My friend Rick Wehler passed away in October of 2024. Rick was a cheerful guy with a zany sense of humor. He authored the Minnie-Sconsin book series, a set of books based around his humorous take on his life experiences. Rick also provided a few articles for my blog which were very popular. Rick sent me this story in November of 2022, and although it got put on the backburner, he would be happy to know that it will finally be published. As you will see, Rick found humor in every situation. 😄
Hope you enjoy it.
Nov 18, 2022
Hi Joe,
It’s time to put the skis on your bike. Here’s a story I finished last night. Took a while to find some humor in the experience. Okay, breakfast is waiting, cheerios with bananas. I’m going healthy. (Lucky charms for dessert)
Your friend, Rick
Lucky
By Rick A. Wehler
November 10th, 2022, at 12:45pm; here I am lying upon a hospital bed in a backside-challenged gown; connected to bleeping monitors.
The morning of November 8th, I voted, and at my checkup, I got lucky. The cardiologist signed off on my heart health. That evening, I sat down in the living room, turned on the TV and did my best to avoid the election returns. Thankfully, some out-of-the-way station was showing a movie, “Winchester 73,” from 1950, the year after I was born. My dad was into westerns then, but I don’t remember much about the movie.
As I leaned back in the recliner, accompanied by a half dozen of Cora’s homemade sugar cookies and a cup of eggnog, my heart went freaking nuts; beating in a rush as if Cora had paraded through the room dressed in a miniskirt and a scoop-necked tank top.
I vowed, “I’m not going to the emergency room again!” In the past, my heart had reset on its own within a few hours. Three months ago, it didn’t, and I spent the overnight hours in the company of specialists, all of whom were dressed appropriately.
After a night when my body was not interested in sleeping, I called the cardiology department at 8am and left a message. Jill, the principal nurse, got back to me quickly, and set up a next-day appointment at 12;30pm for a cardioversion, aka heart reboot, at an associated hospital that had an opening.
I stayed busy all morning and did my best to discourage the fluttering heartbeat by vacuuming, dusting, sweeping, and doing the laundry, which had no effect whatsoever. That afternoon, Cora accepted a drive to deliver a used truck for a car dealership and wouldn’t let me stay home alone. (The kid in the movie got to stay home alone.) The truck, a 2019, big honking bugger, shook and rattled harder than my internals.
I received an email, while in transit, from the hospital’s cardiology department that listed all I must not do and must do to prepare for tomorrow’s heart reboot. The instruction that stood out: You must not eat or drink anything beginning at midnight. I mumbled, “That’s cruel.” Our kitchen counter is lined with containers of cookies and candy, my life’s blood! I can’t count nor do I wish to remember how many times I reached for a treat but couldn’t touch. Yeah, yeah, Cora; cookies, candy, and you.
I must submit to a Covid test. The shielded dude at the testing center sank his long Q-Tip into my nose and most of the way to my spleen and rubbed it around for five seconds! That was a negative.
Another listing said that after the cardioversion, I must not drive for 24 hours. Meh. Whenever Cora and I are on the road together; I’m not allowed to drive. The same is true when we’re not together.
The instructions instructed that I must take a shower the night before my appointment. They would’ve been better off if I took one an hour before I showed up.
We left home at 11:30am. Cora drove. Fortunately, we arrived twenty minutes before the 12:30pm appointment. I didn’t realize that it would take just shy of a half an hour to check in. Miranda, the kind, check-in lady requested, “Mr. Wheeler, please state your name and birthdate.”
I joked, “My name is pronounced Whaler. That’s why we didn’t name any of our sons Jonah.”
Cora took over. Miranda and the hospital now know more about me than I could’ve hoped to remember. She escorted us to my “private” room on the 10th floor.
I warned Cora, “Don’t get any ideas. I can fly.”
She shot back, “Let’s find out.”
At that moment, Jackie, a CNA, whatever that means, I don’t want to know, arrived adorned in blue hospital garb, and encouraged me to hand over all of my belongings to Cora. I commented, “I don’t own anything except for my wallet, and the only stuff in there is what Cora put there.”
Jackie pulled the curtains so that I could put on the stylish hospital frock. I noted that both women stayed on my side of the curtains. She approached with a shaver, unsnapped my ensemble, and cleared the vegetation from my chest. While she mowed; I learned that Jackie is a junior at a college here in downtown Madison. I assumed botany to be her major. After she vacuumed my campus, refastened my muumuu, and hooked me up to a couple of bleeping machines; Jackie mentioned that Nurse Marty would soon arrive.
I’m lucky to have Arizonian, Mickey A. whom I affectionately refer to as Marty Malone, as my friend. In return, she calls me Enrico. I mentioned to Cora, “If Nurse Marty’s last name is Malone; I’ll have a coronary.”
When Nurse Marty arrived, I hoped to induce a smile by telling her about my friendship with Marty Malone. I asked the gray-haired, tired-eyed nurse with a hitch in her step, “What’s your last name?”
She replied, “Why do you want to know?!”
I gave her a brief explanation to which she replied, “I don’t care. Now answer my questions.” I did so to the best of Cora’s ability. Nurse Marty recorded her answers and bedecked the back of my left hand with an IV.
Several other nurses came through the private room, each on a mission. They were professional, friendly and kind from as near as I could tell because the background noise and the bleeping machines overwhelmed my hearing aids. Without going into heartrending detail, I’ll mention a few of them and their assignments.
Samantha wiggled her nose and attached a dozen electrode tapes onto my shaven surfaces and my legs in order to take an ECG and confirm what the bleeping machines had indicated.
Phoebe withdrew a fair amount of my sugar-deprived blood from a previously unpunctured area.
Genie arrived to transport me into the operating room, and tried to encourage Cora by explaining, “Mrs. Wehler, your husband’s procedure will take about half an hour. He’ll be back here soon.”
Cora bemoaned, “Okay…That’s not enough time to go shopping.”
Upon arrival beneath the lights, Angelica applied two electrode tapes, one onto my chest and the other onto my back, each the size of a four-egg frying pan.
Celeste, the anesthesiologist, a white-haired, good-spirited lady, said, “We’ll be giving you a dose of fentanyl.”
I reacted, “Say what?!”
She replied. “Don’t worry, it’ll only put you out for fifteen minutes or so.”
I commented while drifting off, “Don’t tell Wifey. She’ll want you to administer a 48-hour dose.”
Celeste beamed and added, “You sound like my husband. He’s a smoker. I had to give him CPR last year, and I told him if he doesn’t stop smo….”
I woke up, so that’s a good thing, with my heart beating properly. Over the next hour, more nurses arrived to return me to my room, remove the IV, bandage the punctures, and disconnect those bleeping machines. Theresa, who said that we had met before, smiled and wished me well.
Cora left to find her car and meet me by the front door while I got dressed without company.
Jackie, my landscaper, returned and mentioned, “You got lucky. It only took one zap to get your heart beating properly.” She asked, “Would you like to walk down to your car by yourself, or should I take you there in a wheelchair?”
I quipped, “I’m on the 10th floor of an unfamiliar building. At home, my bedroom and bathroom are on the same floor; and I get lost traveling from one to the other. And both of our cars are Cora’s cars.”
As Jackie wheeled me out the front door, she asked, “Do you see Cora’s car?”
I replied, “Yes, it’s the white SUV with the license plate RICORA. Our names, Rick and Cora, meet in the middle.”
She said, “Aww, that’s sweet.”
“Yup. My name got lucky too.”
#####
Note…
I gave most of the nurses magical or angelic names. Theresa is the tv clairvoyant. Meh, no one will notice but it’ll make me smile 30 years from now when I look back on the experience. Better go. My bananas are melting.
Rick A. Wehler
Author of:
North of Normal Minne-Sconsin Stories
South of Superior More Minne-Sconsin Stories
East of Excelsior A Seniors Minne-Sconsin Stories
West of Witty Minne-Sconsin Stories and Femails
Rick’s cheerful nature and goofy humor is missed. 😊
