Date: Wed, 1 Feb 2012 00:58:50 -0700
From: Pete McDonald <bajabudfan@hotmail.com>
Subject: TIME-TO-SEE-30-

TIME-TO-SEE-30

Hugo handed me a scrap of paper that he had written on: "Kev, would you
send an email message for me?" he asked.

"Sure." I said. "What do you want me to send?"

He handed me another piece of paper on which he had written a short message
to Dr. Kavanaugh at the Dublin University Stem-Cell Research Center,
Ireland.  Hugo began:

"Dear Dr. Kavanaugh,

Thank you for allowing me to choose the time for my operation.  You are
very generous to let me have the say in what happens to me.

Please reserve the Thursday before Thanksgiving at San Diego University
Hospital.

I signed all the papers that you sent everywhere you put an "x" for me to
write, and I put them in a FedEx Overseas Delivery Envelope today, that
they told me will arrive in Ireland tomorrow by mid day.

I hope this will give you enough time.  That means that my operation will
happen in a month from tomorrow.

Thank you for your cell phone number.  I won't bother you unless it's
important.

Thank You, Hugo Ramirez

I sent Hugo's email out, word for word, later that evening.

*****

Later in the week, Hugo took a day off from work, and we drove across town
together to San Diego University to make contact with the Department that
would host his experimental surgery.

We met Dr. Alycee Demoynyac who showed us all around the Hospital, with
particular emphasis on the section that had been reserved and was being
renovated for Hugo's surgery and recovery.

"And here, Hugo, Kevin,-- you don't mind if I call you by your first names?
We're all family here; so last names sound so impersonal," she said
smiling.

Naturally, I spoke for both Hugo and me, "Oh, no.  That would help us all
to feel more comfortable with everything," I answered, and I jotted a note
to Hugo.  He smiled and nodded in the affirmative.

"Good," she said.  "Now notice over here to the right.  This suite of rooms
is planned for the post-surgery isolation period. It covers the entire
fifth floor and includes ten rooms and adjacent minilabs, physician's
lounges, and restrooms."

I realized that the University had set aside an entire suite of adjoining
rooms in a building separated from the main hospital facilities, but
apparently Hugo would be confined to two of those.

Dr. Demoynyac continued to explain to us as she guided us through the rooms
themselves. "You'll note that this part of the hospital was purposely
chosen, because it was relatively isolated, thus especially well-suited to
the sound-controlled recovery period."

She led us into the two rooms that Hugo would occupy for perhaps an entire
month.

I hastily jotted down for Hugo, "Check out these two rooms carefully, Babe!
These will be HOME for a month! Sort of like a Big Kennel. But WE have to
provide your red and blue bowls :-) "

Hugo grabbed at my penis when Dr. Demoynyac wasn't looking, but he missed.

Looking at us and gesturing to the facilities as she described them,
Dr. Demoynyac pointed out: "Sound proofing was installed, and the room
itself was fitted with acoustically absorbent materials on walls and
ceiling, while the floor was covered with thick pile, industrial
carpeting."

Then she walked over to the outside wall, "Windows were fitted with
double-paned glass that does not open, and all essential equipment that
might emit sound of any kind was isolated in an adjacent room, and this
space that Hugo will actually occupy contains no sound-producing devices of
any kind."

And then with an embarrassed smile she held open the door to the bathroom
and explained: "Even the sanitation was so designed that one would use it,
and then leave the room, closing a sound-proof door behind. Only then would
the facility flush itself."

She continued more comfortably saying, "Running water was cut to a steady
trickle and was not intended for showers or baths.  Dr. Kavanaugh told us
that Hugo would go a month--or possibly longer--with only sponge baths,
isolated in this pair of "silent rooms."

At that moment another physician entered the two silent rooms.
Dr. Demoynyac introduced us to the Chairman of the Department of Ear, Nose,
and Throat Health.

"Hello, Dr. Follet.  What a fortunate coincidence our running into you
while I show the two silent rooms to our up-coming, stem-cell transplant
patient, Hugo, (I tugged on Hugo's sleeve, and he smiled dutifully and
nodded to this new person in the room.) and his friend, Kevin.

Dr. Demoynyac looked at me and elaborated on Dr. Follet's roll in these
affairs.  "Dr. Follet supervises local researchers who have been doing work
parallel with the Irish and Kansas City stem-cell research teams.
Dr. Follet and his researchers will provide host laboratory services to
include assistance with stem-cell harvesting and conditioning, that will
dove-tail with the main implantation event."

Dr. Follet reached out to shake Hugo's hand and then mine. He began by
saying, "I want you gentlemen to know that while we are giving our
undivided attention to this project, Dr.Kavanuagh, is managing the whole
show from Ireland, and he retained final review and approval of even the
most routine of preparations in support of his complex surgical
undertaking."

Then he looked Hugo in the eye directly and said, "I want you to know that
we will tend to every detail to ensure that you have every chance to come
out of this surgery with your hearing!"

"This was a really a reassuring attitude that I WISH Hugo could receive
directly immediately-- with no need for the delay of my transliteration--
but, then, isn't that THE WHOLE POINT?" I thought.

I patiently wrote a note covering the basics; so that Hugo bowed and spoke
"Thank you, Thank you," for Dr. Follet as best he could.

We learned what seemed like endless details more from Dr. Follet; he told
us "Even blood pressure measuring devices and the like are all silent in
their operation here.  We will not allow in these two rooms any device that
generates a sound that could disturb the growing stem-cells.  They need to
be completely undisturbed for their maturation and contact and integration
with the host CNS to develop."

Dr. Follet concluded, "Think of this as going back into the womb, Hugo.
That's where those cells are used to living and growing; so we will make
sure that they get what they need."

Dr. Follet excused himself, and Dr. Demoynyac continued explaining.  She
said, "Visitors and staff have to wear the usual sterile garments because
an infection during recovery could mean the destruction of the new
cells. The womb is a very safe place for stem-cells to grow."

She told me, "Kissing Hugo will be 'verboten'!"

I concluded that THIS presented a considerable problem for Hugo's mental
health-- not to mention that MY OWN mental health would suffer too!  I
thought that he would need to be touched and held and kissed if not fucked
during those silent weeks.

(Okay! I WILL make some concession and omit the fucking, but otherwise, in
my mind I didn't immediately, fully accept the No Contact rule.  I made a
mental note to speak with someone about my concern as soon as practically
possible.)


*****

As we drove back home both Hugo and I were quieter than our usual selves. I
looked over at Hugo more than once to find him with a furrowed brow,
bracing himself in the seat as if we were going to suffer an impact at any
moment, just staring out of the window.

I felt so sorry for him.  I could tell that he was worried sick after
seeing all the preparation that had been completed on his behalf.

Hugo was a very modest person; so, I speculated, a significant portion of
his anxiety was probably dealing with the recognition that he was the
center of international research attention, a role he did not assume with
equanimity.

Why do I love my Hugo? BECAUSE HE'S HUGO!

*****

By that time we weren't very far from home, but he still hadn't relaxed.

My mind went wild with unconfirmed speculations: "Hugo might have been
considering the physical pain involved in the actual stem-cell harvesting
and then the eventual surgical entry into his skull to set the aural nerve
stem-cell, tubular re-growth guides. That would sure alarm me!"

But Dr. Demoynyac had explained that those procedures would be under
conventional anesthesia, somehow administered in such a way as to virtually
eliminate the nausea that the boys experienced.

"Any and all trauma must be eliminated in the interest of the incubating
stem cells that Hugo will be carrying in his head," she had said.

And this is what REALLY made ME think: "Pain mitigating medication would
not be administered unless Hugo's discomfort were excruciating."
Dr. Demoynyac said. "The new cells must not be intoxicated in any way by
further anesthetics."

Hugo sure had a lot to think about.

*****

Dr Kavanaugh responded to Hugo's email with a Federal Express overnight
letter, quite quickly.

"Dear Mr. Ramirez:

We had been eagerly awaiting your reply to our recent correspondence and
are extremely pleased to learn that you have accepted our proposal to
address your hearing loss.

We feel that we have a great deal to offer, yet we are aware of the
extraordinary demands that will be placed on you throughout the process.

We wish to commend you for the courage and resolution you have displayed,
and reassure you that we will do everything humanly possible to insure a
successful outcome and a minimally stressful experience for you.

Our schedule, based on your selection of the earliest surgical implantation
date, is attached.  Please note that your attentive and prompt compliance
with all work-up appointments and other examinations is essential to the
success of our mutual project.

Please note that your attention is needed at once to Attachment 3,
Disbursement of Stipend Funds, in order to make a seamless transition from
employment to full-time Research Patient status. Funds will be disbursed
immediately upon receipt of relevant personal information.

Please do not hesitate to telephone me directly at my cell number any time
or for any reason. I assure you that you will NOT be bothering me!  Recall
it is: (800) 555-5555.

Your continued commitment to our work will be supported with the utmost
attention by me and by all of the research team members.

I look forward to seeing you in person again one week before your
implantation surgery.

Yours in My Most Sincere Commitment To Your Hearing Restoration,

Dr. Byron Kavanaugh, MD, Phd.  Director, Dublin University Stem-Cell
Research

*****

At dinner that evening the boys were uncharacteristically quiet.  They did
chat about something that they'd discovered in Ghost Recon Predator that
they hadn't realized was there, and that, apparently, made the final
captures all the more difficult.  Together they strategized about how they
would have to address the Final Captures to win the game.

Hugo opened the reply from Dr. Kavanaugh that had arrived earlier and then,
after he read it, passed the letter to me.  I read it and wrote a short
note to Hugo on his pad, thinking Dr. Kavanaugh had sent a very gracious
reply.

"The guy sounds really nice.  And now you have his personal cell phone
number.  Wow!  I don't know ANY doctor who will do that... I guess you're
pretty important to him."

Hugo read what I said and gave me a wan smile.

I picked up the pen and wrote some more, "What's wrong, Babe? What's going
on with you?"

Hugo took the pen and replied, "I'm happy to be starting to get ready for
the operation, but I'm afraid it might not work.  I didn't think too much
about it failing before, but I worry now.  I really want it to work more
than I ever realized."

I wrote back to him, "Babe, you ought to think about the fact that these
people would not be coming half-way around the world to perform an
operation that they have been working a lifetime to perfect, if they didn't
think it had a nearly 100% chance for success.  There were animal models
and multiple operations on monkeys to perfect the process that they are
offering to you.  There simply is no more perfect medical effort on this
earth to help you hear again than the one that is coming to San Diego
before Thanksgiving.  And I believe that we will be having the most
wonderful Thanksgiving and Christmas ever. Please hang in there, Hugo.  We
all love you so much..."

The boys had been reading the letter and the papers from the pad as we
passed them back and forth.  Jilder pulled a little pencil from his pocket
and wrote, "Hugo. I will not leave you until we know you are okay. I will
ask God in my prayers every night to help the doctors make you hear. I
think you will get to hear... I think God would like that."

Hugo smiled an indulgent smile in Jilder's direction, "We all hope God will
help the doctors to help me hear.  But if something happens, and He chooses
to do something different, just please stay with me until I get stronger
again."

Nicky had been reading all of the notes.  He wrote to Hugo, "I'm not ever
going to let you be alone, Hugo.  You don't have to worry.  Me and Jilder
will stay with you."

Hugo bent across the booth where we sat and kissed Nicky on the cheek, then
he leaned over the table and kissed Jilder on the forehead.  "Thank you, my
sons..." Hugo tried to speak those words with sounds. It wasn't all that
clear, but we understood what he meant.

*****

Nicky and Jilder and I started spending time on our school work. The dogs
were always a happy diversion for all of us when we needed them, and daily
life settled into a pleasant routine. However, if it hadn't been for those
involvements, I'm sure that the boys would have been very restless indeed
with the waiting. (Yeah, and honestly speaking, I would have been a mess
too.)

The days passed peacefully, if slowly, as the Thursday before Thanksgiving
crawled nearer.

*****

It was ten days before Hugo's operation.  Dr. Kavanaugh arrived in San
Diego and prepared to conduct a duplicate examination of Hugo personally:
he would be repeating almost everything that the prep team had done.

He even planned to draw more blood to reconfirm the bench mark values of
myriad parameters.  Thus, we were persuaded to believe that there truly
would be no opportunity for error to creep into these proceedings.

It was about eight one morning; Nicky and Jilder had finished feeding the
dogs around seven and showed up in our school room dressed in matching
outfits again, right on time, just before eight. I was somewhat surprised
with their promptness.

"My aren't we punctual today," I said looking up from the little pile of
math papers I was marking.

"Well, doesn't Hugo have an appointment with Dr. Kavanaugh today?" Nicky
asked.

"Yes. As a matter of fact he does," I answered.

"Okay, then we gotta get our work done early, 'cause we gotta go there with
him," Jilder said.  "What time are you going to take him?"

"Oh, I guess maybe I'll need to leave the house around nine thirty," I
said.  "But that still gives us better than an hour on our math today.
We're going to work on fractions and mixed numbers again," I replied. "I
want you guys to have that stuff down cold, and so far we're a little
shaky," I added.

"No problem," Jilder said.  Then looking at me he said, "Good. Then we can
get our work done before we have to be down at the car; we have to get
there before you leave to take Hugo to the hospital."

"Yes, Sir," I responded.  "I promise I won't keep you too long here at
school.  You'll have plenty of time to get ready to go with Hugo."

"That's good," Nicky said. "Cause we told Hugo we wouldn't let him be
alone, and we meant it!"

"I know Hugo is relying on you guys being there when he has to go to the
doctor.  He definitely looks for you, I can tell you that."

"Well, we're always going to be with him.  So maybe we better get started
on our lesson for today," Jilder said, politely insinuating that I should
get my ass in gear!

And EVERY time Hugo had to appear for an interview or an examination or a
lab session, both boys were dressed and lined up at the car waiting to be
the first inside, before Hugo himself even came out.  He did not go to any
research-related activity without the boys being with him.  They were
absolutely true to their word to make sure he would never be alone, and to
be sure, I never prompted them in any of this.

*****

I had insisted that the boys begin their lessons with me three week before
Hugo was to go into surgery, because I thought that they needed to anchor
themselves in their own world, accumulating success and accomplishment
themselves, in order to feel strong for Hugo.

Hugo went to work every day that he didn't have an appointment, but his
hospital understood what he was doing and why he was taking time off
periodically, and, of course, they supported him entirely.

I found that both boys were performing at fourth grade levels on most math
skills.  That was appalling, but sadly not unusual given the state of
public education, as well as-- in their case-- the lengthy absences both
boys had experienced from any educational process at all. But what they
didn't know would be no impediment necessarily to learning the next lessons
in their studies.

Both boys were blessed with very good, analytical minds; they learned
quickly and even displayed a measure of enjoyment when they'd finished
their daily work. I was determined to raise their performance scores to the
maximum possible, hopefully to one or two grade levels ABOVE the age
appropriate expectations. I KNEW that they could do it!

I required the boys to be in our little classroom for three hours each
morning, beginning at eight with ten minute breaks every hour.  And then
they were expected to put in a half-hour of homework in their rooms every
evening: they were responsible for seeing that their homework was done.  I
didn't get involved unless they asked for help or fell down on the job, and
their homework wasn't ready the next morning.

Homework was collected promptly the next school day... No fudging. (I was a
no-nonsense leader in this education thing... It was simply too important
to treat it otherwise.)

*****

So, I have to say, life went on pretty much as usual leading up to Hugo's
operation: dogs got fed, and Nicky and Jilder played with them and took
them for walks in the evenings; the boys went to school each day and did
homework every night; shopping and household chores had to be done-- poop
patrol every day; and I even found time to read and complete the Domestic
Partnership Agreement that I had been hoping Hugo would consider.

Okay, so we couldn't get married; B.F.D., but we had a de facto "Marriage
Corporation" underway already. It seemed to me that we'd do best if we had
a little bit of legal structure--such as this agreement was--to protect the
family.  I'd need to approach Hugo in a way that wouldn't stress him out
right before his operation-- Humm? or maybe it would wait awhile, I
suppose.

*****

So the evening before the Thursday before Thanksgiving, that's the evening
before the day Hugo would experience the main cell harvesting and
implantation event, Hugo decided he was going to mass.

Now, while I'm understanding of a man's religious sensibilities, I am not
likely to be one who shows up at mass... Mainly, I'm not Catholic.  Of
course, being Mexican, Hugo is-- big time.

Now, I do realize I am the recipient of the grace so generously bestowed
upon me through Hugo's religious understanding; so I'm not ungrateful or
stupid, but I am still pretty much lost in the role of church goer, or,
more than that, Cathedral goer.... The "Our Lady of Whatever" just didn't
speak to me... I needed a more fundamental, simple-minded approach.

BUT! Hugo was going to experience the most important event of his lifetime
in just a few hours. I think I damned well owed my man my attendance with
him at mass.  So to mass we went!  Along with the two boys!  And mind you I
don't think it hurt the boys or me one bit... Helps one get one's act
together, I think I'd put it.

*****

Climbing the wide, gray stone steps that led to the huge doors at the main
entrance to the chancel of the Cathedral, the boys were counting steps out
loud.  I was certainly gratified when at the top they informed me loudly
and with assurance that there were forty-seven of them!

"Thank you, Jilder, Nicky."

"Dad," Nicky said, tugging on Hugo's fatigue jacket and rubbing up against
him, knowing that he, of course, couldn't hear a thing. Nicky reached into
his jacket pocket and pulled out his scruffy, worn little teddy bear,
Homer, and presented him to Hugo.

Hugo looked down and understood immediately that Nicky wanted to share
Homer, his special blessing, that helped him when he was in danger, and so
Hugo accepted Homer with a warm smile as he mouthed, "Thank You."  Hugo
held Homer close and leaned down and gave Nicky a grateful kiss and a hug.

Nicky smiled back, obviously pleased that he had something important and
valuable to share with his dad on the eve of his operation.  The two of
them pushed open the great doors together and held them for Jilder and me
to enter.

Jilder spoke in one of his famous stage whispers: "Kevin, Look at all the
candles down there.  See, they're in little red jars.  I think they are for
the prayers that people make..."

"Really?" I replied not at home at all in this holy place.

"Yeah. That's what they are," Jilder went on, sensing his authority in
these matters.  "I'm going to light one and say a prayer for Hugo.  You
want to do one too?" He asked.

"Jilder.  I don't know what I'm supposed to do.  Do you think it would be
alright if I lit one to go with my prayer for Hugo?"

"Oh, yeah," Jilder said giving the distinct impression that he had inside
information on such matters and that I should just do as he did.

Thankfully, Hugo came over to me and touched my arm nodding in the
direction of seating, rescuing me from my complete loss of what I ought to
do.

The boys filed into an empty pew on the left, about half way down the
chancel; I followed, but Hugo passed through the empty pew in front of ours
and then re-entered our pew at the other end, such that he and I now
included the boys between us.

I can't begin to recall all of the details of the liturgy that evening, but
it was all beautiful and helped us to dismiss completely the worries of our
outside world.

Chords from the great organ announced that the processional would commence.
The congregants stood and a cross-bearing choir boy in white and red led
the officiates and the choir of twenty-five or thirty from the rear of the
cathedral, through its cavernous nave, to the sanctuary where the altar
sat, imposingly adorned with a large, gothic silver cross, white gladiolas
and shining silver candelabra.

Hugo and the boys and I stood for the procession.  I felt very, very sad
that I didn't know and couldn't join in the song.  At that moment, I was
over-come with the desire to sing my heart out with my family, to say how
wonderful life truly is.

The boys looked around and Jilder pulled on my sleeve to get my attention:
"Everybody's going to sit down in a minute and the priest will talk to us
all.  You'll be able to understand him, 'cause he speaks English..."

"Oh, okay," I answered, just to acknowledge my need for council in these
matters.

Fortunately, after a while, Jilder did seem to know what to do; and when
everyone rose to go up to the altar to receive the communion, Jilder
whispered, "Me and Nicky can't go up yet, 'cause we're not old enough, but
we could when we get older.  I think you and Hugo can go," he told me.

I looked over at Hugo and questioned using my eyes asking, "Do you want me
to go with you to receive communion?"

Hugo rose and nodded his head, squeezed past the boys in our pew, and took
me by the elbow and moved me ahead of him out to the main aisle.  And
together we made our way to the front of the cathedral, and there before
God and everyone else, gratefully accepted the elements.

Nicky didn't understand any more than I did, but with Jilder's help and
Hugo's guidance, we bungled through a beautiful service together that left
us all quiet and reflective.

*****

Coming out of the Cathedral, Hugo grabbed a small pad from his pocket and a
pen and wrote down something that he showed to me in the car.

"I've decided that as soon as my operation is over, I am having the black
tattoo removed from the back of my neck.  It's my way of saying thank you
to God for the operation, whether it works or not, the tattoo is going to
come off."

I wrote on another pad, "Why did you have it put on you, Hugo?"

Hugo wrote back, "Because I was angry at God for letting my father and
mother go back to Mexico and leaving me and Jilder alone here in America. I
wanted to get back at God.  He hurt me."

I responded, "I'm sure God will be happy that you don't feel angry any
more, Hugo, because, mostly I think He knows how much the anger was hurting
you, more than anything. And I can't think of a better way for you to say
Thank You to God."

Hugo wrote more: "I've decided that I will pay for it myself, out of my
paycheck from the hospital, not from the Research Stipend. It wouldn't be a
good Thank You if I didn't do it myself."

"I know you're right, Hugo." I responded.

And I said, "There are laser treatments that can remove tattoos, but they
will have to be done in several sessions.  And I think I'd ask
Dr. Kavanaugh if there's any problem with taking laser treatments after
your surgery."

"Oh, I will.  But there won't be any reason I should not remove the tattoo.
I'm not angry at God anymore."

And that was that!  Just like that, Hugo decided his tattoo was history.
He was making way for his new life... Well, we all hoped... his new life as
a man who could hear.

*****