ONE THING THAT I’VE LEARNED ON THIS SITE is how many different bodily malfunctions can lead to a person having to have ostomy surgery. In my own case, it was ulcerative colitis which, after a painful and lengthy preliminary engagement, put me in the hospital in November, 1963. I was in sorry shape, hurting badly, and confined in what was called a semi-private room in upstate New York. Televisions were not as common then as now, and if you wanted one in your room, it cost extra, which my relatives had sprung for, even though I was somewhat beyond being able to appreciate the gesture. One day, nurses and other hospital staff began crowding into my room to watch the TV. I had no idea why. There was a lot of murmuring and exclaiming, people coming back and forth. I was too sick to comprehend what was happening. It was November 22, 1963. John F. Kennedy had just been assassinated in Dallas. Later, in retrospect, I realized how fortunate I was. At least I survived.
I remember that day. My little friend and I were about 4 years old and we were visiting her mom's barbershop. We were playing in the side yard and went inside for some reason, maybe for a snack. Her mom always had cookies for us, but this time her mom was crying very hard, and she told us John F. Kennedy had died. We had no idea who he was, but his picture was on her wall, and her mom was very sad. I have no idea why the memory of that day stays in my head; it is a sad memory.
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