When I was 49 years old and started getting those mailings from AARP (because somehow they knew, just knew, I was going to be 50 very soon), I totally resented it. AARP?! What’s going on? Retired persons? Huh?

Then came the time, about ten years later, when I was offered my first “senior discount” – while ordering a sandwich at a Subway store. I reported that incident here as “mildly disturbing.” At the time, I declined to take advantage of their offer.

The next time the senior discount thing happened, about a year later, I wasn’t even asked: the person behind the counter simply took a look at me and punched the discount into the purchase.

Ugh.

Now, one of the most telling signs of advanced age is coming my way. In the past couple weeks, I’ve received two mailings, one from Blue Shield of California, the other from my old friend AARP, both on the topic of Medicare. Yep, the word is out: in less than six months I’m turning 65.

Apparently I’ve got a bunch of homework to do (go to www.medicare.gov and study up, they both advise). And then, there’s the whole matter of Medicare supplement plans, which I guess are very important and a big decision. Ohhhhh … I have a lot to learn!

This business of getting old continues to be: not for sissies.

Continued from Part 2…

After I’d been in this second room for about 24 hours, and not long after the roommate-nosedive episode, I told the nurses I simply couldn’t take it any more. I mean: really! I hadn’t slept my first night in the hospital, and I certainly was not going to sleep my second if I had to remain in the same space with Mr. Fruitcake. They finally agreed to move me yet again, though I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen next.

So, my bed was rolled down the hall to another room about dinnertime, and although there was an occupant on the other side of the curtain, I heard nothing.

Ah … silence.

But, then, right around the time our meals were delivered, the guy’s family arrived: which appeared to be a wife and two small kids. Ugh. Still, everything worked out OK this time. They stayed less than two hours, and the kids were very well-behaved. Plus, I think the couple tried to talk so they couldn’t be overheard. Certainly, I could barely make out anything they said.

After his family left, I finally said “hi” – even though we couldn’t see each other. He indicated that he had had surgery for breast cancer a few hours earlier. He also said he had been diagnosed only a couple days ago; still, here he was recovering from surgery this evening. When I asked him a couple questions, he seemed to know precious little about his condition, which surprised me … but, then again, he’d only just been diagnosed and apparently had, on-faith, taken some doctor’s word for what needed to be done and when. I told him that I had gone through a breast-cancer experience with a former female partner in 1999 and she was fine, and that a male colleague of mine had had breast cancer in the early 2000s and his case turned out positively as well. I think he liked that report. In addition to clueless, he did sound a little scared.

During the time I was in the hospital, just a little over 48 hours total, I had a couple of great nurses and a string of them that seemed, well, uninformed and uninvolved. The nurse who attended to me the first day, right out surgery, was very nice and genuinely concerned with attending to both my physical and emotional needs. However, the nurses who came and went during both nighttime hours, seemed totally oblivious to why I was there, what had gone on with me since I’d arrived, and were, quite-remarkably, disturbingly, detached. I did the best I could, through the fog of anesthesia, drugs, pain and fear, to keep track of what they were putting into my body and why, and what schedule I was on for what. As it turned out, I did a much better job of that than they ever did, even in my diminished-capacity condition. I pushed the button and told them it was time for this or that, and, when they looked it up on their computer, sure enough … there it was. When I was struggling mightily with the reaction I had to the Vicodin, on the morning after the surgery, in response to my request to figure out what was going on with my stomach pain, the nurse on duty said, “I need to check on something quickly, but I’ll be right back.”

However, she didn’t return. And, when she did wander by about an hour later, I reminded her that I WAS STILL IN PAIN and could we do something, PLEASE?!

The computer system in the hospital was totally ridiculous. Every time the nurses had to check on ANYthing, they had to wait for the computer to boot up (very slowly), then they had to navigate to my records, check on the status and, finally, scan the barcodes on both the medication they were administering and on my wrist bracelet. Of course, this even included the Maalox and Tums they gave me for my Vicodin-induced stomach pain. What a joke. I told them that when I was sent a survey about my care at the hospital, I was going to advocate for a new computer system. (Which I subsequently did.)

In case you haven’t guessed: I really didn’t like being in the hospital.

[The story continues here.]

Please make sure to stop by and visit my other primary home here in the virtual world …

[click on this photo]

I attended Nikon School again this year. This is an all-weekend, two-day photography seminar sponsored by the makers of Nikon cameras; it is available in several cities around the country over the course of any given year. No other camera manufacturer has a program that’s even remotely similar, if my information is correct. The first day, Saturday, is a beginner’s session entitled “Introduction to Digital SLR Photography.” It starts with the basics of ISO, shutter speed and aperture and goes from there, including exposure modes; white balance; lens choice; composition; and framing. The second day is called “Next Steps: Color, Light & Technology.” This day is much more technical, and includes such topics as understanding the qualities of light; how to make the most of RAW format images and maximize a workflow built around them; color management from camera to print; and a demo of Capture NX2 (Nikon’s own photo-editing software). Both days are incredibly packed with information: so much so that the first time I attended the “Next Steps” day, I thought my head was going to explode. Luckily, I keep up with most parts of all topics now, so I don’t walk away so overloaded and exhausted. At the end of the weekend, I’m more energized than anything, so I guess that’s why I keep going back year after year.

Last weekend marked my fifth year in a row attending Nikon School in Berkeley, and perhaps my tenth time overall (honestly, I've lost track). I’ve also attended Nikon Schools offered in Portland and Seattle (two or three times in each of those locations, when I lived in Oregon). Back in the early 2000s when I first started attending, I was still shooting film, as was one of the two instructors (Sam Garica; Bill Durrence was shooting digital.)

Autofocus Speedlight SB-700An additional topic (not listed above) for the “Next Steps” day is flash photography, with a discussion of fill- and bounce-flash. The presentation includes a live demonstration using multiple Speedlights (the name for Nikon’s line of flashes) in a simulated portrait session. For this part of the seminar, one audience participant is asked to volunteer to sit on stage as their subject.

When it came time for this demo, I thoroughly expected the instructors to choose a female (and certainly someone who doesn’t wear glasses, as that adds an unneeded complication to their work) for this very interesting, but rather-intense part of the show. However, this year, they didn’t ask for volunteers! With no advance warning of what was to come, I was, more-or-less, simply selected to be the subject.

How did this happen? Well, Nick Didlick, along with Reed Hoffmann, were the two instructors this time around and I’ve been Facebook friends with Nick for a couple years now. He knew I was in the audience … right there in the front row, as usual. The flash demo was his topic, and when he started it out, he simply pointed to me and indicated that he’d like me to come up and help. I don’t exactly remember how he asked: I was too stunned. However, I was flattered to be chosen, and, of course, got up on stage. I remember saying, jokingly, something like, “you’ll be sorry.”

© 2012 Nick DidlickDespite my embarrassment at having every single frame immediately visible on the big screen, I pretty much enjoyed myself. Nick really worked hard, and eventually produced some good shots. (There were lots of bad ones, too, as he quite ably demonstrated what didn’t work so well.)

Amazingly, I had packed my MacBook Air along with me to the seminar. This was the first time I had ever carried a computer in. It certainly came in handy as, during the break, Nick allowed me to download the entire photo shoot onto my machine. I’ve included one of my favorite shots here.

You may want to check out the websites of the five Nikon School instructors: Nick Didlick, Bill Durrence, Reed Hoffmann, Bob Pearson, and Michael Schwartz.

Bottom line: I heartily recommend attending Nikon School if it ever comes to your neighborhood.

[See also: Nikon Acquisition Syndrome.]

Continued from Part I…

So, I had survived after all. They’d performed the TURP while I was under anesthesia, and now, here I was. I could scarcely grasp the fact that the surgery was completed and I was actually in the recovery room. (These drugs: wow.) The nurses confirmed, at least a couple of times, in response to my continued expressions of disbelief, that yes, the surgery was over. I eventually developed an awareness that I felt pretty loopy but in no particular pain. Then someone called over from across the room, “Mr. Arnold, Katrina called.”

Ahhh…yes. Thank you very much! (Somebody called! Katrina called!)

And, then, I even took a phone call. In my first moments of consciousness, in typical TechnoMonk fashion I suppose, I had grabbed my bag and found my iPhone. Mere minutes later the phone started vibrating, so I answered it. The doctor’s office was on the line to reschedule the time of my first post-op appointment. Amazingly, I had the presence of mind to know what was going on; the new appointment time was there on my calendar later when I checked it.

As time passed, the anesthesia, of course, began to wear off and I became more and more uncomfortable. I took the Vicodin that was offered, thankful that narcotics were available to ease my distress. Unfortunately, my body would not tolerate this painkiller. So, after the first 24 hours, I had no pain medication at all. My second day in the hospital was spent trying to reverse the effects (mostly intense stomach pain) of the Vicodin; it had actually caused more problems than it solved. I did experience some pain relief, during the first day and a half, with an occasional opium suppository. At one point I remember saying to the nurse, “I can’t believe I’m asking this, but could we do another one of those suppository things?” (I didn’t find out until later, though, that it was an opiate. Taking this approach to pain relief had its own consequences: I had a terrible rash on my butt for about the first 7 days after getting out of the hospital.)

I awoke from the procedure with a catheter inside me. Now, that’s challenging enough, of course, but this happened to be a much-larger-than-your-average catheter, inserted right up into that place where there’s really no space. It was connected to an IV kind of contraption that dripped fluid into me and constantly kept my insides flushed out, carrying away blood from my internal wound. For the next two days, it was my job to lie there patiently while I automatically peed out pink liquid into the bag tethered to the side of my bed. I ended up watching the bag with the source fluid very closely, making sure to call the nurse when it got too low. Everyone seemed entirely delighted by the color of the liquid that I passed – that it was merely pink, not too bloody red. So, of course, I was pleased that they were pleased.

The most significant source of stress for me while in the hospital was not actually the pain, though. My major issues had to do with privacy. And, no, not because of the nature of my surgery; I quickly became accustomed to having my gown lifted by anyone and everyone to check on my catheter and/or to insert a suppository up my rear. No problem. The big deal was trying to cope with my roommate(s). The room to which I was first assigned had another patient, in the next bed, who was so totally out of it that when my doctor visited the first evening, he asked that I be moved to a quieter space.

The room I moved to was even more problematic, however, and I spent almost 24 hours dealing with the antics of the new guy. He was in for knee-replacement surgery and obviously in much more pain than me. I don’t know how much of his behavior was drug-related, but the commotion surrounding him became a very big problem. He had a ridiculously loud, obnoxious, cell-phone ring tone, which seemed to go off constantly. And then, when someone wasn’t calling him, he was dialing out. And he had one of those VERY LOUD TALKER cell phone voices that really intruded into my personal space. On top of all that, he had people needing to check up on him way more frequently than anyone was checking on me. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another.

He even had an occupational therapist stop by to inform him that he was now going to need to put his pants on one leg at a time. (Did I really hear that correctly?!)

The most disruptive, and entirely outrageous, episode was when he guessed he could reach an item that was on a table close to his bed …  but was clearly out of range. He kept reaching and stretching, stretching and reaching (when he should have been pressing the call button to ask for help), until he finally fell out of his bed. Yes, there he was, an old fart ten years my senior, needing to be totally immobilized because he was healing a new knee, and he literally took a nosedive off his bed. I said something like, “WTF, dude. What were you thinking?!” (… as he’s writhing in agony on the floor …) I pushed my button, and when they entered the room, the reason for the call was obvious. It took about 4 or 5 of them, as I recall, to lift him back onto his bed. Miraculously, he seemed to not have done any real damage to himself. But, oh my god, was this a noisy, upsetting, scene.

[The story continues here.]

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