretty Nurse", and "Ugly Nurse". Pretty Nurse was very nice to me. She always treated me very nicely and would give me extra desert. Ugly Nurse clearly did not like me. She always took a little too much pleasure sticking me with a needle. She was also the one who took my extra two television sets away when I was down being x-rayed.
The Nurses two different reactions to me could have something to do with me actually calling them Pretty Nurse and Ugly Nurse.

(Pretty Nurse)

Finally a German doctor came to my rescue when he had me X-rayed from a different angle. It turned out that my b.b. pellet had drifted away from my spine and into my kidney. I was shortly scheduled for surgery. Before I was operated on , the Doctor asked if he could have my b.b. pellet. He said it was a very unique surgery he was performing and he would like it as a souvenir. I told him no.
The Nazi bastard took off with it before I awoke from my surgery. He did however leave me with a scar that ran more than half way around my waist.
After the surgery I spent another two weeks in the hospital. Back in the 60's they wanted a patient to have as much bed rest as possible.
Finally the day came for me to come home. I remember the entire hospital staff cheering as I was wheeled out. Dad told me that he was going to be paying for my hospital stay until he was an old man. I was under no circumstances to get so much as a cold until I was 18.
Dad didn't go straight home. He took me to a local park . There I saw my entire family and many friends. There was a big banner that read," Welcome Home TOMMY!" I was very happy. All I wanted to do was run and play with my cousins and friends. Steve was one of the first ones to come up to me. He told me he was so sorry for what happened.
I didn't get to run and play it turned out. My parents still worried about the massive scar I had, made me sit on a blanket the entire time.

(I hated that blanket)
I was furious. I had just spent months in that hospital, and now that I was out my parents were still not letting me have any fun. Worse yet, they took me to where I had to watch everyone else I knew running around having fun.
They party eventually broke up and we headed home after a long day. I was happy beyond words to finally be home. I wanted to run and play , but my parents told me to take it easy, and not strain my scar. Dad told me if I wasn't careful I would break apart into three very messy pieces.
After a little while my parents had to leave to take my Grandma home. They took my sister with them leaving me in the care of my 3 brothers. As Dad left he looked at Steve and said half serious "Can I trust you to watch Tom without trying to kill him this time?"
Steve turned beet red and said,"Dad I didn't mean to hurt him." Mom hit Dad on the back of the head and said,"Gene cut it out. You'll make Steve crazy if you keep that up!"
The minute Mom and Dad left I started running all over the house. I jumped up and down on my bed, I threw pillows all over and wrecked anything I could. I slammed the French doors to my bedroom open and shut. My 3 brothers did everything they could to keep up with me. They were afraid to touch me because they were still very freaked out by the scar I had.
Steve told John to make my bed so Mom and Dad wouldn't come back to a messy house. I thought that since I had been in the hospital for so long, I should make the bed. (4 year old logic) John pushed me out of the room, and I ran back in. John pushed me out again. This grew into a game of it's own. This went on over and over. Finally I closed my eyes stuck out my right arm and ran back into the room. I heard the sound of glass breaking.
I opened my eyes and saw my idiot brother had closed the French doors to our bedroom. And my arm was now sticking threw it.
A huge strip of skin from my wrist to my elbow now hung loose. I was bleeding badly. I looked up and saw John faint.( he denies that to this day) I stood there just looking at my arm and the blood coming out. I didn't start screaming until Steve and Geno began screaming. Steve ran over and picked me up, and carried me out to our 4th floor hallway. We didn't have a phone at the time (We had just moved in and it wasn't hooked up yet.) and Steve didn't know what to do. Steve totally freaked out and began pounding on all the doors as he ran down the stairs. I remember watching my blood dripping on the stairs. Somewhere around the 2nd floor I fainted from lack of blood.
From what I understand a man passing along the street heard Steve and ran to help. He took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around my arm. This man almost certainly saved me from bleeding to death.
And I wouldn't have gotten there if it wasn't for Steve.
I woke in the E.R. with the doctors stitching my arm shut. My Mother and Uncle Tim were there with me. Everytime I would turn and look at my arm , my mother would gently turn my head back and talk to me. I remember thinking I would much rather look at my arm. So I kept turning my head and she kept turning it back. After a while she wasn't doing it as gently. I remember clearly remarking that my bone wasn't white. It was more a dull reddish brown. My Uncle gleefully told me it was because of the dried blood.
"oh" I said. And promptly passed out again.
When I woke up I was back home laying in the bed I was trying to make hours earlier. The French doors were now removed. There was another welcome home party for me. This one was much more sedate.
As I lay in that bed in a very weakened state, I could hear Dad screaming,"GOD DAMNED FRENCH DOORS!"
Steve never ever babysat again.
I entered kindergarten a few weeks later with more stitches then most Vietnam vets. My Father could never punish me for anything. If it looked like I was going to get spanked I just made sure a scar was showing. My parents seemed to think that at any moment my stitches were going to break open and I would crumble into 5 very messy pieces.
When I was in 1st grade I fell during a class trip. My right arm hit a rock and I needed stitches. At first my parents were very worried. However when my teacher told my parents it was 4 stitches they became very underwhelmed. In point of fact I didn't even rate any ice cream on the way home.
While they were still nervous about my previous wounds, I had all but numbed them to normal accidents. I understood that nothing less then losing a limb was going to upset these people.
However they were not going to take any chances. For example whenever we would have a family picnic my parents would lay a blanket on the ground and make me sit on it, while the other kids ran and played. I grew to hate family get togethers.
I also grew very angry.
It also gave me plenty of time to plot revenge on my siblings. Not revenge for the accidents. Revenge for laughing in my direction while I had to sit on that damn blanket. I knew I couldn't do anything as long as I was still healing. But if anything my experience had taught me patience.
Geno would be my first victim.