“Cairo – Practica” Redux – A Treatise on Ass Pain

Def: A practice derived from ancient Egyptian customs. As often observed when erecting pyramids. The pharaohs would direct slaves to prostrate themselves over large logs and serve as buffers for the stones that were rolled to the top. While the squashing effect was unsettling to a few observers, it continued to evolve and remains today in various forms.  Hence the classic expression “Cairo--practica” or, as its more commonly known, “chiropractic”.

Being raised as a medic from the pitiful age of 17, I had always been somewhat skeptical of chiropractic medicine, even though I had worked for a couple of Doctors of Osteopathy.  They were good practitioners, or so I thought, even though they embraced the school of back-cracking. However, in spite of my skepticism a course of painful events led me to check out the techniques on my own decrepit body.   

In the early two-triple-aughts, I had developed the habit of screaming while riding my Harley-Davidson; not from joy but from sciatic pain or something similar.  As my trips got shorter and shorter and my complaints got longer and longer, folks around me found themselves wanting to be somewhere else. I could take off from our home and just a few blocks later find myself anxious to return home and get off the bike so the toothache in my ass would go away. 

Then, I found out my main Harley riding buddy, Al “Coyote” Munguia (who was much, much older than me) was having similar problems but getting chiropractic treatment and having some success with it.  I also found out Al’s wife, Norma (who, unlike Al is young and beautiful) was receiving similar treatments.  Norma is an ICU nurse and most of us understand that their backs have a very short shelf life.

A Diabolical Cairo-Practica Table

So I made my first visit… to Coyote’s chiropractor.  His staff worked me over real quick after I recited my heart-rending condition.  They put me on this table (more like a rack) with a face-hole so my rather large nose would have a place to rest. Then they put an ice pack on my mid-back and attached an electrocution device to my lower back.  If they would have hooked it to my temples they would have fried me like a mass murderer but on my back it felt pretty good.  After about 15 minutes of this they led me to the executioner’s I mean, chiropractor’s office and he stood me on his upright rack.  Then he hit a button which made the rack and I assume a face down, prone position, my nose dangling precariously toward the floor. 

After he decided to let me live, he and the table did this simultaneous ‘whack him from above and below’ maneuver a few times around my lower back and voila’(!) I was cured…for a few minutes.  I went out the next day and made a test ride on the Harley and it took a lot longer for the sciatica induced screaming to set in so I thought I might be on the right track or was it…right ‘rack?

That was it.  This old medic decided to keep going in for electrocutions and rack whacks for a while. 

Cairo Practica II 

So...we were working on my back in an effort to allow me to return to riding the Harley somewhat pain free.  We made regular visits to the Chiropractor to practice pretzel back maneuvers.  That helped my back but did nothing for my hot hip.  My back, ass and I met, and fired an acupuncturist who dared suggest that I quit riding.  Then, a couple of months later the three of us returned to visits with my personal trainer, a gorgeous French woman who charmed me into following her torturous instructions to stretch my pitiful body into something that borders on normal. 

I then let it be it known to all interested parties (no one was) I was happy to report that I might be making progress.  The more I stretched, the more my gait changed from shuffling to normal and the more I seemed to be able to sit in the saddle of the Hog.  It was too early to say “we have a cure” but I reverted to my usual overly optimistic self.  It wasn’t bad for my golf game either.  I seemed to be getting more of my lower body into the swing and that was bringing some of my distance back. 

Cairo Practica III

In ensuing months, it became clearer that my travels in the chiropractic, acupuncture and personal trainer worlds would not fully do the job.  Of the three, the trainer and exercises helped the most but still, my beloved iron steed rested in the garage, waiting for that long-haul trip so she could stretch her legs to their full potential.

We (my guidance counselor/wife of some 40 years, Julieann and I) tossed the old "sciatica" idea around and finally agreed I should consult with a physician.  Our family doc, a terrific internist named "Li" moved my legs around a little and declared "arthritis" in my left hip, described the stages, "exercise, shots, replacement" and sent me off for an x-ray to be followed by a consult with an orthopedist.

I hauled the x-ray around in between appointments and Julieann (the world's best Radiology Tech) got to take a quick look at it. Her declaration, "Your hip looks like that of an eighty-year old woman.”  (Why she couldn't have said "eighty-year old MAN" is beyond me...)

Duly chastened, I headed off to Doc #2, an Orthopod’ who immediately verified Julie and Dr. Li's diagnoses and threatened me with hip replacement unless I checked out the shot approach...

Hipshot!

Nah, I wasn't slappin' leather, I was following a tech to a dressing room where I was firmly instructed to "Take off all your clothes.”  I looked for a hint of lechery in her eye and was disappointed to see none but complied anyway.  I wrestled on the 'robe' and headed out for more of whatever.  I quickly found myself lying prone on a radiology table (hard as a rock and designed specifically to induce visions of torture... far beyond that prescribed in the official Army Field Manual).  

The technician explained the process and we waited for the doc. A few minutes later, as my hip was telling me in no uncertain terms it didn't like being in that position... on that hard surface, the doc showed and we got started.  He lined the machine up, gave me a numbing dose (slight discomfort), injected dye so he could see where his needle was going (no problem), and began probing with the needle for the cortisone injection ("Ow!!!"...but only for an instant). He finished quickly after that.  I thanked him, told him he did a good job and then advised him he should have offered me a shot of whiskey before he started (When did they stop doing that?!).

On the way out, my non-lecherous tech made sure I could walk okay and explained that the effect of the procedure could last from "one day to eleven or twelve months".

I was feeling pretty good when I got home.  I had no idea quite when the numbing effect of the lidocaine would go away and the cortisone would kick in but I felt pretty good at that point.  So, I cranked up the Harley and did a 20 mile round trip to test the effect.  It was pretty good!  I must have been running on lidocaine, the temporary local agent, because that night my hip decided to remind me who was boss.  The next day though it seemed that the cortisone kicked in because I was feeling damn good.

And so it went... I kept testing the bike to see if I could get my range back.  By "range" I was gauging how far I could travel without serious discomfort. I was looking for something like 6,000 miles so I could do the "Rolling Thunder" run across country and back in honor of our vets. 

Cortisone:  Don't leave home without it.  It's good for a gimp hip.

Epilogue: These stories originally appeared on my Harley Davidson blog and have been edited slightly just for the hell of it. The cortisone shot routine was pretty short lived. A year or two later I headed in for “minimally invasive” hip replacement.  It was, and remains to this day a mighty fine success – If you like reading about pain…click on this...“Minimally Invasive – The Sordid Details”

Dawn

Dawn went deep and broke late
Well yea, after all it WAS daylight savings time.
And Dawn?  Well...Dawn was not a wide receiver.

Gimme' That Last Cigarette

One night, Julieann and I settled back for another look at what is perhaps the greatest televised series of all time, "The Wire."  The opening of the show includes a kick-ass theme song, "Way Down In The Hole." Different artists recorded versions of this song for each of the five seasons of the show including; The Blind Boys of Alabama, Waits, The Neville Brothers, DoMaJe and Steve Earle. It's a classic piece of music that makes you want to close your eyes and do some smooth moves on the dance floor.

One other thing; there is also a close up of a man taking a deep drag off a freshly lit cigarette.  I quit smoking over 30 years ago when the Great Biker in the Sky (Yes Toto, He rides a Harley) sent me a strong message to "Stop or else." Nonetheless, after all that time I could light one up right now and, in my mind's eye believe I was in Heaven.  Somehow though, I still am able to understand that such an act would literally bring me closer to that day...even though Saint Pete would likely look on me like Republicans look on Obama and tell me to "move on Bubba."

Pretty remarkable how some addictions never completely leave you.  Yet, I still flirt with danger by having a stogie every month or two, typically on the golf course with pal Don Brunelle.  It's kinda' like dancing with the Devil near the pearly gates "knowwhatimean' Vern?!"

Back to "The Wire."  The dialogue, realism and acting are spectacular. Really.  I could binge watch that sucker from beginning to end...again.  It would be kinda like taking that deep drag off just one cigarette, or maybe a pack, or maybe a carton.

Smoking...nicotine...it happens when you pay the tobacco companies to let them try to kill you.  Can you taste that irony as it hits your lungs and enters your bloodstream?!

The Last Resume'

RESUME (THE LAST)

TOM CAMPBELL, MHA

OBJECTIVE: A good cup of coffee in the morning, a fine glass of red at night - poker, reading, writing (no 'rithmetic please)... Julieann Marie always by my side.

PROFESSIONAL EXPERIENCE:

Campbell Health Management, Inc., Sacramento, California, 1998 – 2017. 

Its been a great ride thanks to the help of
a lot of wonderful people especially
Julieann Marie Campbell

Founder/Principal – Talk about boom and bust!  "It was the best of times; it was the worst of times." - Thank you Mr. Dickens - 

Man, there were some damn lean years and then again… along the way I met some really great people, some world class jerks too.  I even got canned from a couple of jobs because I couldn't figure what in the hell my clients wanted from me (probably my fault).  I will tell you this; there are people out there who naturally hate consultants.  For those, all I did was borrow their watches so I could tell them what the hell time it was.  Along the way, I spent almost four years of my life sleeping in Marriott's and got to make some life long friends among many clients and other consultants.

Chairman and Board Director – River Oak Center for Children, 1997-2009.  I had a great time with a lot of people who were doing their best to provide decent mental health services for kids.  It sucked to be constantly searching for handouts so we could provide services but we got it done and grew nicely.

Schubert Associates, Inc., Sacramento, California, 1991 - 1998

President and Chief Operating Officer – Working with Doctor Jim Schubert (RIP) was a seriously great adventure.  He originally hired me for $0 dollars.  That’s right - zero.  The company was brand new and that is where we were financially.  Schubert suffered from the lack of patience you might expect from a former practicing orthopedic surgeon but he loved innovation.  In fact, he was the brains behind one of the nation’s first handful of HMOs shortly after the Act was passed in 1972. He was also one of a couple of pivotal figures in the nation's first TRICARE contract for military families.  Our biggest engagement brought in over $2.5 million in six months after I presented our TRICARE consultant case to representatives from US Healthcare and Unisys courtesy of Big John Hammack – the world’s most accomplished drive-through VP.  After seven years, in a fit of wanton hubris, I left our company and started my own but the good Doc and I remained friends.

Consultant, Sacramento California, 1990 - 1991

This was a damn ugly time.  I bought a business with a partner who turned out to be bi-polar or something and ended up selling out to him after he didn't turn up at the office for over three months.  I also worked for a pitiful little headhunter firm for a little while but my heart was never in it.  I left after recruiting a nurse practitioner and getting stiffed for payment by the company owner.  They were world class shysters.  I worked with the former CEO of Foundation Health  for a while too, trying to drum up some consulting business. I had no idea what I was doing and was a total failure. In the end so was he but he had millions to fall back on. This is all because I really wanted to stay in Sacramento and raise our kids and as it turned out, my wife ended up doing just that (raising our kids I mean) not me.  I just went on the consultant road and regretfully became a part-time dad.

Yours truly in 
consultant mufti.

Foundation Health, Sacramento, California, 1987 - 1990

Chief Operating Officer – This turned out to be almost the greatest and in the end, the most traumatic experience of my working life.  We won the first TRICARE contract, I hired over 120 people to cover Northern California operations supporting almost 400,000 military families and we began a triple option health care plan (HMO, PPO, FFS)…all in six months.  There was a devastating failure in our claims system (outside my responsibility thank God) that caused a lot of good people to run over each other and ended with the firing of the Board Chairman and Corporate Medical Director, Dr. Jim Schubert (yes, the same Schubert mentioned earlier).  

Rand Corporation did an independent study though and loved the work my gang was doing.  A year and a half later we had a new CEO who arbitrarily integrated the commercial side of the company with the government side and eliminated most of the 120 great people I had hired. I was shoved to the side with a job that had no description to speak of.  After considering all the great work my folks had done, and the fact that they were being tossed aside I said, “f___ it” and left. 

This was my transition from the military health system with quality patient care as a primary focus to a civilian for-profit system with the bottom line as the sole focus. In the HMO world, big bucks superseded quality patient care and customer service.  It was not about patients.  It was about widgets, it was abrupt and I was totally unprepared for it.  I still have open wounds to this day. 

Air Force Medical Service Headquarters, 1984 - 1987

Corporate Director - Managed career development and placement for over 1,240 health care administrators in corporate, hospital and clinic positions.  What a great job this was.  My boss, Paul Murrell and I had the structure and support we needed to do the best we could to fulfill the mission and advance the careers of everyone.  Of the 1200+ pencil pushers (like us) we supported, 1,000 or so were on their way up and around 100 were burned out or assholes or both and on their way down. We managed them all and spread them among assignments pretty damn good.  The sum of it all turned out to be the best job I ever had.

Air Force Hospital, Great Falls, Montana, 1980 - 1983

Administrator and CEO – I loved the work.  I was really into “management by walking around” and would get up from my desk, head for the wards, peek into patient rooms and ask them how lunch was.  I loved everyone working in the hospital and they knew it.  Sure, the daily administrative tasks demanded long hours but I made up for that, typically on Saturday mornings.  I would wake up at dawn, fill a thermos with coffee, grab a couple of pbjs and head for a special spot near Helena, Montana. There, I would soak a nightcrawler and, using ultra-light tackle, plunk for trout on the Missouri river. It was at once beautiful and peaceful.    

That job got me promoted to Major three years below the primary zone – the biggest bonus (and shock) I  had in my 50+ years of being a working stiff. (Sure there was a ton of luck involved but you gotta be in the game to get lucky right?!)  My biggest career regret?...taking a job at an HMO instead of a hospital when I left the Air Force.  Years later a former Corps Chief, General Pete Bellisario would ask why I left.  I could only answer that my wife and I likely would have been very happy to stay, it was just that I was in the Air Force from the ages of 17 to 41 and, out of curiosity, wanted to start a new life to see what it was about.  As it turned out, the "new life", daughter Samantha Marie Campbell was born about a year later.  Guess I got confused about the objective there.  

EDUCATION:

MHA, Health Care Administration - Medical College of Virginia, Richmond, Virginia, 1979. 

MCV was a true ball buster. The program is currently ranked third in the nation (How'd they pull that off?!)  I worked like a dog to get through and was never so worried that I might fail at something. Yes, I had imposter syndrome big time. Julieann paid an even greater price trying to get me through it all. (For more on this see, "Grad School Kicked His Ass") 

BA, Cum Laude, Economics - Chapman College, Orange, California, 1973. This was a 3.5 year whirlwind of CLEP testing, night school and an Air Force sponsored Bootstrap program. Julieann did absolutely everything for us while I focussed on my Air Force day job and the degree.

Faculty - Adjunct professor; Chapman College healthcare administration graduate program: Teaching…I loved it. For new classes, it took me an average 3 hours prep time to teach one hour of class time and I have no doubt I learned a lot more than my students.  Preceptor; Air Force Education with Industry in management of health maintenance organizations.  The only “student” I had was Don "Aught" Palen.  The job rightfully moved from me to the CEO after a short while which was good since I was fresh in the HMO business and had no idea what the hell I was doing anyway.

BOARDS:

Chairman - River Oak Center for Children: Past Chairman and Member, Board of Directors 1997-2009; Chair, Strategic Planning and Personnel Committees, 1997-1999, 2001-2009. Arden Little League: Member, Board of Directors, 1991-1994

THE END (?)

Hell no this is not the end.
And references are NOT available so forget it. On the other hand, you could check with my bride, Julieann who has always made me look good, even when I was very bad. Now, it’s the beginning of a new adventure, another chapter for a memoir.

I’d write more but I have already exceeded the recommended two page (Forgiveness not requested) resume limit.  Besides, I am tired and still need to trim the palm trees in Molly’s Grotto at the famous Campbell Family Nor-Cal Ranch.

How to Operate a Floor Buffer - Dad

Among other things, my father was a runaway, Navy veteran, mayor and lumber yard manager.  But mostly, he was a janitor in Ohio and in Washington state. When I was a young boy I would help him so I learned how to clean bathrooms, move furniture, sweep floors and operate a big, heavy floor buffer.

Running the buffer was a blast.  Typically, we would first sweep, then use a mop to clean, then another mop to put a thin layer of wax on a hall or classroom floor. When it dried we would cruise it with a buffer. We could lay a perfect pattern if we used the linoleum tiles as guides and used three basic motions. Tilt up and the buffer would go right, pull back to move to the next line of tiles, push down to go left and repeat. We would move back and forth in rhythmic motions until the job was done.  We worked backwards so we could see our even patterns and not track up the fresh work. When finished, it was pretty satisfying to step back and admire the job. It was also a technique I would use many times later as an Air Force airman living in a barracks.

But this story isn't entirely about a buffer, its more about my father. He seemed pretty happy being a janitor. I could tell because I got to spend time with him at work and at home. He had the job figured out and it wasn't complicated by politics as so many other jobs seem to be.  In fact, his M.O. in the early days was to get really pissed at some political development at work, quit and move on with Mom, my brother David and I in tow.

At home, he and Mom laughed a lot, he messed around with hobbies, spent time with my brother and I and made music. He could sing too. I mean he could really sing and Mom could harmonize perfectly with him.  They had home made sheet music written in Mom's beautiful hand. They have both been gone for quite a while now but I can still, in my mind, hear them harmonizing on songs like "Whispering Hope, Do Lord" and others.

Somewhere...somewhere in my brother's garage I believe that sheet music is at rest. Next time I visit him, I plan to drag him out there and help him locate it so we can get it scanned and preserve it properly for family archives.

Dive Bombing

On a visit to the coast
To watch Speedy do her first half-marathon
We happened to walk to the flights of stairs
Descending to Solana Beach, California

As the sun set
We focused on the cresting waves
And their visitors

First the surfers
Patiently waiting for the final sets of the day
Second the pelicans
Dive bombing dinner

The graceful birds would fly
Parallel to the wave crests
Often tucking their wings
Banking sharply into the ocean

Their trajectory would often take them
Just a few feet from the surfers
Where they would splash in
Mostly ignored by their neighbors
Who were more intent on
Catching the next decent wave

Each to their own tasks at hand
Allowing space for one another
Could be a formula for a decent world
Could it not?

"Square Wheels"

Fairchild Air Force Base, Spokane Washington, late '70s. We were a crew of Air Force health care administrators working at a Strategic Air Command hospital there.

Our Administrator, Colonel Paul McNally had been selected for a senior officer course, Air War College, and was leaving for a few months. He appointed me as his temporary replacement. I was fairly fresh out of grad school and a pretty new Captain so I was damn happy and flattered to get the job.  His last words of advice (Or was it an order?!), "Don't change anything."

A few weeks later we received a "Staff assistance" visit from our major air command counterparts at SAC. Among them, Colonel Harold Gottlieb (RIP), Command Administrator and Captain Tim Morgan, his medical logistics guru or as we called those of his specialty, a "Box Kicker." Colonel Gottlieb was preceded with a reputation as the sort who would chew you out for an improperly hung picture in your hospital hallway and he would do so spontaneously in front of God and everybody. Plus, at any hospital you could get fired on the spot if you were found lacking.  Thus, we had all done our best to get things in order and just in case, had prepared for just such an act.

Surprisingly, the visit went very well and I was impressed with the Colonel's obvious love for what he was doing...hospitals and health care. His whole team was upbeat and truly there to assist.

One evening Julieann and I had the two over for dinner. We were joined by our hospital "box kicker" Captain Matt Pisut (RIP) and his wife Judy. After dinner, we went out on our back deck and played a few games of darts. Toward the end, we made a wager. If Matt and I won two out of three games our hospital would be funded with $50,000 worth of additional medical equipment from our wish list. If the Colonel and Tim won, they wouldn't owe us anything. This was important to us because in those days' peace had broken out and in the military that meant funds were pretty difficult to come by. Matt and I lost and to this day, I am not entirely certain we were not motivated by fear, awe, lack of skill or any combination of the three.

Not long after, I received a call from Major Steve Coleman at SAC. He worked for Colonel Gottlieb and was our medical staffing guy there.  Steve offered me the Administrator job at the SAC hospital at Kincheloe in Northern Michigan. (Hmmmm...was that a reward or punishment for doing a good job at Fairchild? We'll never know.) Anyway, it was a great opportunity and I took that news home to my wife straight away. We had a brand-new son, Tyler. He was just a few months old and we had had been at Fairchild less then a year. When I gave Julie the news, I could see a tear immediately in her eye and I knew what our answer was. Next day I told Steve I was eternally grateful but we had to let our family settle a little more.

A couple months later, Steve called again and offered the same job at Malmstrom Air Force Base in Montana. I again took the news to Julieann and this time she was prepared so we soon left for Great Falls.

I loved the job and soon became aware that some of our docs had legitimate concerns about the medical equipment we had available. I knew money was tight and the gang Colonel Gottlieb had assembled at SAC (Geiger and Edenfield on the finance side were a couple of others) were really terrific with their support. Yet no one seemed to be making progress...we were just getting by. So, I wrote a letter titled "Square Wheels" to the guys at SAC. I pointed out that I believed our docs and nurses were doing a terrific job considering the resources available. Then I asked if there was anything further we could do to help improve the situation, otherwise we would have to continue down the road hobbled by "square wheels."

Well, I wasn't fired and the medical equipment situation didn't change much, through no fault of the SAC guys. I learned more about the budget process in Washington though and how difficult it could be in times of peace.

Today, more then 40 years later, Morgan still calls me "Square Wheels" and I am left wondering if I don't have a copy of that letter around somewhere.

In the end, I remain grateful for  the best Strategic Air Command support people an operations guy could have ever hoped for; Colonel Harold Gottlieb, Major Steve Coleman, Captain Tim Morgan, Captain Jim Geiger, TSgt Bill Edenfield and others.

"Those were the days my friend.
We thought they'd never end.
Those were the days!
Oh yes those were the days."
(Thanks Mary Hopkin)

The Need

I feel the need,
The need to read.

A favorite pen
A Tul roller ball
Favorite because
For lefties, it drags
Across the page smoothly

I feel the right,
The right to write.

To what end? Who knows?
Curiosity. I suppose.

For how does the story end?
And where will my mind take me?
Will we capture a moment from the past?
Or will we stir an adventure not yet begun?

I'll just take another sip of this damn fine coffee,
And it will come to me sooner or later.

As Long As You're There

Lift your world a little higher today:

As Long As You're There

Write Your Wrongs

"And I could be a better man,
I could be a better son,
Give back to everyone."

Cleats!

High school in the early sixties

Here's a brand new pair.
Just grab a hammer and some short nails,
tack'em on and you are in business!

A small Ohio town
More to the point; Huron
Even more to the point; Huron High School

Pointed toe shoes
Italian style were popular

Along with pegged pants
And white t-shirts with rolled sleeves
Better to have a cigarette pack rolled in the sleeve

Metal heel cleats were popular too...
The clink, clink, clink on a hard surface
Was pretty cool to hear

We discovered you could take off
Down the buffed linoleum tile hallway
Roll back on your heels
And slide ten or twenty feet down the middle

A great pastime for a bored high schooler.