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CHILDREN Soundtracks Of My Life

They never spent much time apart,
Together over forty years

She loved the man with all her heart
But now she cries a million tears.

He kept his problems from his wife
Just like he did for all his life

A gentle man we loved each day
But then one evening passed away

I never wondered if he knew
How much we love him and still do.

Where’ve you gone?
I miss you more with every passing day

Where’ve you gone?
I’m just not myself when you’re away.

“Trashy Women” by Confederate Railroad is
based on how the song's narrator describes that he likes
his women "just a little on the trashy side," and shares
various stories and explanations of why he does. One
of these is a story about his parents being surprised at

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the fact that his prom date was a "cocktail waitress in
a Dolly Parton wig".

Well, on the rewrite, I had to “gay” mine up a
little. I had heard this performed by a gay country
singer, whose name I can’t remember. I knew the song,
but he did his own rewrite and I thought it was
hysterical. Years later, not remembering the words he
sang, I rewrote my own version.

I used to sing it, mostly alone, sometimes using
a hairbrush as my microphone, alone in my bedroom.
And as much as I wanted to, it was never recorded.
Never had the time.

But it’s stuck in my mind.
Here is “Trashy Fellas”

Trashy Fellas
A rewrite of Trashy Women

Michael Dardenelle
Date unknown

Well I was raised in a sophisticated kind of style.
Yeah, my taste in people and my music

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drove my folks half wild

Mom and Dad had a plan for me
But it turned out different, eventually
‘Cause I like the fellas and I like ‘em on the trashy

side.

Yeah, I like the fellas just a little on the trashy side
Showing muscle and skin and wearin’ 501s a bit too

tight
Handsome face, bulgin arms
They really know how they can show me their charms
Yeah, I like the fellas just a little on the trashy side.

Well you should’a seen the looks
On the faces of my dad and mom
When I showed up later with my date to the senior

prom

They said, “pardon me son, but that ain’t no kid.
He’s got a little bitty butt and a crotch that’s really

big”
And I said “I know it Dad, ain’t he cool??

That’s the kind I dig.

Yeah, I like the fellas just a little on the trashy side
Showing muscle and skin and wearin’ 501s a bit too

tight
Bulgin’ arms, handsome face
I really love it and they make my heart race

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Yeah, I like the fellas just a little on the trashy side.

Yeah, I like ‘em sweet, and I like ‘em with a heart of
gold

Yeah, I like ‘em brassy, I like ‘em brazen and bold
They say opposites attract, but I don’t agree
I want a guy who’s just as trashy as me

Yeah, I like the fellas just a little on the trashy side.

Yeah, I like the fellas just a little on the trashy side
Showing muscle and skin and wearin’ 501s a bit too

tight
Handsome face, bulgin arms
They really know how they can show me their charms
Yeah, I like the fellas just a little on the trashy side.

Yeah, I like the fellas
And I like ‘em on the trashy side.

In June 1973, Frank Sinatra released “Let Me
Try Again” written by Paul Anka and Sammy Cahn. A

young lover pleads to be reunited with his first love,

asking for forgiveness. The lyrics are moving, and

Sinatra does the song justice in his plea to win back his

love.

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Actually the first time I ever heard the song was
done by an artist who had been away from the stage,
and this was the opening number, asking the audience
to “Let Me Try Again” (to win back your love and
loyalty)

My heart was hurting when I rewrote these
lyrics. I had just lost my hearing and my ability to sing
(you can’t sing if you can’t hear yourself). I was
aching to be able to produce my music once again, and
while I’ve adjusted to this horrible horrible condition,
nothing can take away the memories of my music over
my lifetime.

Mine is written to win back my love of my
music and my ability to hear it again. I never recorded
it.

If only…
Let Me Try Again
Michael Dardenelle
Rewritten

I thought that I was really leaving
But I just couldn’t say goodbye

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It was only self-deceiving
To give it up and walk away
From something I loved every day

My music running through my mind
I never thought again I’d find

Let me try again, let me try again
I think of all I had before
I’ve got to try once more

I can do it all if I really try
I’ll take it one day at a time,

But let me try again.

You never realize you’re lonely
Until you thought you’d lost it all

I could try again if only

The music that I used to hear
Came back again so loud and clear

Alternate verse
I used to spend my time without you

I thought I’d really lost it all
Every day I’d think about you

I know I have to start anew
I know I must come back to you

I know it may not be the same

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I know there’s no one I can blame

Let me try again, let me try again
I think of all I had before
I’ve got to try once more.

I can do it all, I know I really can
I’ll take it one day at a time
But let me try again.

The last one I present to you is not rewritten. It’s
an original called “Sunflower” and while the lyrics are
mine, the melody isn’t. It’s an instrumental by Mason

Williams and is so easy and breezy and the words,

well, just fit. It was recorded and the master recordings

have been lost.

Sunflower
Michael Dardenelle

Lyricist

Lonely Sunflower
All alone, in the night

Lonely Sunflower,
while you wait

For the dawn's early light

With your pedals soft,

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Lovely petals soft
you greet the morn

Lovely sunflower
Not alone
Anymore

You’re beautiful
Beautiful
Evermore.

So, there you have a few examples of what I like
to do. I’ve been doing this as long as I can remember
and it’s a great stress reliever.

Contrafactum.

Great word, huh?

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Amalie Materna

The Fat Lady Has Sung
At this point, I don't know that there is much more
to write about, musically speaking, but it does keep
you up to date with my dearest pastime...my
passion...my life.
Memories...like the corners of my mind... are
really something. I may not be able to sing right
now...or possibly anymore...but nothing or not anyone
can take away the memories I have of my music.
I love to sing. I love my music.

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Let this be my epitaph:

The record shows, I took the blows,
And did it my way.

(And for those of you who know me…)
Yes, this was MY WAY.

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DEAR CHILDREN Head To Toe…And Everything In Between

Head To Toe
I seem to remember as a child maybe 4, 5, 6
years old that I had various childhood diseases. I had
measles, mumps, and chickenpox. I'm sure I had the
occasional cold or the occasional flu that kept me
home from school. I remember whenever I stayed
home from school when I was sick, I would always
watch episodes of "I Love Lucy" and eat my tomato
soup with crackers. I used to put so many crackers into
the soup that it turned into a mush. I'm sure to others it
was rather nauseating to watch me eat that, but to me,
that was my "sick soup" and that's what I wanted to
make myself feel better. And it usually did. Oddly
enough I still do that today. And I'm sure there were

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times my mother thought I was faking an illness, and
maybe sometimes I was. Tell me a kid who didn't.

I went through the standard childhood diseases:
Measles, chicken pox, stuff like that, so there is no
point in dwelling on those. What I want to write about
are some of the stupid injuries I have sustained that
were needless, but they in fact happened. My first real
injury that I can remember was when I was about 7 or
so. We lived at the Vose Street house, and during the
summer, my brother and I were left alone - gee, maybe
I was older than 7 but it hardly matters. Anyway, it
was one of those summer days we always got her in
the valley, and the natural thing to do was to go
barefoot. I also enjoyed going to the local market that
was a few blocks away. This is one of those markets
that as you walk in, a quick turn around and you've
seen the entire place. It was on the order of a 7-11 but
as I recall, it was really old and has since been torn
down because of the airport.

Well, this one summer day, I decided to walk

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down to the store, The Odessa Market, (so called
because it was on the corner of Van Owen and
Odessa). In order to get to the store, I had to walk
down Odessa Avenue, which was a street lined with
willow trees that were so thick, no sunlight penetrated
through the leaves and branches. There were no
sidewalks on the street; only slight embankments from
the street leading up to the lawns of the houses. The
street was always filled with leaves and bits and pieces
of branches. Not that it was a dirty street, but because
of the trees, it was just never clean.

As I'm walking down the street -- barefoot - I
stepped on a piece of wood that pierced the arch of my
left foot. If ever there was a first recollection of pain
beyond pain, it was then. I can close my eyes and hurt
all over again. I went home, or should I say hobbled
home, as best I could, and called Mom at work. She
wasn't too far away, so it didn't take too terribly long
for her to show up. She got her trusty tweezers,
scissors, and other implements of destruction, and

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started to play doctor, as most mothers would have
done. All she could pull out were bits and pieces of
tiny slivers. She and I both knew there was something
else in there, but she couldn't reach it, so she called our
next door neighbor, Helen Mindlen (God, I really
remembered her last name!) who was a nurse. Well,
she dug and prodded and got nowhere. She told Mom
she had better get me over to the emergency hospital.

The hospital was the Valley Doctor's Hospital in
Van Nuys which was only a couple minutes’ drive
from our home. I remember sitting in the waiting
room for a few minutes while the paperwork was being
completed and as they called my name, I limped to the
table where I was helped up and "prepped" for the
ordeal. The doctor came in and he, too, started
prodding and digging, never minding about the pain,
which was unbearably excruciating. I was not about
to take this lying down. When I say I was screaming,
you'd best believe I was screaming. If you thought I
screamed a lot as you two were growing up, that was

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nothing. I looked over to my left in the middle of all
this only to see a picture of a nurse, obviously a model
posing as a nurse because she was quite pretty (not that
nurses aren't but this one was NOT a nurse!!) She
had her finger to her mouth and underneath this picture
was the caption. "Shhh". Get real!

The doctor pulled out this piece of wood that was
approximately an inch long, laid it on a piece of gauze
for all to see, and proceeded to give me a tetanus shot
to ward off any infection, and send us on our way. I
don't mind saying that if It happened again, I would
probably react the same way. God, that hurt!

A few years later, I spent the week during the
summer at a cousin's house in Hawthorne. Bobby
Hartstein and I didn't know each other well; he and his
sister Karen had come to live in Hawthorne after
having been involved in an accident that killed their
mother and father. Their mother, Sally, was Grandma
Irene's sister, which made Bobby and Karen my
second cousins, Bobby and I were about the same age-

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maybe 6 months apart, so it was nice to have someone
my own age to play with - even though it was so far
away.

One of the things we liked to do the best was go to
Alondra Park where they were having a carnival.
Now, this sounds like it's building up to something real
dramatic, but it isn't. All that happened was, as we
bought some balloons - those real skinny long kind
that clowns make animals and puppets from - I tried
and tried to get that stupid balloon blown up and for
the life of me I couldn't. The harder I tried, the more
frustrated I became. I could feel the strain on my
cheeks and jaws, when suddenly, all the air I had
within me was going into the balloon. Having
completed my task, I had this balloon that was 2" in
diameter and about 4' long. But man, did my face hurt.
And after an hour or so, it hurt even more. I could
barely swallow. We went home, and that evening I
still hurt. How could this be? All I did was blow up
a balloon. Well, what had happened was that the strain

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from the balloon caused my glands in my cheeks to
become inflamed, and I came down with the mumps!
See, I told you it wasn't much. I really don't think the
balloons caused the mumps -. I would imagine that I
was coming down with them, which was why it hurt
so much to blow up the balloons in the first place.

Let’s see: Another injury. Oh. here's a stupid
one and one that won't take long to tell. I was riding
my bike (we had since moved to Woodland Hills, so I
was about 11 or so) and as I rode through a puddle of
water (again, barefoot), my foot slipped off the pedal
and into the spoke and WHAM! Broken big toe.
There's not much they can do for broken toes - they
don't cast them, so it was a bit painful until it healed,
which took several weeks.

During the summer of 1956, my mother noticed
some changes going on with me. I was only nine years
old and I was losing weight and getting up in the
middle of the night to go to the bathroom three and
four times. Personally, I think she simply dismissed

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this for several months and really didn't give it much
thought. I was a little boy who was very active, and I
drank a lot of water. Naturally, I would go to the
bathroom that many times every night.

When I started to lose weight, she took me to
the doctor to find out what the problem was. His name
was Dr. Oscar Entin and he had been our family doctor
for many years. He knew exactly what the problem
was but did not want to say anything to my mother
until he ran some tests. Of course, my mother knew
nothing.

He ran me through a series of blood tests and
one test in particular was called a glucose tolerance
test. Of course, only being nine years old I had
absolutely no idea what was going on. I knew that I
was being stuck with a needle in my arm and I knew
that it hurt. I was nine years old. Of course, it hurt.

Diabetes. A death sentence. God. Fucking.
Damnit.

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I can't even begin to think what my mother
must've felt when the doctors told her that her nine-
year-old son was a victim of this dreaded horrible
disease that would last for the rest of my life. Back
then, treatment for diabetes was in its infancy. Insulin
had been discovered in 1921, only 30 years prior. At-
home blood testing was not even discovered yet. It was
practically a death sentence.

The doctor recommended hospitalization
immediately to regulate my diet and to regulate my
insulin. I knew from nothing about going to a hospital.
I have never been in one and barely knew what it was.
"A hospital? What is it?"

It's a big building with patients, but that's not
important right now.

I was released and came home on a Friday night. I
was taken to Uncle Bob's and Aunt Esther's house so
they could see me. Uncle Bob had just been released
from another hospital where he had undergone an
emergency appendectomy. It was a secure feeling to

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be home again. My next problem was to learn to live
with my disease and adjust to its requirements.

The next few weeks proved critical. I had
experienced severe insulin shocks, as my body was
adjusting itself to the disease and its treatment. An
insulin shock can be induced by several things:
overdose of medication, overexertion, or not enough
food. The body needs a certain amount of
carbohydrates and a certain amount of insulin to burn
up these carbohydrates. If the body cannot produce
enough of its own insulin, additional must be supplied
by means of an injection. If the body has too little
carbohydrates, it starves the insulin, and a reaction and
shock is the result. The symptoms of this include
hunger, sweating, incoherence, and finally
unconsciousness.

'The only method of revival for insulin shock is
some form of sugar, whether by means of candy,
orange juice, or some other food containing pure
sugar. The outbreak of an Insulin reaction is

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considered a medical phenomenon. Yet even more
phenomenal is the way the body reacts to the sugar
treatment during a reaction. Within 15-20 minutes.
the body and mind are completely restored to normal.

In my younger years as a diabetic, the insulin and
the medications and daily urine testing became
annoying and inconvenient. I had not taken the
disease seriously and had not realized that I should
face reality and stop playing games with my health.
There had been times that I had cheated on myself by
substituting water for urine specimens. Naturally, the
tests were constantly negative. I had therefore
lowered my Insulin doses to meet these false urine test
readings. My dosage had gone from 80 units daily to
3 units. When my mother checked the REAL urine,
however, it took only one test to reveal my three-week
secret. I would constantly eat candy and other sugar
foods, not realizing that it would show up in any test I
went through. Still my body had not felt the effects
of this constant cheating. Yet, I would always feel left

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out, and sorry for myself at Easter time and Halloween
when all the other children would be eating their treats
and I could not.

The many years passed. Dr. Entin had passed
away, and I had gone through many small injuries such
as broken legs, toes, nose, etc. Dr. Stein, who was Dr.
Entin's associate had taken over my case and was
becoming familiar with my particular situation. The
school years came and went. Jobs also were
numerous, and in November of 1966 1 started a job
that I had hoped would become a career. I was
employed as a credit and new accounts supervisor for
a major department store in Los Angeles. By this
time, my entire body was so far out of control, it was
only a matter of time to tell when a serious problem
would arise. I had experienced reactions and insulin
shocks almost every day. I would take insulin in the
morning, and then not eat anything for 4-5 hours
afterwards. As I mentioned before, once the insulin is
administered, it is imperative that it have food to burn

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off. By not eating, I was not feeding the insulin I had
injected.

Then one day in June 1968, it happened. I had not
felt well for a couple days, and as I drove into work
with a friend, I became ill halfway to work. I had him
drive the remainder of the way, and when we got to
work, I had told Phil that I was going to lie down for a
couple hours. Two hours later at 10:30 I felt worse.
Anything that I ate or drank would not stay down
longer than 3-4 minutes. I went to the nurse’s office
and laid down for another 2 1/2 hours. By this time, I
had to call Phil and have him take me to the doctor's
office. I progressed so far into my illness. still not
diagnosed, that I fell unconscious the entire 45-minute
trip back out to Granada Hills. When we arrived at the
doctor's office, Phil had to carry me in. The doctor
took a blood test and found it to be extremely high in
sugar. By now. I had lapsed into diabetic coma. I am
told that had I gone untreated, I would have been dead
within 36 hours. I was rushed to the hospital where

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insulin and medications were given intravenously for
a 24-hour period. I was maintained on a strict sugar
free diet of 1000 calories the first day, 1500 on the
second and third days, and 2500 for the following five
days. Once again, as before, I was in the hospital a total
of eight days. Again, Thursday to Friday. The only
difference was the wheelchair races.

I returned to work 6 weeks later, for a 3-week
period, and quit my job. and took a two-week camping
trip to New Mexico, where I had experienced more
reactions, but knew how to properly treat them. When
I returned from the vacation, I started a new job at a
major credit card firm in Beverly Hills. Two weeks
after I started, I had an insulin shock in my sleep.
When I was awakened, and tried to get out of bed, I
fell and hit my head on the bed frame. I bit my tongue
seriously and wound up with a concussion. Back to the
hospital again, the second time in 8 weeks. I was
treated for skull injuries, given x-rays and a brain
wave. When they found everything negative. I was

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released in 3 days.
Since that time, my insulin has been lowered and I

have experienced little in the way of reactions. I am
given a blood test on the average of once a week that
proves to be extremely beneficial

I do not especially enjoy being a diabetic. I do not
enjoy the needle once a day. But every day I thank
God I am alive to be writing this. And I count the
blessings I have for having a home and a family that
loves me. And that in itself is enough to be grateful
for."

And eight years later. in 1975, another story.
"Having been a diabetic for almost 20 years, I've
had my share of problems that diabetes can cause. The
most common problem that I've had would be a
hypoglycemic or low blood sugar reaction. But, on
occasion I've had the opposite, which is
hyperglycemia, where my blood sugar rises so high
that massive doses of insulin are required to bring it
back down to normal.

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"This happened to me on May 13, 1975, and it
nearly cost me my life. Had it not been for the prompt
action from my doctor of over 20 years, I surely would
have died within minutes. On May 13, I became ill at
home and didn't go to work. I was sick all day, and
slowly becoming dehydrated. I called the doctor on
Thursday, May 15, and explained that for 3 days I had
been ill, thinking I had come down with the flu, and
when I knew I wasn't getting any better, I had a feeling
that it wasn't the flu, but something far more serious.
I knew at this point that I needed immediate medical
attention. I explained to him, since I hadn't seen him
in a year and a half, that I had been under the care of
another doctor who was closer to my home at that
time, and that this doctor prescribed some oral anti-
diabetic therapy. I had never been considered a likely
candidate for pills, as I had been taking insulin all my
diabetic life. But since this doctor said that I might be
a GOOD candidate for the pills, I went ahead and took
them under his supervision. This blood sugar lowering

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pill was to aid my pancreas into secreting insulin into
the bloodstream to maintain the sugar level. It also
causes an acid-type (keto-acidosis) substance within
the body and slowly over the 6 weeks that I had been
taking the pills, it was producing enough acid in my
body to prevent any healing process of any infection
that I developed. I told the doctor that I hoped he
would admit me to the hospital, because I could feel
myself becoming gravely ill.

"Admit me he did, and Georgia took me there at
5:30 that afternoon, and I was taken to my room on the
3rd floor. I didn't see the doctor that afternoon, though
he did order routine tests to be taken, and marazine
injections for nausea. I had no dinner that day, nor
had I eaten for 3 days prior. That night, all I wanted
to do was sleep, but I couldn't because I was so ill. and
getting sicker. I had an extremely restless night.
Georgia came in to see me, though I don't remember
her being there. My family came, too, though I don't
remember them either. I do remember, though,

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waking up 5 times during the night for injections.
To be very honest, I think I took my diabetes for

granted. I was only in the fourth grade and so many
years ahead of me. I can remember episodes of low
blood sugar while I was going to school, and I was
learning how to take care of myself with those. But
still, I took it for granted. I don't really remember any
serious complications as I was growing up, but again
we are talking over 60 years since this all happened.
Now at 70 years old, I can barely remember what I had
for breakfast today, much less problems that I had
when I was nine.

As I grew, and eventually went to work, I can
remember times where my blood sugar was so low that
I had to be taken to the hospital. I can remember
working at night and coming back to my cousin’s
house to sleep. I remember that I had a low blood sugar
reaction in the middle of the night and when my
cousin, Rosemary, tried to wake me, I would not wake
up. This scared her. She would bring me a glass of

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orange juice to try to revive me, and I guess she did
because I'm still here.

In the 70s, I went to work for 3M Company, and
while there, I saw a golden opportunity to get off the
insulin shots and start oral therapy. I saw a doctor in
Norwalk, I believe, named Dr. Zane. He was an
endocrinologist who gave me hope that oral therapy
would change my life. I felt this was too good to be
true, so without checking with my family doctor, I
became a patient of Dr. Zane.

He weaned me off insulin injections gradually,
over a period of weeks, replacing the insulin with oral
medication, and the more he took me off insulin, the
sicker I became. I called him one day complaining that
the only carbohydrates I could tolerate was one piece
of bread a day. He told me, “Suffer. It’s good for the
soul.”

One Thursday when I was so sick, I could not
raise my head off the pillow; my wife took me to the
hospital, thinking I was suffering from a severe case

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of the flu. As it was, I was suffering from the effects
of DKA…diabetic ketoacidosis…a life-threatening

complication of extremely elevated blood sugars. My
blood chemistry was so out of range that it’s a miracle

I survived.

A call to the doctor with me asking to be

admitted to the hospital.

And the consulting physician's report that

followed.

Re: Michael Dardenelle May 16, 1975

Attending Physician: Norton Stein, M. D.

Consulting Physician: Howard Rosenfeld,

M. D.

A 26 year old man was hospitalized as an

emergency in the early morning hours in the intensive

Care Unit of Memorial Hospital, Panorama City with

a three day history of nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea

with a known brittle Diabetes Mellitus, insulin

dependent, (20 units Lente and 10 units Regular,

daily). Patient stated that he had been taking his

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insulin. On admission, he was noted to be markedly
tachypneic, and hyperpneic, and his morning
laboratory work shows a severe acidosis with Ph 7.0,
bicarbonate 2, potassium greater than 5, and the
patient has appeared gravely ill. He was started on
push doses of Sodium Bicarbonate and given 20 units
of regular insulin in addition to his usual insulin
dosage. Blood gasses are adequate.

Patient has known Diabetes Mellitus since
childhood. He has not had known target organ
complication i.e. retinal or renal disease. Past
history and family history are not available at this
time. There are no known significant features.

PHYSICAL EXAMINATION:

General: Reveals an acutely ill male who has 41
kussmaul respiration, with a respiratory rate of 44 per
minute, blood pressure is 105/70, pulse 150 and
regular with sinus tachycardia on scope.

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Significant findings: No purpura or other skin
changes.
Lungs: clear
Heart: A regular, rapid rhythm with a short systolic
murmur along the left sternal border, no gallop or
pericardial rub arc audible.
Abdomen: Soft with no evidence of gastric
dilatations. Bowel sounds are hyperactive.
Back: No UVA, or spine tenderness
Extremities: Known edematous with some muscle
wasting. General appearance is one of dehydration.
Neurological: Not tested.
Impression: Diabetic ketoacidosis
Recommendations: 1. I would increase the rate of
IV
fluids with rapid infusion of bicarbonate followed by
Saline with bicarbonate. I have taken the liberty of
giving more regular insulin intravenously, and 2.
Electrolytes of sugar and acetone have been ordered
frequently throughout the day, and I will help adjust

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insulin dose-age accordingly. 3. I have alerted the
nurses to watch for a break in Serum Potassium on the
cardio scope as acidosis is corrected and subsequently
to watch for possible hypoglycemia when insulin takes
hold. Good urine output is evident and should help
facilitate correction of his problem. There is some
concern over the marked tachycardia, and we hope
that there is no myocarditis or other cardiac disease
present.

I appreciate the opportunity to share in the
management of this acutely ill patient and will follow
with you.

Sincerely,
Howard L. Rosenfeld, M. D."

Nowadays, I am really obsessed with this
disease and caring for myself the way I'm supposed to
take care of myself. It seems to be working. I have a
lot of people in my life who depend on me.

I'm not ready to go yet.
So. Enough about me and my problems.

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DEAR CHILDREN Head To Toe…And Everything In Between

Let's talk about me and my problems. . .
Head to Toe: And everything in between.

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DEAR CHILDREN Head To Toe…And Everything In Between

EYES, EARS, NOSE and THROAT
First of all, there is nothing wrong with my hair,
except for the fact that it is pure white and there is not
very much of it. I do not know how long these chapters
will be, but I cannot devote a chapter on my hair. And
the reason I mention my hair is because this whole
work is called “Head to Toe” and it must start
somewhere.
But starting at the top: I have been experiencing
dizzy spells lately; well for a couple years. I first
started to notice them around 2016 or so, when I was
sitting at the computer, home alone, and with no
provocation whatsoever, got so dizzy that I couldn’t
even walk into my bedroom without some sort of

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support. I used the office chair to lean on and wheeled
myself to my bedroom and flopped down on the bed.

I really didn’t give the episode much thought
and I don’t remember it happening anytime soon
afterwards. But as the years progressed, they became
more frequent: Maybe once every few months or so
but when it came to be around 2018, I started noticing
them again, after a brief absence.

Now they are coming every few days, maybe a
couple times a week and we still don’t know why so
I’m being examined by several doctors. Chances are I
won’t be able to post a diagnosis while this journal is
being worked on.

But that’s what's going on with the head.

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THE EYES HAVE IT

I have always been concerned about the health
of my eyes because I know there can be serious
diabetic complications with eyes. As I was growing
up, I never gave my eyes much concern although I
knew they could present problems in later years. I
remember when I was 16 years old, I got my first pair
of glasses. I remember at that time I was a new driver,
but I had to drive downtown to the May Company
where I got my glasses. Little did I know that three

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years later I would be working for the May Company.
I remember how strange it felt for me to have to wear
something on my head to be able to see better.
Certainly, everyone was staring at the geek who had to
wear glasses. Black framed glasses. Nerd. Geek. Dork.
But I could see.

As the years went on, I really did not like the
way I looked in glasses. When I was 20 years old, I
decided to get contact lenses. At that time there were
only hard lenses. Soft contact lenses had not been
invented yet. As much as I did not like the glasses, I
did not like the contact lenses even more. They hurt
my eyes and were a pain in the ass to put in and take
out.

I guess I took my glasses for granted because I
never really had any problems with my eyes. All
through my years of being a diabetic, I knew that
complications from the disease could affect my eyes. I
guess throughout the years I have been very lucky that
nothing has ever happened to my eyes that would

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cause any major concern. I would have prescriptions

changed for my glasses over the years, but that is very

common as you age.
Again, taking life’s challenges for granted, I

really didn’t give much thought to my eyes, but in the
early 1980’s, during a routine eye examination, an
ophthalmologist noticed some hemorrhaging behind
the eyes, and became kind of suspicious of them. He
ordered a test that included injecting some dye in my
arm, then taking pictures of my eyes. The dye made
the blood vessels very predominate, so they would
photograph. The pictures revealed acute hemorrhages,
especially in the left eye, and the doctor indicated that
it should be surgically corrected. The thought of eye
surgery devastated me, even though it was on an out-
patient basis with laser applications. The laser
treatments were to coagulate the blood vessels and
stop the bleeding. I was scheduled for surgery a few
weeks later, so I had plenty of time to do what Jewish
people do best: Worry. I was working at the phone

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company at this time, so the routine of getting up,
leaving for work, putting in a “hard day at the office”,
coming home, dealing with home issues…etc…you
get the drill…the two weeks seemed to go by pretty
quickly.

I didn't know what to expect with this surgery,
so I was very nervous as the doctor explained, as best
he could, what would happen. He was an Indian (from
India) doctor. And his bedside manner left a lot to be
desired. He was very much to the point as he
explained that if I let the surgery go, I would more than
likely go blind. This was a bit much to take, so I came
home, knowing that in a couple days, I would undergo
the laser surgery. I called my wife, explained the
procedure and the findings, and cried and cried and
cried. The very thought of this whole thing was more
than I could handle. She came home from work and
we talked about this mess and decided that I really had
no choice: The surgery was indicated, and I bit the
bullet, and went through it. I recall the procedure well.

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To begin with, prior to laser application, he wanted to
inject me with a local anesthetic. The injection was
to be in the cheek area, right below the eye. I refused.
It was bad enough that I was about to undergo this
procedure to begin with, but I was not about to subject
myself to a needle in my face. He put some drops in
my eye to dilate the pupil, and when that was done, he
put some topical anesthetic drops in the eye to deaden
the nerves. Next, he inserted a lens that helped
magnify the area so he could aim the laser light
directly at the hemorrhage. This lens forced my eyelid
open and would not let it close, even if I tried. During
this entire procedure, I was petrified. As he began the
treatment, the laser shot through my eye to the
bleeding vessels, and 600 spots of light later, which
took a matter of 15 minutes or so, he took the lens off
my eye and let me relax. Although I was told to bring
someone to drive me home, I didn't, because I didn't
want to put anyone out. So, I drove home, only being
able to see out of my right eye. I really didn't give it

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much thought because Kaiser Hospital was less than
10 minutes from home. But it was the most
excruciating 10 minutes I have ever spent. The
slightest bit of light that leaked into my eye was pain,
pain, pain. The anticipation of it was far worse than the
procedure…as is typical for most things someone must
go through.

The procedure is called PRP: Pan-retinal
photocoagulation. Its purpose is to stop blood leakage
in the eyes and destroy abnormal tissue growth. The
abnormality is another diabetic complication: diabetic
retinopathy.

The PRP was done in 1983. Had I not had the
procedure; chances are I’d have lost my sight
completely. So, while it was disturbing that I had to go
through it, I’m grateful that here we are 34 years later
and a recent visit to my ophthalmologist indicates no
hemorrhage even after all this time. She said that the
PRP was done beautifully and there is no indication at
this time that I need more.

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What the surgeon failed to tell me was the side
effects of the surgery itself. Over the next few days,
as my eye was healing from the surgery, I found that I
had lost half my vision. I went back to him the
following Monday, 3 days later, and complained that I
had to wear one contact lens plus my glasses to see.
He said that as the eye heals, that is normal. Of course,
he didn't bother to tell me this before the surgery, so
over the weekend, I suffered needlessly. Within 2-3
weeks, my vision was back to normal, and it was now
time for surgery on the other eye. Knowing what to
expect, I was less apprehensive than the first time,
although still a bit nervous. I was prepped as before
and given another 600-650 spots of light in the right
eye. This time, I experienced headaches, eye aches,
and when I looked at any red light (LED lights on the
clock, red signals, etc.), it was as though there were no
lights at all. Having worked in photography for a
while, I knew that to filter out a color, you must put a
filter of the same color over the lens. Well, I was sure

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that because I couldn't see red lights that I was looking
through blood. This didn’t happen with my left eye,
so I was convinced that my eye was bleeding
internally, and I panicked. Again, I spent a weekend
in terror, waiting for Monday to come around, so I
could go back to the doctor and give him hell for
putting me through this nightmare. He examined my
eye, and told me that there was no blood, it was merely
a reaction to the surgery, and he kept a close watch on
the situation for a couple weeks. Again, my vision had
deteriorated, but slowly was restored.

I see the ophthalmologist once a year, and in the
4 1/2 years since the surgery, there are no new
hemorrhages, and the eyes have healed nicely.

I will continue to monitor my condition and give
thanks more than you can imagine that for now, all is
okay. May it always be.

Fast forward: After a routine ophthalmological
exam in 2009, the doctor informed me that I have
cataracts in both of my eyes. Cataract surgery is very

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routine and as one doctor said, “it's a shame to call it
surgery because it is so mundane.” It took about 10
minutes to perform and I was home within the hour. It
amazes me how well I could see after a few days of
healing.

After a couple months, in August, it was time
for the right eye. It too went without complications but
after a few days, I still could not see clearly. We waited
another couple weeks for the eye to heal, and when I
told the doctor I still could not see, he said that we
"have a problem." Actually, in his words, “Oh shit.”

This is something in my estimation, the doctor should
never tell a patient. I asked him what was wrong, and
he said that I had the wrong size lens in my eye. It
seems I was 3 diopters off in the power of the lens and
he said it needed to be replaced. He said this is an
urgent matter so the lens doesn’t “freeze” to my eye,
making replacement difficult, if not impossible, to do.
Another surgery was scheduled for three days later,
and on September 11, I was back in for another

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surgery. You would think that three cataract surgeries
on two eyes would be a bit much. When that
replacement lens surgery took place, I very clearly
remember being on the table for nearly 2 hours. I was
under conscious sedation so while I didn’t feel
anything and was a tad groggy, I remember the entire
procedure. I remember asking him for more anesthetic
because I felt it wearing off. I also remember asking
him what is taking so long. He had the unmitigated gall
to tell me that his assistant had to go next door to the
hospital to get an instrument he did not readily have.
WHAT?? You’re operating on me and you don’t have
the right equipment??

Finally, surgery was over, I was sent to
recovery, and Katie came to bring me home.

I rested for the balance of the day, but at 11
o'clock that night I awoke to excruciating pain. I was
by myself, alone in the house, because both Mom and
Art were away on a trip for that weekend. I don't think
I have ever had so much pain in my entire life. I did

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not know what to do or who to call. I took a couple of
aspirin to help ease the pain, but nothing worked.

The next morning, Saturday, I called Carlos at 7
o'clock and he rushed over to take me to an emergency
ophthalmologist. As it turns out, the pain was caused
by elevated eye pressure, which was caused by the
doctor leaving something in my eye during surgery. As
it turns out, what he left in my eye was a gel called
Viscoat that is used during surgery to keep the eye hard
and round. After the surgery, the gel is to be removed
from the eye. Looking back, I attribute the oversight to
the length of the routine procedure. I feel he may have
been distracted and failed to remove the gel.

At 3 o'clock that afternoon, Carlos took me back
to the surgeon’s office who, at that point, had no idea
there were complications. I had been vomiting all day
long so when Carlos took me to the eye doctor, I was
completely dehydrated. The vomiting was violent and
because I was dehydrated, diabetic ketoacidosis had
set in. The doctor did not recognize these signs of

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dehydration and DKA, so he sent me home. He told
me, “I thought I removed that gunk.” Gunk. A new
medical term I learned.

I continued the vomiting all through the night
and into Sunday morning. By 4 o'clock on Sunday
afternoon, I was so ill that paramedics were called to
take me to the hospital emergency room.

I was admitted to the hospital on Sunday
afternoon and released the following Wednesday.
That Tuesday, I called the doctor’s office from my
hospital room, spoke to him, only to be told, “I didn’t
realize you were diabetic.” Kind of surprising when
my charts were filled with notes about my health
condition and history. My diabetes is something I
never hide from anyone. Ever.

It was not until the first week of December that
I started feeling decent again, and luckily my eyesight
came back to normal. Now it was time to consider
legal issues because I honestly felt there was medical
negligence.

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I began a lawsuit against the doctor because
none of this would have happened had the doctor not
implanted the wrong lens in August. I feel incredibly
lucky that I was not permanently blinded by this.
During my hospital stay, I had to ask Carlos several
times if my eye was open because I could not see.

I continued to see other ophthalmologists for
second, third and fourth opinions as to what happened
and what could be done to help me. All the doctors
agreed that this was professional negligence and never
should have happened.

I began a lawsuit against the surgeon in
February 2010, and after discussing with the attorney,
we both decided that a medical malpractice lawsuit
was in order. Months and months and months of
testimony, depositions, and statements by the doctor
and me went by. He maintained that he "did nothing
wrong". In one of his statements, he accused me of not
“following his orders” for post-op care.

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Always the patient’s fault, right? I don’t think I
recall asking him to insert the wrong size lens.

The way this all came about with my finding out
about the wrong size lens, was my examination of my
chart.

The chart clearly indicated previous operating
room notes that said, “removed the Viscoat gel, made

a one stitch watertight suture; patient was sent to
recovery in satisfactory condition.” That was the right
eye.

The original surgery for the left indicated the
same. The notes also indicated that he had requested
one size lens to be placed, but the label from the lens
dispenser indicated another size, 3 diopters difference.
(Hence the “oh shit” comment). Typically, the label
from the lens container is put on the operating report
as evidence of the size of lens used in the procedure. It
clearly asked for a 15 but inserted an 18. The attorney
and I concluded this as professional negligence and
but for that fact, a 2nd surgery would not have been

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