A Shocking Turn of Events

Friday afternoon I was sitting in the waiting room of my chiropractor when I got a text..."Is Mom with you?" I texted back to my little sister, "No". Within a few seconds, the phone rang. Occasionally I have a sixth sense about things. I know the phone call did not carry good news; but I knew it would be ok.

First there was some small talk, then silence. I knew that silence would be followed by some jarring news. With her voice cracking, she said, "Mark's on his way to the hospital". She told me he was having problems with his heart; that it wasn't beating correctly and the doctor sent him to the hospital. I told her I had several friends with the same problem and it would be ok.


Mom and I headed north Saturday morning. At the hospital, Mark seemed pretty good--even with his chest thumping in crazy rhythms. The lines on the monitor zig-zagged with no regularity. When he stood, his pulse would go up to around 150. He was having some pain in his shoulder blade radiating to the front. And he was having problems walking without being able to catch his breath.


He admitted to having this problem for the past 15 years. About once a year, his heart will go out of rhythm, but will return to normal after four days. This time, the doctor wasn't messing around, especially with Mark's lightheadedness.

Sunday, Mark's heart was still not beating correctly so it looked like the "shock" would be a go for Monday. His doctor came in to see him and I asked if we could watch, or even hit the button for the big shock. No go. We'd have to sit in the waiting room. I even told the doctor of my experience shocking Mark with our electric fence. Nope. That didn't even work.

This morning, Mark had just been taken back by the time we arrived at 8. We'd been there earlier if we'd known, but they couldn't seem to be able to tell us what time they'd come for him. So we kept Mark's wife and daughter company for a couple of hours.


Finally, an Indian doctor came and told us that he did great. No blood clot, and it only took one shock to get the ol' ticker beating in rhythm again. He took us back to see Mark, who was being wheeled back to his room. Mark started in with his usual sick humor, telling everyone within earshot that he was clinically dead for five minutes and expected to go to Heaven. Instead, he went to hell and was greeted by Saddam Hussein. I asked if he saw the 72 virgins. He said he did, and there was a good reason they were all virgins.


Typical Mark.

In wrapping this up, I need to thank The Big Man above for watching over my little brother. Looks like we'll have him around a good long time to torment and tease. We'll expect the same in return.

Just like old times...except no more knock-down drag-out fights that were common between me and Mark. Now it's just hugs and "I love you's" between teasings.


Love you, little brother!

Mark-isms

Remember I told you that my little brother Mark has provided me with plenty of stories? It's time for a few short ones.


BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

Mom and I were hanging clothes on the line when my brother Mark (maybe 11 at the time) came out of the house with a panicked look on his face. His right hand was covering his right ear. Of course, we were thinking, "What now?"

"Mom! Mom!...I got a fly in my ear!", he yelled. Mom had the perfect answer. "Well, let it out, Stupid!!!".

Mark took his hand away from his ear and the fly simply flew out. We didn't even bother asking him WHY he was holding the fly in his ear.


BRIDGE OUT!

When we were very young, we must've been staying with our Aunt Rita. She and Mom were non-identical twins. Aunt Rita was a fun aunt, but she also loved to scare the bejeezus out of us.

Mark was just a little squirt--maybe three years old. He and Mike were in the back seat of Aunt Rita's car and I was sitting in front. We were riding around in the countryside, and came upon a collapsed bridge. It was just one of those little one-lane country road bridges and had the typical warning sign for "BRIDGE OUT". Well, Aunt Rita turned the car around to go back the other way; but then got this look on her face. She put the car in reverse and started backing up to the bridge.

We thought she'd lost her marbles. The louder we screamed, the faster she backed up to the bridge. We screamed for what seemed like an eternity, and just before we got to the bridge and the big gaping hole, she stopped the car. Aunt Rita then put the car into forward, and drove away from the bridge in a cloud of gravel dust. I remember hearing this maniacal laughter from her, so I know she really enjoyed the scare she put into us.

It took all three of us a few minutes to catch our breath and calm our hearts down. None of us said a word--until Mark piped up with, "I like being scared, 'cause it feels so good when it quits!".


Bonjour, Class!

Our music education at Center Grove Elementary was cheerfully provided by Mrs. Hunter. Although she was a very nice lady, she was a pretty bad music teacher. When it was time for our weekly music class, Mrs. Hunter would push her little cart of stuff into our class. (I don't recall that she ever used anything off of that cart, but she always had a dried sunflower on it.) Anyway, we would start the class with...


Good morning to you!
Good morning to you!
We're all in our places
With sun-shiny faces.
Oh, this is the way
To start a new day!

God, we hated that stupid song.

Then Mrs. Hunter would choose someone from the class to come up to the blackboard. He or she would be instructed to draw "100" on the board. Then we were to turn the "100" into a sunflower. She never explained the reason for this strange lesson, but it was easy and it made her happy to see that we knew what a sunflower looked like. Every week was the same. Sing the dumb song and draw a sunflower. I'm sure we must've done something else during these classes, but I don't remember what it was.

One week it was my brother Mark's turn for music class. As always, Mrs. Hunter had Mark's class sing the dreaded song and then chose someone to draw the sunflower. As she was pushing her cart out of the door, as always, she tried to give the class one last piece of culture. She always said her goodbye as, "Bonjour, class!". Then out the door she'd go.

Well, this time when Mrs. Hunter bade the class "Bonjour" in her finest French accent and turned to go out the door, that goofy brother of mine said (and in a loud gruff voice)..."BONE-JORE!!!!". Mrs. Hunter wheeled around and demanded to know "WHO SAID THAT????".

Twenty-nine fingers pointed in Mark's direction. I don't know what his punishment was, but it probably involved a principal and a plank of wood.