17. Cancer and F16 crash

August 1995

Greetings with more notes from North Pole,

I have come to expect strange happenings in the land of the midnight sun, but was totally unprepared for my recent journey into the realm of medicine (Diana assures me that it was because my last trip to a hospital was in 1947). The seriousness of the situation was not lost on me. However, I kept thinking that taking out a kidney should not be too big a deal for a surgeon. After all, they sit right on the surface on either side of the backbone.

My innocence led me into my first error. I was concerned about the credentials on the Doctor’s walls rather than the size of his hands (he sticks his hands not a certificate in the hole he cuts). The second mistake was when I stated that I expected to be off work for a couple of weeks while I recuperated. Realizing he was dealing with a novice, Dr. Jelinek took out a chart and proceeded to explain the operation. Took a little longer than usual as he first had to convince me that he really knew anatomy and the best route to the kidney was through the abdomen not from the back.

Finally, he told me that I might as well just check in at 12:01a.m. of “operation day” (at least it’s still daylight in Alaska). There was no sense giving the Insurance Company an extra day and I would not get much sleep anyway the night before the operation (in my innocence, I thought he meant I would be concerned about the operation).

Dr. Jelinek asked, "Any further questions?"

I pointed out that I was facing a future with kidney function reduced by 50%. What limitations could I expect?

"None," seemed to require clarification.

"Then why do we have two kidneys?" I asked with skepticism.

"So we can donate one!" seemed like a damn good answer.

Being a good patient (at this stage), I checked in just beyond the witching hour. They took me to my room and put me in one of those weird gowns with the back totally open and told me “we” had to do a bowel prep. I had heard of enemas and was not particularly looking forward to the procedure when the nurse told me she would be back with something for me to drink (she just laughed when I informed her that I was not thirsty).

I was still trying to recall basic anatomy and how the bowels connected to the kidney and how they needed to reach the kidney from the abdomen, when the nurse set a four liter bottle of GOLITELY by my bed and informed me to, "drink".

"How much?" I asked.

"the whole thing!" (took her a few minutes to calm me down and explain- 2 glasses every ten minutes). The stuff was not repulsive, but after the first quart it certainly did not taste good either. Now, math is not my strong point but I had to do something to keep the minute hand from racing forward in 10 minute leaps. I did not like the answer that with 16 ounces (forget metric) a session, I was going to be occupied for the next 3+ hours (I now realized why Dr. Jelinek said I would not be sleeping). The nurse’s aid started to put the bed rail into the up position, when the nurse said, “No, let’s leave that down." (I thought she realized I was a grown man and would not roll out of the bed).

They started an IV to ”keep me hydrated” (I was in the process of being forced to drink 4 liters of GOLITELY, how much hydration did “we” need?). About two hours later I received enlightenment. All the pieces fell into place. The need for hydration (they should have had a pump on the IV), the four-liter bottle (not near enough liquid), the bed rail being left down (thank heaven-NO TIME TO FOOL WITH THAT), my bed adjacent to the bathroom (almost too far), the hospital gown with the open back (I would not even have had time to lift a skirt). It all became clear as I sprinted for the bathroom with a nurse in hot pursuit screaming “the IV!, the IV!”. I reached back and grabbed the IVpole, but continued with my single minded purpose. I had only one destination in mind. My only comment about the next couple of hours is that the individual who named GOLITELY had a very warped since of humor.

It is almost impossible to believe that it took as long to get rid of the GOLITELY as it did to drink it (balancing the speed of entry and force of exiting). I staggered out of the bathroom just in time to be prepared for the surgery. They asked if I would like an epidural. My suspicions aroused, I asked what it was for. When they said it was for pain, I told them they could give me anything as long as I did not have to drink it and it did not have any laxative effect.

A few minutes later they had me prepped, told me to relax, and boy did they mean it. I woke up several hours later thinking only a few minutes had passed. I may sometimes be slow, but I knew the surgery was over. There was an oxygen tube up my nose, an IV in my arm, an epidural in my back, a huge bandage on my side and a catheter...in the appropriate location.

I was fortunate with the night nurse. She had undergone the same surgery 10 years earlier. It was relieving to talk to someone who knew the future. She was also very sympathetic. The first morning I was allowed "solid" food, she was replacing my IV.

The food arrived, kept warm by a nice cover. I eagerly lifted the cover to find an amorphous, gray, mass! "What the hell is this?" I exclaimed!

"I don't know; but, I'm glad I don't have to eat it!" observed my nurse/friend. Never did find out what it was but waited on the noon meal for my return to solid food. I think the breakfast may have been a Native American dish.

Anyway, my recovery has been swift and that too was fortunate. Not long after I was back on my feet, Diana had to go through some of the same agony (no GOLITELY) as she had a hysterectomy. It was been an interesting summer. But it was not over! We still had mosquitoes, bears and the U.S. Air Force (or a combination of the three) to deal with.

I found that nothing can get the old heart pumping faster than being 4 miles from camp, standing over a very fresh bear track (more than 10 inches wide) and someone saying who has the shotgun? (SILENCE), Does anyone at least have some pepper spray? (silence being repeated under these circumstances is deafening).

The greatest danger at Coal Creek is surprising a bear in the willows. We avoided that by singing (this was questioned by the group who heard what they described as screaming and met us a quarter mile from camp). This was the first time that I used “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall” as a round. But we were assured (by those from camp) that there were no bears left in the whole valley (and probably that end of the park). On our trip back we also ran across a wolf track that was bigger than a saucer. When we reported this, we were also assured that the wolf had also departed the area due to noise levels.

My two-year relationship with the U.S. Air Force was to end as it began (remember the fight over the bone?) in adversarial mode. This time one of their pilots left an F15c jet fighter in the Preserve.

It was on the ground (without benefit of a runway), straddling a creek that feeds the Charley River (designated as Wild and Scenic), and with both wing pods of fuel in the water (leaking out 2,800 gallons of JP-8).

The pilot had finally realized that jets don’t go far without fire in their belly and safely ejected (at a very low elevation). The Air Guard, who was called to go and pick him up, had recently landed a helicopter in the Preserve without my permission. They took my threat to confiscate their Blackhawk (as evidence) seriously and this time called to tell me they were in my area again.

I drove out to Eielson Air Force Base to work with the USAF. Quickly found out that they did not believe they needed our help. Ended up with a Colonel threatening to have the area declared a National Defense Site. I countered by offering to have the crash nominated as a National Historic Landmark and to catalog his jet into my museum collection, and they would never get it back. We finally agreed that neither of us had any intentions of carrying through with our threats. But this was definitely not the end of our problems.

The U.S. Army (always taking advantage of an opportunity to irritate the Air Force) offered to fly me back and forth to the crash. They only asked that I not impound the two sling loads of equipment they had just dropped in the Preserve. I decided this was reasonable (it would have cost me $1,800/day to lease a helicopter and who wanted two slingloads of MREs?) . I accepted the Army's offer.

Apparently, irritated that I had reached the crash, an Air Force Captain threatened to remove me from the site. I turned to my Chief Ranger and told him, “I am headed to the crash, if she tries to stop me arrest her.”

The Chief Ranger grabbed my arm and wuietly informed me that the USAF guards were carrying M-16s, there were 5 of them, his 9mm pistol was in his backpack, and he did not think we would get away with trying to effect an arrest with a can of bear repellent spray (the only thing we had resembling a weapon). Luckily, the Colonel in command appeared and told the Captain that I had access to anywhere on the site. One peculiarity I encountered when I started dealing with the USAF was their need to identify the rank equivalency between military and civilians. The decision was that I equaled the rank of a bird colonel and was entitled to the courtesies of that level.

Once again sanity reigned and another crises passed and we appeared to be communicating. Not so! I had warned the USAF of this being a banner year for bears. They are everywhere (citizens of Eagle have killed 20 inside the village), are fattening up for hibernation (almost anything is considered edible), are curious about any activity (quite a bit is created by a camp of 20-30 airmen), and considered it their right to investigate everything (definitely do not request permission to enter the area).

I told the Commander that they really needed to practice bear protection at the crash site and this was especially true for their food supply. My next visit made me well aware that we were not communicating. “Protection” to the military translates as defend. They had stacked their “Meals Ready to Eat” in a big pile, surrounded it with their tents and were prepared to protect it. Since the M-16 is to be used on people and this is a very remote location (no people), they had replaced these weapons, with a 12 gauge, loaded with #4 buckshot. We were not communicating!

I explained that, contrary to their officer’s belief, plastic food wrap did not keep bears from smelling MREs and that bears were not impressed with 20 men stomping around camp (in fact, they would probably see this as a fortuitous supply of food). Finally, any normal human being facing an attacking bear would shoot up all 5 rounds of buckshot long before the bear would be close enough to feel anything other than irritation. Either way, the “protector” would be converted to the status of food. Rangers carry 5 rounds of rifled slugs and hope that will do it (also hope that someone remembered the shotgun).

During WWII, the USAAF was testing some propellor functions. They crashed a Liberator over the Alaska range, but decided to try again over what was to become Yukon-Charley Rivers National Preserve. Once again the plane went down. Several of the crew bailed out, but only one survived. The plane went down in December and he spent 3 months walking out of the wilderness. He was from Philadelphia and had been camping once in his life (so much for wilderness survival savvy). The crash site has been declared a National Historic Landmark.

Once we had our relationship on firm ground, the Officers (modern crash site) expressed an interest in seeing the Liberator crash site. I offered to take them, as long as everyone followed my orders explicitly, no one touched anything, and the helicopter landed where I directed. No problem...until we started to land. Besides, I really wanted a ride in a Blackhawk.

Everyone was looking out the left window at the crash. We had almost touched down when I looked out the right window, saw two huge grizzly bears watching with great curiosity. I tapped the pilot on the shoulder and motioned for him to go up. He shook his head no and pointed down. I shook my head no and pointed out the window. I don’t think an F-16 could climb faster than that helicopter. Scared hell out of everyone (grizzly and human). We climbed several thousand feet and took off down the Charley River.

I pointed out that the bears left when we did and we could go back and land. The Officers advised me that they had gotten a real close look at the site and needed to return to their duties.

Time to end this Epistle.