SERIOUS AS A HEART ATTACK

                                                    PART 2
                                       “MAGIC CARPET RIDE”

            I have always been a staunch supporter of the fire departments and emergency response teams in my area. I have written many times in this column about the unenviable job they have chosen, especially when it comes to navigating our streets around the throngs of drivers who haven’t got a clue what to do when they hear a siren.

            That said, just as not all drivers are bad, although it would be hard to come to that conclusion driving in the San Gabriel Valley, sadly not all paramedics are good.

            I came to this epiphany as I was being prepared for transport from San Gabriel Valley Medical Center to Arcadia Methodist Hospital. Just a reminder to those of you who missed Part 1, and shame on you for that and you know who you are, I was in the midst of having a heart attack. I was also at SGVMC because I didn’t want to go to Arcadia Methodist. I also didn’t want to go on a ride with the paramedics.  But here I was and there I was about to go.

            My first clue as to the subpar abilities of my ambulance crew was apparent once they tried to put me on the gurney from my ER bed. It was obvious that it was going to be such a major production for them,  that I finally said “Look, I’ll just slide over onto it”, which I did. I didn’t want to die waiting for them to get me out of one hospital on the way to the next.

Once at the mouth of my emergency vehicle things once again came to a halt. I was getting the drift that I was not in the hands of the “A” team here. There were more questions being asked by more than one of this crew and all the answers seemed to be coming from the same guy. It finally struck me, in my heavily morphined state, that three quarters of this four man crew were trainees. Oh Goody, could this night get any better?

After the last volley of questions were answered I waved goodbye to my wife and the back doors were secured and my little shuttle appeared to be ready for takeoff. As I watched and listened to the conversation going back and forth between the occupants I began to stress out even more.

My chest started tightening again even worse than before. I truly believe it was due to the fact that my little flight crew here wasn’t giving me the warm and fuzzies as far as their abilities were concerned. Only one guy seemed to have any answers and he didn’t seem to be giving them up very quickly or clearly.

Once on our way I expected this to be one quick little trip. Having grown up in this valley I could drive from where we were to Arcadia Methodist with my eyes closed. Unfortunately the ambulance driver could not. As we drove, I could see where we were going in reverse as there were large windows in the rear.

As the man with all the answers prepared to give me my third shot of morphine I started to recognize where they were driving. I asked “Are you guys driving up Rosemead Boulevard?”

“Gee I don’t know” the man answered.

He in turn asked the driver the same question and before his answer could come I said “Yeah you are and as a matter of fact you should be coming up on Huntington Drive right about now.”

The driver then answers “Yes we are on Rosemead”.

This response came just as I watched the Trader Joes sign pass by me in reverse. For those of you not familiar with this area Trader Joes is at the corner of Rosemead and Huntington Drive. Again, for those of you not familiar with the area this is where the ambulance should have made a right turn in order to get to Arcadia Methodist.

“You do know you were supposed to turn right on Huntington?”

“Oh no we are going to take a faster route”

“Oh really? Like what?”

“We are heading for the 210 freeway. It’s much faster!”

 “I don’t want to be a back gurney driver, but you guys do know that there is major construction on Rosemead Boulevard North of Huntington?”  

At this moment all conversation stopped for a moment and the siren on the ambulance was turned on. The third shot of morphine was quickly administered, the driver hit the gas and the oxygen mask was quickly slapped on. Personally, I think this was a ploy to get me to shut the hell up, but that morphine really jumps right on top of you so I can only speculate.

 The man with all the answers moved up closer to the driver where I couldn’t make out what was being said. He quickly came back to my side and said “He has another route in mind” at which point the ambulance made a quick right turn.

I looked out the back and said “He’s going down Colorado Boulevard?”

“Yep”

“Then he’s going to take that over to Colorado Street and come around the back of the Hospital?”

“Yep”

“Well that beats the freeway by a few minutes, but it is still taking the long way around the horn”

As we pulled up to the hospital my wife was there and had been there for a good ten minutes. I should have gone with her. At least she knew how to get there. As they pushed me through the back door of the emergency room at Arcadia Methodist I thought of one thing.

If I make it through this and they try sending me a $1,000.00 bill for this trip I am going to go buy them a GPS and send them that instead. It may help save the next rider’s life.

SERIOUS AS A HEART ATTACK

PART 3
“OVER THE RAINBOW”

For the first time in the night that seemed to go on forever, it finally began to look like somebody knew what they were doing. Once my EMT crew, the gang that couldn’t drive straight, got to Arcadia Methodist Hospital, it was as though they had awakened and had to get their act together.
            Once they thrust my gurney through the emergency room’s doors everyone involved seemed to be moving much quicker than the somnambulistic group at San Gabriel Valley Medical Center. At this point I was assuming that my initial apprehension at coming here was misplaced. Compared to the first hospital of the night, this was more what I  have come to imagine an ER was like, at least based on the fantasy world of television.
            It may have been my imagination, but I could have sworn that when we came bursting through those doors I heard the sound of a cash register go off. Maybe it was because all of their animated actions were causing my adrenaline to surge through the morphine induced dream state I had been in for the last three hours. Who knows for sure at this point, but I’m sure I will find out later.
            The flurry that followed was basically a repeat of the same questions that I had been asked multiple times during the course of the night. I remember thinking, after being asked the same couple of questions for what felt like the tenth time, isn’t somebody writing this crap down? And why do you keep asking the sick guy when he has family nearby? No wonder so many mistakes are made inside of hospital walls.
            Then a calm fell over me and my surroundings. The number of people dwindled as though there was a shift change happening. I was suddenly in the care of a couple of guys, I think one of them was named Marcus, but I can’t be sure. Sorry guys for forgetting your names. You were the one calming factor during this entire nightmare.

They were taking me to the surgical lair of one Douglas Yun M.D.  On this early morning he was in my eyes cardiologist wizard extraordinaire. He was about to make an addition to my heart and vocabulary with one fell swoop.

            That addition took the form of what is known as a stint or stent, depending on whom you ask or which web searches you use. To keep its description brief, it is a small wire that is inserted into your blocked artery to open it up and keep it open. If you are looking for a more definitive explanation consult your doctor or conduct your own web search.

Dr. Yun and his crew gave me the brief lowdown as to what was going to happen next. I was going to be given a local anesthetic and I would be aware of what was happening. Being the enormous baby that I am I did voice my concern about being awake, but I was gently assured that I wouldn’t feel a thing after the initial prick.

I got the distinct impression that the time for discussions and debates on my part were over. This crew was on the move and it was obvious this wasn’t their first time at the rodeo. All I could do was settle in, take the ride, and hope for the best.

The operating room was very sci-fi. To my left, if my memory is correct, there was a bank of six high tech video panels that were going to be displaying my blocked arterial highway for Dr. Yun. He would be inserting the stent through my groin and snake that little bad boy up to the blocked portion of my artery and let it do its thing.

Now, when I was told that I was going to be awake for this procedure, I assumed that this meant that I would be able to see and speak. I soon found out that this was incorrect. I could hear what was going on, but try as I might, I could not open my eyes or mouth.

Trust me, I did try. Especially when I heard Dr. Yun utter those words that no surgical patient wants to hear during a procedure, “Uh oh, I didn’t want to go there.” Despite how hard I tried to move my lips they wouldn’t budge. They were as frozen shut as the Tin Man’s after standing in the rain.

Luckily, shortly after he said “Ah, there we go” with an inflection denoting that whatever his correction was it was victorious, whatever his misstep had been.

A few moments later someone in the room was calling my name. Kind of like Auntie Em calling to Dorothy in an effort to bring her back from OZ. As my eyes opened I was staring at the bank of monitors that were displaying the road map to my chest cavity innards.

Dr. Yun pointed out two of the screens. One screen showed before the stent and the other one after. The primary difference being that the after shot of the area distinctly showed two arteries instead of just one.

My first words to the wizard should have been thank you. Instead they were “Can I get a picture of those?” We all like to have a little souvenir when we take a trip don’t we?

Unfortunately the trip wasn’t over. In fact it was about to take an ugly turn. That would be to the right and down the hall to the dreaded land of Intensive Care South.

I definitely was not in OZ any more.

SERIOUS AS A HEART ATTACK

                                                   PART 4
                                 “ROCK & ROLL HOSPITAL”

            Limp and drugged, I was being wheeled from Doctor Yun’s surgical lair to points unknown. At that moment in time, I can honestly say I could have cared less where I was going. I was just wishing we would get there and get there soon. This night and morning had gone on far too long and I just wanted it to end. Well, like the old saying goes, be careful of what you wish for.

             Just in case you missed the last chapter in this little saga, the “hospital” I ended up at was Arcadia Methodist and to put it as diplomatically as I can, it was not my first choice. Not that my first choice of the evening, San Gabriel Valley Medical Center, was any better.

Then again, I only went there because of insurance issues and it was geographically closest, but I have covered all this so let’s move on. Let’s just say next time I’m going to Huntington Memorial if I have any choice in the matter and hope that they are not as inept as these two turned out to be.

            Where I ended up was one of the Intensive Care Units. When I woke up…. let me rephrase that. When I was awakened for the first time after the surgery, I was in the ICU, or at least that’s what I was told. It certainly wasn’t the same ICU my sister Sue was in a couple of years ago. While she was in the “A” unit, I was in one somewhere a little further down the alphabet. It was a throwback to another time referred to as ICU South.

            I remember going to see Sue when she was in her ICU, and where I was didn’t appear to be built in the same decade. Change that, the same century. The beds, TV’s, and the buzzers were so antiquated that they didn’t work properly. As a matter of fact, the air conditioning didn’t function properly, before and after the repairman decided to show up.

I was rousted from my slumber because it was time for me to make the first of what would be many blood donations. I don’t know if you have ever been unfortunate enough to be an overnight guest at a “health care facility”, but if you have you will understand what I am about to say.

            I don’t know who puts together the schedules for the nurses, but they should be forced to spend a week at the mercy of the mandatory schedule the patients are subjected to. It might give them a new perspective when putting together their next nurses schedule.

            It is one of those twisted little annoyances that make you crazy at a time when you are supposed to be relaxed and stress free. It is almost like they have it planned. As soon as you are lucky enough to drift off to sleep, that is the time they decide that you need to have your temperature taken or your blood drawn.

If it isn’t sleep that is being interrupted, then it is when you are about to choke down the pitiful excuse of what they call food. You would think if they can come up with the miraculous procedure that Dr. Yun performed on my heart, that they could come up with food that doesn’t taste like plastic and won’t redamage your heart. The bland food that they force you to consume makes the cardboard they serve at McDonalds seem like a culinary wonderland.

Luckily my time being ignored in the ICU came to an end and I was moved upstairs in the Tower of Terror. At first I was a little surprised that I was going to have a roommate, but it had to be better than the dilapidated version of an ICU I was just in. Well you know what they say about assuming?

My roommate was there for elective surgery. He was having some stent work done in his legs, something that I believe is going to be coming up in my future, but that’s another column for another day. Aside from his nonstop need to have a conversation with me, he suffered from one other malady. He was under the delusion that a hospital was the same as a restaurant and that the nurses were his waitresses.

This fruitcake was hitting his nurse call button every 15 minutes asking for food, sodas, coffee, and pain killers. It was as though he thought he was the only patient on our floor and the nurses were there for his amusement. His actions were not only annoying to me, but the expression on the nurses' faces spoke volumes as to how frustrated they were. If I was supposed to be resting, as I was told I should be, they definitely had me in the wrong room.

The one calming influence during my time there was the presence and consultation given to me by Dr. Alisa Rock. She was the yin to Dr. Yun’s yang. She was the one who came in to consult with me on which drugs I would be taking while I was there and in the future. She also explained, in terms I could understand, what I needed to do once I left. It was nice to have someone who honestly seemed to be concerned with my well being and my feelings. She was also a little mystified that they had put me in a semi private room, especially after she got a load of my roommate.

There were a couple of other nurses who did a good job while I was there, but for the most part I felt as though I was just another room number on the floor. Just another faceless name on the white plastic rotation board at the nurse’s station. I was hopefully that the next round of tests would give me the green light to go home in the next day or two as I had been told. So I figured all I needed to do was rest and bide my time until then.

That was until mid morning the next day when my phone rang. It was Victoria from the hospital financial office. She was calling me to discuss my insurance and the terms of my payment. At first I thought I was being punked, but I don't know anyone sick enough to try and give me another heart attack so soon after just having one.

After listening to her for a couple minutes, the words of one of our great maritime leaders came to mind, “That’s all I can stands and I can’t stands no more!” I told her to mail me a bill like every other patient and hung up. Thank you Popeye for the strength.

I picked up my nurse call buzzer for the first time since I’d been there. When the nurse arrived I told her two things. First, that I would be checking out that day and second I wanted to see Dr. Rock immediately.

Next I called my wife Stacey and told her what was going on and that I would keep her posted. Dr. Rock came in and could see how upset I was. As soon as she heard why, there is no way to describe the look of horror that crept across her face. Apparently this isn't the first time the finance department committed this egregious error.

I guess doctors frown on the finance department calling their convalescing heart patients and upsetting them. Dr. Rock shot out of my room to, well, go rock somebody's world. The nurse returned and said that Dr. Yun would have to approve my leaving and that they would let me know as soon as they spoke to him.

Things started moving rather quickly from this point forward. Dr. Rock had been busy shaking up the people in the administration and finance offices. I know this because within the next hour I had representatives from both of those departments in my room apologizing and asking questions to make sure this error never happens again. Unfortunately too little, too late.

Dr. Rock returned to tell me I would be home to see the Lakers playoff game and that they were putting my paperwork in order. Dr. Yun would be coming by to give me some final instructions soon. I called Stacey to tell her to come and get me and I packed up my belongings. As soon as these things came to pass, this part of the party was over and I was ready to roll.

Soon Stacey and I were leaving the hospital in our dust. I was heading back home where it all began and where the changes in my life were truly about to begin.

SERIOUS AS A HEART ATTACK

                                                        PART 5
                               "THE LONG AND WINDING ROAD"

Since my escape from the Tower of Terror, aka Arcadia Methodist Hospital, the battle raging in and pertaining to my heart has not seen a dull moment. I have been on a medical roller coaster ride for the last three months and I am more than ready to get off.

            After trying to get things back to normal since what I have been referring to as “The Incident” my cardiologist extraordinaire, Dr. Douglas Yun, had other ideas. Apparently in his exploration of my heart and arteries he found that there was much more blockage and it needed to be addressed.

            And address it he did. By the end of August, I was back in the hospital to unblock the demon artery in question and add some reinforcement to the one that was opened up during “The Incident.” This time I was the guest of a different medical venue, Huntington Memorial in Pasadena. I have to say, my interaction with their staff was great, and the best of the three hospitals I have had to deal with in as many months.

            Huntington was far more organized and caring than San Gabriel Valley Medical Center or Arcadia Methodist. Both of those, while claiming to be nonprofit organizations, seem to only be in it for the money, as Frank Zappa used to say.

The staff at Huntington, both surgical and nursing, seemed to genuinely care that (a) I was there and (b) that I was comfortable from the time I checked in until the second I checked out. No mention of money was ever discussed other than to confirm my insurance upon entry.

I have to say the stent surgery this time around was even more surreal even though it was done sans the morphine. There is just something completely bizarre about being completely awake for the entire procedure. Watching what Dr. Yun and his crack heart staff were doing inside my chest on the big video screens to my left was like some kind of weird out of body experience.  For those of you who are keeping score, I now have four stents in my heart collection.

Since “The Incident” I have had time to reflect on the entire situation and what led me to it. To those of you who know me, you can immediately point to my smoking and diet as two of the culprits that got me there. But they weren’t alone.

You see, like many of you, I avoided going to the doctor and having checkups. I was eventually motivated to go see a doctor after experiencing pain in my legs about five years ago. While my doctor focused on everything but my legs, he didn’t detect the problem with my heart despite numerous EKG’s and prescribing me a ton of different medications that made me feel like crap. After three years of that nonsense, I stopped going. The pain in my legs was still there.

Then about a year ago I had some pain in my chest and it motivated me to make a return visit to the same doctor, not wanting to seek out a new one. Over the next few months I was again given numerous EKG’s, and because I continued to complain about my legs, I was given what I was told was a full ultrasound of my legs. This doctor said that all my tests had come back clear and he told that nothing showed up that was unusual.

Well, given that “The Incident” happened within a couple of months after these tests, you can guess that I am not going to that doctor anymore.

The decision to dispense with this doctor was reinforced when on a follow up appointment with Dr. Yun he asked me, just as an aside, if I was aware of the total blockage in the main artery of my right leg. Huh?

 He also said that if there was that much blockage in the right one that there is a pretty good possibility that the left one had blockage as well. Oh great.  He discovered this after a brief glance at a mini ultrasound done to check the incision for the first stent entry. Now that the heart issue is mostly under control we have begun addressing this issue. When will the fun ever stop?

The whole point of me chronicling this experience is to give you all a window into what was a mystery for me prior to the axe falling.  I consider myself lucky to still be here. I have quite a few friends that aren’t here for the same reason. They either waited too long to go to the hospital or put too much faith in a bad doctor that they trusted.

If it doesn’t feel right, pull the trigger. Don’t think, like I did, that “I just had an EKG and my doctor said my heart is fine” especially if you are alone when it happens. Not everybody is lucky enough to have someone like Stacey, my wife, standing by to talk you into calling 911 or taking you to the hospital.

Sometimes you have to trust what you feel, not what you’re told.

HOLIDAY HEART STRINGS

The holiday race is on and the finish line is in sight. Chanukah is first up and in no time at all Christmas will be coming down the chimney. Being one of those households that swings both ways we have to remember twice as many dates as most. Yup, when the sun goes down, first we light the menorah, and then we flip the switch on the Christmas lights.

Things have changed a lot over the years, as I am sure they have for many of you. The older I get the more one factor in the universe becomes clear and that is that the only thing that remains the same is change. As much as I would like to fight it and did throughout my youth, you just can’t stop it.

For me, the holidays have always been the hardest when it comes to change. I like knowing what is going on ahead of time. After I married my wife, Stacey, and Chanukah was introduced into my life, I knew exactly what to expect. Well, with the exception of the date that is, which changes every year, usually in the second half of December.

It was a lot like Christmas, but without as many decorations and with different food. We would always go to my in-laws, Arnold and Marsha’s house. First we would open presents, where Marsha would have the opportunity to spoil and dote over her children and more importantly her grandchildren.

After present opening, I could always count on a meal that included one of my favorites, latkes also known as potato pancakes for those of you unfamiliar with Jewish cuisine. Combine those tasty little tidbits with beef brisket, matzo ball soup, and noodle kugel, and you would be stuffed for the rest of the day.

Sadly, when Marsha, or as the grandkids called her “Bubbie”, passed away almost five years ago, the Chanukah as we knew it passed with her. She was the matriarch and the soul behind the celebration. Since we celebrate Christmas every year we just went with the change and now we make our special nod to Bubbie by lighting the menorah every year. It also reminds the kids of an important part of their heritage.

While that change was hard on my wife and kids, I was laboring under the misguided assumption that Christmas at my parents’ house would never change. During my life it was always the one constant that I could depend on. I knew that no matter what may change in my life, that come December 25th, I knew where I was going to be on that morning. With the exception of one year in my life I knew that this was a constant.

I knew that I would begin the morning with one of my dad’s trademark Tom & Jerry’s, followed by the opening of presents to the background soundtrack of Christmas carols. There would be my sister Sue regulating the opening of presents in her attempts to make the morning last as long as possible, never wanting Christmas to end.

But of course the presents would have to run out and when they did came my favorite part of the morning, well my favorite part since becoming an adult, breakfast. My mom’s table settings were always legendary and Christmas was always the pinnacle.

We would feast on eggs, sautéed chicken livers, fruit, and homemade breads. No matter how much I tried to control myself I always ate too much. Combine all that food with a few Tom & Jerry’s which, by the way, have a shot of some secret liquor mixed in them, and my afternoon plans were pre-determined. Read an extended nap.

Then the other shoe dropped when my parents decided to sell their house and divide their time between the High Sierras and Baja Mexico, becoming nomads with homes. So with sadness in my heart I resigned myself to the fact that those days were gone along with Bubbie’s latkes.

Last year we began anew, it was just my immediate family, as my parents began their new Christmas traditions in Mexico. We didn’t really have any time to adopt any new traditions, but we had one another and that was good enough for us. Although I have to admit I missed the chicken livers and Tom & Jerry’s.

But this year the nomads have returned to the San Gabriel Valley and are staying through Christmas. So this year will be the shades of the old traditions, as they and my Aunt Barbara will be joining us for Christmas morning. While it won’t have the same feel as the days at my parents’ house on Loma Avenue, we will all be together and that is what really counts.

Even though the venue has changed, the other thing I have figured out with age is this, nothing else matters but family.

Especially your immediate family. You never know what tomorrow will bring so you have to make sure that when the time comes for things to change you don’t have any regrets. Sure, you will always have some, but if you take the time now to let the people in your life know how much they mean to you, you won’t be beating yourself up when they are gone.

My family was never that big to begin with having a mother that was an only child and a father that has only one sister who never had any children. Now that the family has dwindled down in numbers, either by death or geography, you want to cling to the ones that you can, and spend time with them when the occasion arises.

Fortunately, this holiday season that occasion is here once again and I am looking forward to it. Who knows what next year will bring, but I will deal with that when it comes.

This year I will be thanking Santa for bringing me some Tom & Jerry’s.

TAVISH AND THE DUCK SITUATION

It was that time of year again when my family and I pack it up and make the trek up Interstate 395 to the paradise I refer to as my “Nirvana To The North”. Every year it seems to be a little bit different. Whether it is the kids’ changing school schedules and personal dynamics, or our ever-morphing world, each year has a new little slant to deal with.

The route there was the same as every year, but the gas prices sure weren’t. The further north we traveled the altitude wasn’t the only thing that was rising. At every stop to refuel I felt like I needed oxygen to keep me from passing out from sticker shock.

Even though we didn’t gas up when we went through the town of Lee Vining at the eastern entrance to Yosemite National Park, the prices topped $4.00 a gallon for regular gas. Be prepared fellow motorists. These prices could be headed south in the near future with the way things have been going during the last year.

We got there, a little poorer, but we got there. I had to sell one of the kids in Lone Pine, but the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Just kidding of course. I did notice a lot of cattle on the way up this year and I am sure the farmers could use some help. Maybe I could get a good price for one of them next year if their teenage attitudes don’t improve.

This year’s group was a tad different, our son, Alex, brought his friend Nick Montenegro as usual, and we had our daughter, Rachel, back with us after losing her to the land down under last year. What made this year a little different was that instead of bringing a girlfriend she brought her boyfriend, Andrew Viotti, as her guest.

Yeah, yeah, I know some of you are saying, “Are you crazy? That sounds like a recipe for disaster.” Well if I hadn’t known her boyfriend since he was born and his father since I was five you can bet that any other significant other would not be making the trip. Not only that, we made sure that they were properly separated at night, and accounted for at all other times. As my parents’ friend, John Nagy, is fond of saying, “ It was all good”.

The differences on this year’s trip continued once we arrived. My wife, Stacey, is notorious for doing certain things when we are on vacation or preparing for it. Number one is making lists, which is a good thing when packing up when you are getting ready to leave. It is even a better thing when you actually use the list, which is a hard thing to do when your husband doesn’t bring the list to the kitchen where it belongs when you are packing and it’s 5:00 in the morning. Leave it safe to say that when we went to prepare some of our meals, critical ingredients were missing. Little things like the pasta for the spaghetti dinner for one example. I know, I’m a dope.

While this can be infuriating when in the middle of preparing a meal, but if the missing ingredients are noticed prior to starting the meal it is the perfect excuse to go out for dinner or lunch. Everyone in the group, especially mom, embraces this proposition with open arms. At these moments I am completely forgiven for my misplacement of the packing list. In fact it is applauded and probably will be encouraged next year.

The one problem is the number of restaurants in the immediate area. As I have mentioned in the past there are many excellent eateries in the Eastern Sierras, unfortunately the majority are clumped together 30 minutes away in the big city of Mammoth Lakes. So the spontaneous dinner plans are limited to a few locations.

The best of course is the Whoa Nellie Deli, but it closes earlier than most and is the furthest away. Being the late eaters that we are, we sometimes couldn’t make it there by their closing time. The others are all hit and miss propositions as far as quality goes which leaves you with only one sure bet, “The Tiger Bar & Cafe” in June Lake.

“The Tiger” has been around since 1932 and is quite a legendary little place. It has had, like most restaurants in the Sierras, it’s ups and downs, but I must say that in the last 5 years it has been very consistent both in quality and service. Every year there is a stand out among the servers and this year it was a young Scotsman named Tavish. He was worth the price of admission just in himself, whether he was taking our order with his quick wit and humorous banter, or flirting with every woman in the place or they flirting with him.

The Tiger’s clientele runs the gambit. Fishermen, bikers, families of campers, and the colorful local gentry. Those who are there for breakfast, lunch, or dinner are treated to the ongoing entertainment at the bar since there is no division between the two areas. And yes, Tavish played both sides of the room.

Tavish, as entertaining as he was, is only one reason we go there, the biggest being the food. While we all have developed our favorites over the years, the true stand out on their menu is the Mexican food. You can’t go wrong with anything under the “Mexican Specialties” section on their menu.

But back to my wife, and her second obsession while on vacation in “Nirvana”. That would be the abundant wildlife that surrounds you and her need to photograph it all. She has her camera at the ready at all times for the next feathered or furry face to expose itself. I thank god every day for the invention of the digital camera. Kodak and Fuji held a day of mourning when my wife switched to digital photography.

While she is always on the look out for bear and deer, her true fans while we are there are the members of the duck community. And if you are a duck with any kind of malady, you will be feed excessively and become her favorite for the duration of our trip. A couple of years ago it was a duck with a damaged wing that she named “Twitcher”. This year was one that had a massive growth on the side of its head that we referred to as either “Tumor Boy” or “The Elephant Duck”. Trust me, just like “Twitcher” before him “Elephant Duck” was the best-fed duck on the lake.

It is as though the ducks know when Stacey arrives. My mom who was there before we arrived said that there were very few ducks the entire time she was there. The first time Stacey walked on to the dock it was as though there was some kind of announcement on the duck news. They started coming out of nowhere heading straight for the dock as if they recognized her.

This turned out to be a double-edged sword especially after a couple of days of non-stop feeding frenzies, especially for those of us who like to fish off the dock. For some reason this year’s batch of ducks had become more aggressive than those in past years. As a matter of fact some of them were just plain crazy.

Case in point, “The Nick Situation”. We should have seen it coming on the days leading up to the ill fated “Situation”. As we would cast our lines with bubbles and flies off of the dock, the Duck Armadas flocked toward us looking for Stacey to feed them. Normally this would not be a problem as the ducks usually stick close to shore, but not this year.

This year, instead of coming straight to shore, they started thinking that our bubbles and flies might be something good to eat. They couldn’t have been more wrong, as Nick was soon to find out.

As Nick made his cast a group from the armada charged at full speed at his line. Nick panicked and started reeling in at full speed so they wouldn’t get tangled up in his line or worse get his fly hooked in a duck’s beak. Well both happened, and now it was the duck’s turn to panic and we on the dock were faced with a dilemma. We could have cut Nick’s line and hope that the duck would be OK or reel him in and assess the situation.

We opted for the latter based on the fact that this completely freaked out duck was thrashing around like a hooked great white shark, getting more tangled up with each manic movement. Nick did his best deep-sea fisherman impersonation reeling in the frantic foul close enough for us to net him.

Once in the net we discovered that reeling him in was the best thing. The hungry little bugger, in his attempt to eat the fly, had pierced his bill through both sides in effect suturing his bill closed. Plus, in his valiant tries to get free, he had wound himself up in 4 pound test fishing line.

After subduing him, I got the pleasure of playing doctor and carefully removed the hook. In order to remove the line we had to loosen the net. I was able to get the better part of the line off of him, but as soon as I did, and with the net not completely closed, the duck was through with my amateur veterinary skills and made a break for it.

The word must have spread because from that day forward attempts to go after the fishing lines declined as did the numbers of ducks that flocked toward the dock looking for food. I guess they were pissed off and were punishing us for what happened to their feathered friend.

In the scheme of things in life by the lake, that’s better than having the bears mad at you.

WHOA NELLIE! WHAT A VACATION

Another year has come and gone. I don’t use the normal calendar to measure a year, I use my yearly trip to my “Nirvana To The North” as my annual ending point of the year. Because as soon as it is over we kick into overdrive with school, sports, and work, after having been recharged by the magic that is the High Sierras.

This year our vacation time was cut short by two factors, an early starting school year and my daughter’s return from her Sister City trip to Australia. Thank God my son’s All Star Baseball stint was short or we might not have been able to go at all. Not that I wanted them to lose, but if I don’t get my yearly fix of “Nirvana” I would be more of a raving lunatic than I normally am and I don’t think any of us want to go there.

As I have chronicled in the past, this magical place is located in the Eastern High Sierras on the edge of a lake where we are surrounded by nature. The environment alone lends itself to relaxation, which is why I love being there. If you want to do something, you can. If you feel like sitting like a vegetable and soaking in the view like I do, you can do that as well, and for hours at a time without feeling guilty. Sorry, but that’s just the type of turnip I am.

There was, of course, the mandatory trips to Mammoth for lunch. We usually go to Grumpy’s Sports Bar and Grill which has, in addition to decent food, plenty of games to keep the kids occupied while the food is being prepared. This is always a plus, as any parent on vacation will tell you. Once you have left the complimentary crayons and color-in placemat stage, unless there is some other type of pre-mealtime diversion, waiting for your food can seem like an eternity.

That is unless you are dining at the jewel of the Eastern Sierras, Matt “Tioga” Toomey’s Whoa Nellie Deli. Not only does your food come fast it is the best food, bar none, in the area. The menu sports some very unique dishes such as Lobster Taquitos, Buffalo Meatloaf, New Zealand Rack of Lamb, and an Ahi Burger. The last two entries were on the “specials” menu, which is always changing with new delicacies.

One of the things that make this restaurant different from the rest is that it is located in a mini mart of a Mobil gas station. In fact, most of the locals and regulars don’t even call it by its proper name they just call it the “Mobil Station” which to new people to the area can sound kind of weird. You usually don’t equate petrol products with fine dining, but here at the Eastern entrance to Yosemite National Park, Tioga Pass, they do.

While there is inside dining available most people prefer to dine at one of the numerous tables al fresco with an intoxicating view of Mono Lake. Not only do you have spectacular food and a view, they have mastered something that most fine dining establishments have not, speed. You get your food fast. Considering the multitudes of people that descend on this place nightly it is an amazing feat.

When we arrived at 7:00 on Saturday night the place was packed and we still got our food faster than at most restaurants I have been to. With extra little bonuses like live music on Thursday nights, Whoa Nellie’s Deli shows no sign of stopping soon. So if you find yourself anywhere near Tioga Pass, do yourself a favor and drop in and taste Matt’s cuisine.

I don’t know about you, but whenever we go on vacation there are always a couple of instances that stick out in your mind long after the vacation is over. This year’s entry into the Vacation Hall of Fame deals with fathers and the indigenous wildlife of the Sierras.

The day of our arrival we went with my parents, Mr. Dunn and Martha or Ron and Diane, they are known by many names, to the Whoa Nellie Deli. It is about twenty minutes away from the cabin and requires driving around Grant Lake, along a winding road. My father and I have driven this road every year of our lives since getting our driver’s licenses. Day or night we usually do it above the speed limit.

That was until a fateful night a couple of years ago when my father, on his way back from the Whoa Nellie Deli, had a chance encounter with a deer. Usually when my father and a deer meet it is during hunting season, but on this night they met at 40 miles an hour on the road next to Grant Lake. While the deer’s outcome was the same, unfortunately the damage to my dad’s truck was about four times more expensive than a deer-hunting license and he didn’t get to keep the meat.

So now every time my father drives this familiar piece of highway it is done below the speed limit and if somebody else is driving, read ME, they are warned every 50 feet about the ghost deer that may appear out of nowhere in front of your car. This was repeated on the way back from the restaurant as well. I chalked this up to his one instance and his being over cautious, as any son would do. I mean it only happened once in sixty years of driving this road. What are the chances of it happening again to someone in the same family? I figured about the same as two people in the same family winning the lottery.

So a few days later, after my parents had left, we were making the same trek back to Whoa Nellie Deli when out of nowhere, you guessed it, out sprang a deer directly in front of us. Luckily, as I was driving, the words of my father rang in my ears, so my speed was slower than usual and my eyes were darting back in forth watching for these evil beasts. We had been trying to spot a deer since we arrived and almost ended up with one as a hood ornament. Deer are stupid. Sure they may be cute, but they are stupid.

Unfortunately, so are some people who think they are fishermen. During my years, this year marks my 50th anniversary of going to the cabin, I have seen a lot of them and lived with the two best fishermen on the lake, my grandmother and my dad. So when I tell you that this year I saw the dumbest person I have ever seen with a fishing pole in his hands, I know from which I speak.

Directly off of our dock is one, if not the hottest, fishing spots on the lake, so we are used to people anchoring in front of it. This provides an eagle eye view of what’s going on in their boats. On one particular day, while I was being a turnip, a father and son, obviously novice fishermen based on the newness of their dingy sized boat and the equipment they were using, had an incredible stroke of luck, well sort of.

During their brief time out fishing, not more than an hour, the son hooked what was easily a 6 to 7 pound trout. There are fishermen who have been fishing the lake for years trying to catch a fish that big, but to know avail. What was even more amazing is that these two didn’t even have a net and the son managed to get it in the boat without one. That should have been the end of the story, but unfortunately for the boy, dad got involved.

For some bizarre reason once the fish was in the boat and had stopped moving dad decided that the fish was dead and therefore no good. So without the benefit of a net he decided to put it back in the water in an effort to revive it. Of course, the fish was slippery, and dad lost him in the water. He then tried to use one of the oars to, well I don’t know what he was trying to do.

By the time he asked if he could borrow a net from me I knew it was too late but I loaned it to him anyway. They drove in circles for over a half hour while dad was doing his best impression of Captain Ahab searching for Moby Dick before finally giving up and returning the net. The son was clearly very disappointed and it was then that I offered up two valuable pieces of fishing advise in my limited arsenal of fishing knowledge. Always take a net and when you get a fish that big never let him see water again until he is restrained securely.

Another year, another lesson learned.