health – Page 23 – The Tao of Bill

Enter Sandman

I was inspired to write about my nightly “battle of the Z’s” after reading this great post by Andrea. She’s got a great blog if you haven’t checked it out yet I recommend it. You can read her article here

Ugh
It’s 11:00 and I’m wide the fuck awake
You shouldn’t have napped in the afternoon dumbass
But I was tired…
The house is quiet, too quiet
If I stay downstairs I’ll keep them awake
If I go upstairs I’ll still keep them awake
those wood floors betray my every footstep
I’m overthinking this
Just go upstairs and watch Netflix on the laptop
But if I stay down here I’ll fall asleep in the recliner
You’ll get leg cramps in the recliner dummy
I’ll get leg cramps upstairs also
30 minutes go by, I’m sleepy.
Begrudgingly, I climb the stairs

I climb into my supposedly comfortable bed
The sheets aren’t right
The pillow’s not right
I’m getting annoyed
Fuck, I’m wide awake
Of course you are
You do this every night
I fire up the laptop and load Netflix
Need a show I’ve seen before
One without a laugh track,
it wakes me every damn laugh
But you’re awake anyway, aren’t you?
Yes, but I plan on falling asleep at some point don’t I?
One episode down, still wide awake
Guess I’ll watch another
It’s only sleep after all
What do I have to get up for?
The credits roll on another episode
Now I’m getting annoyed
Should I make a sandwich?
How about a nice glass of Scotch?
Oh yeah, I don’t do that anymore. Shit
And you don’t sleep anymore since you stopped, right?
I don’t have any Scotch
A turkey sandwich at 2 AM it is

I wake in the recliner
TV on low
crumbs in my lap
The sammich did the trick
What time is it?
3 AM?
This has to be a joke
I stumble upstairs again
Crap.
My water bottle is empty
Downstairs I go again to fill my bottle with water and ice
Did I actually drink a liter of water since I went to bed?
Knowing that I’m going to piss ten times makes me more awake
I’m thirsty and my kidneys don’t work
what am I supposed to do?

I’m upstairs again
I turn Netflix off
Now it’s too quiet
It’s back on again
Dammit.
I have to piss
This is getting old
Back in bed, taking deep breaths
I need to unwind or I’ll never sleep
I start thinking about every stupid thing I’ve done since 1^st grade
That helps nothing
At some point, I fall asleep

I snap awake with a searing leg cramp
Practiced at this, I scream in pain on the inside
I throw the covers off
Force my locked, screaming foot to the floor
The calf muscle finally relaxes
I sit on the edge of the bed
Staring at the dark
I’m wide awake again
and I have to piss
Crawl back into bed
The absurdity has worn me down
I finally sleep

The first of 3 alarms go off at 7
No fucking way
I shut it off
I was having another of those dreams
About a person I knew, at a job I no longer have
I wasn’t having fun
if memory serves
I try to shake it off
When my head hits the pillow
It starts again, I can’t turn it off
I sit up and try to chase it away
Exhausted, I sleep again
I pick up where I left off
How is this possible?

My last alarm goes off at 8
I need to get up
Why?
You’re unemployed
Where the hell do you have to be?
Good point
I put my head down again
I wake again at 9:30
That was the best 90 minutes of sleep all night
and now I have to get up

Downstairs I go
Coffee is in order
The aroma pleases me
but does not wake me
I’m more tired than when I went to bed
I ponder over my steaming mug
the knowledge that in 13 short hours…

I get to do it all over again

the watcher

Today was a really beautiful day at the lake. June has been a bit of a disappointment this year in the Lakes Region. Many cool, overcast days, and the ones that were sunny weren’t very warm. The wind has been persistent as it has taken a hot sunny day and morphed it into sweatshirt weather. If I was a weekend-only resident I would be pretty discouraged, every weekend has been awful but one. I guess I’ve found one advantage to being an unemployed, quasi-homeless piece of shit. If a Tuesday is nice I can enjoy it.

Today I sat lakeside and stared at the magnificent view from our beach. Our housing community offers beach rights to a really nice spot on the lake and it is as close to a sacred spot as I have. I have been enjoying this view for almost 37 years. Previous to that I enjoyed the “Main Lake” section when we were seasonal campers from the time I was 6 years old.

The sun was out in full, there was barely a cloud in the sky. The breeze, true to form, cooled me off every time it gusted. I sat transfixed by the view as if it was new to me. Light waves, the only remnant of the passing of the many boats entering and exiting the Marina to our right lightly slapped at the shore. I can never get enough of the boats. Big boats and small boats, expensive Cabin Cruisers to Kayaks to row boats with hand-operated motors went back and forth, full of happy passengers. Most of the boats, as well as the elegant houses that lined the evergreen shores as far as the eye can see proudly waved American Flags. I almost felt out of place, for if one didn’t know better it would be easy to assume that this is a place only for those of affluence. Yet here I am.

I look to the raft for the hundredth time to check on the girls. They haven’t moved. My precious 16-year-old daughter, let’s call her B, and her friend Alex, who is like a daughter to me also, haven’t moved. They might even be asleep. They don’t look cold. Good for them I think to myself as I put on my sweatshirt. Billy Mac, I scold myself, I know it’s not your fault, but what is wrong with you?

Fuck you, I’m cold.

I have decades of memories of fun times on this lake. I was outside all of the time, usually on or in the lake. I learned to swim on this lake. I learned to scuba dive. I learned to waterski, dropping that one ski and skiing slalom was one of the biggest moments of my life. When I was a teenager I brought my friends up here and we swam and water skied until we were told to get out.

When I became a Dad, I had my kids up here as often as possible. The memories of them as toddlers excitedly splashing in 6 inches of water as we held them, belly-laughing as only a toddler can with smiles as wide as the universe itself, dance in my mind. As they got older, the four of them played together in the water, threw each other off of the raft and begged to stay when I told them to come out. Of course, I was in there with them at that point and it was my wife making me wrap it up. It didn’t matter, we would then play frisbee, throw the baseball and have the time of our lives. The expressions on their sleeping faces in the car on the way home said it all. Of course, I was tired as well, I was active with them.

After a long hiatus, the kids began coming up here again last year. They are all grown, the oldest 3 have jobs and coming up is difficult to schedule. I get it, it was like that for me also at that age. Now that their mother and father are separated, they come up to see me. And we go to the beach whenever possible.

The difference is, I can no longer throw the ball or the frisbee for hours. I can no longer water ski. I barely go in the water because it needs to be 90 with no breeze for me to get wet and not shiver and quake after like a junkie in need of a fix. Despite the repeated calls of “Dad, come on in!” or “Dad, let’s play catch” or “Dad, let’s throw the frisbee” I find myself saying no. I just can’t.

I just fucking sit there.

The fatigue is just too much. And it’s getting worse.

The very idea of walking up the hill to get the truck. so that I may drive down again and load all of the gear is intimidating enough. I have distinct parameters on how much energy I can expend at one time. So. to their repeated inquiries for me to join them I find myself saying “No, I’ll just watch you for now” and then endure the disappointed faces. They know, they understand, they hate how it reminds them that their father is sick. What they don’t realize is that I don’t want to watch, I have to.

The “used-to’s” that this disease has made me embrace are harder to deal with than the symptoms.

Superman talks about race…conclusion

“Never look down on a man unless you are helping him up”

Author unknown.

Yesterday I tackled a very hot issue and revealed an embarrassing moment of my life that I deeply regret. You can catch up here.

I am deeply troubled by the state of our nation. We are deeply divided… Especially with regards to race relations. As the issue of racism continues to ravage our “civilized” society I have tried to take a broad view and expand my thinking on the subject. Infusing my vast Sociological experience as a Superhero and crime fighter I broke it down into smaller, more manageable pieces to dissect.

To truly define and get to the root of the causes of racism let’s start with the root of the word. What exactly does the term “race” even mean? We all think we do, but do we?

Dictionary.com defines race as:
A group of people of common ancestry, distinguished from others by physical characteristics, such as hair type, the color of eyes and skin, stature, etc.

In this day and age, not only does this definition seem less polarizing as our society continues to blend black, white and Asian genetics (the three originally stated races) but it doesn’t encompass the ongoing religious and socio-economic divisions that also dominate our “racist” society. This caused me to look more generally at the issue and what I came up with is that our penchant for oppressing others is less about Genealogy and more about Insecurity (which drives the need for Superiority), Misinformation, Ignorance, and Laziness. All of which are uniquely human attributes that are amazingly easy to control if your mind is in the right place.

Insecurity
Insecurity is a word that has many connotations. For the sake of this conversation, I am theorizing that as human beings we are generally fragile creatures who in the mildest cases seek validation and at the extreme seek to be superior over others. In order to achieve this, it is necessary to deem others inferior to you. This is where the word race becomes ambiguous. Beyond hair color, eye color, and skin color we also discriminate on the basis of religion, politics and economic status. Here, it is fitting to introduce the words Prejudice and Bias into the lexicon.

As a society, we have formed biases based on stereotypes and outdated constructs that cause us to lump entire groups of people into one neat little box and look down upon them. We do this to feel superior because that is part of our nature. Why? Often to feel better about ourselves. It even exists in prison where one inmate can take comfort in the fact that he’s only a robber, but that guy over there…he’s a killer. I’m better than him. Social strata are everywhere. The difference between people and flowers is simple. Two flowers next to each other do not pay attention to the other and do not seek to cut each other down, they simply reach for the sun and try to bloom.

Misinformation
Racism in America is a prevalent topic and rears its ugly head in News stories every day. Some of the stories, mugshots, videos and images we see boil our blood. We all react. Be careful, I implore you, to think and do some homework before you form an opinion (or a bias or a prejudice) based on what you are being fed. There is a force larger than us, a system that enjoys bombarding us with false information; fails to provide the complete story; blatantly mislabels and edits out that which doesn’t support its narrative and simply loves to stir the shit pot. Hate sells, Peace does not. There is bad and good in the world and we are being shown most of the bad. Civil unrest sells papers and drives political agendas. It’s up to us to seek our own “fair and balanced” news. We need to wake up and realize that despite the forces that make us dance on strings like puppets, we all own a pair of scissors and we can cut them.

Ignorance
Ignorant is a word that is historically misused. Ignorant is not a hateful term,it simply means that one is uneducated or uninformed. Incredibly, in a day of unparalleled access to information many choose to be ignorant. When false, biased and incomplete information is fed to a ignorant person they will choose to believe it, adopt it as their own and in some cases spread it themselves. I recently watched a documentary on the KKK. One man that was interviewed started off on script, spouting his rehearsed, hateful, canned lines that help him sleep at night. But when pressed about the Holocaust he actually said that it wasn’t a bad thing, that they weren’t concentration camps…it was a SUMMER CAMP for Jews! His brief was that daily activities included Arts and Crafts and swimming. Ignorance on that level, from a man that has an audience, is nothing less than appalling and dangerous.

Laziness
This is an easy one. In order to stop marginalizing, judging and hating we as a society would be required to put a little elbow grease into it. We’re not that country anymore. We’re lazy.

Hate is easy, Acceptance takes work.

If we were mere skeletons we would look the same as everyone else. What separates us are our differences. No one is right and no one is wrong. We are just different. Yet our biases prevent us from reaching out and bridging gaps and finding out what we have in common, not what makes us different. Don’t we all, with the exception of a tiny percentage all want the same things out of life? Babies of all colors and religions could play together until they are taught why they shouldn’t. Prejudices are learned behavior. And these prejudices have become a giant wedge between us.

Why, knowing that intelligence and talent are equally dispersed but opportunity is not, do we assume that a person born from differnet beginnings could never achieve greatness? A man’s beginnings is certainly not a predictor of where he will end. Yet we make assumptions at the least, and hurl hate in the most extreme cases if someone does not pray, speak, look or act as we do. Wouldn’t it be so much better to see a man with different hair, skin or clothes and not think “I don’t like you, you’re the problem with this country” but instead think “I wonder what that person is about, I’d like to learn his story”.

My approach to people has always been, with the exception of that one unfortunate incident, is to like or not like based on whether you are an Asshole or not. The last time I checked Asshole is not a race. People are people and all deserve our respect if not our love. I will eat at any man’s table regardless of his income, ethnicity or religion if he is a decent and respectable person. If, as a society we continue to decline in our ability to communicate, reason, tolerate and love our brothers we will surely fail. Political systems and ideologies will run their course, some will succeed and some will fail. But behind it all are people, people that were born color-blind and learned to hate, ignoring the countless societal institutions that we have to obtain knowledge; the enemy of ignorance, to learn tolerance; the enemy of prejudice, to learn compassion; the enemy of hate.

Without this, we simply have no future.

“Be kind, for every man you meet is fighting a hard battle.”

Something big between my legs…conclusion

When I left off, I was lying in the woods, behind a rusty guardrail on a sparsely traveled road. Unconscious. If you would like to catch up you can here, here, and here.

“Bill… can you hear me?” a strange voice boomed over me. It was noisy and chaotic, I was freezing and disoriented. The surface I was lying on was incredibly uncomfortable and I attempted to shift my weight. A tsunami of pain washed over me and I cried out. Several sets of hands suddenly were on me forcing me to sit still. Again, the booming voice called out to me. I opened my eyes to see 8-10 faces, all staring at me with anticipation.

“Where am I? ” It was then that I realized that I was wearing an oxygen mask. I tried to reach to take it off when I realized that my arms were strapped to my sides.

“Bill please don’t try to move. You’ve sustained a serious back injury and you are in a prone position until we can determine the severity.”

I think I next asked about my bike. He dodged the question.

A nurse burst into the room. We’ve got his dad on the phone, he says the patient has kidney disease. I heard a quick exchange between them and before I knew it my shorts were at my ankles and I was being catheterized. I have two powerful memories of that moment. The pain of a plastic tube going the wrong way up an exit brought me to full consciousness right away and I realized that I was in the presence of about 10 medical students.

Embarrassing. My second regret is that I didn’t have the mental acuity to make a good joke such as “aren’t you going to buy me dinner first?” I don’t remember much after that. I either blacked out again, was anesthetized or I fell asleep. My next memory is of being in a stuffy hospital room in traction.

My parents were my first visitors. I managed to find the strength to thank my father for the heads up that led to me being “pantsed” in front of a team of medical students. We laughed a little about that one but laughing and fractured vertebrae equaled agony so we kept the joking to a minimum. Soon after, a wave of my friends arrived with thoughtful gifts such as books and dirty magazines. Their visits were helpful but I was in a funk. Then, on the afternoon of my second day, a cute little blond poked her head in my room. It was Cheryl. She had called my house and my father had told her what had happened.

She came into the room with the facial expression of a woman delivering a cancer diagnosis. Despite her dour demeanor, I lit up. I was so happy to see her. She proceeded to profusely apologize for what happened. I assured her that it was in no way her fault, hell I would do it again. As her visit would reveal that would not be necessary. She told me that we can’t see each other anymore because she wanted to “make it work” with her boyfriend. That was exactly the dick-slap I needed at that time. Of course, I didn’t know that the next day I would get another one. I received a call from my employer. Because I had not shown up for work without a call I was terminated. That was the good news. I also learned that the bargain-basement health plan that my company provided did not cover an accident that wasn’t work-related. Believe it or not, health care has improved dramatically. This was a deplorable policy that is now illegal. I would accrue over $27,000 in medical bills from the accident.

I spent 2 1/2 weeks in that hospital. I had a collapsed lung, 4 fractured vertebrae, 3 broken ribs, a broken wrist, a concussion and “road rash” on 70% of my body. A muscle shirt, jean shorts, and sneakers may have been a great choice for fucking in a van, but it was a poor choice to ride in that day. They were picking rocks and pebbles out of my ass for a week. I was in traction for 8 days and the pain was excruciating. As I laid there high on pain-killers, watching TV and wishing I was anywhere else I attempted to piece together the moments after I blacked out. I had so many questions.

I cringed at the memory of the moment when I gasped for air and failed. I really thought I was going to die. Why didn’t I? I asked my Dr. and he explained the medical phenomenon of your body going into “shock”. Incredibly, my body sensed that I was losing control and it “took over” my panic and shut me down. It enabled me to breathe and consequently survive until I was found.

I wanted to know who found me. Remember, this is before cell phones. Was it a good Samaritan driving by that saw my bike and found a nearby house to call 911? I don’t remember a house in the area that I went down. In addition, how long was I lying in a ditch before they saw me and how much time elapsed before the ambulance arrived? I had no memory of the ambulance ride. It was a blank. I still don’t know nor will I ever.

The last question that nagged me, and does to this day was who was the asshole that hit me and why did he leave me there? He had to have seen the crash. To my knowledge, no arrest was ever made. I still harbor an unhealthy bitterness towards that sonofabitch.

I would wear a back brace for 6 months after the accident. I was out of work for a year. I had to deal with many issues during recovery including lower back issues resulting from compensating my posture to ease the pain. I still struggle with it to this day but I don’t dwell on it because my ever walking again was once in question.

I still love motorcycles. I will ride one again. The only reason I don’t have one now is money. I also believe in helmet laws. My father recovered my helmet, it was cracked in half. Despite all of it, when I can afford it I will again enjoy the sensation of driving that only an iron steed can provide. Amazingly, the memories of my riding days are still fun ones. Sun on my skin, wind in my face and bugs in my teeth. Cheryl on the back with her tiny arms wrapped around, sexy-talking me while holding me tight, damn I will never forget my times with her. Whenever I see a bike, which if you recall is what started this story, I smile.

As I do when I see a Nurse’s uniform. Did I mention that I began dating one of the medical students immediately after the crash? She slipped me her number as she wheeled me out of the hospital when I was released. I suppose she liked what she saw when I was “pantsed” and catheterized. She was fun.

But that, my friends. is a story for another day.

fini.

Something big between my legs… Part 3

To bring you up to speed, you can catch up here and here.

I had just been asked, nay, commanded by my captivating temptress to meet her at a destination some 25 miles away for a steamy rendezvous. Having absolutely no control over which head was doing the thinking, I jumped on my motorcycle and rolled out of my driveway on my way to what was certain to be another afternoon of memorable debauchery.

The route I needed to take was largely highway followed by a series of back roads that seemed slow and endless, as if designed to discourage the impatient from traveling them, therefore preserving the quaint little towns they rolled through. I hated highway riding on the motorcycle but looked forward to the side roads. And of course the destination.

Massachusetts drivers are notoriously rude and aggressive and bikes often become victim to overzealous tailgaters and lane-changers. Despite the hormones raging through my body, I maintained a safe speed on the 2-lane highway for the entire 18-mile stretch. Speed wasn’t my thing. I rode to experience, to savor, to be a part of the road and everything around it. This made me a major burden and obstacle to other drivers. As expected I was passed as if sitting still several times and I was cut off more than my fair share of times. I wasn’t angry, I took great satisfaction knowing that my destination likely held way more fun in store than theirs.

As I got closer, the soaring seagulls above me and the salty taste of the air stinging my face teased my sense of urgency. I would be pulling off of the highway soon. Before I knew it I was at my exit and I pulled off. The treacherous part of my journey was over and the scenic part was upon me. I downshifted, felt my steed angrily and loudly object and began the last leg of my journey.

The road was one of those roads that you can lose yourself in. With few stop signs, an abundance of woodland briefly interrupted by the occasional beautiful home on each side, it is a road that you could “zone out” and not remember riding it but know you loved it. I was coasting along, leaning into the winding corners when I noticed in my left mirror a car coming up on me very quickly. I tensed up a bit, I wasn’t the most experienced rider and tailgaters made me very anxious. He got on my rear wheel pretty close and I knew I had to let him by me, but where? There were no houses in sight and the shoulder was soft and loose. After one very anxious and angry mile, I spotted a pull off. I could see from a distance that it was a scenic spot that many people used to pull off and enjoy the view (the sand dunes were visible at this point). I could see that it was all dirt and rocks so I signaled and slowed in preparation to turn off.

As I shifted down to pull onto the shoulder the driver behind me accelerated. Underestimating my speed he hit my left leg and foot rest. My bike and I sharply shot to the right and plunged into a section of deep sand. My bike stopped. I didn’t. I was thrown from the bike and my last recollection was of slamming into a old, rusty guardrail. I hit it and rolled down an embankment where I vividly recall frantically gasping for air futiley three times, realized that breathing wasn’t possible, thinking to myself “I’m dead” and then blacking out.

to be continued…

Something big between my legs…cont’d

Hopefully you read my last installment and you are hanging on like I did when I was 13 reading Penthouse forum. Unlike those stories, this actually happened. Tune in here for part 1. Here is where I left off

I had just been propositioned by a beautiful, sensuous and did I mention older (?) woman at work. Up until this point I thought that we were only playing around. Surely a woman ten years my senior is out of my league. It’s akin to a dog chasing a car…what would he do if he caught it? Slowly realizing that this was for real I kicked the remaining vendors the hell off of my dock for lunch. One vendor saw the exchange between us and gave me a coy smile as he left. I locked up, punched out and headed for the Leggs van, or as I have forever known it as, the original “shaggin’ wagon”.

It was running. As I approached the window I saw that the driver’s seat was empty. I looked in and a voice called out

“in the back!”

I went to the back of the van, opened the panel doors and she motioned for me to hop in. After what seemed like seconds of small talk, she began tearing my clothes off. Nothing, I repeat nothing like this had ever happened to me in my life. I immediately knew that every sexual experience I had had up to this point was with girls. I was now with a woman. She truly rocked me to my foundation that afternoon. When it was over, she nonchalantly got dressed and informed that she had to finish her route. I checked my body for skid-marks, put out a couple of small fires, got dressed and went back to work.

As I walked back to the market I asked myself, was I just used for sex? My brain responded immediately with a profound “what’s your point? Go with it!”

For the remainder of the afternoon, and I suppose of the entire week before I would see her again I was consumed by the memory of that day in the van. I was curious what would happen when I saw her again. Was it a one-time thing or the beginning of many? I was a man obsessed. I was also becoming an overnight legend. I was spotted getting in and out of the van and it didn’t take long before my name was immediately followed by “the guy who banged the Leggs lady.” You may choose to believe me or not, but I didn’t welcome the notoriety. I respected women as much then as I do now and I was a gentleman. But it was out there none the less.

Friday afternoon would roll around again and like clockwork, she showed up at 11:30. We exchanged smiles as she came in with her dolly stacked high with product. It was taller than she was. She went about her business and I was very busy with deliveries. As she left she handed me her paperwork to sign. I reviewed everything, signed off on it, kept my copy and gave her back her copies. She handed me a piece of paper and said:”this copy is for you” and winked. I looked down, it was an invitation to meet her at “The Cove” a popular section of beach in a town nearby at 8:00. Scrolled at the bottom was “bring the bike”.

In the days before cell phones, it was exceedingly difficult to coordinate meetups like this so I asked her how I would find her. She told me to look for the van.

Thus began a tumultous, wild ride that I would never forget. We met up at various places; my house, no-tell motels, and of course the van. But I didn’t take the time to notice that we never actually went in any establishments, we always met outside of places. I figured that she was outdoorsy and loved the summer. I did as well so I went with it. We rode my bike, had incredible sex all over the east coast of MA and hit the repeat button as often as possible. Life was indeed good that summer.

One Friday I decided to take the day off. I had some friends over and we were hanging out in my backyard. My home phone rang (remember no cells then) and it was Cheryl. She was calling from the market.

“Why aren’t you working?” she asked.

“I took the day off. I forgot Friday was your day.”

“I want to see you. I showed up today expecting lunch in the van and you weren’t there. You owe me now.” Her voice was throaty, sexy and incredibly matter of fact. I had never met such an assertive woman. Parts of me were scared stiff. Well, one to be exact.

I explained to her that I had friends over. She simply told me to get on my bike and meet her at a market about 25 miles away. She “needed” me. I told her to hold on and updated my boys on the situation. They unanimously agreed that I would be the world’s biggest putz if I didn’t take this opportunity.

I told her to give me 45 minutes, got rid of the boys and fired up the Honda. It was a hot day, I was in a hurry and I decided that the sneakers, tank top and shorts would have to do. I was off for another afternoon of Van-rocking debauchery.

Little did I know that I wouldn’t make it to see her that day.

to be continued…

Modern medicine

I heard a tragic story today.

A man was involved in a terrible car accident. Among his multiple injuries, he lost his penis in the crash.

Once the doctors treated his other injuries and he was stable, they began the difficult conversation of options for his future sexual health. Amazingly, the hospital was one of the few that had performed successful penis transplants so this was presented as an option.

The Doctors explained the process thoroughly to the patient and suggested that he discuss it with his wife. They explained that it was critical that they discuss every aspect of the transplant to avoid further upsetting their lives. Size, length, girth were all important to discuss. The doctors also informed the patient that there was a $10,000 grant available that he and his wife could use for anything they want.

That evening, the wife came to visit and the patient explained all of the criteria given him and ended with the $10,000 bonus. They talked for a while and she left. The patient summoned his doctor.

The doctor entered the room and asked: ” did you and your wife make a decision?”

The patient replied “yes, we did. She’d like to go with Granite Countertops.”

The stories within the story

Yesterday was quite the eventful day. As it turned out, it would be a story that actually contained many smaller but hugely significant stories.

Saturday night Mom and the boyfriend came back from dinner at around 7PM. He came in the door like a whirlwind and headed right to the bathroom and vomited. Mom came in a moment later and said that they had a wonderful dinner but the fish must have been too spicy. He went into the bedroom soon after and went to bed. He slept.

This morning when he woke he was feeling nauseous again and began shaking uncontrollably. I called 911, put the dog out back so that he wouldn’t be in the way and went to the end of the road to flag down the ambulance. Considering how remote we are I was impressed with how quickly the police arrived. The ambulance was only 2 minutes behind. I directed them into the driveway and then stayed on the deck to not be in the way. He was taken to the hospital moments later, Mom opted to stay behind with a promise that she would pack a bag and meet him there soon.

After the dust settled, the coffee was poured and the dog was let back into the house, I looked at my mother’s face. She was trying to hide it but I knew what she was thinking.

Not again…

As I stated at the beginning of this post, there is a lot of subtext in this story. Let’s start with the basics. My mother buried two husbands in 3 years. She cared for my father as Parkinson’s ravaged his body for 8 years. It took a tremendous toll on her. The ambulance came to this house many times during that 8 year period.

When he passed in 2013, she met another man 6 months later. Deciding that life is too short to worry about what others (me included) thought, she began dating Frank. At approximately one year into their relationship, he had a heart attack while driving and hit a tree head-on. The boat in tow crashed through the cabin of the truck and narrowly missed killing them both. He was badly hurt, my mother was unscathed. He would do his rehab in the same room (subtext) that my father passed away in at the rehab center. As she sat by his side she thought to herself, I can’t be a caretaker for another man. This is too much. He recovered, moved into her house and they got married. 3 months after the wedding, he was admitted to the hospital…by ambulance…from this house…for weakness and chest pain. He was diagnosed with lung cancer and died 10 days later.

Reluctantly, after about 9 months my mother began dating David. He is not without issues but to our knowledge, he is overall free from crippling medical issues. This morning, as the ambulance kicked up a big cloud of dust on the way out of our driveway, she was telling herself again…I can’t be a caretaker to another man.

I drove her to the hospital. It was the least that I could do to make it easier for her. The good news is that it’s only a UTI. With some rest, antibiotics and a few days away from the trans-gendered, intravenous-drug-using Philipino prostitutes he should be a new man.

Despite the anti-climactic ending to his ambulance ride, there are two more asides to the story that continue to resonate with me.

One is the dog. Our cute little Lhasa Apso is 12. For those who may think that dogs are dumb with only Short Term Memories I assure you they are not. He was there for all of the 911 calls to our house for my dad and Frank. He loves the alpha-male and is very drawn to the men in the house. The way he acted today after he saw the EMT’s has me convinced that he knows what it means, he has seen it before and he is really upset. He has been acting strange all day. And Dave doesn’t even live here. Smart dog.

The last, and possibly most disturbing piece of subtext is that of family dysfunction. Frank went through a nasty divorce many years before he met Mom and one of his boys never spoke to him after the divorce. I don’t know why, Frank swore that his son simply chose his mother. They both moved up here from MA many years ago and lived one town apart. Frank’s son became an EMT in our town. He was on the scene when his father was rushed to the hospital from this house and he was here today. When I saw him I was simply amazed at how cold the human heart can be. He never acknowledged his father during the entire time he was treating him, the ride to the hospital or after. He didn’t even attend the funeral. And today, he didn’t even give my mother, his father’s second wife, the courtesy of a hello. I hope I never become that cold-hearted towards anyone.

So much happened in one day. It was a lot to process. But the fortunate thing is, despite all of the bad memories and associations, David is going to be OK and my mother doesn’t have to worry about again assuming the role of caregiver.

It’s time for her to live her own life.

the joy of being irrelevant

Last night my wife posted on FB. It was a pretty powerful tirade about how much she values friendship and loyalty and was very upset that someone had very recently betrayed her. She was quite upset, it was obvious by her tone and use of punctuation. In addition, I know that she rarely uses FB other than to post pics of the family or nights out with friends. I skimmed over most of the post and reached for my phone to call her.

Then I reread the post. At the bottom, she had tagged her best friend and wrote: “be ready to hear this story tomorrow Lisa _____, I need you to listen and help me pick up the pieces”. A wave of clarity washed over me at that moment…even if we were still married I would have not been able to comfort her. She wouldn’t even have told me about it. It was a tiny, sobering reminder of what destroyed my marriage, the day she chose her friend (the one tagged in the post) over me as her support system.

Many years ago my wife decided that I was not someone she could talk to. She never came out and said it, or even gave me a heads up that she wanted to be closer (can I only assume she didn’t want to?). It was never an issue for us, we told each other everything. I knew that we were drifting apart, I just didn’t realize how severely. What I did notice was that she dropped most of her friends and limited herself to close friendships with only one friend at a time. I found it odd, but she was a hard-working mother who needed an outlet so when she made a good friend I embraced it.

A troubling trend emerged over the years. My wife would spend every available minute with one friend, way more than is healthy for any two people. She would join activities the other was involved in, I believe to spend more time with them, even activities that I had asked her to do with me to no success. It can only be described as obsessive. Eventually, familiarity would inevitably and predictably breed contempt and there would be a fallout. This happened twice. She was crushed both times but failed to tell me about it. “You wouldn’t understand, you don’t know me like she does” was what I heard both times.

Then she met Lisa. Lisa was a woman my wife met through the school. Our daughters were friends and the playdates led to them starting to hang out. At first it wasn’t too bad for me (yes, I know it wasn’t about me anyway), I liked her husband a lot and they were a part of a really cool scenario; two brothers married two sisters and they each had 4 children. They were a big, fun group and we got together often. The trouble began when the daughters had a falling out. They had a terrible fight and the fallout lasted a while. My wife’s reaction to it was the first sign that this friendship was problematic.

Instead of respecting my young daughter’s feelings, my wife forced them to be together. She even yelled at her one day, telling her “Just because you fucked up your friendship don’t think you’re fucking up mine!” I immediately jumped in and defended my daughter and of course that was as well received as a wet fart in Church. I created a solution. If she was insistent on seeing her friend and getting the families together, my daughter and I would find something else to do that day. It worked for a while and eventually, the girls became friends again. But what had developed was not lost on me. This friendship was bordering on the unusual.

I managed to tolerate the situation for a while. I looked the other way when my wife started smoking cigarettes, at age 31 a complete statistical anomaly, because she loved the smell of Lisa’s when she smoked. I tolerated being forced to spend every valuable weekend day and day off with Lisa’s family. It wasn’t that I didn’t like them, but by it being decided by default it bothered me that I had no say in who I spent my time with. I took it for the team until I learned that the children felt the same way. I pushed back a bit against her on this and I was told to leave it alone. It was starting to affect our relationship in profound ways. I didn’t realize it was an obsession until the day when we were on the sofa, the kids were with Grandma and we were taking the opportunity to get busy. She was in the middle of giving me some cough cough oral gratification when the phone rang. She actually stopped what she was doing and checked the phone for the caller ID, the phone was in her hand the whole time. It was Lisa calling, she answered and I was left to zip up, shake my head in utter disbelief and walk away knowing that I had a much bigger problem than I had ever imagined.

Fast forward many obsessed, argument laden years (I simply can’t put you or myself through every example of how this friendship destroyed us) and I had completely resigned myself to the fact that it wasn’t going away. One day in 2011 I sat her down and asked her why she was so distant from me and so close to Lisa. I was told that I “didn’t get her” and that she didn’t feel comfortable talking to me. She told me, in not so many words, that I was not her support system and I needed to accept it. I tried, but never really wrapped my head entirely around it. We had so many other issues at that time that it just became one more thing to add to the shit heap.

When we split, I wasn’t even remotely surprised that she moved in with Lisa. The only real surprise is that they have yet to announce that they are Lesbians. That would be too easy I suppose, that might actually explain some things.

Now that we are divorced, I find myself thinking of her in a kinder light. I have tried to be more accepting and forgiving. To dwell on all that I was angry about is too consuming, requires too much energy and is extremely heavy cargo to carry around. When I saw her FB post last night, I really wanted to call her, to talk to her and be there for her. The realization that I would have been of no comfort to her hit me like a brick in the forehead and so many questions about my failed marriage came to the fore.

I was irrelevant long before I even became the “EX-husband.”

A bitter pill indeed

Thought for the day

Every 2 weeks I have lab work to test for anemia. I receive my shots in an oncology center. It is a sobering place, normally full of some very sick people. It is rare when I leave there to not thank the powers that be that I only have Kidney disease. My heart aches for the people fighting for their lives and I have such respect for the endless compassion shown by the Nursing staff.

Today, I was the only one there and all of the nurses were standing around chatting.

What a wonderful sight it is to see an empty Oncology center. I only wish it would stay that way