THE PLAGUE YEARS

Tom and I have been friends since high school.

My oldest friend Tom has always been there for me. When my late wife died, he flew out, along with Tommy Jasmin. Pete Brandvold was there too. When I was a kid, I was arrested for mooning. Tom talked to the judge. He was just a kid too but his father had standing in the community. Mitchell, South Dakota. Tom once talked me into going on a sea cruise with him and four buddies. Six of us crammed into a 25 foot sailboat. We set sail from Miami. It was crowded. We saw dolphins.

Tom is a life-long biker and I’ve written about our adventures before, notably in Tom’s Road King. He, Bob and Adam Willoughby and I rode the Beartooth Highway in Montana and Wyoming one summer. Tom’s garage is crammed with bikes. Like me, he can no longer ride. But that doesn’t stop him from tinkering.

Tom was an ER physician at a hospital in Iowa. They fired him when he refused the COVID vaccine. He wrote me about his experiences during the plague years.

“Hospital protocolists sticking to the strict hand-me-down highly profitable ‘COVID protocol’ may have doomed a majority of admitted COVID-19 patients to death due to a perfect storm of institutional failure. I first warned the U.S. Food and Drug Administration in early 2020 that because the commercial kits did not use internal negative controls, there would be arbitrarily high COVID-19 false positive rates. Knowing that people who were symptomatic for respiratory infections would be among the most tested population and that Dr. Anthony Fauci’s medical approach to COVID-19 was to tell people to go home and get as sick as possible, it was readily clear that people would.”

“In the dark winter nights, the visions I yet see. Down the darkened hallways, up in the Unit. The nurses attending their duty, dressed in space suits, their antiviral protective gear. Close fitting helmets with pressurized respirators. Gloves, gowns and double facemasks inside the helmets. The sound of the pressurized respirator always with them. Each isolated. Alone. Attending the desperately ill and the dying. Alone. (I watched and sometimes joined, when I could. I was forbidden to do so, because of my compromised state. But I would not send them to do that which I would not do. The nurses would object and try to hinder my way. But enter I would, after having them “suit”me up. I am no hero, I am one of them.) They bobbled about in the spacesuits, each alone with their fears, the stress of the patients, the unknown. They did not quit.”

“After many months, I began to see the PTSD, The psychological and physical fatigue. Yet they stayed. I told you about the young nurse. Her appearance as above, extremely smart, kind, the one you want with you when TSHTF. Repeated the story of the English king and “The Band of Brothers.”

“I told her, she and the others were truly the “Band of Brothers”, and I was ever proud and humbled to part of that.”

“She stared at me and began to cry.”

“The next story is a deeply personal one. And true beyond words. It is in every way true.”

“One of those dark covid nights, the patient load was heavy and many were precarious. As my custom, I would make rounds on every patient hourly or bi hourly. At the furthest end of the ward was a male patient, maybe late 40s or early 50s, in the end stage of fulminant liver failure. He was highly jaundiced, large bloated belly, very nauseated, almost continually vomiting blood and greenish bile. There was naught to done but what comfort could be given. The nurse in attendance was a senior nurse, frequently in charge of the ICU nursing staff, at night. A tallish blond, medium build, fair pretty, good at the repartee amongst all, highly respected , very good and knowledgeable.”

“It was late as I rounded. I came into the room, stood near the foot of the bed. I watched this nurse kindly comfort this man, wiping away his bloody vomit, speaking in soft quiet words, touching him (normally when patients are in such throes, they are totally incoherent. Mostly the toxins from the non functioning liver. This man was awake and cognizant.”

“As I watched, the nurse became ethereal, and then an angel. Not the story kind, but a God sent Being giving comfort to this man. In a few moments the angel was gone, the nurse was herself. The man expired. I stood there for a bit, said nothing about what I saw. After the patient died, I thanked the nurse for her profound kindness. I was heavily moved for some time. Some few days later I discussed the event with Father Paul, the hospital chaplain, a good and righteous man.”

“It’s a hard story to tell.”

Several years ago Tom got cancer. They had to remove most of his teeth and tongue. He can’t speak. He had the most beautiful voice. Deep and resonant. He’s passionate. His inability to speak was frustrating. He had to write things out on a tablet. He was here for four days. Each night we saw a different band. Thursday night it was Colorado Motown at the Loveland Lagoon. Who could not love an eight piece band devoted to sixties soul? Two horns. One charismatic lead singer. And a keyboard player who was jazz certified.

Friday night we saw an anodyne band at Foothills Mall. Six members, accomplished musicians, one singer, but they failed to make an impression.

Saturday night we saw GI and Jo. This husband/wife duo built a cabaret off the back of their home and have been doing shows for their friends there for two years. Stephan is a master craftsman who built the room by hand.

He and Joellen are great singers and Stephan can play every instrument. He started with a drum solo to Bennie Goodman’s “Sing Sing Sing.” Joellen came out for the second song. giandjo.com

Sunday we saw the Poudre Valley Playboys at Maxline. It was so hot they held the show indoors. The Playboys are Josh Long on guitar and bassist Mark Verschoor. They play country rockabilly surf. They’ve been gaining momentum for several years and are in demand.

Now Tom is back in Iowa. I’m grateful he made the trip but I won’t ask him to do it again. Flying has become an ordeal. I may drive out there in the fall. My usual trip. Omaha the first night, Clear Lake (Tom’s home) the second, Madison the third, and stop at Pete’s place in Minnesota on the way back.