Sleepover leads to "ER"
(In reply to Herbert's email about our latest adventure to the Cape) The Cape trip? Ahem...................... I guess best to give a blow by blow account, first day the wind was not a'blowing at all. Got there about 2:30 in a very moderate beam reach on the starboard tack. Hoisted both the main and genny and set the iron jib (inboard Atomic Four engine, made by Universal and the engine that helped win the war (WW ll) in the jeep), for what help that could give which was not a lot towing the 18ft Atlantic loaded with the extras that we could not get aboard the Sea Hawk because her Plimsol line was already submerged in violation of international loading limits. Actually I felt a little out of sorts, but attributed it to the heavy preparation tasks that the first mate assigned me prior to departure. So rested up feeding watermellon rind to the two obliging leatherback turtles who came a begging, which is probably against the law for the protection of the endangered species act, but what the hell. During the night the wind breezed up to around 30 knots and it looked like the anchor was dragging, so roused the first mate at 3:00 AM, started the iron jib and went forward and gathered anchor slack while the Iron Mate (Judy- Iron Mike is the auto pilot) steered her into the wind till we broke the anchor out (it had not been dragging, as I had feared after all) but when I got it hoisted aboard went as far up into the Hook as I felt comfortable going and we dropped the Bruce again. This time to make sure, let out a lot of scope, secured the line and got some visual bearings on the lighthouse and several other boats (one of which itself drug about a hundred yards which I discovered next morning), crawled back into my sleeping bag and got a few hours of shut eye. Next morning the blow was still on us to the extent that the charter boats did not venture out and the Cape ferries were not running either as it was that rough in the sound, so just decided to hunker down and finish the book. Ate a big South Beach breakfast and took it easy for about two hours when I noticed a lot of burping and somewhat unpleasant feelings in my upper abdomin. Reminded me of the old days before I had my gall bladder removed, but could not blame it on that, so I just decided to tough it out. Was like a bad, bad hangover though. About five or so my son and his family arrived in their boat as the wind had abated somewhat and we made the best of the rest of a miserable weather day (you can get blown out on a sailboat). Since breakfast I could not eat anything but kept the water coming in what I thought was a tolerable level, and around midnight I finally threw up (managed to make it to the head, thank you), but did not feel a lot better. Next morning I decided to come on back in the little boat and leave the rest of them there to fend for themselves ( a little humor there, but I did manage to steer us in (Judy insisted on accompanying me) and only ran aground once on the G.D. Shoal at Howland Rock about a mile to the south of Shell Landing where we live. Got her off in a half hour and was releaved to discover on my own that my ailment was not a pending heart attack as I had feared because I felt no worse after prying her off of the sandbar (and also after picking up the first mate who tumbled forward) when "The Ship Hit The Sand" as Andy Griffith once said). So when we arrived at our embarkadero and made fast to a temporary mooring closer to our house, we got tidied up a bit and made off for the hospital as I had promised the crew I would do in return for them not calling PEDRO (the rescue helicopter) or even worse the Coast Guard (my God, can you imagine the red tape and endless inspections- enough to really give one a heart attack). Went to the emergency room (had not eaten in 24 hours, a record for the ships rat as Mike Harris, my old mate on the Dolphin ll named me) and began to fill out the admittance papers (almost as bad as a rescue by the Coast Guard) and at long last was led back to the inner sanctum of the emergency room for a series of bloodletting and listening sessions and eventually into the iron lung of the magnetic resolution chamber or whatever in the hell it is called which took an alarming picture (they told me this later) of an alien creature about to spring forth like in the movie- or so it felt. After a brief period of further record taking and asking me about my drinking habits over and over and me telling them two little drinks of red wine and then them looking over at the first mate shake her head negatively and soundlessly mouthing the words to me,"I told you so- Nanna, nanna, nanna" they brought in the chief gastro intestinal surgeon who wore a very falsely pasted on look of encouragement, smile, and hope when he told me, "Now everything is going to be fine, no need to worry, but we are going to keep you overnight just to make sure ," and by the way, nothing to eat or drink because we are going to (how can I put this nicely so as not to offend?) go up your rectum with a camera and set of surgical tools onto a robot arm and check out the little squiggly thingy that the mri machine detected. (I found out later that he told Judy to gather the insurance papers and get the secret account number in the Cayman Islands and begin getting information on available young men who might be interested in helping her to spend my accumulated fortune- well maybe not all of that, but he scared her so bad when she came back in the room it scared the hell out of me as , and this may come as a surprise to some of you, but I sometimes jump to conclusions, especially when my buns are in the fire.) At any rate I was the last scheduled patient (more encouragement, they always save the worse for last) on the morning roster and I am sure that it was just precautions but Judy had all of the insurance papers and special instructions and went over them with me one more time and kept saying,"are you sure this is all of them, and don't worry I am sure everything will be all right." When I awakened after the colonostophy, Judy was there after a fashion and everything started to come back to me as if in slow motion, including the abdominal pain, which was mercifully not worse, and Judy told me that yesterday the doctor was convinced that there was a massive tumor lurking in my upper colon as the mri images plainly showed, but when he got in there there was no sign of it. So within a couple of hours I was out Scot free and feeling better all of the time with no explanation for the abdominal pain, but the doctor was inclined to blame dehydration. So there you have it whether you wanted it or not. But I did have a colonoscophy (sp, I am sure) which I had been meaning to get for years so I guess something good came out of it after all. Ben Jr.and his daugther Jaci got the two other boats back and everything is relatively normal. Am checking back with the doctor in a week or so for follow up. First purple toes, and now this. What is next? Don't really want to know
