So the surgery was performed, but the only thing that it really helped was it stopped the pain that was shooting down his leg from his siatic nerve.
If you recall, I wrote once before, than even though our lives at this point seemed happy. We loved one another and adored our son, we didn't have financial problems like so many people, but we had Bob's monkey on his back to deal with.
This was the beginning of a series of Pain Management Specialists. Bob's surgeon couldn't help him any longer so he was referred to a Pain Management Specialists.
Well is anyone out there reading this has ever been in this situation, you know first hand that the Pain Management Doctors are in my opinion, just legal drug pushers. Bob was introduced to Oxcontin. Today we all know how addictive this drug is and addicts pay outrageous amounts of money to just get their hands on them. Who knows what the street value is, but it's a lot.
I should have known when a doctor tells you he has to write out a triple prescription for this medication because it's monitered by the government, this was no ordinary pain killer.
Bob was willing to do anything, he went into physical therepy as soon as possible, maybe even too soon, but he did it with his surgeons blessings. Living in Malibu we are limited to the small community resouces at our disposible.
He went to a local guy who by the way, was also an addict. He was way too aggressive in his approach because as a Black Belt, Bob was able to tolorate a lot of pain, what he didn't know was that he didn't need to get hurt to get better.
The therapist made his situation worse. Little did we know before he started that this guy had a serious problem with anger and hurting his patients and several of them were actually much worse after going to him, Bob was in the same boat.
So the doctor put him on Oxcontine and the real nightmare began. Oxcontine is a full blown narcotic. Well isn't that wonderful, an addict now on serious drugs.
At first there was not much difference in his moods, because he was in so much pain that he had been in a bad mood for so long, I almost started to think this was his normal personality.
What I know today, is that the cycle of needing more and more medication had already started. Bob knew it too.
He asked his doctor to take him off of it. It was too hard core a drug for him to justify being on it.
That's when he started his long cycle of Vicodine and Valium not to mention all the other medications that he took that I can't remember the names of.
The most important point of this is that, even Bob did not want to go back to being addicted to anything. He took himself off and the withdrawel wasn't that easy, but I was relieved that he noticed what was happening to him. I had no idea that the alternative pain medications were almost more incideous.
Talk to almost anyone who needs medical care for a surgery of whatever. They are given Vicodine. This one pain killer is more responsible for people going back out as they say in AA. Back to the bottle, which is exactly where Vicodine lead Bob. Back to the bottle.
One might ask how is that possible? Well, no matter if he took a drink or a pill, his mind was altered. End of subject. Dry Pill High vs a drink.
April 26, 2007
April 24, 2007
Oops Hospitals can be deadly
So Bob had his much needed back surgery. The only obvious complications at the beginning, were that he was probably one of the worst nightmare patients a doctor or a nurse could ever want. Something just happened to him in a hospital room. Looking back it is oh so obvious why. He became that angry man. Complaining about everything, causing such commotion.
His dad actually had to come in and try to calm him down and apologise to the doctors. His neurosurgeon was also Bob's. His dad tried to make everything right and because they respected him so much, they bent over backwards to make Bob as comfortable as possible under the circumstances.
The lesson for me was:
YOU CAN'T GIVE AN ADDICT A MORPHINE DRIP THAT THEY ARE IN CONTROL OF, AND EXPECT THEM TO ACT NORMAL. Morphine is a heavy duty narcotic and just because he had a reason to take it, it didn't mean his state of mind was going to be good. It was far from it.
That is just my advice to the medical community. I had so little knowledge about what I was really dealing with at the time, I didn't get it.
I should have searched the back episodes of his life,stored in my mind for reasons to help explain to me, what was happening to him. Back then I didn't really see the connection. I was brainwashed into thinking he would be fine taking massive amounts of pain "Medication".
Just to jolt every one's memory, the last time Bob was given a morphine drip was after he came back from Tahiti the first time, and got a serious staff infection.
His "fiance"/madame/drug pusher, was sneaking him in bottles of Vodka to go along with his antibiotics and pain killers. So he was happy back then, he didn't care that they were about to amputate his leg because nothing was helping him, he felt wonderful, loved being high on it.
All that had to happen to wet his appetite again for drugs was just give him a little taste of morphine and every nerve cell in his body had a certain type of memory that actively cried out for more.
The problem was his tolerance was so large for anything he was given,because he had been taking massive doses of any type of medication he could get his hands on for years before he actually got and stayed sober.
The mind and body does not forget and he was right back where he left off.
It was the beginning of a terrible time in his life. Wanting to remain sober, but not really being sober. Just because your addict mind didn't actively seek the drugs,doesn't mean it won't alter your personality, just try ingesting them medically. The result is the same. A craving is set up that will not be satisfied, at least his appetite was not satisfied.
I still look back on these times and admire the strength he must have had, the courage to not go into full blown alcoholism back then. He was actively practicing what is known as "White Knuckle Sobriety" hanging on by a thread, that's how bad he wanted to stay off alcohol and beat his disease. My hat and my heart went out to him for his courage.
I never had to walk a mile in his shoes, but I can tell you this much. I wouldn't have made it. I'm not quite that strong.
Hell, just tell me I can't have a coke with dinner and just watch me order it. Imagine having such a terrible craving and knowing that if you give in to it, chances are, at least in his case, that you will end up in jail, a hospital or maybe even dead. That was the monkey on his back, day after day, year after year.
I admired him, I rooted for him, I didn't have the strength he possessed and I knew it. He went fourteen years without one drop of liquor passing through his lips. Without the help of AA. He did it just by living a great life. Those were the best years of his life, but his physical problems would be bringing that all to a close shortly.
His dad actually had to come in and try to calm him down and apologise to the doctors. His neurosurgeon was also Bob's. His dad tried to make everything right and because they respected him so much, they bent over backwards to make Bob as comfortable as possible under the circumstances.
The lesson for me was:
YOU CAN'T GIVE AN ADDICT A MORPHINE DRIP THAT THEY ARE IN CONTROL OF, AND EXPECT THEM TO ACT NORMAL. Morphine is a heavy duty narcotic and just because he had a reason to take it, it didn't mean his state of mind was going to be good. It was far from it.
That is just my advice to the medical community. I had so little knowledge about what I was really dealing with at the time, I didn't get it.
I should have searched the back episodes of his life,stored in my mind for reasons to help explain to me, what was happening to him. Back then I didn't really see the connection. I was brainwashed into thinking he would be fine taking massive amounts of pain "Medication".
Just to jolt every one's memory, the last time Bob was given a morphine drip was after he came back from Tahiti the first time, and got a serious staff infection.
His "fiance"/madame/drug pusher, was sneaking him in bottles of Vodka to go along with his antibiotics and pain killers. So he was happy back then, he didn't care that they were about to amputate his leg because nothing was helping him, he felt wonderful, loved being high on it.
All that had to happen to wet his appetite again for drugs was just give him a little taste of morphine and every nerve cell in his body had a certain type of memory that actively cried out for more.
The problem was his tolerance was so large for anything he was given,because he had been taking massive doses of any type of medication he could get his hands on for years before he actually got and stayed sober.
The mind and body does not forget and he was right back where he left off.
It was the beginning of a terrible time in his life. Wanting to remain sober, but not really being sober. Just because your addict mind didn't actively seek the drugs,doesn't mean it won't alter your personality, just try ingesting them medically. The result is the same. A craving is set up that will not be satisfied, at least his appetite was not satisfied.
I still look back on these times and admire the strength he must have had, the courage to not go into full blown alcoholism back then. He was actively practicing what is known as "White Knuckle Sobriety" hanging on by a thread, that's how bad he wanted to stay off alcohol and beat his disease. My hat and my heart went out to him for his courage.
I never had to walk a mile in his shoes, but I can tell you this much. I wouldn't have made it. I'm not quite that strong.
Hell, just tell me I can't have a coke with dinner and just watch me order it. Imagine having such a terrible craving and knowing that if you give in to it, chances are, at least in his case, that you will end up in jail, a hospital or maybe even dead. That was the monkey on his back, day after day, year after year.
I admired him, I rooted for him, I didn't have the strength he possessed and I knew it. He went fourteen years without one drop of liquor passing through his lips. Without the help of AA. He did it just by living a great life. Those were the best years of his life, but his physical problems would be bringing that all to a close shortly.
April 23, 2007
The Writer
I have to say I was never so impressed with anyone as I was with him. If he set his mind to something he just did it.
How many people do you know that in a matter of years learn how to fly, get a black belt and write such a great script, that HBO loved it so much they actually stole his story.
Of course in this town people will argue that there are only five stories anyway, but the difference with this one was that Matt named the protagonist, and they were not smart enough to change the name. Oh it was a great story. So ahead of it's time as a matter of fact it is almost like reading the headlines in the paper today.
He would get up and drive to the office with his partner, come back and they would go to Karate and it seemed like he was really enjoying his life so completely. He had it all.
I was happy, our son was happy, I thought Bob was too. I actually enjoyed the company of his friend. We had a social life that I longed for.
During this time Bob even put together a Karate Studio for the community. He leased the space, I helped them get the mats, the rails the mirrors and within a month we had one of the greatest martial artists under one roof.
Both Bob and our son got trained by one of the most respected martial artists in the country. Bob Burbidge. He was tough. One of Chuck Norris's black belts, as a matter of fact when Bobby died I think he may have actually come to his funeral.
We all had a great time during those years, We even took my brother and his wife to Las Vegas to see Bob compete in a tournament being held there. During that competition he got his tooth chipped off. He turned and bowed off the Mat and put the tooth in my had as my brother stood there in amazement. Richard just started laughing, he could not relate to how strong Bob was. Not only was his tooth broken, I think his nose took quite a punch also. My brother loved that he got to be there for that and until this day still remembers it so clearly.
Bob was in heaven, he loved the adrenaline of it all. He was a real man's man. Tough to the core of his soul, but so sensitive at the same time.
Bobby was so tough, that I never left our son Matt alone in a class. I saw how hard on the kids he was. "I don't train Babies" is a phrase I will remember the rest of my days. He would have those poor kids in tears at times. So for five years I sat in a karate studio with our son three days a week. But it was so worth it because if you stuck it out with him, you would be respected by every martial artist around. So Matt and his dad both got their black belts from Bobby. Not an easy accomplishment. By the way I think I picked up a lot subliminally. I never walked around in fear. Hell, I had my own two personal body guards with me twenty four seven most days. I was living a happy care free life.
First Bob took his black belt test and boy did Burbidge put his students through hell to get a black belt. They had to test in front of 50 other Black Belts and they would grade every little movement. From the bend of you legs to the bend of your writs. After sitting there all those years I knew I could never do it. Little did I know that a year later my son would have to sit in front of those same 50 Black Belts. I was never more proud of them or as nervous for them as I was watching the two of them test for their belts. Unfortunately for Bob when he told his family, there really wasn't any pride in his achievement. His own dad just sort of said "Little Boys' Games".
It's funny how certain words just can cut like a knife. His dad probably didn't realize just how sensitive Bob was going to be to that statement. I wished he had just said "Congratulations" because it was right around that time that Bob started to have a major resentment toward his father, his partner and several other people.
Now I realize it was all fueled by the Valium and he was taking. In order to get through his training he had stared the Valium addiction full blown.
Once he had passed his test he started teaching a little, but spent the most of his time finishing the Script with his friend. They would drive down to Hollywood from Malibu at least three times a week and I noticed that Bob really started complaining about how bad his back was hurting him. The drive into town seemed to really be making him worse. His own Doctor told him to get a different car.
I wasn't surprised, as a matter of fact I had begged him to stop karate more than once. He had done so much damage to his already bad back during those five years of Karate, he needed back surgery really bad. The pain was shooting down his leg, he was tough but even he couldn't take that kind of pain without something. He put off the surgery and just started taking pain pills to go along with the valium. I really didn't feel concerned he had a terrible back problem, what was he supposed to do? Suffer just because he was an alcoholic? It's not humane. Our life was great. It was even better now that he actually had rented an office and went someplace to work on something he always wanted to do, Write.
It was a really well written script. Bob just had a gift for great dialog. His father even helped him to get it to influential people. That's how it ended up at HBO in the first place.
The problem was that it really doesn't matter how good a story is because as soon as some low level studio guy reads it, it's never going to be good enough. That's the cover your ass policy of studio hierarchy. I will never forget when it all ended.
Bob's story was about racism, and the Conservative Religious Right.
The studio guy loved it, but wanted to know if Bob could change it to an Indian Story.
No kidding, it's so sad it's funny. Imagine that. Right about then Bob just said "Fuck It". He never wrote or pitched another script to a studio again. He shelved his project but what he had learned and gained from that experience was priceless. If he ever was going to do anything in film it would be and INDI.
We saw the film a year later on TV. Bob, like so many others had simply been ripped off. That's life in show biz, dog eat dog. Bob had bigger problem looming in on his horizon to worry about that. He scheduled his back surgery.
How many people do you know that in a matter of years learn how to fly, get a black belt and write such a great script, that HBO loved it so much they actually stole his story.
Of course in this town people will argue that there are only five stories anyway, but the difference with this one was that Matt named the protagonist, and they were not smart enough to change the name. Oh it was a great story. So ahead of it's time as a matter of fact it is almost like reading the headlines in the paper today.
He would get up and drive to the office with his partner, come back and they would go to Karate and it seemed like he was really enjoying his life so completely. He had it all.
I was happy, our son was happy, I thought Bob was too. I actually enjoyed the company of his friend. We had a social life that I longed for.
During this time Bob even put together a Karate Studio for the community. He leased the space, I helped them get the mats, the rails the mirrors and within a month we had one of the greatest martial artists under one roof.
Both Bob and our son got trained by one of the most respected martial artists in the country. Bob Burbidge. He was tough. One of Chuck Norris's black belts, as a matter of fact when Bobby died I think he may have actually come to his funeral.
We all had a great time during those years, We even took my brother and his wife to Las Vegas to see Bob compete in a tournament being held there. During that competition he got his tooth chipped off. He turned and bowed off the Mat and put the tooth in my had as my brother stood there in amazement. Richard just started laughing, he could not relate to how strong Bob was. Not only was his tooth broken, I think his nose took quite a punch also. My brother loved that he got to be there for that and until this day still remembers it so clearly.
Bob was in heaven, he loved the adrenaline of it all. He was a real man's man. Tough to the core of his soul, but so sensitive at the same time.
Bobby was so tough, that I never left our son Matt alone in a class. I saw how hard on the kids he was. "I don't train Babies" is a phrase I will remember the rest of my days. He would have those poor kids in tears at times. So for five years I sat in a karate studio with our son three days a week. But it was so worth it because if you stuck it out with him, you would be respected by every martial artist around. So Matt and his dad both got their black belts from Bobby. Not an easy accomplishment. By the way I think I picked up a lot subliminally. I never walked around in fear. Hell, I had my own two personal body guards with me twenty four seven most days. I was living a happy care free life.
First Bob took his black belt test and boy did Burbidge put his students through hell to get a black belt. They had to test in front of 50 other Black Belts and they would grade every little movement. From the bend of you legs to the bend of your writs. After sitting there all those years I knew I could never do it. Little did I know that a year later my son would have to sit in front of those same 50 Black Belts. I was never more proud of them or as nervous for them as I was watching the two of them test for their belts. Unfortunately for Bob when he told his family, there really wasn't any pride in his achievement. His own dad just sort of said "Little Boys' Games".
It's funny how certain words just can cut like a knife. His dad probably didn't realize just how sensitive Bob was going to be to that statement. I wished he had just said "Congratulations" because it was right around that time that Bob started to have a major resentment toward his father, his partner and several other people.
Now I realize it was all fueled by the Valium and he was taking. In order to get through his training he had stared the Valium addiction full blown.
Once he had passed his test he started teaching a little, but spent the most of his time finishing the Script with his friend. They would drive down to Hollywood from Malibu at least three times a week and I noticed that Bob really started complaining about how bad his back was hurting him. The drive into town seemed to really be making him worse. His own Doctor told him to get a different car.
I wasn't surprised, as a matter of fact I had begged him to stop karate more than once. He had done so much damage to his already bad back during those five years of Karate, he needed back surgery really bad. The pain was shooting down his leg, he was tough but even he couldn't take that kind of pain without something. He put off the surgery and just started taking pain pills to go along with the valium. I really didn't feel concerned he had a terrible back problem, what was he supposed to do? Suffer just because he was an alcoholic? It's not humane. Our life was great. It was even better now that he actually had rented an office and went someplace to work on something he always wanted to do, Write.
It was a really well written script. Bob just had a gift for great dialog. His father even helped him to get it to influential people. That's how it ended up at HBO in the first place.
The problem was that it really doesn't matter how good a story is because as soon as some low level studio guy reads it, it's never going to be good enough. That's the cover your ass policy of studio hierarchy. I will never forget when it all ended.
Bob's story was about racism, and the Conservative Religious Right.
The studio guy loved it, but wanted to know if Bob could change it to an Indian Story.
No kidding, it's so sad it's funny. Imagine that. Right about then Bob just said "Fuck It". He never wrote or pitched another script to a studio again. He shelved his project but what he had learned and gained from that experience was priceless. If he ever was going to do anything in film it would be and INDI.
We saw the film a year later on TV. Bob, like so many others had simply been ripped off. That's life in show biz, dog eat dog. Bob had bigger problem looming in on his horizon to worry about that. He scheduled his back surgery.
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