Where The Rubber Meets The Road

Recently, as many of you are aware, radio personality and reactionary right figure Rush Limbaugh was part of a consortium who’s intent was to buy the St. Louis Rams.

Unfortunately for Rush, being a polarizing figure did not help him in his quest to become part-owner of one of the worst teams in football. After much protest and public display, the group intending to bid on the Rams decided that Limbaugh was simply too much of a distraction, and cut him loose.

Let me reiterate the facts to date: Rush Limbaugh was part of a group that wanted to buy the Rams. The group refused to do business with him because he is a polarizing figure. Notice I said, “the group refused to do business with him”, and not, say, “the National Football League didn’t want a conservative owner”, or “Rush Limbaugh was banned from ever owning a team”, or, “Rush Limbaugh’s racist remarks caused the group to send him packing”. The reason why I didn’t say any of those other things is because NONE OF THEM ARE TRUE.

I make the above point because Rush Limbaugh and many of his supporters would have you believe that he was banned from the NFL because of allegations of racist remarks, and the tireless work of all the liberals in the NFL. The last bit is particularly hilarious, since the National Football League is easily one of the most conservative organizations in these United States. I mean, you can tell they’re liberal because of all the openly gay players.
Anyway.
Later, “sportswriter” and legendary résumé falsifier Mike Freeman, of cbssports.com wrote an opinion blog mwa-ha-haa-ing Rush’s ousting from the group, calling him a “race-baiter” and “pill-popper”. Freeman, for the record, is black. This will become important later.

Limbaugh’s supporters responded, conflating Freeman’s opinion with CBS policy, alternately denying Limbaugh’s remarks as falsified (despite Limbaugh himself admitting to several, and despite several more being captured in audio clips) and saying the remarks were taken out of context (what context could explain saying to a black caller, “Take that bone out of your nose and call me back” is a mystery to me). Ironically calling Freeman a hypocrite (there was a lot of this, and almost none of the examples understood how to use the word correctly), a racist, a – you know what? I’ll just let them speak for themselves (spelling and punctuation uncorrected, bold print added to display some of my favorite bits):


Freeman is who the “N” word was created for.


Weird I was thinking the same about your brotha in office.


You’re a racist douche just like your brothers Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson


Thanks for proving yourself to be the ni**er everyone already knew you were.


Are you a black sheep?


But hey, dem’s yer homies…right, Dawg?


MAke a real point please homely.


I heard that Limbaugh even attended a racist church for 20 years.  No, wait…that was Unqualified Barry!


Watch your mouth!!!   All this reverse-racism is starting to piss me off!  You better be careful, and I better not find a Koran in your house!!


Now go back to destroying your neighborhoods before planning a move to a state with an actual economy before your votes turn it into a socialist hellhole like the rat nest you went running from.


You’re just offended every angry white guy who was afraid of the PC police telling them “No you CAN’T.”  Your heyday is over.  Its going to get ugly.


You and your type, are the people who are putting society back 50 years!


The way it is now the NFL is predominantly black and overrun with DWI’s, murders, club shootings and dog fighting.


a black man calling a white man a pill popper yadda, yadda…


I, (of course me being just another Joe Plumber why would you listen?) think it is high time us white people not pay another dime to watch overpaid useless animals play sports.


And while we are at it, why don’t we just skip town and let you run this country into another African 3rd world country. Give away the wealth of the country to people who can’t earn a living and don’t want to work for it but just sit and complain about how racial it all is. Just find someone to blame for your ills and never once think to work and pull yourself from the pit of agony and frustration.


Gee. I wonder why Rush Limbaugh and his followers have had to deal with accusations of racism?

Of course, the truth of the matter is that Rush Limbaugh is not guaranteed by law the right to the opportunity to own an NFL franchise, nor is he prohibited by law the right to do so. If Limbaugh still wants to own the Rams, all he has to do is come up with the money. And be approved by the other owners. Just like his former partners do.
Unfortunately for them, Limbaugh and many of his flock are incredibly thin-skinned, especially considering how much of the above they dish out. Thus, when their hero is denied an opportunity because he is a polarizing figure, they rant and rave, and so does he, providing yet another example of why he is a polarizing figure with no sense of irony. Limbaugh’s response to the ousting in a Wall Street Journal opinion article dealt almost exclusively with the “false” charges of racist remarks (which he then conflates into a charge of racism), using the very same tactics he accuses his detractors of to bring up the specter/red herring of Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson.
Of course, all of the racism talk is completely beside the point. Limbaugh was no longer wanted by his business partners, who did not want the negative attention Limbaugh brings. Al Sharpton did not stop Rush. Nor did Jesse Jackson. Nor did the host of sportswriters, players, or even NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell. His former partners did. And instead of examining why, Limbaugh – followed quickly by his flock – immediately changed the subject. Their argument, as I understand it, is as follows:
The Checketts group (Limbaugh’s former partners) were held at gunpoint by the liberal media while Al Sharpton manipulated David Checkett’s jaw and throat and Jesse Jackson worked the tongue to force the words, “You’re out” out of his mouth.
Wait, no, that can’t be it. This is it:
Incensed by Limabugh’s desire to be a minor role-player in the purchasing of a sports team, a conspiracy of NFL players, managers, Commissioner Goodell, a legion of sportswriters, and news commentators, led by infamous supremacists Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson fabricated racial quotes, attributed them to Limbaugh, got in a time machine, went back in time to October of 1990 to replace Limbaugh with a brainwashed clone who – in a Newsday article – admitted that (among other things) he told a black caller to “Take that bone out of your nose and call me back” , used state-of-the-art synthesizing equipment to fake Limbaugh’s voice saying a number of racially charged things, then hypnotized millions of television viewers to make them think Limbaugh said that Philadelphia Eagles quarterback Donovan McNabb’s success was actually just reverse-racism and affirmative action, and when all that failed to make the Checketts group dump Limbaugh, then the Checketts group were held at gunpoint by the liberal media while Al Sharpton manipulated David Checkett’s jaw and throat and Jesse Jackson worked the tongue to force the words, “You’re out” out of his mouth.

It’s either that, or believe the ridiculous idea that his former business partners made up their own minds, and are therefore the only ones who are responsible for Limbaugh’s ousting.

Here, let me make it easy for you Limbaugh fans, and give you the actual question: Are the members of the Checketts group in any way liable for caving in to negative publicity and ousting Rush?
And, because I like to be thorough, I’ll give you the answer, as well: No.

As detailed in my previous post, Gabe has been hospitalized with a rather nasty and heretofore unknown illness.

The first doctor we (in this case, my wife, as I drew Samara-watching duty) encountered was the sort of medical “professional” I’ve come to know and love. Blithely dismissing Gabe’s many complaints – particularly that of pain – he gave our boy a cursory pat down and insisted that a simple IV of fluids would do the trick. The problem, you see, was dehydration, he seemed to believe, no testing or labs necessary; give him some fluids and he’ll be right as rain, except that dehydration didn’t cover even a third of Gabe’s symptoms, and we hardly took the word of a dismissive resident as gospel. Nevertheless, it was what we had to deal with, so Gabe’s first night at the hospital did not go well.

I was not there for the first night, and the selfish part of me is glad. Samara was not allowed into the room due to the isolation, and one of us had to take her home and to school the next day. Noelle, being both a mother and the actual biological connection, was the obvious choice to stay with Gabe. It was a rough night for everyone, more so for Gabe and Noelle.
Thanks to the Family Medical Leave Act, both of us could take the time to keep a 24-hour vigil at Gabe’s side. For the most part, the “vigil” took the form of wringing our hands helplessly while Gabe squirmed in pain, unable to sleep, eat, or drink, while doctor after doctor came in at 15 minute intervals to prod, squeeze, and exacerbate his pain, and then shrug and repeat, “We won’t know for sure if it’s (insert individual doctor’s pet theory) until the labs come back.”
Choose your own random pet theory: dehydration, bronchitis, pneumonia, h1n1, the regular flu, meningitis, encephalitis, and “the devil”.

If you chose “meningitis”, have a cookie.
The gaggle of doctors came to a consensus and ordered up a Lumbar Puncture, known to Christopher Guest fans as a Spinal Tap. Gabe was less than enthusiastic, but a dose of fentanyl in sedation quickly put an end to any argument. Gabe had been admitted on Tuesday, after a nightmarish Monday. It was now Thursday, and as the fentanyl kicked in, his face smoothed out, and he sunk into uninterrupted sleep for the first time in roughly 90 hours.
The LP confirmed meningitis, and the doctors began to target the affliction with more specific care, resulting in the first improvement in over a week.

For the first time since Gabe was wheeled into the place moaning and writhing in agony, they gave him a painkiller that Noelle and I couldn’t have bought for $2.79. As a result, his sleep was deeper and lasted longer. The anti-nausea medication allowed him to eat and drink, although by this time, he could barely manage it, and after two spoonfuls of Jell-O, he sank back, defeated. Antibiotics, anti-virals, anti-inflammatories, and various other symptom-relieving drugs followed, and Gabe began to bounce back.
We were ecstatic when he was able to stay awake and alert, even spooning frosted flakes into his own mouth, then drift back off to sleep with minimal difficulty.

We are now in day three of the rest-and-recover part of the treatment, which is little more than it sounds: letting Gabe rest, eat, and gather back his strength. And he needs it, being barely able to stand. His body is still fighting the meningitis, which still has not been narrowed down to viral, bacteriological, or aseptic, and the fight leaves him much diminished. The meds have helped immensely, and were not much more than Noelle and I had originally thought would be appropriate. Unfortunately, we don’t have the power to give him those meds, and so the three of us (Gabe more so than I or my wife) were forced to wade through two agonizingly long days before the official story caught up with common sense. I mean, if he’s in agony and can’t rest, and is throwing up and can’t eat or drink, do you really need eighteen labs to tell you that if you relieve the pain and the nausea, he might be able to rest and recuperate? Apparently.

Gabe is not 100% yet. He isn’t even 37% yet. But he’s far, far better than his first two days. Score one very small point for western medicine. (By the way, I say “western medicine” as shorthand for “knowing more about physiology doesn’t necessarily translate to better health care”. I’m not sneering at it in favor of “alternative medicine”, which is hardly any better, and in too many cases, utterly ineffectual.)
We wait, pins, needles, seat edges, bated breath, and all that jazz. Gabe will make his way ponderously back to full health, and, however slow and arduous the process, the important parts are: will andfull health.

And where better to do that than at home?
The doctors are confident now that Gabe will do just as well at home than at the hospital from here on out. Samara and I currently await Noelle and Gabe’s arrival, and glad we’ll be to have the band back together. Now, if we could just find someone to clean the house, everything would be perfect.

It began with a cough, and went downhill from there.

We didn’t worry overmuch when Gabe started coughing. After all, it was the beginning of the school year, and illness spreads like wildfire in the first few weeks. A cold or flu was not unexpected, and those expectations were realized when a short-term flu ran through our house, with Samara the principle recipient. In a six-hour span, she was in the bathroom no less than fifteen times. But as quickly as it had come, it vanished.

Gabe continued to cough. We began to worry. Then my wife started coughing. It was time for western medicine to blunder in and grope awkwardly for a solution.
Noelle was diagnosed with bronchitis, the same was made for Gabe, and they were given a course of antibiotics. Noelle slowly improved.
Gabe did not.

Back at the doctor’s, they decided to beef up Gabe’s antibiotics in the form of an injection directly into the muscle of the thigh. Of a nine year-old. Good thinking. I’m sure they called it “discomfort”. That’s doctorspeak: choose the words and phrasing that constitutes the greatest possible understatement. Like, if your feet were torn off at the ankle by a thresher, the diagnosis would probably be, “a minor reduction in overall height”.

Gabe did not improve. He wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t drink. And when made to take in a minimum of food and water, he promptly threw it up. He couldn’t move without pain, whether because of the still-painful injection site, or some other reason.
Back to the doctor. The pediatrician recommended hospitalization for dehydration, but was non-specific as to the cause of Gabe’s distress. We decided he’d be far happier and more comfortable at home, and were written prescriptions for stronger medications for fighting the virus? bacterial infection? and for the nausea. Gabe had not vomited in seven hours, so we decided that any additional vomiting – even once – would be reason enough to admit him.
Gabe didn’t even make it off the examination table before throwing up again. The clinic called the hospital to reserve a bed, and we were on our way.

At this point, Gabe was beyond miserable; he was coughing, vomiting, feverish, in pain, and extremely sensitive to light, movement, and the slightest touch. And no one had any idea why.
At the hospital, they put him in isolation, pending an H1N1 (so-called swine flu) test. Only Noelle, myself, and hospital staff allowed, and even then, only in just-shy-of-HazMat Devo suits.

By this time, Noelle and I were working on a combined (roughly) thirteen hours of sleep in the past forty-eight hours. We would come look back at that thirteen hours with much longing. And we were the lucky ones. Gabe not only couldn’t sleep for more than five minutes at a time, he couldn’t even get comfortable lying down in a bed. He tossed and turned, insensible to the world around him, overtaken by the pain.
Next would come the gentle attentions of the doctors, residents, nurses, and students.

It did not bode well.