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Monday, July 06, 2009

July 2009

Wednesday July 1st 2009
The therapy place in Hilliard sent me a bill for $4 for my phone service. It is to laugh… and I would if it weren’t so ridiculous. Dr. Mind’s out of town this week.


Thursday July 2nd 2009
I got a phone call today from Work Health saying that they had to cancel my appointment on Monday. GB pulling their dirty tricks again. She asked if I had my knee surgery, and I said yes, so she informed me that GB won’t pay for their examinations and C84 forms to continue my checks and benefits. That means that since the surgery was May 21st, I can’t get checks until at least August 21st. The C84 authorizing my checks expires next Monday the 6th, so I’m fucked. I fired off an e-mail to Lawyer K, but with the holiday weekend (which is what they’re probably counting on) I probably won’t get a response until Tuesday or Wednesday next week.

My disability check was deposited today instead of tomorrow-probably because of the holiday. Now I have enough in my checking to clear next month’s rent and a few bills.

Since I sold my computer speakers, I’ve been using my headphones. They fell off the desk and the line got tangled on one of the drawer pulls. The jerk when they stopped just before the floor pulled the wires out of one of the speakers, shorting out both. I went over to Wal-Mart and bought a new pair.

Red white and boom is tomorrow. Downtown Columbus has the midwest’s biggest fireworks display and people come from other states-they estimated 350,000 this year-all of whom want to park in our private parking lot. I used to love watching it from my balcony only 5 blocks away, but now I ignore it until the artillery barrage begins… then I have to comfort a scared little cat.

The grocery stores are competing for the lowest price on pop, I’ve got enough now to last until mid-August! At $4 for a 24 pack, who could resist?

I’m having trouble sleeping again, seems I can’t get to bed before 2AM, and can’t fall asleep until 4-5…


Friday July 3rd 2009
Around 1AM I checked my checking account and GB hadn’t deposited the check. They do that sometimes-they usually direct-deposit it at midnight, but sometimes they’ll withhold it until the opening of business on that Friday just to piss me off.

I kept calling my building manager all day to see if he was in his office. I don’t want to go over there unless I know he’s there, because the handicap ramp to that building is on the other side, and I’m not about to detour all the way around it. He hasn’t answered all day and is probably out on the lake with his brother jet-skiing. I got a shopping list together, drove the car around to the other side of his building, and dropped the check off in his mail drop. I should’ve signed the lease July 1st but didn’t know if GB was going to screw with me about the check, so I had to wait.

It was nice and sunny today, so I drove out to Wal-Mart instead of Kroger’s just to enjoy the sun with the top down. I decided to try walking without my brace on to see if I could-bad idea. I came back and got it. At least I’m strong enough now to not have to use the damned walker.

A little justice… They moved the fireworks two blocks north near the Veteran’s Memorial last year, and now as a result I can only see the high shots over the office buildings, where before I could see the whole thing. This year's volleys set off little fires on the tar roof of the Memorial complex this year, just little ones, so maybe they’ll move it back where it was.

I started work on a new computer graphic for my “Gay Pride” website. It looks pretty good, but I’m never satisfied and I’ll probably tweak it a dozen times before I’m happy with it.



Saturday July 4th 2009
Today was a very down day. July 4ths used to be filled with friends all day, grilling burgers and hot dogs down by the pool, and then we’d all gather up on my balcony and watch the fireworks from all the outlying suburbs with my binoculars and telescope. I’ve got a pretty good view of the southern, western and northern horizons.

I miss my friends-I miss the fun.

I did some more work on the pride banner and turned in.


Sunday July 5th 2009
I tried going out without the brace again today and couldn’t. It sucks when I don’t have a physical therapist to guide me on what I can and can’t do safely. I needed to get out of the penthouse and so I drove around sightseeing the building walls that I’ve done giant murals on in the "short north" district. A lot of them are fading, causing me to want to get up on a ladder with some paint. Yeah right. I know it’s bad because the clients aren’t even calling to ask about an estimate. I use good paint, but even the best fades in the sun no matter how much you pay for it.

Everything I saw at the store that I have a craving for, I’m not allowed to eat. I’d love to devour a whole carrot cake right now.

Cops are out all over the place trying to keep their holiday weekend stats down for car accidents, but I still enjoyed myself anyway. I was getting low on gas and decided to only get $10 because I'm hoping the prices will fall down after the holiday... uh huh.

My eyesight is beginning to fog or haze over a little more often. I’m going to have to make that appointment. They said there was a danger of cataracts. Why not, everything else has happened.

I just realized today I haven’t been putting this stuff down, so I’m trying to catch it up now. The night was spent typing and proof reading. I hope Lawyer K has some news about last Monday’s hearing on the 29th…


Monday July 6th 2009
I set the clock-radio this morning so I could catch Rich at his office first thing at 8AM to sign my lease… then 8:15, 8:30 etc. I finally caught him at 9:30 and said I’d be right over. Before I even got my jeans on, he appeared at my door with it to save me the trip-god love him. I still have to go out anyway. Wal-Mart was out of bread yesterday!?! And I’m low on ice.

I’ve hung around the house now til nearly 2PM and got nothing from Lawyer K, so I’ll try to figure out what do do next on my own when I get back from Kroger’s.



Tuesday July 7th 2009
I heard from Lawyer K, about GB pulling their shit. He said he’s contacting Work Health and Dr. P Foot to see what the deal is. I don’t have a C84 to authorize any checks and now have no idea who to ask, so unless I get this straightened out somehow, they could succeed in not sending me any checks by trickery rather than losing in court four times.

I seem to live on the edge of just giving up, but something keeps pulling me back.

I got a nice e-mail from a friend that is a music editor at BlogCritics wanting me to design a trademark banner for his column. I haven’t been very creative of late, but I decided to try to force it out of myself. I worked on it all evening until about midnight, and thought it was perfect, but he didn’t like my putting his face or name on it… Huh? It’s for a banner over his feature column… I used to come up against this situation all the time and never reacted to a partial rejection like this before, so I tried again. Maybe I have lost my business sense after all.

2nd try: Behind a wallpaper of famous rock act names-teal on a black background, I placed Bob Dylan holding a big sign that said “The”. Then placed the word ROCKOLOGIST in big letters so the names could be read behind it. Within the word I put Jimmy Page’s famous double-necked guitar, Bruce “the boss” Springsteen, Neil Young, Jimmy Hendrix and used Eric Clapton in place of the “I”. I hope he likes this one because it took a lot out of me.

He wanted it as a favor and no money was discussed, and I was glad to do it as a friend. I’m hoping others will see it and like it, and maybe I can get my career restarted again… who knows.



Wednesday July 8th 2009
I put the finishing touches on the rock banner and e-mailed it out and went out to see Dr. Mind.

The mail brought the Workman’s Comp decision in my favor, granting me 3-6 months more of psychological care, but they could pull their shit and say that’s backdated to the day of their appeal in April and try to say the three months end at the middle of this month.

One of my biggest problems with my sessions with Dr. Mind is that she’s being forced to send her notes to GB since they’re paying for the sessions-which is unfair to me. How do you open up completely to a therapist under those circumstances? Especially when they’re using those very notes to find an excuse to cut you off for any reason.

They tried to cut off my therapy by saying I was talking about things other than the injury, like my father’s death, almost losing my car and the bankruptcy, so they didn’t have to pay for it.

I stopped at Kroger’s and bought what I needed for the next two weeks. I now have a little under $40 in checking, but at least my July bills are paid to the end of the month. God help me if an emergency comes up though…



Thursday July 9th 2009
Last night, I got all the kinks worked out of the masthead banner for his column, BC liked it, and it’s now being displayed above all of his columns. The first time I saw my work hanging from the ceiling of a department store (point of purchase materials), in an instruction manual, or in a newspaper ad, I don’t think I felt this proud. I fought my inner demons to try to bring out my creativity and it worked… and for a brief moment I was damned proud of myself.

I knew the feeling wouldn’t last long though, but less than an hour?

Disaster has struck again.

I’ve been fighting the “what’s the use” syndrome about my C84 since Monday and finally forced myself to pick up the phone this morning and DO something about it. It only confirmed the uselessness and hopelessness of the situation.

To recap: last Thursday Work Health called to cancel my appointment for last Monday because they said that GB wouldn’t pay for the exams to authorize the C84s 90 days after I went under a surgeon’s care.

Today Dr. P-knee’s office said they couldn’t issue or renew my pay-voucher/C84 because they weren’t the Doctor of Record on the case. That’s Dr. T at Work Health. Nor could they renew my prescription for Cymbalta because they weren’t the original prescriber for such a powerful drug… Dr T at Work Health is. Without the C84 I’m left with a little more than $30 now in checking. Once I run out of the Cymbalta the aftereffects are devastating.

Dr. P-Knee’s office suggested I contact my lawyer. My lawyer is out of his office. I called Dr. Mind because I’m so depressed because I’ve lost control of this whole situation, that I’m thinking of swallowing all of my pills and just giving up. She calmed me down and said she’d look into it and suggested I try to relax.

So I’m sitting here contemplating my next move…



Friday July 10th 2009
I got into the fray early on the BC writer’s board and scored the 7th season’s DVD of CSI Miami. It doesn’t come out until September, but I think I’ll get it in August in order to see and review it before the release date.

Lawyer K called me this morning and said it didn’t make sense that Dr. P-knee’s office wouldn’t issue me a C84 and said he’d call me back… so far he hasn’t. Dr. Mind called me from her office this afternoon to see if I’d heard from him, but I told her I hadn’t and she said to be patient and try to relax over the weekend. Apparently I can still get them to fax it in on Monday and still get paid next Friday… I hope so.

I hate sweating bullets every time before a check comes as to whether I’m actually going to get one or not.

….

On February 9th I died twice. That’s been playing on my mind lately. The doctors didn’t say my heart stopped, or I’d stopped breathing, they said I died. They and to twice risk CPR with a ribcage that was only being held together with wire from the recent bypass in order to bring me back to life.

I didn’t see any white lights, no wise man with a beard beaconing me, or the gates of Hell… at this point I’d say Heaven is pretty much out of the question.

I had an experience after a car wreck some years back in which my rare custom Triumph TR7 Jetfire was destroyed. I was guided as if in a dream upward by my dead cousin Billy and my stepsister’s dead boyfriend Michael. Halfway through the trip a voice said it wasn’t my time-that I’d been taken by mistake, and I woke up in a car that was literally crushed around me… but I didn’t have a scratch or a bruise. The impact was so hard; it crushed the back of the car all the way to the seats and yet I was uninjured-they even had to cut me out of the car.

Yet, last February I saw nothing, nor do I remember anything. Which one was reality; both or neither?

A mindset has been gripping me through the last few months that I shouldn’t worry about the events that are tearing at my sanity, because I won’t be here much longer. I sit on the sidelines and watch myself as if I’m a second “me” and wonder how much of my sanity I lose a day. Sometimes I’m perfectly fine, others it just drifts away on the wind like smoke.

Maybe I’ve lost the fear of dying, and the fear of Hell because neither exists. Death is just existence ending and there is nothing afterward; no pain, no pleasure, no judgment… just nothing.

The consideration of such a concept would worry any sane man, but I’m beginning to believe that I’m no longer sane. Fortunately I’m too much of a coward to test the theory by killing myself to find out either… for now.

Saturday, June 27, 2009

The Knee Operation and its Aftermath May 21 & June

Now that I've had a little time, I've gone back through this text and corrected grammar and spelling... and lord; there was a lot of it...


Thursday May 21st 2009
I promised Teresa my last $100 bill for taking care of my cat Mischief and the apartment for me. She’d do it all for free, but I know she needs it for incidental shit for her new house. I waited as long as I could and then gave up and published my latest BC article on Dynasty's 4th season's DVD collection just before I left for the hospital. In the state of mind I’m in, I was almost hoping I would die on the operating table and have this ordeal over and done with. I requested a room on the 6th floor at the admitting desk, but the bone and joint ward is on the opposite end of the complex, so I don’t hold out much hope on that. I've left word with relatives all over the place, and they all know of this diary, so we'll see who cares enough to call-I know I can depend on Betsy and Aunt Margaret.

I woke up in room 367 in the bone ward surrounded by a bunch of concerned nurses with worried looks on their faces-not a good sign. I’m in one of those “trapeze” beds with four steel poles at each corner that support a frame work above me with big triangles that I can pull myself up with and reposition myself since I can’t use my legs. Without my even asking someone found a pedestal fan for right next to my bed-god love ‘em. The first thing that hit me was the pain. You know that old expression “you can feel it in your bones”; well that’s why a bone operation is one of the most painful there is.

I’ve got a great big black brace on my leg with tons of velcro and steel to hold it straight. A few minutes after they wheeled me in here I began shivering uncontrollably; after I mentioned it, one of the nurses discovered that the thermostat had been turned down to 33… This is not a good way to start this experience.

They gave me a little button with a green light on it. Every time I’m in pain, if the light is on I can push it and it’ll feed me I. V. pain meds. I ran the control cord up to one of the overhead triangles so it’s directly above my head. It hurts so much I’ve got to hit it the moment it says it’s alright for me to have more. I’ve never felt anything like this, it doesn’t come and go-it’s constant and it hurts like hell.

As expected, my TV on the arm over my bed won’t let me program out stations, and it’s one of those where you have to go through all 99 cable channels to get to the one you want and the channel button only goes up; so if I’m on channel 9 and I want 3, I have to go through them all past 99 on the way around to find it… ugh.

I spent the rest of the day burping, coughing and farting and discovered that I can hardly move at all. I put out a load of diarrhea in the bed and was so embarrassed. They said it was normal and even expected after an operation like the one I just endured, but still…



Friday May 22nd 2009
Room #367 Bone & Joint Ward
I called my answering machine this morning to leave a message for anyone that wanted to reach me. The workman’s comp hearing happened today without me being there. I think GB scheduled it intentionally that way, knowing I couldn’t attend-hoping I'd lose by default by not appearing... they don't know my lawyer very well. No word as to how it went from Lawyer K.

I shat a big loaf almost without realizing it in bed and got worried about it seeping into my leg bandage. That’s when I noticed at least one nurse seems to be in my room around the clock-almost as if I'm in some sort of private intensive care unit, which has me puzzled as to what’s wrong. I was awarded a diaper-what a humiliation. I’ve been hit with hiccups, which is very strange because I’ve never had them much in my whole life. They seem to come and go at will with no reason or cause.

I wonder if the GB check was deposited in my account today; I wouldn’t put it past them to fuck me over and then pay me back later at their leisure. I can’t remember the bank’s phone number, though I have it in my briefcase, in fact I can’t seem to remember much-it’s got something to do with the anesthetic drugs that also have an amnesia effect. I’ve started stressing about what bills I can pay and not pay just in case, and I just realized that the next checks won’t come until the first week of June and by then the insurance will be past due; so will the electric.

I realized a minute ago that I can’t remember pissing within the last day or so, and they told me it’s because I have a Foley catheter up my dick and I can’t feel it when I go because the muscles that keep it in have been bypassed… yikes.

Nurses keep frequently checking my blood pressure, my blood sugar and my hemoglobin. They all have worried faces and talk in whispers. Normal blood pressure for me is 120 over 80, blood sugar is 80-110 and hemoglobin for a male is 14. I got scared when I caught them whispering that my pressure was 80/50, sugar was at 226 and my hemoglobin was below 6 again. If any of those readings are only 5 or 10 off it's something to be concerned about, and all three of mine are.

Friday May 22nd 2009
Room #640 Heart Ward
Apparently I passed out some time this afternoon and woke up watching the ceiling go rapidly by. I was being rushed bed and all over to the heart ward! They dumped me sideways off of a big fiberglas board into a new bed in room 640 without the trapeze frame and then left me alone wondering what had happened. Apparently my vital signs got so low that they decided it was more important to have me near my friends in the 6th floor heart ward. I have no pain button now, but a nurse appears immediately at the touch of my button and sometimes without my asking and gives me a shot of morphine. Within minutes of arrival, I was also just as quickly surrounded by a horde of personnel with stethoscopes attaching me to all kinds of monitors that beeped, squawked and squeaked and all sorts of things sounding like the bridge of the Enterprise. They keep coming in, but none seem to be leaving.

I was put on oxygen and told not to speak. Nurses leave in groups and then others come in that remembered me from earlier this year and said hello which made me feel better. A doctor wanted to know why I didn’t have the trapeze any more and sent out someone to find one, another promised to find me a fan to replace the one that didn't make the trip with me here, as I was sweating profusely.

Lawyer K never called back after I called his office and left him my new room phone number; I wonder if that’s a good sign or not.

After everyone left in hushed whispers, I found that my new TV had the menu button disabled too… par for the course. I got a nurse to find my new stereo earplugs and tried them out on the TV and they worked. Some woman appeared and tried to make arrangements for me to leave!?! Christ, I only got here yesterday-this sounds like something GB is behind! She wanted me to go through a list of physical rehab places and after my last experience, that’s the last thing I wanted to think about. I called the bank and GB made the deposit (gasp of relief). That means the rent check will clear.

The one thing I've been looking forward to is the great award-winning food menu, but I'm not hungry at all, and can't remember the last time I ate.

I’m still shitting the bed, but they keep assuring me it’s alright. Around evening time, this nurse wheeled in a giant caliper thing on a crane and after some fussing attached it to a sling under the mattress and weighed me. The surgeries added back all that fluid weight I lost and I’m back up to 265-DAMN IT. She brought in a bedpan; the first time I ever used one and I about overflowed it. It turns out I still have the catheter in so that keeps me from using the bathroom... just as well, I can't move without a lot of pain anyway.

Still no word on how the GB appeal went.



Saturday May 23rd 2009
NO STOOL SOFTNER DAMN IT! I’ve been shitting all over the place because apparently someone thought I needed stool softner, so I yell that now every time they bring me pills, and lo and behold, they’re there in every batch of them they bring.

The doctor came in this morning and was pissed I still don’t have my trapeze bed and ordered one be brought up immediately. My pair of weekend nurses are named Rona and Mona, Rona’s a typical nurse. Mona’s a short little thin girl and she's known as a "tech;" someone that does the menial non-medical stuff for patients. At first glance I didn't notice that she’s got arms like Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Here’s another one of those things that only happen to me. I discovered that my little TV (which is hung from a long arm directly over my bed) was somehow programmed without Ch 5 (CBS)-no CSI Miami??? no NCIS??? I called down to maintenance and a skeptical repairman said he’d be right up. Upon arrival he confirmed the problem and announced he’d forgotten to bring his master override remote. My private room used to be a double, so I have two TVs-one of which is hopelessly out of reach. He decided to just switch my TV for the other one and after some fussing got it hooked up. As he turned to leave, I discovered that the earphone jack I’d been using didn’t work on this one.

He disconnected it again and went downstairs and brought up another one, programmed it and left. That’s when I discovered that he’d forgotten to disable the “menu” button on it, so I got rid of all the channels I didn’t like so I wouldn’t have to scan through them. (They don’t have buttons so you can pick an individual channel) I learned on my last visit here that my universal remote doesn't work on these either, because the sensor was intentionally unplugged.

They pulled the catheter out of my dick today and I experimented with trying to walk with the walker back and forth to the bathroom. I need help getting in and out of bed, and on and off of the toilet, which is embarrassing. At least I didn’t shit the bed today. Unbelievably, the bathroom door is too narrow for the walker and I have to shuffle sideways to get into it! Every time I try to use the walker, I later pay for it with extreme pain.

They finally got around to telling me that I was transferred here because my blood pressure and hemoglobin fell through the floor yesterday and that my sugar is still way over 200 so they thought I’d be better off here. Probably so, as my leg hurts like hell to the point that sometimes I can’t think of anything else, no matter how many drugs they give me.

A new worry is that GB will probably try to get out of paying for the time I've spent here in the heart ward. No matter how much concentrating I do, I can't remember yesterday. This was a problem last time too, so I brought plenty of note pads and pens, because tomorrow there's a good chance I won't remember today unless I read it here.

A huge UFO hovered toward my window tonight, before I realized that the hospital’s helipad is directly above my top-floor room. Oddly enough it was so padded up there that I didn’t even hear it touch down… landing and taking off—now that’s a different matter. I asked Mona to raise the blinds all the way so I could see them approach and she broke the things pulling the string. I’ve already had my “male chauvinist pig” moment for the day when I voiced doubt that as little as she is, that she could help me off the toilet without losing control of me… bad mistake with her muscles. They sort of remind me of the brief period when I had them myself... but then they turned to blubber because I didn't have time to babysit them every single day for the rest of my life. Mona and I became instant laughing friends. Now that I can barely make it to the bathroom, (to both our relief) I don’t have to wear the damned diaper. However, now I have to “go” about 5-6 times a day because of the Lasix drugs.

I’ve started making Welch’s sugar-free drink mix in my water pitcher, which is better than begging someone to find some Diet Dr. Pepper for me.

Someone screwed with the wall clock’s hour hand, and on the hour you can’t tell what time it is because it’s exactly halfway between the number icons. I finally figured out that you subtract an hour from what you think it is… sheesh, trying to tell the time any other way is nearly impossible.

A different lady came in and wanting me to be ready to go home or to a rehab place on Tuesday. Jesus-fuckin’ Christ! I reminded her that I’d only had the operation two days ago! The doctors are talking about a long recovery because of the nature of the operation, what with them severing bone, and yet Grant seems to want me out of here in a matter of days! I picked out some place way out in Hilliard because she says it's brand new and only has been in operation for about 6-months.

I’m trying to get used to the old schedule of people waking me up at 2 and again at 5 in the morning to take a blood sample for the lab, then trying to fall asleep again.



Monday May 25th 2009-Memorial Day
They found me a box fan for my room and now I wake up confused because the sounds just before I open my eyes are identical to home and I have to look around to make sure of where I am. The nurse/doctor traffic seems to have slowed to normal. I appear to be taking more and more pills though, but results of my vital sign tests are getting more and more encouraging.

I’m more and more tempted to stop eating, as my blood sugar is getting higher and higher. That’s usually caused by either emotional stress or an infection. They came in and changed the surgical leg dressings today. There’s lots of dried blood, but nothing to be concerned about and no sign of infection. I’ve got a 2’ long surgical scar from my left hip to just below my knee that’s all stapled shut. I can’t get any of it wet yet, so I gave myself a sponge bath and Mona came in and gave me a “nuclear shampoo”. It’s stuff you don’t rinse out of your hair, but it leaves it clean and has to be warmed up in a microwave first. Afterward, I donned my black t-shirt and scrub shorts, which are a lot more comfortable than that stupid open-assed hospital gown.

They’re still trying to give me the “bum’s rush” out of here. Another lady came in and said I should get ready to leave on Wednesday. Another explained that several cases of swine flu have come through Grant and they’re trying to get everyone in and out as quickly as possible, and that it’s harder to fight viruses that are acquired in hospitals than in other facilities… which I guess makes sense. I really don’t want to go to another rehab place after what happened last time, but I guess if I have to, I’m glad the place is brand-new. The down side is that if anything should happen, Hilliard is too far away for them to bring me back to Grant Hospital downtown.

I’m starting to get mild headaches, which aren’t a good sign; they usually mean I’m about to get seriously sick. Alas, I spend most of the day stoned on painkillers. They’re saying that the percocet may be causing the headaches??? Apparently I’m taking two 5mg tablets and they’re based on Tylenol. It appears that I’m getting too much Tylenol in my other drugs and too much actually causes headaches! The pharmacy is working on switching me to one 10mg instead. My blood pressure is slowly coming up where it’s supposed to be. Doc says not to worry; heart patients need to be a little low instead of high.

I’m still sweating like crazy, which is a direct sign that my sugar is too high before I go to sleep. I’ve got diarrhea like crazy and it’s driving me nuts. One of the drugs they’re giving me gives me gas from both ends, and I’m still confounded with hiccups that come and go at will for no apparent reason.

I got a headache this evening that was so bad that I started crying as much from the pain as from fear of what’s causing it. Despite my bed exercises, my leg is getting stiffer and stiffer. The bone matter donation site on my right hip is getting very sore when I try to walk… in short-I’m a mess.



Tuesday May 26th 2009
The headache came back with even more intensity today; I’m beginning to suspect that it’s tension from GB pulling anything they can think of to fuck me over. My upper left thigh is slightly swollen and tender to the touch. The doctor looked at it and said it was normal post-surgery stuff and not to worry about it. Mona came around and joked with me, perking me right up. I decided to call her supervisor and compliment her. More often than not my mouth is dryer than desert dust when I wake up. Mona suspects it’s a side-effect of one-or a combination-of the drugs I’m on, I just hope it’s not because I’m sleeping with my mouth open. I’m still sweating like crazy into the towels on my back. My morning blood sugar hit 281-I’m waiting for an eye to explode again.

My old friend Angela from my last adventure here, who's from physical therapy peeked in my room this morning and I was really glad to see her again. She had just enough time to set up an appointment with her tomorrow before I have to leave. It really pisses me off that we won’t have time together, because she really helped me last time I was here. No skipping down the hall arm in arm today, and she really felt bad that we have to start all over again from scratch, though I showed her I remembered the tricks for getting in and out of bed without hurting myself, and managed a very short walk with my walker down the hall about 20 feet before I gave up in exhaustion and pain.

I showed her that I could get the little plastic breath toy up to 2500 vs. 1250 from my last visit and took pleasure that she was impressed, because she was always bitching at me about it before.

Lawyer K called me this morning and described last Friday’s appeal hearing as a “spectacular win,” which takes a lot off my mind. I wish I could talk to Dr. Mind, but she’s in Arizona tending to her elderly mother for two weeks.

While I was down at x-ray, Angela snuck two bottles of Diet Dr. Pepper into my room, just like old times-God love her. One of Dr. P-knee’s assistants is royally pissed that I still don’t have my trapeze bed-it’s a little late, but I could sure use it to reposition myself in bed without so much pain… I’ll probably get it tomorrow just as I’m leaving.

I double-checked my bank balance again, and I’m trying to figure out a way to pay the car insurance on the 28th with the check that won’t come from GB (if it comes at all) until the first week of June.

I wound up with a male nurse tonight named Abu that scared hell out of me the first time I laid eyes on him, because I became convinced he was one of my attackers. He has an attitude problem because the tech that usually helps out called off sick and he apparently feels that he's too good to do her job of getting me ice or helping me up from the toilet. I had a nightmare about the attack. At least I didn’t wake up screaming for a change.



Wednesday May 27th 2009
Grant Hospital

I’m reluctantly leaving today. One last word about this hospital’s “room service.” They’ve got the best full-service menu and the best food, and I can call down and order it anytime I’m hungry between 7AM and 7PM. For some reason, the food isn’t quite as good this time around, and I’m beginning to suspect that it’s because I was comparing it to the garbage I was being fed at the other physical rehab place (which I'll refer to as TDW). I do love the huge fresh dinner salads I could custom create here though.

Dr. P-knee’s assistant came in this morning and changed the dressing on the incision again. I told him it was still tender and slightly swollen and he said to get used to that for a while. He says the staples won’t come out until June 1st at the follow up visit at his office and that I still can’t get it or my right hip wet. The constant “to the bone” pain is something I can’t find words to describe. It wears down my concentration on anything, never goes completely away, and demands my constant attention despite how hard I try not to ignore it.

Angela and I had fun with the workout today and I put a little extra effort into it through the pain because I trusted her. We both laughed when she got the velcro straps messed up on my brace.

Dr. D-heart made a surprise appearance and said he’s monitoring my heart closely and daily though he hasn't been in to see me. He’s still keeping me off Plavix for now and said all the tests say I’m just fine-heart-wise anyway.

Some lady came in and wanted to know how my stay at the hospital was, so I told her about all the glitches and the absent trapeze bed. It turns out she was the nursing supervisor I’d spoken to on the phone complimenting Mona.

As I was cleaning up for the trip to Hilliard, tech Kelly came in with another pair of surgeon's scrub pants to match the one I cut off to make shorts with. She must’ve searched all over because the hospital is using a different color and pattern now. She said it was to remember her by and she brought a pair of scissors to trim them with.

I called my Allstate agent and explained where I was and to get the amount I’d have to come up with; which was $551. He said to call him when I get to Hilliard and he’d try to work out an extension till I got my checks on the 3rd and the 5th, so I wouldn’t have to pay the fees for monthly installments. I’d have risked paying the full amount, but it’d bounce if Rich cashes my rent check too soon.

A couple of hunky brunette ambulance drivers came for me around three and after saying goodbye to everyone, I headed off to Hilliard. I’m worried about going there, but I really don’t have a choice.


Wednesday May 27th 2009
Hilliard rehab #203

The good news is the place is only 6-months-old; the bad news is the staff is only 6-months-old. On the way to my room on my gurney, we passed a large dining hall decked out like a classy restaurant. The place is filled with cranky old people with canes; walkers and wheelchairs giving me looks like "what the hell are YOU doing here?"

The room is semi-private-but in name only. You enter the door and there's a little alcove with a roomy bath complete with shower to your immediate left. From there, there are two curtained openings. My room isn’t a copy of a hospital room like TDW was, but was a fair copy of a nice medium-priced hotel room instead with the doorway being a standard curtain instead of a door.

Furniture is limited to a very roomy and overstuffed chair next to the bed that my open briefcase is now sitting on, a big tall and brand-new wooden wardrobe cabinet capable of hanging a good amount of clothes in with two drawers beneath it and a three-drawer side table next to the bed. One whole wall was built-in shelving and a built-in 4-drawer bureau with a new but quite little 20 inch LCD Hitachi HDTV atop it. The first thing I noticed was that the solid plaster walls were completely bare of pictures, decorations or even a clock. The tan floor tile is so mirror-shiny you can comb your hair in it, and the view out the window was of a nice courtyard/lawn off of the main dining room. In a few years that view would change as the tree/shrubs grow to the point where everything would be blocked. I guess that’s better than looking at the parking lot on the other side of the building. As I watched, a gardener began planting trees and flowers on the perimeter next to the fence.

I was told that dinner would be served at 5PM

The bed looked oddly small and had no side rails that I could use to pull myself upright with. The tech (they’re called “aides” here) couldn’t locate the remote that operated the hospital bed. Above and behind the bed was the standard three position string-pulled fluorescent light. As I settled in, I hit the call button, and a male nurse came in to introduce himself. I asked if I were looking right at the clock without seeing it. He looked puzzled around the room and said it appeared as if the room had been stripped of everything but the TV. I’d called him because I tried to get comfortable in the bed and couldn’t find the remote to raise the head up. I couldn’t believe it when he stooped down on one knee, grabbed something below the footboard and hand cranked it up!!! I’m appalled to realize that every time I’d get uncomfortable and need to change positions someone's going to have to crank the damned thing!-I’d rather suffer than do that.-ergo I if need the bed surface high to get in and out of it since it’s extremely painful to bend my leg, but it needs to be low for the meal table to fit over it with me in the bed.

I’d later discover that the bed had to be in its lowest position in order for the wheels to lock so it won’t move. This means that when I get in and out of bed because I need it raised to do so, it's going to try to slide away from me.

This isn’t turning out to be a very good start.

Apparently I don't have a roommate yet.

I realized that it was 6PM and dinner still hadn’t come, maybe I wasn’t registered in the room yet and they forgot me?

I picked up the phone to change my answering machine message with my new number only to discover the phone didn’t work. An aide said I had to dial 9 first, the same as over at the hospital-duh. When I tried that it still didn’t work and the phone appeared dead. The nurse came back in and said the phone wasn’t hooked up yet and the guy that did that had already left for the day.

This isn’t turning out to be a very good start. In fact I’m beginning to suspect I’m in the other nightmare place (TDW) with a new coat of plaster and paint. I’m also beginning to suffer from the condition I had after the heart operation when I couldn’t remember anything more than three days ago, which is why I’m keeping such close notes. If this keeps up, I may have to read yesterday's entries to make sure I'm not repeating myself.

Dinner came at 6:30 and I would soon realize that everyone confined to a room because of a handicap consistently gets their meals an hour to an hour and a half after the dining room was served. Dinner was luke warm at best and definitely not diabetic.

Someone named Amy came in and apologized for not greeting me when I arrived. She wanted to know what my first impression of the place was and I told her about the lack of a clock and how much knowing the time was important to me, the need for an overhead “trapeze” so I can shift easily because the bed wasn’t electric and I felt lousy asking someone to come in and crank it, and of the phone not working. I also told her that I thought the place was very nice and why I was so apprehensive based on my last experience at TDW that put me in the hospital. She told me that electric beds were on order and promised to get me one ASAP, and was very nice.

I hope I made a good first impression and didn’t come off too bitchy.

Someone else came in around 8PM and turned on the phone somewhere in the main office. My depression began setting in along with feelings of dread at making the decision to come here. I called home and was shocked to discover my phone had been disconnected. I tried again… and then again, beginning to feel like the victim of the Twilight Zone who couldn’t even remember his own phone number. If someone actually disconnected my phone I’d never get it back in service until Monday. Next, in near panic, I called Teresa and got a strange voicemail with music. I hung up and tried again. Now I was really upset.

I called the aide, who informed me that I didn’t need to dial 9 to get out so I’d been dialing my home with a nine in front of it and by coincidence the number was disconnected. I tried and got through and tried to relax afterward. The aide had no idea how to operate the air conditioner (a hotel model with warmer and cooler dial+fan speed,) nor why the TV took so long to come on once the remote was activated. I asked her to turn off the overhead light and it took her three tries to find the right switch.

The nice male nurse came back in to tell me that their pharmacy’s computer is arguing with Grant Hospital’s computer and I can’t get my percocet for pain probably until Monday. We’re talking bone pain here. I threatened that I’d be moaning loudly and continuously unless someone found a suitable substitute. He said he’d get right on it and asked how my visit with Amy went. After I told him, he told me that she was the head administrator in charge of the place. He said he knew of a room with an electric bed that was going to be empty tomorrow and he’d arrange for it to be brought here.

Since the TV is on one side of the room and I’m on the other, my stereo ear jacks won’t reach it. Also because of my diabetic retinopathy, it’s just at the right distance to be unable to fully focus on-three feet closer or farther away would’ve been perfect. Despite the lousy picture quality, I began longing for the tiny TV on a crane arm from the hospital that I could position over the bed at any close distance I wanted it. However the TV came with a remote.

Just when I thought I couldn’t be confounded further, the male nurse came in and administered a tuberculosis test?

When I checked into TDW, I remember something that I thought was a nightmare, but it was confirmed tonight here that it had been very real. Back then two guys came in and with barely a word roughly began stripping my clothes off until I was naked. Then they began charting every scar on me, leaving no part unchecked or untouched. Today's male nurse did the same without the fantasy roughness. He measured every single surgery scar and bruise on me, and kept careful measurements to the point of counting every staple on my body. I can only assume it was to keep me from later claiming they did something to me which would precipitate an injury lawsuit. Another reason to suspect they are more interested in money than my health.

I have just acquired a roommate, and he is a very annoying oldster that can’t stand it if anyone comes to see me, unless he distracts them to his room first. I've noticed that the aides can't even pass our door without him shouting at them. Several have lectured him on using his call button, but to no avail. The problem is; while they’re avoiding him, they’re avoiding me.

Just to put the icing on the cake, when I finally bedded down for the night and an aide cranked the bed flat, I discovered that the bed was too short for me by about three inches! This meant that laying on cotton sheets over vinyl bed covers means slowly sliding lower and lower in the bed, thus my bad leg slowly making contact and then more and more pressure builds up on my leg.

I finally drifted off and was immediately woken by the nurse bringing me a morphine pill to help me sleep from an old prescription he’d found on the computer instead of the percocet that worked better for me.

… This isn’t turning out to be a very good start.



Thursday May 28th 2009
The drug Lasix is designed to pull excess fluid from your body after surgery. The trouble is it gives you very little warning before you have to piss so it’s a race to either hobble on my walker to the bathroom in time, or rush to frantically find the portable plastic urinal pitcher. In the middle of the night I actually overflowed the damned thing for the first time and it got on the bed.

While I waited for them to change everything, I sat up close in the wheelchair so I could actually read the items listed, and played around with the TV and learned how to change the screen aspect ratio so it showed non-HD shows without distorting and stretching them sideways to fit the screen, and finished labeling each channel with what they were so that not only is the number displayed but that 29 is USA channel etc.

I woke up this morning in a lot of pain from my bad leg being compressed against the footboard in my sleep. I can feel my mind trying to wander off from the reality of this, and hoped yesterday was just a bad first impression of the place.

Apparently the oldster next door heard me complain about not having a clock and decided he wanted one too, driving the aides nuts by constantly asking them the time. It was like having a damned cuckoo clock. Breakfast consisted of a bowl of warm oatmeal, toast and coffee… I hate coffee and sent a note to the kitchen about my carbs, diabetes and requested hot tea with my meals instead. I was right about the meals, I get served about an hour and a half after the dining room does, and it tastes it too.

I decided to cheer myself up by making my Welch’s sugar-free grape juice this morning. They brought me a big 2-quart dining room pitcher and I dumped what was left of my glass of water into it to top it off. Trouble was the new carafe had a clear top on it that was so clean and clear I didn’t notice it until the water went all over the place. The Welch's tasted good and reminded me of home.

They’re still giving me the little morphine pills because the pharmacy isn’t cooperating yet.

I didn’t know it, but the GB psychological hearing was today, and Lawyer K called to say he’d gotten a continuance until Monday the 22nd because they wanted to hear testimony directly from me. Great; how to you tell someone you’re depressed convincingly?

The maintenance man showed up with my trapeze and side rails for the bed and I had to sign permission slips for him to install them. This place is definitely legally paranoid beyond belief! As I watched in amazement the trapeze was on only two legs, which bent and supported a single arm with a hand triangle above my head. After he installed it, I tried it experimentally and the thing bent forward about four inches and down toward me about three. I shuddered to think what’d happen if I put my full weight on it, and he said I wasn’t supposed to.

He got me to smile though when he brought in a clock and told me he’d swiped it from the employee break room! He put it up on the wall right in front of me and after asking how it looked I said fine and he left. When I looked back at it to check the time, I couldn’t see it. The bright lights over my bed reflected on the shiny face cover to the point where it was unreadable. I experimented and shifted around in the bed and eventually I could read it okay. I’ll ask him to move it to an adjacent wall next time I see him, but I appreciated the effort and the thought he put into it and reminded myself to thank him next time I saw him.

I called Rich, my apartment building manager to let him know my new number and reminded him that Teresa had permission to enter as she pleased but no one else.

Lunch came at 1:15, still with whole milk and coffee, sent another note like the one this morning. The cook probably doesn’t know how to use the computer yet to change my order. The slip on the tray says regular diet instead of Diabetic and Heart healthy, so it was no surprise that my blood sugar was 275 this afternoon. I’m beginning to wonder if them using two different kinds of competing insulin could be part of the problem.

I figured out most of the TV’s setup menu this afternoon and rescanned for stations that they might have missed during the original installation and found 8 new unscrambled HD stations that weren’t there before I started, that were located above channel 80. No one in the building probably knows they’re there, so while everyone else is watching analogue, I’m watching all of the local stations and a few movie channels in HD.

My oldster roommate still won’t let anyone pass our door without yelling for them to turn his light on or off, or get him water or two minutes later to dump it out and get fresh. He got pissed off at how long they took to answer his call button and insisted an aide take him on a tour of the facility in his wheelchair in order to gauge how long it should take someone to get to him, leaving out that he’s not the only one here and someone might be busy with someone else. They’re beginning to run by the open door carrying things and either saying they’re busy with doing something or ignoring him altogether.

At one point he began bitching and pestering everyone about having a sore throat and no one could find him a lozenge fast enough, so I offered the nurse a roll of my sugar free peppermint Lifesavers without the label and he went over and gave him them saying they were prescription strength and to be careful how many he took. Later he praised the nurse because they were a godsend and cured his throat right up.

I smiled… I, I, I smiled!

Hell I almost laughed!

I called Allstate and explained the situation again and they said I could have an extension till the fourth in order to pay the full amount without the installment fees. Now everything depends on if GB actually deposits the damned check.

Someone (bless them) finally straightened out the pharmacy here and with great relief I’m back on the percocet again. Craig from physical therapy came in and insisted I go to the crowded gym. I told him about how recent the knee operation was and he promised to be understanding with my limits. He floored me when he told me that GB refuses to pay for more than two weeks of physical therapy, even though the doctors say I need six! He’s going to be on my ass like over at TDW because in his words-we have to try to cram six weeks of therapy into two. The frustration I started feeling at the bastards at GB began building and building in me.

I’m beginning to think maybe they’re trying to drive me over the edge so they don’t have to pay me any more. I began having trouble with all the people being around me in the gym, and I couldn’t put my finger on what was wrong. No one looked threatening and I don’t think I was scared, but suddenly I was very uncomfortable and wanted to retreat quickly back to my room. He made me stay of course.

Afterward my leg ached like hell and I’ll have to remember to get a percocet about an hour before he comes and gets me tomorrow or it’ll be hell. The bed being too short is really torturing my leg. They tell me the electric bed will be longer and the mattress can be raised above footboard level if need be, but so far it hasn’t arrived.

Meals are still coming about an hour or so after the dining room is served, and are warm at best and I’m still getting coffee and sugary fruit juices instead of tea. I’m worried about not eating everything for fear that they’re doing what TDW did; basically feed me cheap sugar-laden food and dosing me extra insulin to cover it, so rather than risk another coma with a reading of 41, I’m eating everything on the tray.

A woman came in to talk to me about transportation arrangements to see Dr. P-knee on Monday and informed me that GB is refusing to pay for a cab to and from Ohio State on Wednesday to see Dr. Mind, nor would the pay for one to see Dr. D-heart. Those fucking heartless sons of bitches are going to drive me crazy if I let them… if they haven’t already.

Nothing was on TV so I went to sleep early. From long experience I’ve learned that wanting to sleep all the time is a classic sign of depression, but I couldn’t fight the fatigue and drifted off before I knew it.


Friday May 29th 2009
I called Lawyer K to report GB’s latest shit this morning, and to tell him that they’ve given this place the impression that all of my benefits will run out a week from Wednesday. He said he’d look into it and get back to me. I have a feeling he’s not really working for free and sees a big financial gain for an out of court settlement check from them when this is all straightened out. I’m fucked if that happens because he’ll get a third, social security deducts anything I take in as income and reduces my checks accordingly so the only one who’ll gain is he and social security. It feels so damn hopeless sometimes, that I wonder why I keep fighting and don’t just give up and kill myself. Thinking that way scares me, but if you talk about it, you don't usually do it. It's the ones that don't say anything that eventually commit suicide, so I think I'm keeping myself safe by being open about it.

Some doctor from Dr’s North Hospital came to see me since Grant’s MD’s don’t come out this far into the ‘burbs. He basically asked a bunch of questions, filled out a clipboard and left… ten minutes.

At rehab, Craig promised me a regular 3PM appointment when the place is less crowded and so I can schedule the painkillers an hour before we start his intensified program. All the time I was in the hospital, I was avoiding percocet because I was afraid of getting addicted to it, but now I can’t do without it. The doctors there said it was important that I took it every four hours whether I thought I needed to or not because I’d pay for it with intense pain. I’m beginning to suspect they’re giving me some generic equivalent that isn’t as strong. Most people don’t know this, but by law a generic only has to be 85% of the drug it’s copying. My leg and hip where they took the bone matter are beginning to hurt like hell. My right knee is taking a beating to from supporting most of my weight for the last four years.

Apparently I’ll only have Sundays off from working in the gym.

Got dinner at 6:30 and the chicken fingers were barely warm and the fries were barely cooked, soggy and cold… They’re still sending me coffee, juice and I suspect whole milk instead of no-fat skim. I hate to keep comparing this place to my former nightmare facility TDW, but it’s getting harder and harder not to. As the frustration in me began building I had my first PSTD episode and had a sort of nightmare with my eyes open and kept trying to clamber out of bed to get home and had to be restrained by the male nurse. I began chewing the skin at the upper corners of my fingernails.

They don’t have a shrink here, only a minister who keeps showing up at my door with his Bible enquiring if I've been saved, and that was the last thing I need. I’m confused about dinner and can’t figure it out because I seem to remember a half eaten sandwich on my tray and saying I didn’t want it. I’d just calmed down and had control of myself when the place thought it‘d be the perfect time to test the fire alarm and I went crazy again, thinking they’d done it intentionally to drive me over the edge on GB’s orders.

I slept for a while and the nurse (who knows I’m a diabetic) brought me a snack around 11:30 to replace my refused dinner… a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on white bread, vanilla ice cream, and a tiny vanilla milkshake in a carton??!!



Saturday May 30th 2009
The weekend night nurse HAS to be a relative of Lady Dracula from Grant because she insisted on waking me at all hours of the night for blood tests and pills. I used the walker around 6 this morning to take a shit but couldn’t get back up off the toilet because of how low it is. When the aide got me back to my bed I noticed that the leg brace was now twisted so that the knee joint was almost over my kneecap, so I asked her to help me adjust it. She said she didn’t know how, but she’d get the nurse… she came back a moment later and said the night nurse said that brace adjustments were only done by the day staff and I’d have to wait for the shift change.

I barely controlled nearly flying into a rage, and with the help of an experienced male nightshift aide, I pulled the straps loose from their velcro and did it myself. This is too fucking ridiculous to be real!

My blood sugar was at 215 this morning-gee I wonder why?

Someone showed up and tried to give me a breathing treatment. After being mystified a moment, I realized he meant it for my oldster roommate next door. People keep walking into my room to answer his frequent call buttons and yesterday I almost got his pills! I was almost taken away today for his therapy appointment too.

Speaking of the nurse call button; over at Grant you press the button and someone gets on the intercom and asks what’s needed, sending the appropriate person. Here, even though there’s a speaker in the panel with the call light that they have to switch off, no one seems to be able to use the speaker part, or at least hasn’t figured it out, and the entire time I was there I never heard a single sound out of it. I know it works because the identical one in the gym went off constantly. The drawback to that is I’d press the call button for a refill of my ice water pitcher and a nurse would show up with a stethoscope, which made me feel guilty for pushing the button. In fact I’ve been living in discomfort since I got here because I feel guilty asking someone to crank the bed into another position every time I need to move so I just lay there and take it.

Obviously there’s still no promised electric bed yet, and I don’t expect one until probably Monday… if then. My knee hurts constantly and the short bed isn’t doing it any good either.

While watching one of their commercials, I suddenly realized that I hadn’t seen my usual purple Nexium for my ulcers and asked the nurse when she brought in my pills. She pointed out a capsule that was half light purple and half pink and said it was right there… a generic. I asked her about the bed and she said it was coming.

After all the hell I got for not telling my mother, Pittsburgh sister and brother in Seattle when my heart operation was because they wanted to comfort me at my bedside, not one single one of them has called, even though I left instructions and my private phone number here on my answering machine for them. That says a lot, and proves all they really wanted to know was when I’d be out of my apartment for a long period of time.

UNFUCKINGBELIEVABLE-I got the wrong lunch today. I didn’t realize it until I looked at the paper tray slip to see if they finally got the message about my being a diabetic when I smelled the coffee, and found my roommate’s name on it. When I got mine, I still got coffee anyway. I wrote a big-lettered note on a legal pad page about hot tea instead of coffee, no juice and only non-fat skim milk and had the aide deliver it personally to whoever was in charge of the kitchen. I guess I’ll be paranoid now and make sure every pill delivery is actually mine instead of his.

A Jamaican aide got distracted to the oldster’s room to answer his trivial “open the curtains for me” call instead of my urgent one for percocet. Afterward another person joined the first in the alcove outside my closed curtain and acted annoyed that I had the nerve to interrupt their spirited conversation to find out what I wanted, stomping around the bed to shut off the call light.

Some rehab lady showed up at one just after I finished lunch instead of the promised 3PM and I told her she’d have to wait till then because I needed to get my still undelivered percocet and to let my stomach settle before I worked out. After hearing that and apparently ignoring it, she said she’d be back at 2, so I called again for the pain meds.

By 2:30 she still hadn’t shown up, nor had the percocet. Apparently the shift change is at 3 and I’d have to wait until then before I got anything from them. By then my knee was throbbing and I was pissed as hell, but controlled it by watching something on TV.

She showed up at 3 and I went down to the gym with her and worked minus the painkillers, and being pissed off and in pain makes you work harder and faster. When we were done, I showed her why I was having so much trouble by demonstrating how the footboard was compressing my bad leg. She promised that the electric bed would fix it and left to make sure I got one soon.

Uh huh

I tried to calm down and sleep early, but my neighbor had a John Wayne movie going at nearly full volume most of the evening, so I just sat there and took it. Tried draping my left foot over the side of the bed and nearly fell out of it when I drifted off. The nurse came in to take my blood pressure and the batteries on her little machine were dead and she had to get new ones.

I was feeling really down, so I asked one of the aides and her sidekick if they’d give me a sponge bath from the waist up, since I couldn’t get the staples wet, and it turned into a funny little production and for a while I actually enjoyed myself. It felt good to be clean, and clean-shaven. They sent my shorts and shirts down to the laundry and traded me a dreaded hospital gown. (I’d learn later they got in trouble for shaving me because apparently the place can’t risk my bleeding to death from a nick because of the medications I’m on.

Give me a break!



Sunday May 31st 2009
I’ve started to get to and from the bathroom without too much trouble; it’s painful but at least I’m moving on my own; though I don’t chance it more than once without paying for it by enduring an aching leg the rest of the night. I can’t believe I’d ever consider going to the bathroom an accomplishment. With the regular doses of Morphine and Percocet my knee is bothering me less than before, but it’s still sore when I wake up in the morning. I’ve tried propping a pillow under my left foot at night so that my heel is higher than the footboard, but sometime during the night it always slips sideways and I’m afraid of it falling off the bed onto the floor. There are times that I think I’ll slap the next person in the mouth that promises me the damned electric bed. For now I just resign myself to suffer-something I’m well practiced at.

I spent the morning deciding that I’m going to have to go home, get the car and drive myself to see Dr. Mind at OSU and then drive back to Hilliard in case GB won’t pay for the transport home. With the double appointment on Wednesday, I don’t see how I can afford a quadruple cab ride.

Maybe when they take me to Dr. P-knee’s office tomorrow, I’ll just disappear. After all it’s only two blocks from my apartment.

I’m working on the exercises that Angela taught me over the last few months, and I’m trying to flex my knee as much as I can. I can now sit up with my legs draped over the right side of the bed looking out towards the window, using my over-bed table as a desk. If I let it hang down loosely, I’m hoping the knee will droop down to more than a 45-degree angle.

I worked my way over to the corner of the bed closest to the TV and discovered that if I push the left or right arrow keys on the remote, a favorites menu appears that I can program all of my favorite channels into and get to them at the push of a single button… anything to occupy my mind I guess. You’d think they’d at least provide an instruction sheet for the TV, but so far I haven’t found it.

I’m tired of screaming, “I don’t fucking believe this!”
A lady I didn’t recognize until after she left, showed up at my door with a quarter inch thickness of papers that I had to sign-my admitting papers from last Wednesday-FIVE days after I got here??? All of it was in legalese that I couldn’t read or understand. I probably just signed away any rights to sue the living hell out of them I have in case something happens to me. If I hadn’t been knocked off balance by it, I’d have made her wait a few hours while I read all of it.

This IS Sunday isn’t it?

While I was trying to mentally digest all of that she informed me that I had to pay a dollar a day out of my own pocket for my phone service, which is why it wasn’t on when I got here. She promised I wouldn’t have to pay for it since they didn’t tell me, until the period after the day I signed… yeah like the promise of an adjustable electric bed. There were also fees for hair care, shaves and for all I know there’s an electric meter on my room somewhere, or maybe they’re charging me for the tuberculosis tests too. Come to think of it, they never completed the results of that test.

It was only after she left, that I realized that it was Amy the administrator in street clothes and unstyled hair.

She must’ve noticed I still hadn’t gotten the bed, because within about half an hour, it finally arrived.

Dinner was served in the dining room at 5PM; I got mine at 7:01. I showed it to the friendly male nurse just to have a witness before I ate it-Half a bowl of luke warm beef stew, a biscuit, a white confectioner’s sugar topped chocolate brownie and 7 apricot sections. No tea, no juice, no water, no milk. The nurse said he’d raid the kitchen for leftovers around 11PM for me in disgust. He came back a few hours later with a ham sandwich on a stale bun; a carton of whole milk and another vanilla shake in a little paper milk carton. Good God.

After experimenting with the new bed buttons, I finally found a comfortable position to sleep and my leg no longer is compressed against the footboard. I fell asleep on top of the blankets and woke up a few times to use the portable urinal, realizing I wasn’t sweating and hadn’t all night. Someone’s checking up on me pretty regularly, because the bottle’s always empty when I reach for it. Lasix gives very little warning; certainly not enough to get to the bathroom on my walker before pissing myself, so I stick to the urinal at night.



Monday June 1st 2009
This morning’s blood sugar was 288; considering yesterday I’m not surprised.

I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure out Friday’s PSTD episode and I’ve decided to leave it be and hope it doesn’t happen again. I just wish I knew what triggered it.

My left leg hurts a little less this morning thanks to the new bed; though the knee is sore like there’s a bone chip in it somewhere or maybe it’s just a crooked staple. I sat up on the right side of the bed and started drawing mazes out of the blue on the legal pad. I had them pull the blinds all the way up and let the sun shine in on me, hoping to brighten the day.

Lawyer K called today to remind me that the psychological hearing had been put off two weeks, and he told me he doesn’t think Dr. Mind is being paid for our sessions. Damn it, I knew she was paying for them out of her own pocket. As if I don’t have enough to feel bad about. I told him I was concerned that Social Security will commandeer any money I get from a settlement from GB and I’ll wind up empty handed for all the stress they’ve put me through. He said to let him worry about that.

Since my follow-up appointment with Dr. P-knee is at 2, I begged for lunch at noon because I knew I’d have to leave early and they actually brought it! A nice-guy ambulance driver took me downtown for the appointment.

I always cringe when they take the staples out of an incision, and this one is nearly two feet long, but I barely felt it. I want so badly to take a shower, but I still can’t get it wet until Wednesday. They took the staples out of the donation sites on my hips too, which are still sore. Dr. P-knee says the x-rays look great and he’s very encouraged, but warned me not to put more than a quarter of my weight on it, and confirmed that I need about 6 total weeks of therapy. I told him that I barely understood why I was only getting two from GB, and he was pissed. I promised to keep in touch with him about it. I feel so frustrated that I can barely get around without a great deal of pain and he warned me to be patient and not push too hard; after all I’ve just had a major bone operation.

Still it bothers me to have to ask for help doing basic things I used to be able to do myself… like just moving around.

By the time I got back to “the home” I was exhausted, but was ambushed by Craig as we passed the gym and he insisted that I come in and do therapy. I’d not had pain meds since this afternoon when I left, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

I was glad to hear from my sister Betsy when I got back to the room; she always cheers me up, and my Aunt Margaret called too and chatted for a while.

It’s getting embarrassing when some aide comes into my room and asks if I had a “bowel movement” every day.

My male nurse revised his theory of what caused the fit I had last Friday. It seems I get a dose of percocet around 6-7PM and a morphine pill at 8, I may have been stoned out of my mind instead of losing it. My sugar was down to 95 this evening! His idea of a reward was to bring be a couple each of Fig Newtons and sugar cookies.

I can’t go very far with my walker unless someone follows so that I can rest in a wheelchair, so that’s how I get to and from the gym. Trouble is the aides leave the damned thing parked afterwards in places that I don’t see in the dark until I’ve almost fallen over it using my walker to get to the bathroom in the middle of the night.



Tuesday June 2nd 2009
I’ve debated long and hard about including the following, but then what the hell you already know a lot about me anyway so…

There’s an A-number-one blonde HUNK that works late-night early-morning shift as an aide here, and it’s the first time in a long time that my libido has been aroused. He’s about 24 and painfully straight though. He has a smile and a cheerfulness that could melt the coldest of hearts-even mine, and is always so anxious to help me move here and there holding me intimately close, and he shows up without being called for, to ask if I need anything. They give me Lasix just before I go to sleep and I wind up using the urinal pitcher as many as 5 times a night. Somehow he creeps in while I’m asleep and empties it before I need it again (about every 2 hours or so.

I fell asleep again on top of the comforter last night and he came in and had me sit on the edge of the bed while he turned the blankets down. While he started, he had me steady myself by putting my arms around him with my face against his hard abs and for about a minute I was in gay heaven and didn’t want to let go. Then he’d gently lift me here and there in order to get the covers out from under me and then tucked me in. At one point I was tempted to kiss him goodnight with his head so close to mine as he adjusted my pillow.

He wears snug-fitting T-shirts that show off his muscled torso and white jeans that I swear his girlfriend (who is a nurse here) must paint on him just before he leaves for work. As much as I enjoy looking at this ultra-masculine “eye candy”, I wish he’d get assigned to another ward, as it accents how much I feel so alone, and how I haven’t had a lover in nearly five years. Everyone on God’s earth needs to feel like they’re the most important person in someone else’s life, but that’s something that’s blatantly absent in mine. I think when I lost my looks and my confidence; the ability to attract a lover went with it. After all how to you get someone to love you if you don’t love yourself?

A couple of nights ago I fell asleep with my hand dangling off the right side of the bed. He came in to empty the urinal and the sound of the curtain on its metal rail must’ve barely woke me. As he sidestepped between the bed and the table, his beautiful ass brushed my fingers and I thought I was going to faint. After he left I had to keep testing to make sure it was real and not a dream.

He has started waking me in the middle of the night to warn me some tech is about to come in and take some blood or my vital signs, instead of like on his nights off when she just shows up and does it. I asked him a few nights ago to find me another big legal pad to keep daily notes on-as I've well nie filled this one; I wonder how he’d react if he read these. I usually sleep “in the raw” at home, so here; I’ve started sleeping in just the scrub shorts on top of the blankets to see if I can cut down on the sweating. The trouble is after he “tucked me in” I kicked the covers off in the middle of the night because they were too warm, and apparently my scrub shorts too.

When I woke up, I was glad the door curtain was closed.

This morning’s breakfast included the usual oatmeal again. It was so cold the butter wouldn’t melt after I buried it down inside of it. I’m going to stop eating it anyway as it’s loaded with carbs and my blood sugar is still insanely high. I didn’t get tea or coffee this morning; only a glass of orange juice. I’m tempted to go over my finances to see if maybe I can order delivery, though I doubt anyone delivers breakfast.

My regular gym appointment is at 3, so I called for my percocet at 2:30 and again at 3:15. A few minutes later I was reminded via an aide that the nurse’s shift change is at 3 and it never did come, probably lost between shift messages. I “played through the pain” and wheelchaired up and down the halls while Craig attended to two other old ladies. It was as much for exercise as to try to get to know my new “home.” I never did find the kitchen to try to talk to the manager about my menu in person. I finished the hour myself with only brief instructions from him, mostly about trying to walk while supporting myself on a pair of parallel bars. After I got back to the room within an hour I was very sore and finally got my percocet, being careful to put off the morphine by about an hour to avoid what happened Friday.

My 4:15PM sugar was 113! The dinner fries were stone cold again and no tea-just juice. I wrote a note to the kitchen manager in GIANT letters on a legal sized sheet and expressed my frustration about being a diabetic and not getting anything to drink, especially the tea that I’ve pleasurably gotten used to. I spent the night watching an NCIS marathon on USA Network.

Around 1AM my leg started cramping and my hunk came in and massaged it. That kind and caring grin of his is going to be the death of me.



Wednesday June 3rd 2009
The night nurse with the random 3-6AM attacks was back again last night, with the hunk running interference. At least I woke up with my shorts on this morning. I’m still losing a lot of potassium from the near-continuous pissing from Lasix doses, but I’m losing the surgery fluids too and the water weight that goes with it. I’m beginning to hate sleeping under the covers because the velcro on the leg brace sticks to them and gets tangled.

Today is escape day. I plan to start off for home around 9AM by cab, get my car, see Dr. D-heart and then Dr. Mind, and then drive back to “the home.” I lied and said I was meeting a friend so I’d have the whole day to myself to try to get my head together and as an excuse to visit Mischief at home because I miss her so much.

I took a good shower this morning until I tried to get up from the bench and nearly slid off of it. I hurt my leg trying to stop myself before I got hold of the safety rail. No more showering solo until I’m sure I won’t kill myself in the process. I tried to stand up in there enough to get to my walker and slipped, stopping myself with my good leg this time. I wish I could shower with the leg brace. I called an aide to follow me the few steps back to my room in case I slipped.

I so fucking hate being this helpless.

I wore my denim cut-offs and a black t-shirt and wheeled myself down to the front doors after calling the cab. By 9:30 he still hadn’t arrived and I called to find out what was keeping him from the reception desk. That’s when I realized I couldn’t find my house and car keys. I wheeled myself down to my room and couldn’t find them anywhere, only to discover them beneath my wallet in the pocket of the cut-off jeans I was wearing. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Just as I got back to the front doors, the cab pulled up and to my amazement without even coming to a full stop, he took off again! The sweet receptionist who was watching actually stood up and exclaimed, “What the hell?” and called the cab company to tell them what just happened. They said he thought he was in the wrong place and left, but he’d be back. The trip into downtown to my place cost me $41!

It was a fight just to get myself up the handicap ramp with my walker and I made it by more determination than strength. By the time I got in the apartment I was exhausted. After snuggling Mischief and nearly falling a couple of times, I knew there was no way to get back down to the car, much less drive with my leg in the condition it was in. I called and rescheduled Dr. D-heart and asked Dr. Mind’s receptionist to ask her if we could have a phone session from here and told her I’d be here most of the afternoon.

My San Diego friend/business partner Brock e-mailed me from New Orleans. God the money we used to make together and the fun we had picking up sailors and marines on the beaches of the west coast. He’s almost in as bad a shape financially as I am now. After we sold the business to a studio in L.A. he moved to New Orleans to be with his family and all his hundreds of thousands of dollars went toward rebuilding their homes and trying to put their lives back together while sacrificing his own security. Hearing from him almost brought me to tears thinking of the many friends I miss so much that were scattered to the four winds in California when we closed down.

Now I just feel empty and alone. I’d just gotten my life together and was a success when all this happened. It’s like God wanted me to taste the good life, get addicted to the money and friends, and then laughed as he slowly and torturously swept it all away. I have to keep reminding myself that there is no God, just fate and circumstances. Sometimes I feel my mind going back to the fucked-up state it was in when I was in my twenties. I fought so hard to tear myself away from that and now I’m sliding back into the frustrations, the inner anger and the paranoia.

…and to think that at one time in my life I wanted to become a Presbyterian minister.

No other e-mails were worth mentioning; none from Mom, my brother or sister-not that I expected any. My sister Betsy calls me nearly every day, as does my Aunt Margaret. Blogcritics Magazine published my DVD review of Dynasty’s fourth season, and gratefully didn’t notice that I published it myself out of necessity on my own site a few hours before they did because I had to leave for the hospital.

One smile-the electric bill was $10.70 again. Despite instructions from the city auditor, I wonder how long I can get away with that? At least while it lasts I’ve got an extra $90 or so to play with. I found a 45-day lease notice that my rent thankfully isn’t going up next term… my god, my 23rd lease in one place. I'm sort of trapped here in my penthouse, not able to afford to move because I can’t raise the money to hire movers, and the first, last month’s rent and security deposit somewhere else… unless I moved into my car under some bridge.

I know I’ll never be able to take care of myself in this condition. I’m unable to stand for more than a minute without pain to cook at the stove or do dishes. Everything will have to come out of the toaster oven or microwave, and there’s no way to carry hot food with both hands operating the walker, plus drinks will spill all over the place if I try to carry them so pop cans will have to substitute, getting shaken up in the process. I experimented around and at least I’ll be able to get on and off the toilet with the sink and tub on either side to brace myself. Driving is going to be a necessity, but how I don’t know, I’ve got a back log of regular prescriptions that I’m glad I hoarded up now, but I’ll still need the pain meds and fucking GB won’t pay for a cab to get them.

It has also occurred to me that I can't drive while stoned on percocet, so how do I get supplies or make heart or shrink appointments?

It’s fucked up that I’ve pushed away nearly every friend I have over five years except Teresa, and she’s working three jobs just to survive. I’ve seen the folly of locking myself away in my apartment for over four years too, because I don’t know any of my neighbors enough to ask for help shopping etc. Dr. Nick down the hall always seems to be away on vacation somewhere and poor Vicki is now in a walker herself. It all seems so goddamned hopeless.

Poor Mischief must have been crying for me for the last two weeks, because her pitiful meow sounds hoarse. She is constantly rubbing against me and crying and I have to be careful where I aim the walker for fear of hitting her with it. It’s going to break my heart to leave today without taking her with me… hers too probably.

Dr. Mind called and I told her the recent events. Was also pissed that she’s treating me for free, and may be paying for my treatments out of her own pocket. She said not to worry and that she’s on salary at OSU regardless. I’m not buying it, because I’ve seen the bills they’re sending me now that GB won’t pay her.

I cooked a couple of frozen breaded chicken breast portions in the toaster oven for lunch. The fridge smells like rotted meat because I forgot to clean it out before I left and there’s a loose deli package of sandwich roast beef in there, and some tomatoes and lettuce. I’d clean them out, but I’d never make it to the dumpster. Saint Teresa took out all of my trash-god love her and cleaned the living room and den. I’m not going to be able to carry groceries or push them in my rolling cart from the car to the apartment.

A feeling of impending doom is setting in.

I grabbed one of my 12-packs of Diet Dr. Pepper and my talking clock and then reluctantly called a cab. I waited down in the lobby for it to come before giving up after forty-five minutes. It was a struggle to get back to my apartment just to call them and find they had no idea what happened to him, and they said they’d send another in five minutes, which they did. The trip back cost another $40 so this little adventure of mine ran $80 that I probably don’t have to spare.

I got back here around 4:30 tired, but glad I saw home and my beloved cat, regardless of how brief the visit was. 5 o’clock dinner came at 6:25 and was luke warm as usual complete with melted strawberry sherbet. At least they’re sending the tea again, but I’m beginning to hate this pretty place… well most of it.



Thursday June 4th 2009
Some girl walked in just as I was getting ready to eat breakfast early this morning and asked if I had a bowel movement, (talk about timing) and then wanted to know if it was large, medium or small. Sheesh. My warm diabetic breakfast consisted of hot tea, a bowl of oatmeal, and a biscuit covered with sausage gravy. No surprise that my noon blood sugar was 212. Lunch was no better or warmer and consisted of a warm hot turkey sandwich, sugar beets, mashed and gravy and (are you ready for this?) cherry cake. My blood sugar, despite insulin injections was around 328!

Again, I asked for my gym percocet at 2PM and again at 2:30 and didn’t get it until she showed up at therapy at 3:20... again. I spent a lot of time using the walker going up and down the halls with a wheelchair aide in tow. Craig spent a lot of time gushing over what wonderful progress I’m making and how proud he is of me, spouting enthusiastic “Good job!” like a dog trainer to a reluctant Chihuahua on one of those Animal Planet shows. I think I pulled my right shoulder muscle, as it was really sore when I got back to the room. One of the aides finally located the t-shirts and shorts I’d sent to the laundry last Sunday. I’m going to attempt a shower later this evening and it’ll be nice to have clean clothes to go with it. I got some replacement leg stockings that prevent blood clots to swap for the ones I’ve been wearing for about two weeks.

I used my debit card and paid my electric and phone bill by phone. I’ve been keeping a careful checkbook since I got here since I can’t go on line for transactions. I call the bank every day to check the balance since I had to fill out a paper slip for the cabs, which means my account number is out there with two different cab drivers.

Even after the morphine, my shoulder still hurts. I’m really drowsy and at 8:30 I’m going to turn in for the night.


Friday June 5th 2009
I woke up around 2AM with another painful leg cramp and the hunk massaged it out again, (I’d use his name but…). The nurse came in and said I’m probably not getting enough potassium again. Great; I hate those huge pills. Anyway I decided to take the shower I’d planned for yesterday evening and could barely move and between my shoulder and my knee I was in near-agony. He gently helped me get the brace off my leg and then undressed me, then guided me to the shower.

He suggested an extra towel on the bench would make it less slippery and he was right.

I was so stiff I couldn’t reach below my right knee and my whole leg hurt like hell, so he stayed in there without being asked and helped me wash. His shirt was getting wet, so he took it off and I nearly fainted. He washed my legs and back, and while I did the rest, he massaged my sore right shoulder and then watched me while sitting on the toilet seat. It was a fight just to keep my eyes off of him. Somehow I don’t think he’d let me thank him the way I wanted to thank him, but I came close several times to offering…

When I was done, he lifted me up off the seat long enough to put the towel on the floor over the drain so I wouldn’t slip and then helped me stand; he dried me off completely without my asking him to. Then he helped me to my bed and got those damned tight stockings back on and then the leg brace, all while still shirtless. While he did the upper straps of the brace near my crotch, I got hard. I turned beet red and was so embarrassed, but he smiled it off and said it happens all the time as he helped me with my shorts. My heart did one hell of a lot of pumping for a good cardio workout and it took me an hour to fall to sleep after he gently tucked me in.

It’s sad that I’m probably reading more into it than is really there out of loneliness and he probably does the exact same thing for a dozen of the old men in this place every night.

I woke up this morning and noticed a lump in my abdomen from where someone injected Lovenox probably too high on my stomach. I pointed it out to the nurse and she agreed with me. I got my roommate’s fucking breakfast again, which worries me to no end that I might be getting his medications by mistake too. Breakfast was only luke warm too and God I’m getting tired of oatmeal, or its evil twin cream-o-wheat.

I talked to Teresa this morning and told her of my sneaking off home Wednesday. I got a strange message on my answering machine from Allstate that turned out to be their ultimate computer warning I hadn’t made my payment, though I had.

At 1PM my clock went off saying “One o’clock PM” in a woman’s voice and startled the hell out of a tech standing next to it, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. We both laughed.

They moved the annoying oldster in the adjoining room to the long-term care wing, so for now I have the place to myself. At least I no longer have to worry about getting his pills or meals. I perked up after that and was cheerful. I even got my percocet on time for it to take effect before I went down for physical rehab. On the way there in the wheelchair, I met up with the maintenance man and he said he’d move my clock for me and fix the light in the shower, which has burned out already. Things are going well today and when things go well it means a disaster is coming to spoil it, but I won’t let that dampen my spirits. Maybe the psychic energy that I’m putting out is effecting events-who knows-I don’t know any other logical explanation for the repeated things that befall me.

Anyway, I was energetic enough to do wheelchair laps around the therapy desk/nurse’s station area. Craig had me stepping up and down stairs today, which scared the hell out of me because my leg hardly bends. I’ve got to admit he knows his job and was very patient. Despite the pain meds, I still feel a twinge in my right shoulder, but it’s not as bad as it was yesterday. I asked Craig about it and he told me I’m probably trying too hard and to take it easier.

When I got back from therapy, the wall clock was where I can see it now and the light works in the shower. I sent an aide to find him with my thanks. If it keeps up like this, I may have to force myself to smile and I don’t think I’m ready for any signs of the apocalypse just yet.

Some workman came in carrying something metal in his hand, frowned at my bed and remarked that he’d brought the wrong piece for an electric bed. It turns out he was here to fix my ex-roomie’s bed, so he wandered over next door only to discover there was nothing wrong with it. No surprise

The lump on my stomach above and to the right of my belly button is now a bruise. I showed it to the nurse earlier and she said someone injected my Lovenox in the wrong place and it’d go down eventually. I’m having less and less confidence in this place by the day.

Dinner came at 6:15 and was a foul looking piece of fish that I chanced one bite of and rejected it. I ordered a Domino’s pizza rather than risk another peanut butter and jelly sandwich and wouldn’t you know it, they sent the pizza on the wrong crust. My God, after you’ve avoided salt for as long as I have, you can taste it really strong when you get something with a moderate amount in it, and the pizza tasted like it was coated with it… wow. It was good anyway.



Saturday June 6th 2009
Good Grief! I slept from 9PM last night until 7AM this morning. I don’t think it was depression as much as exhaustion. My mouth was bone dry again this morning and the strange thing where I wake up with both my pinky fingers numb and tingling hit me again. I’m beginning to wonder if it’s one of the drugs or something with my spinal cord that’d affect both fingers at once. It usually subsides after about an hour, but it seems to happen more regularly now.

For some reason I keep getting this urge to draw mazes and have completely covered several legal-sized pieces of paper. Maybe my desire to create is coming through? I’ve experimented and still can’t draw a ball that looks like a ball, which is depressing in and of itself considering the art I used to crank out without even trying hard.

There seems to be no aspect of my life that God isn’t willing to take away from me in order to make me more miserable than I was yesterday.

My blood sugar was 251 this morning. I’m getting really bored with these daily bowls of oatmeal every morning. While wondering what I could’ve smuggled in to substitute for what they feed me, a fun memory came over me. I was declared an emancipated minor when I was 16 and lived in a motel room near school until I graduated. I figured out a way to cook in my room to save money without actually getting evicted for having a hot plate or something. I’d buy canned ravioli and stuff, strip off the labels and then leave one sitting in the bathroom sink full of hot water. When it was heated up enough, I’d eat it right out of the can. It’s funny the things that occur to you out of the blue at the oddest times.

Now today’s lunch was interesting. When I used to travel around the country on business I’d judge a restaurant by its chili, so when that’s what they served me today I was really skeptical, but to my shock and amazement it was really good. Now if only it’d been more than luke warm I’d be singing its praises to heaven. I even asked… and got 2nds! I could tell it was first-day by the taste of the tomatoes and was really tempted to ask if they’d save some overnight for tomorrow’s lunch, by which time (chili is always best on the second day) it’d have been magnificent, but I didn’t want to press my luck.

My blood sugar seems to dip after the gym, so I’m keeping that in mind and doing quasi-isometric exercises with my legs in bed. The lady weekend therapist was early, but I gave her my all. She had me on an odd leg push-hand pull machine that she was amazed I could figure out before she’d shown it to me. With the gym downstairs from my penthouse and my experience from when I used to be a hunk, it was relatively easy to figure out. She asked for 10 minutes on it and I gave her 20, just to show her I wanted to progress as much as she wanted me to.

Along about dinnertime, I started feeling a twinge in my shoulder again. I think I definitely pulled a muscle last Thursday or Friday. The machine I was on works both your arms and your legs and I had her retract the hand grips so I was only using my legs.

Maybe a hot shower will cure it later.

They served something I couldn’t identify tonight for dinner, which was later identified as Chicken Cordon Bleu, it was mostly breading and cheese, but it was good. I skipped everything else and the desert, because there wasn’t a thing on the plate that I dare eat that wasn’t loaded with either sugar or salt. So what did I do? I ordered a pizza again.

Now at first blush, that may sound silly, but in days to come I discovered that my blood sugar was lower after a Domino’s pizza than after one of their dinners!?! Now if that doesn’t say something I don’t know what does. I sent another note to the cook, and I know of at least two nurses, several aides and even Craig himself who’ve promised me that they’ve mentioned it to whoever is in charge there, but to no avail, so I’m giving up. I shudder to think how many insulin unit doses above what I usually get, that have been given to me here. At least Domino’s got the pizza right this time but at $20 a shot, I can’t afford this forever by any means.

What with only a thin sheet between the plastic-covered bed mattress and me; is it any wonder I’m developing sores in my ass? I’ve requested baby powder several times over the past week, but always the aide or nurse nods and goes after it, then they either come back empty handed with a puzzled look on their faces, or not at all. If I ever get an explanation for why they can’t give people baby powder, (it’s probably some ridiculous legal stipulation) it should be either preposterous or at best interesting. With what I’ve discovered in the last seven days, I’ll probably have to pay for it.

I took a very long shower this evening and it felt sooooooooooo good. I’m kind of leery about taking another one with the hunk for fear of getting hard again or insinuating what I’d really like to do to him. I made it all the way to the shower without help, but the brace was a bitch to get off by myself and my leg hurts because of it, so I had an aide help me put it back on. I still can’t reach my left foot, and my leg won’t bend sideways to put it up on my right knee so I can reach it that way either. I hate feeling so helpless.

I keep getting more and more pills. Tonight new ones were added that were large, round, and orange. They turned out to be a different kind of potassium supplement that’s easier to swallow; I’ll say!

I stayed awake until 1:30 watching TV. I can’t sleep tonight for some reason.


Sunday June 7th 2009
I skipped the cream-o-wheat this morning; does this moron dietician understand carbs??? As if breakfast was bad enough, lunch included a temptation nearly as strong as the night hunk tech… a large slice of chocolate cream pie, which I tried to hide under the plate cover so I wouldn’t have to look at it, but couldn’t hold out DAMN IT and ate it anyway. It was so damned good (sniff).

I spent the entire day watching Tiger Woods win the memorial in spectacular fashion. We’re so close to the course in Dublin that I can hear the blimp buzzing around.

Dinner was this fucking horrible 2” diameter mound of tuna noodle casserole on a plate. It was so dry that it actually stayed that shape, though being nearly cold probably congealed it. It was also obviously made from tuna in water-which I can’t stand the taste of. I also got a ton of peas and carrots and peach halves for desert. I know I shouldn’t and money is tight, but I ordered another $20 pizza. I know I’ll pay later for my financial stupidity now, but at this point I’m past caring.

It scares me that sometimes I actually make decisions based on the assumption that I won’t be on this planet much longer.

The cable service kept going out while trying to watch “Gone in 60 Seconds” for just a glimpse of the “Eleanor Mustang” and the other cars, and I eventually gave up and went to sleep about 8:30 PM.


Monday June 8th 2009
I still have no idea when I’m going home. I’m under the impression that GB won’t pay for me past tomorrow, but now they’re making sounds like I might actually be here until Thursday? I really don’t know if I want to go home, or if I can’t wait to go home. For one thing, I have no idea what my limitations are with my leg and could do some real damage to it without professional advice. What GB is doing should be criminal.

I’m exhausted this morning as I was pissing almost constantly last night and didn’t get much sleep. I better be losing tons of water weight. I woke up with a really sore right shoulder and I’m beginning to wonder if it’s just a pulled muscle or something more ominous.

The usual Oatmeal and a cold cheap waffle came for breakfast.

I’m getting concerned about this sudden obsession with drawing mazes, as if I’m trying really hard to occupy my mind with them instead of how miserable I feel. I guess it’s better than sleeping all day, but the need for sleep seems to be more physical than mental. At 12:30 two lunch women came in and offered me a choice of entrées, and I chose Salisbury steak, which came only 15 minutes later… and it was hot! But then again, so was the vanilla ice cream. If it weren’t for the rubber pencil eraser mushrooms that it was covered with and the obvious carbs from the mashed potatoes, I’d even say it was excellent. I asked if the meal choice was something new and they said yes, so things are looking up. (I didn’t know it at the time, but that’s the one and only time that I was ever given a choice for some mysterious reason… they probably were trying to get rid of some leftovers from last night’s dining room dinners.) Another fly in the ointment was that no hot tea came with it, and when I asked, they said they were out of it… alas.

Now come on-you have to see this one coming… The girl that came to get the lunch tray told me they were out of iced tea-not hot tea and offered to get me some. I declined.

Dr. Mind called me and for some reason I couldn’t remember anything before this morning at that moment, which worries me, so our conversation was very brief. It was good to hear her friendly, caring and reassuring voice though. The memory loss for events only hours ago is really beginning to wear on me.

An issue of trust came up today that I’ve never had a problem with the medical staff before. I called for my percocet at 1 this afternoon, so I could take it at 2PM for the gym session at 3. An old cranky nurse I’d never seen before brought it and wouldn’t let me have it unless I took it in front of her an hour early. The others let me have it to take later in order to time its effects for my therapy session. I humored her and hoped for the best.

Therapy today involved making sure I could take my leg brace off and put it on by myself, some more work on the machines and the stairs again. Craig has no idea if I’m going home tomorrow or Wednesday either.

Well, it was finally explained why my butt’s been suffering without baby powder; the law office apparently thinks I might use too much of it, it could get on the floor, and I might slip and fall on it. The reason some techs give me shaving razors and others don’t is because somehow they think I’m still on Coumadin and if I nick myself, their corporate lawyers think I might bleed to death. (sigh)

I sat and anticipated a choice for dinner, but it wasn’t offered. At 6:30 the 5PM meal arrived with a sandwich of McRib style meat on a bun, soggy undercooked and cold fries, a salty dill pickle spear, cooked carrots and a bowl of applesauce.

I ate the meat off the sandwich and left everything else. I told the nurse about it and he assured me that he’s told the kitchen repeatedly that I’m a diabetic. He brought me an egg salad sandwich and two shortbread cookies as a substitute-good God.

A lady came in this evening with a big tan shorthaired dog and wanted to know if I wanted a visit. I consented and the dog proceeded to enthusiastically sniff everything in the room vigorously… while completely ignoring me. When she tried to urge him toward me, he suddenly clambered onto the bed, just missing my leg. Needless to say it was a short visit.

I can’t seem to remember when it was, as I don’t seem to have written it down, but last Thursday or Friday I was given a 2nd tuberculosis test. This evening the nurse showed up and gave me a third one; despite my telling him I was probably going home tomorrow. It turns out that they have to read the results within 24-48 hours of injecting it and everyone kept forgetting to. I was assured that I wouldn’t get it from the repeated injections over such a short period of time, but I was skeptical.

TDW all over again, but at least they haven’t put me in the hospital, though they have a day or two yet.



Tuesday June 9th 2009
I woke up from a nightmare last night and almost instantly my hunk appeared without my so much as touching the call button. Probably because I woke up screaming. He got me to talk about it while he massaged my sore shoulder and brought me some ice water. His girlfriend came in and wanted to know if I needed some pain meds, and sort of ruined the mood. No one here has shown me more than the absolute minimum of concern except him, and I’m glad I’m going home before I start falling in love. She told me I’d be going home on Thursday by the way, and I asked her to note that I’d like to go in the afternoon if possible.

After she left, he seemed to be sad I was going… so was I. He asked if I wanted to do another late-night shower and I fought every urge in me to say yes, and said I’d like to wait until tomorrow night before I leave. He said to just call and he’d be there. He also said something about the therapy staff wanting to make sure I was safe standing in the shower without slipping or falling.

This morning’s breakfast contained a good cheese omelet, cold toast and the obligatory oatmeal and hot tea. I ate everything but the oatmeal. They’ll probably put me on a diabetic meal plan tomorrow and my last meals here will be bland.

I asked a tech for another one of their “welcome” books that contain a section to keep a diary, as I’ve nearly filled this one up with notes, and also another legal pad. It comes in a cellophane bag with rainbow strips of cloth tying it at the top. I braided them with the others I’d gotten into a bookmark.

At 11AM some lady came to try to take me to physical therapy and I told her I wouldn’t go until 3 because I hadn’t taken my pain meds yet. Apparently Craig’s is going to be in staff meetings all day. She confirmed that I’m leaving Thursday afternoon.

Lunch was Swiss steak, mashed, gravy and apricots. I found little comfort when the girl told me the fruit bowls are all in their own juices instead of heavy syrup.

Around 2:30 another woman showed up with a giant black poodle, and it was a much nicer dog. If he didn’t slobber all over me I’d say it was a nice visit, and I rather enjoyed it. I’m glad I’ll be going home to Mischief soon, I miss her so much. I thank god every day for Teresa sticking by me and taking care of my beloved cat.

This must seem so boring to you, but when you’re confined to your bed and can hardly move, the smallest and most trivial things become events.

Just before I went to the gym I asked a tech if she could change my bed linens, as they didn’t yesterday. She said she would. The lady at the gym kept wandering off on me to help this or that oldster, so I was pretty much on my own. I used the walker to haunt the halls and out of curiosity I checked out the menus on the dinning room tables and they don’t have much of a choice either, which makes me think the menus are more decoration than anything else.

I’m really becoming convinced that all the pain meds they’re giving me are inferior generics, because my right shoulder really began to hurt-even more than my stiff knee. My right leg has been taking a beating too because it’s bearing the brunt of most of my weight while my left leg heals.

Every time I went back to the gym during the hour-long session, the lady ignored me and I got pissed and went to my room about half an hour early. I discovered the bed was made, or so I thought until I discovered that someone had merely pulled the comforter up, lowered the bed flat and left. Pulling back the bedspread, I discovered the blanket and sheet were actually crumpled beneath it… un-fuckin-believable.

I went into a sort of blue funk, pissed because therapy didn’t go well and upset that I know I need six weeks of physical therapy and GB will only pay for two. I lifted my right arm and my shoulder was near my ear and I heard an alarming grinding sound. I rested my hand on it and moved it and could feel it-and got really upset that it feels the same as when my ankle collapsed. Wanting to cry, I began wondering if this ordeal will ever end, or if god is still testing to see how much I can endure before I finally give up and kill myself to end this suffering.

I closed the window blinds and sat in the dark as sadness and hopelessness overwhelmed me. I rang for the nurse and a tech said she’d get her. She didn’t show up for a while, so I made a pitcher of Welch’s and watched TV.

When the nurse finally arrived it was the cranky bitch. She practically ignored me when I explained what was wrong and proceeded to test my blood sugar instead, just like the night I wound up in the hospital over at TDW. When I insisted that she feel or listen to my shoulder, she informed me that her nurse training didn’t involve listening to joints and I’d have to wait for a doctor to see me, which probably wasn’t until next week. She ignored me when I said I was leaving tomorrow.

She pointed out my surgery scar from the quadruple break last August, and insisted my pain was probably from that, as if she were more concerned with laying blame anywhere but here.

I got more and more depressed after that, and also anger began building up in me. With my ankle and now possibly my shoulder, I could wind up a cripple in pain for the rest of my life. I asked if Administrator Amy could come see me and she appeared within minutes. I told her about the nurse refusing to examine my shoulder and how I’d mentioned it to Craig last Thursday or Friday and she felt it and said she’d have a doctor here in about five minutes and left. She said I wouldn’t be charged for the extra day tomorrow and sort of set my mind at ease… this was at 4:30PM

I asked for some pain meds that never came. Miss Crabby eventually showed up making an effort to be cheerful and failed miserably. She said the doctor had left for the day, and was surprised he didn’t stop by… I wasn’t.

I got a new roommate with a family of about 10, who insisted on conversing right outside of my curtain instead of in their room. I eventually raised the blinds and turned on the TV to drown out their voices.

Craig surprised me by showing up around 7PM and insisted I go down to the gym with him, apologizing profusely for the other woman ignoring me. I refused, and explained the earlier events. Dinner came and was a strange concoction called Mexican lasagna, which contained refried beans, lots of chili powder and was topped with black olives… yuk. After surveying my dinner tray, he was really mad because he’d told the kitchen help several times about my being a diabetic. He also said he’d confirmed to Amy that I’d mentioned the sore shoulder to him last Friday. When I still wouldn’t go with him, he left. He’s really a nice man; he’s just a nuisance sometimes.

Around 10 my shower stuff arrived with extra towels and disposable razors. I’m tempted to shower now, rather than risk getting overly horny with the hunk tonight. His girlfriend came by and said to be sure I showered tonight, so I was sure I could safely stand and get in and out of the tub on my own once I got home.

An assistant of the visiting MD showed up around 10 and examined me. His preliminary diagnosis was arthritis. Great.

I went to sleep depressed and wondering why I kept fighting to endure.

Stopped eating deserts and oatmeal and sugars dropped to mid 150s, I apparently go home Thursday instead of today.


Wednesday June 10th 2009
I’m still reeling from last night. The hunk came in around 2AM and wanted to know if I wanted to shower with him… his words. We got me undressed and into the shower and he shocked the living hell out of me by stripping all the way down to a skimpy white Speedo and got into the little shower with me. I couldn’t help it, that lithe frame, the muscles that seemed to be vacuum-sealed to his body through thin skin got to me and I got hard. On top of that, once the water was turned on, that thin white fabric turned nearly transparent and left nothing to the imagination, and that fucker was hung like the proverbial horse!

He smiled after noticing I couldn’t take my eyes off of it, and I told him I was gay. He told me he knew already by the rainbow keychain in my open briefcase. He didn’t mind and just as we were getting started with the shampoo, his girlfriend came in unannounced and reminded him I had to stand sit and wash on my own. It was a fight to hide my erection, and she only smiled as if she knew.

In the tight confines of the little shower, I stood up carefully while he held on to me and then sat back down again. I told him I have a bench to sit on in my apartment and we proceeded to wash every part of me. It was insanely difficult not to explore his beautiful physique with my hands, and he seemed to not be uncomfortable at all with my roving eyes. In fact a few minutes into it, he told me he took it as a compliment.

It wasn’t easy, but I got through standing and sitting back down without slipping to show him I could, but it hurt like hell and my leg is still really stiff. Without hesitation, whenever I seemed on the verge of slipping he’d offer a strong steady hand.

After we were done, to my amazement as I carefully exited the shower, he peeled off his wet speedo right in front of me, with only a wicked smile as if he were enjoying my discomfort. Naked, he dried me off and then I returned the favor by drying his back, allowing my hands to wander down to just above one of the most beautiful asses I’d ever laid eyes on. He put on his tight white jeans and then escorted me back to my bed while still shirtless. While he helped me with the tight anti-clot stockings and my leg brace, our eyes kept meeting, and I gave up and told him how attractive he was and how lucky his girlfriend was.

His only reaction was a grin and we got into a conversation about carbs, protein shakes, diets, muscle building and gyms. I warned him not to become a slave to his body, because the moment he stopped, it’d all turn to flab, and I was living proof.

I told him I’d miss him a lot and he gave me a hug that sent me into heaven. Then he was gone. God, the money he could make in San Diego or San Francisco……

…First thing in the morning, a girl showed up with a portable x-ray machine. The space between the bed, the window and the shelving unit was so confined, that she couldn’t maneuver it anywhere near me and eventually gave up and took two films from the foot of the bed. As she attempted to leave, she bumped into my carafe of grape juice and spilled it all over the bed and me.

I absolutely hate it when someone starts apologizing and won’t stop. Yes she was clumsy, but she didn’t do it intentionally and despite my reminding her of that fact several times, she kept right on genuflecting.

Breakfast was sausage gravy over a biscuit and of course oatmeal. Lunch featured a huge sweet potato covered with cinnamon and pear halves. The promised doctor never did show up to examine my shoulder, leaving it to his assistant from last night instead. Though I kept asking, by mid afternoon, I still couldn’t get anyone to tell me the x-ray results.

Around 2 I was told I wouldn’t have physical therapy today, and at the same time the pretty black nurse said the x-rays said there was nothing wrong with my shoulder??? I asked her to feel it and she was surprised and said she’d recommend a cat scan or something similar. It turns out that Dr. B-M.D. never showed up yesterday. A woman named Mary Beth showed up to apologetically tell me that they were having lengthy trouble arranging transportation home tomorrow because the woman at GB was being uncooperative about paying for it, and that it took Amy to call her personally before it was authorized!

They weighed me today and I’m down to 225. Dinner tonight could’ve been leftover lunch for all I knew, and consisted of vegetable beef soup, potato salad, bean salad… and an egg salad sandwich! More pears came with it that I suspect were diced from yesterday’s meal. I ate part of the soup and didn’t dare touch anything else and ordered a pizza… at least that was hot.


Thursday June 11th 2009
The leg brace keeps slipping down toward my ankle, which means the metal joint supports for my knee usually end up near my upper calf. Woke up to the usual oatmeal breakfast and skipped it as usual. Spent the morning drawing another maze as opposed to laying in a mental coma wondering what would happen next. My shoulder still bothers me, even with morphine and percocet pill. I wasted time thinking about how my Pittsburgh sister, mother and brother all had fits at me about not telling them when I was in the hospital for my heart operation, so I told all of them when I was going in for this surgery and not one of the hypocrites ever called me once through this whole ordeal. I even e-mailed them that I was only allowed two emergency contacts-Betsy and Teresa, and told them all they had to do was call my home and my answering machine would have the private number at the hospital and “the home”.

The ambulance guy came to take me home, and there was an immediate fight about not being allowed to take the walker! GB wouldn’t pay for it-this is getting fucking ridiculous. While that was being argued over, I realized that Dr. B-Mwas sitting at the nurse desk-NOW he shows up! He wrote me out a prescription for my walker and told me I could get it filled at any pharmacy, to which I queried “How do I get to a pharmacy to get it without a walker?”

They finally relented and allowed me to take the walker home on loan, while they ordered another walker for me. I’ll probably be billed for it. Half an hour later, as we were about to leave, Dr. B M.D. gives me prescriptions for my painkillers using drug names I didn’t recognize-I was right, they were using less powerful generics. If we’d left when we were supposed to, I’d never have gotten them. I told them about “prior authorization” problems and asked them to call it in for me, but they refused.

I was so disgusted I just wanted out of there.

We got here home-sweet-home and he was nice enough to wheel me up to my penthouse door… only to tell me that no arrangements had been made to return the wheelchair! I was in so much knee pain by then I brushed off his objections and closed the door on him after telling him to drop it off on his next trip there. No way I can afford shipping to return them their own wheelchair!

So far I haven’t been in the bedroom, livingroom or the kitchen, I just plopped down in disgust at my desk, loved the cat with lots of ear scratching and purring, and began typing out this diary from notes I took. Dr. Mind called and I covered the whole thing over the phone. She thinks I have a real case to sue GB for emotional damages and permanent disability.

Right now, I’m just too physically and mentally weary to do anything and collapsed on my bed around 7:30.



Friday June 12th 2009
Spent the morning working on fleshing out my notes from the hospital stay. Mischief is all over me and won’t leave me alone, which is great, but mildly annoying when she hops up on the desk and sits between the monitor screen and me. She’s also learned to intentionally sit on the note pad that I’m trying to type from.

No usable snack food, but a few frozen dinners and no ice. The fridge smells like spoiled meat and I’ll have to figure out some way to clean it before I can bring perishables and ice in.

A couple of stray thoughts hit me this afternoon.
In 1912 in the wake of the Titanic disaster, the bandleader was so beloved that when his body was recovered, well wishes and gifts arrived from all over the world for his family’s funeral for him… except from the White Star Line-his employer. They sent his loved ones a bill for his two uniforms that were lost at sea. That’s how heartless I’m beginning to view GB; they could care less about people and what they do to them; they just care about money.

The other was god-fearing people must really fight with themselves. Knowing how powerful the devil is here on earth, it’s a wonder more of them don’t kill themselves in order to assure that they get to heaven before Satin ruins their chances.



Saturday June 13th 2009
I went over my budget on the computer and it looks like I’m going to have a problem with next month’s rent, even if GB sends me the check next week. I’m going to have to cut my meals down to one a day, and possibly eat everything in the house that’s been here for a while like dry noodle mixes and cans of tuna and chicken. That’ll mean having to figure out a way to stand over the stove while they cook.

The brace is just too much to bear in bed, I keep tossing and turning and the damned metal parts hurt like hell when they hit other parts of my legs, so I’m going to stop wearing it at night. Also the Velcro keeps sticking to the blankets.

Mischief is all over me lately, which I love for a change. She’s taken to laying on the desk to my right and resting her chin on my mouse hand when I’m working on the computer.

I spent most of the rest of the day transcribing these notes.



Sunday June 14th 2009
I went on-line at Wal-Mart pharmacy to order refills only to discover that rehab called them in, but with no fills or refills on my prescriptions??? Not only that, they ordered the wrong kind of insulin again. I called the pharmacy and they said my stuff was already waiting for me, which despite my request, they filled before I could figure out a way to get there. What kind of doctor orders prescriptions without refills? One paid by GB-you need look no further than the prescriptions for my cymbalta.

Teresa didn’t answer the phone. It’s going to be impossible to carry any groceries and operate the damned walker, and so I decided to buy a bunch of pop on sale, load up the mini cart with enough weight so that it wouldn't slip out from under me, and then use it to get from the car to up here. Trouble was I had to carry the cart and use my walker to get down to the car in the carport.

My heart must really be getting better, as I wasn’t as tired when I got home, nor was I panting for breath after pushing the loaded cart up the handicapped ramp to the lobby. I risked half a dose of morphine to get there and back. I spent over $100 on groceries that I can cook and heat without standing in front of the stove, and another $21 on prescriptions. I got everything put away and discovered that my daily vitamins and lo-dose aspirins weren’t part of the order. Fortunately I have the stash.

Talked to Betsy for a while and transcribed some more notes and then went to sleep. Despite the pain meds, my leg still hurts like hell.

I’ve suddenly realized that as I get drowsy in the evenings, I’m not taking my evening meds, or my bed time ones; this is not good, but I’m so sleepy at the time, I don’t remember to take them.



Monday June 15th 2009
I e-mailed Lawyer K about my concerns regarding not being able to get supplies and prescriptions because I can’t afford cabs and can’t drive on Percocets; which forced me to go without painkillers every time I have to go out. I also touched on the problem of not getting any physical rehab since the 11th and not knowing what I can do without hurting something. Also, since they wouldn’t pay for that, I was positive they wouldn’t help with a visiting nurse or someone to help me clean.

I’m trying to get all of the hospital/rehab notes transcribed before Wednesday so I can take them with me to Dr. Mind.

Betsy called me to say that Aunt Margaret’s granddaughter was raped yesterday, I felt sad but I don’t know what I’ll say when she calls. Betsy’s boyfriend Norm bought her a new computer monitor and she was having trouble setting it up, so I helped her on the phone for an hour or so. Her computer is still using the parameters from her old monitor and doesn’t have the plug-and-play feature to accept a wide screen model. I tried a few things, none of which worked and when I started getting frustrated, I got off the phone rather than take it out on her.

I began working on a new banner for my diary blog, incorporating pictures of my penthouse garden, some of my collector cars and the station wagon we had when I was a kid. It’s amazing some of the photos I found last year on dad’s computer before I had it wiped clean. I even put a photo of his 1953 Indian motorcycle in it.

I spent the rest of the day basically doing nothing but typing this and sleeping. I’m beginning to worry because this is the kind of "can’t keep my drooping eyes open" kind of sleepy, instead of the desire to sleep. My right eye is still blurred and my left is starting to cloud around the perimeter. I'm going to have to make an appointment with OSU's eye clinic-just what I don't need.


Tuesday June 16th 2009
Betsy called first thing this morning to tell me that her new monitor isn’t getting signal from her computer tower, keeping me from finishing my new blog diary title banner until this afternoon. I hadn’t taken my depression drugs yet and got pissed at her when I shouldn’t have.

Knowing the problems I’ve had with Cymbalta etc in the past, I decided to get off with her before I went too far, then changed my mind and was determined to fix her problem today. Basically her computer went on strike after she turned it off last night and wouldn’t feed the new monitor with a signal today. She wanted to blame the monitor, but every time she turned it on, it showed its own start up routine, so I knew it was alright. I went over basic things like one of the cable ends coming loose, but nothing seemed to work.

After a lot of confusion with her, I finally told her to hold her F8 key down while turning the computer off and then back on. This got her into safe mode and it booted up with my help into system restore mode. I guided her through it, she remembered what I taught her from last time, and after about 15 minutes she restored the settings to about ten days ago and presto-she had a working computer again.

I left her to call her monitor’s manufacturer about putting the correct settings into her computer so everything didn’t look all stretched out.

I’m way behind on the diary, and I don’t know if I can get it all down and printed before I go to see her tomorrow. I published a lot of it this afternoon on my website.

About half an hour afterward, my walker got caught on something and I fell-fortunately I didn’t hurt anything, but the walker fell forward and part of my shelving unit tumbled contents and all between it and me. I was trapped, frustrated and angry for about half an hour until I could struggle to stand which hurt like hell. I couldn’t bend down with my stiff leg without excruciating pain so I just sat here at my computer and played chess until I calmed down and took two Percocets. After that I slept the rest of the afternoon and evening. This is going to play hell with my sleep/wake cycle.



Wednesday June 17th 2009
Lawyer K finally answered my e-mail this morning; ignoring all of the issues but one, and stated it was rare that work comp would pay for additional transport. Oh well

I went to see Dr. Mind today and completely forgot that the city has half of the exits on Rt. 315 closed, including the one to OSU’s medical center. By the time I got done cussing at myself and trying to figure out an alternate route, I was pleasantly surprised to discover the damned thing was still open and wouldn’t close until day-after-tomorrow.

By the time I got from the parking lot to her office without painkillers so that I could drive, I was out of breath and in agony. If someone had offered me poison right there and then I’d have swallowed it gladly.

I took in what I’d transcribed of the hospital/rehab adventure. It was printed on about 40 pages. I came out feeling a little better than when I went in, but only a little.

I always feel good when I drive around, so despite the pain, I cruised downtown for a while seeing what had changed in the 4 years since I stopped paying attention. Mostly a lot of closed businesses were all I noticed. When I’m in my convertible with the top down, I don’t have a handicap; I’m just the same as anyone else on the road with the exception of maybe driving a snazzier car. It's interesting that I see a lot of convertibles, but I'm the only one that puts the top down... I thought that was the point of buying one?

I got a jolt from Wal-mart when I went to pick up my vitamins and lo-dose aspirin. I used to get them for free, or a buck each and just assumed they still were that much. With my co-pays, my monthly meds usually total around $22. I found that they're charging me $4 a piece for the damned things now-which is more than the $3 co-pays for the expensive drugs I'm buying!??, and which is about a third of the total drug costs. I'll have to see if I can beat that price or just use up my hospital backlog for a while to make ends meet.

I got home, took two morphines and slept the rest of the day.


Thursday June 18th 2009
On Friday morning I couldn’t remember what happened Thursday, or for that matter anything that occurred beyond Tuesday and had to read this to see. Everyone keeps telling me that between the drugs I’m on and post surgery, it’s completely normal, but I’m still concerned.


Friday June 19th 2009
I’m beginning to get really bored having to sweat bullets over whether my next GB check is actually coming. That may seem a little irrational, but they’ve fucked me over so many times it’s understandable. I watched a bunch of episodes of Mod Squad so I could write a review of the DVD collection, typed out a little of this blog and slept most of the day.


Monday June 22nd 2009
Teresa surprised me with a nice long phone call yesterday evening and we talked about her new house, her cats and my pain problems. It was so nice of her, but I was shocked as I was convinced she slept late until having to go into her 3rd shift job. It felt so good to talk to a caring friend... and to know I still had one.

I drove out to Dublin to see Dr. D-heart today and forgot how much I hate that city. They think they’re so classy and above everyone else to the point of not allowing any business to have a street sign-even McDonald’s can’t fly their golden arches out front, so everyone has a dinky little sign that's usually hidden behind an overgrown shrub. Anyway, because of that it was damn near impossible to locate his office and I wound up being about 20 minutes late.

His billing department wouldn’t even let me see him until I signed an agreement to apply for financial assistance. I can’t pay the hundreds of dollars in co-pays and I don’t know if I ever can. God it hurts to think I used to glance at $500 expenses and just laugh them off like they were petty cash. I took him the rest of my Plavix prescription. He donates unused portions to an organization that sends them to poor villages in Africa somewhere.

He said my heart is doing great. He pressed his hands against my back and chest and squeezed, saying that my sternum is healing nicely (which reminded me that the damned thing is being held together with wire) and said he wanted to see me back in 6 months… Christmas Eve in fact.

Since I was already out, I took advantage of the sunny day and went grocery shopping up at Wal-Mart for stuff for a toaster oven or microwave. I thought I still had half a bag of dry cat food for Mischief yesterday, only to discover that Teresa had emptied her litter box into an old bag of it and that I was actually out, so shopping today wasn’t an option.

I’ve tried standing on my own without the walker and was so unsteady; I didn’t dare try it again. I’m still wearing the brace regardless of comfort during the day and only take it off to sleep or to take a shower.

I still haven’t brought myself to open my window blinds, since I didn’t plant the flower seeds that Teresa forgot take home for her new house. Even if I had, I’d never be able to haul water out to them every day. It’s so depressing not to have flowers out there, so I just shut myself away from the sunshine.

On Dr. Mind’s suggestion last week, I began publishing some of my mazes on-line and created a new web page for them today.



Monday June 29th 2009
For all the fuss, the hearing didn’t really need me at all, I think I testified 5 minutes. Lawyer K says he thinks it went well. GB is trying to claim that I talked to Dr. Mind about non-work injury problems that they don’t want to pay for, like my father’s death, my bankruptcy and nearly losing my car. They wonder why I’m not making any real progress; probably because they demand Dr. Mind’s notes on all our our sessions (since they’re paying for them) which makes it impossible to open up to her.

I called my apt building manager and got him to agree to let me use a post-dated check for next month’s rent.


Friday, May 01, 2009

May 1st-May 20th

Friday May 1st 2009
Oh good, the latest Columbus flu victim turns out to be an EMS firefighter, he’d been in contact with 50 firefighters in the area, and the original health care worker case at OSU. That means if I need an ambulance…

It’s 6PM and a horrendous lightning storm is simulating an artillery barrage just outside the windows. Poor Mischief is scared to death and sticking close to my side.

1:29AM-I got drowsy after Real Time with Bill Maher, and went to sleep around 11PM. My sister Betsy called me at 1AM (Technically it’s now Saturday) to wish me a happy birthday, as she’s always determined to be the first to call me every year. God love her. We sort of live in the “Twilight Zone,” because here it’s Saturday, but in Oregon it’s still Friday three time zones away.

God I miss visiting the west coast.

The storm this evening turned out to be a tornado that skipped up over downtown. I actually heard the “train rumble” that everyone describes and for a moment or two was tempted to grab my cat Mischief and head for the basement, with the tornado warning siren blaring just outside my window.

Fortunately it was over as quickly as it started.

Maybe it’s a good excuse to spend tomorrow hiding under my bed instead of facing another year older.

Here's some bitter news, the 99th army is moving to New Jersey. Just one more kick in the balls. In my home town of Moon Township, PA, we and our neighbors were forced out of our homes when I was a teenager because they were planning to put an expressway "cloverleaf" in the middle of our neighborhood that would serve the Greater Pittsburgh International Airport across the parkway from us.

We were all forced to sell our houses for much less than they were worth and moved a half mile north to another location within sight of the airport runways.

Though the hills were leveled nothing was built for a few years, and then multi-story office buildings started going up amongst the trees for a new business complex. Our yard however remained empty but intact where our house used to be.

A few more years later, we could no longer visit our old homestead (though still intact-except the house of course) after it was fenced in and became part of the 99th Army Reserve's office complex after the airport was torn down and moved to the other side of the runways. Still nothing was built on the land, and still hasn't been.

What a waste.

Dammmmmit! Someone won the $225 million MegaMillions last night, and it wasn't me.
(snif) I've dreamed of winning and buying our old property back.



Saturday May 2nd 2009
I Spent most of the morning watching Hawaii 5-0 to do the review of the 6th season DVD set. Aunt Margaret called to wish me a happy birthday. The weather’s nice enough for me to go out and cruise for a while and get out of the apartment for a change. I spent from noon answering e-mails and comments about my new article on Blogcritics Magazine about Rep. Foxx trying to assert that the Matthew Shepard murder was a hoax. Her constituents should run her out of town on a rail for that.

7:30PM, the greatest thing just happened, I got a birthday call from a guy Matt, that I used to work with a long time ago when I was attacked. We started talking and it was like we'd seen each other just yesterday. It was one of the most enjoyable hours I've spent in a long time. He's married with kids and just got back from a 2nd honeymoon. It makes me feel so good that he remembered. I'll probably smile the rest of the night.

Midnight: Well I thought I was going to anyway. No call or e-mail from my mother, sister, stepsister, or brother... none of whom I ever forget on their birthdays. When you're homebound and mostly alone it's the trivial things that matter.

I've completed 5 episodes of Hawaii 5-0 for review so far. With luck I should be able to get to the other 19 by Monday night and submit it by Tuesday morning... Then I go on to a Dynasty marathon.


Sunday May 3rd 2009
I’m beginning to wonder if the effectiveness of being on Cymbalta for four years is weakening because of the length of time. I’m feeling more and more depressed lately, and I should be feeling more cheerful. Maybe the fear of dying is coming back after thinking of it as a relief; I don’t know. I do know that I’m in a lot of physical pain lately, especially around my chest. I may have to give in and get stoned on Morphine. I hate the idea and I’m terrified of getting addicted, but the pain is just too much to bear.

I’m not getting much sleep again. If I lay on either side it feels like my ribcage is collapsing and there’s sort of a bubbling sensation, so I end up sleeping on my back, which is next to impossible. I’ve slept on my stomach since the day I was born, until this happened.

I got all excited today that my latest BC article was mention on USA Today’s website, but an asshole at BC burst my bubble by saying they list thousands a day… it’s the first time for me out of 94 articles I’ve written so far, so I was proud for a little while anyway. The article on Matthew Shepard got 200 comments in just two days, and thousands of hits.

Social Security deposited my check, so I don’t have any money worries for now. I programmed my checking to take care of this month’s electric and car payment, so I have a little left over, but it pisses me off that I can’t have a good time with a little of it for fear GB will pull their shit again.

I’m seriously thinking of giving myself a birthday present and going to see the new Star Trek movie on Friday. I doubt if I can accept anyone else playing their parts, but from the previews the actor playing a young McCoy really nails it, so I’ll see. It’s the being in the dark with a bunch of strangers… God, I hate what I’ve psychologically become.

I wanted to get out to Wal-Mart and get supplies yesterday and today, but again I couldn’t pry myself past my front door. This truly sucks. Maybe it’s just being down about being another year older.



Monday May 4th-Tuesday May 5th 2009
These two days were beaten and battered. Trouble breathing sent me to the doctor, my article on Matthew Shepard got intense praise and intense criticism, it was featured on a webpage, not with a photo of Shepard, but of two fairy queens from a parade, shirtless, one painted pink and one blue, leering at each other, with feathers and Mohawks; in other words every negative stereotype imaginable. I said.

When I wrote him of just how infuriated I was, he wrote back to disagree with me. He said...

"I understand... I guess
Ah, but from my point of view as an aesthete those aren't negative stereotypes. They look cool and fierce. Art trumps bigotry for me"
However true that may be, it's definately NOT appropriate to accompany an article about a viscious murder, and the insensitive remarks of a North Carolina Representative on the floor of the U. S. House. (see my gay pride page)

Last night, I suddenly lost my balance and slammed my head into the footboard of my bed, excruciating doesn't cut it as an adjective. I ran out of Nexium two days before Medicare will let me refill it, so my stomach’s bothering me.

Worst of all, I can’t psychologically find a way past my front door. Tomorrow I have to pick up my prescriptions…

We’ll see.



Wednesday May 6th 2009
Dr. Mind’s receptionist called this morning and said my regular Wednesday at noon was open, so I went. We’re still working on recapturing my timeslot again. I took the legal paperwork for the GB appeal, and even she didn’t understand it… and she’s also a social worker!

It rained like hell this morning. I swear; somewhere in the city of Columbus my mother HAS to be running a driving school somewhere. People just don’t know how to drive in rain. I almost ass-ended a lady on the expressway in the driving rain doing 45 in the passing lane. I didn’t see her till I was nearly on top of her with a semi right behind me.

Stopped at Wal-Mart and picked up my prescriptions. I’m still thinking of braving a dark theater full of strangers and checking out the new Star Trek on Friday.

I’m finding myself more and more defensive toward criticism, to the point to seeing it when it’s not there. I seem to be reverting back to an earlier time, maybe as a healing process, I don’t know.

I published a news article on Maine becoming state #5 to pass gay marriage legislation. My 95th for Blogcritics Magazine. It didn’t seem to go over as well as the Shepard article, but you can’t hit them out of the park every time. The depression is really getting to me. They keep explaining that it’s just as much as not more of a chemical process in my brain, and part of the recovery from the beating, but that was so long ago.

Day-before-yesterday I got my first nosebleed in a long time and another last night. I still have a knot on my head from where I hit it, and my ears are ringing ever louder.

Live goes on.


Friday May 8th 2009
I went to Work Health to get authorization for my GB checks to continue. They gave me a two-month breather until my next appointment because of the upcoming surgery. My chest still hurts when I breathe deeply or sleep on my side… “Well don’t sleep on your side dummy!” Easier said than done, I sleep on my back, but wake up on my side.

I got to the movie theater 8 minutes late to see the new Star Trek, rushed in only to discover that I had another 10 minutes of previews to watch before it started. IT WAS GREAT, though my ears are still ringing louder than when I went in. I actually had to cover them during the action scenes it was so loud!

I got home only to discover that the workman’s comp hearing has been delayed… until the day after I enter the hospital… and they warned I still have to be there? Since my lawyer is insisting I get him a copy of the Dr. D/Heart’s authorization to operate and Dr. P/Foot’s confirmed surgery dates, I’m going to have to drive out there and get them myself on Monday, since neither of them wants to contact the other first. (Sigh)

I spent the rest of the afternoon writing a new movie review for Star Trek, you can access it via the table of contents to your left under the Entertainment section.

I memorized my 8-year-old car alarm’s model number and got the instruction manual on line. Maybe now I can make it behave… we’ll see.



Sunday May 10th 2009
I’ve spent the last two days finishing up watching 24 episodes of Hawaii 5-0. I’ve got a pretty good idea what to write for the review of it, all I have to do now is punch it out out on line. Then comes 20 episodes of Dynasty. God it's so gauling to have to actually consider using $5 to go see Star Trek again. I still remember (regretfully) when I though $500 was pocket change. I shake my head no every time I think of it.

My nose still won’t stop bleeding; I’ve gone through half a roll of paper towels. I’m not going to take my blood thinners tonight and hope for the best. I'm running my box fan in the bedroom on high now just to drown out my ears ringing. The last time, they said it was the antibiotics that were causing it, I guess maybe this time it's just the combo of prescriptions. God knows what I'm doing to myself by taking all that stuff.

I sent off an e-note to my mom for Mother’s day with no sign that she got it. No surprise there considering she ignored my birthday too, either that or my sister never showed it to her. This depression keeps screwing with my head, or maybe it’s the drugs. I have to go to the hospital tomorrow at 10AM for pre-surgery testing. Then off to get all the printed out clearances for the lawyer

A long and full day to look forward to tomorrow

Groan.



Monday May 11th 2009
The final pre-operation exam could’ve been phoned in. They had the chest x-rays and blood tests from my release a month ago, so they asked me the same standard questions and sent me home. The doctor said there's no worry about my heart, in fact they prefer recent cardiac patients because they're less to worry about than those that've been avoiding the doctor.

I stopped over at Dr. Foot’s office across the street (since I had a pass for free parking from the hospital) and picked up Dr. Heart’s clearance and Dr. Foot’s scheduling papers, then I drove them over to Mr. Lawyer’s office, washed the car, picked up some stuff at Wal-Mart and came home.

It was chilly today. Someone needs to get Ma Nature a new calendar.



Wednesday May 13th 2009
Yesterday sucked, that’s the only word for it. Something made me look out my apartment door and I found a plastic grocery bag hanging from my doorknob full of last week's mail that had been put in my neighbor’s mailbox by our idiot mailman. He’s a traveling businessman, much like I used to be, and is only home two or three times a week. I was overwhelmed. In the space of four days Mr. Lawyer’s old mail, had the Workman’s Comp hearing for the 12th (today), which I knew had been canceled, the next day he mailed out a reminder that the continuance was for next week. I’d e-mailed him telling him my surgery was for the 21st and the next notice was that the hearing was moved to the 22nd. Next came another notice of an undetermined continuance, and the last was that the hearing would be the 28th, for which I’ll still be in the hospital, and if I’m out by then, there’s no way with two unusable legs that I could get there.

I also got 2nd-notice bills for thousands of dollars-my share to pay after Medicare paid a couple of $120,000 hospital bills for my heart. It turns out too that GB is still refusing to pay for my visits for Dr. Mind, even though they lost the appeal, so that earned me a $120 for her services. With each envelope I opened things got more and more confusing. Medicaid is sending me guide books again for my benefits on the same day they sent notices saying I’m still not eligible for their help. I called the local Medicaid office and couldn’t even get through: I got a recorded announcement saying their mailbox was full and to leave a message, which they never reply to... kind of impossible if the box is full.


Wednesday
I woke early to start work on the Hawaii 5-0 review for BC… only to discover the notes on the computer were gone. McAfee Antivirus did an automatic disc defrag last night and apparently saw two articles entitled “Article worksheet and Article worksheet~2” and decided that they were duplicates and got rid of “2”… guess which one had two weeks worth of notes on it that I can't recover. I did a hard drive search for any document file with the word “Hawaii” in it and came up empty. I checked and it wasn’t in the Recycle Bin either. I’m fucked, so I’m going to try to wrack my brain and come up with something usable.

I’d just gotten into the mindset to type it out when Dr. Mind’s receptionist called to say she had an opening today, so I went. Even she (again) could make neither heads nor tails of it. I’m getting a headache, my knee hurts, and I’m not sleeping well oh I’m sleeping but only two hours at a time. It's hurting more and more to sleep on my sides because of the muscles that they cut through to get to my heart twice in the space of a month.

Today was my brother’s birthday, I sent him out an e-mail. I thought of repaying him not sending me one on mine on the 2nd, but decided not to be petty. My good friend Brenda sent me a belated birthday e-mail entitled "better late than never". I think I’ll wait and answer it tomorrow.

I better get back to work. I’m fighting the urge to go to sleep, but I’m sure it’s depression this time and I’m determined not to let it get the best of me.


Sunday May 17th 2009
Let's rewrite this a little... Since last Thursday I've been busy with getting ready to go to the hospital this coming Thursday. Picking up prescriptions, going to doctor's appointments etc. Mostly I've been trying to watch an entire season of Dynasty to review it for BlogCritics.

I guess you can file this under "You get what you pay for." I've been fighting all weekend with the final DVD of the set which has a defect in it just as Blake and Crystal are getting re-married and Kirby's about to lose her baby. I can't review what I can't see, but it was due a weeks or so ago so I keep fighting with it.

I've discovered that my computer will play some parts of it, while my DVD player will play other parts on the TV.

par for the course.

I've got to remember to refill my Cymbalta tomorrow, and make another appointment with Dr.MD before I go about my final heart exam.

ho hum


Monday May 18th 2009
I finally finished watching the Dynasty DVDs, now all I have to do is write the review. I went up to Family Medical and picked up my Cymbalta prescriptions, then went over to Wal-Mart to pick up supplies for the hospital, earphone jacks, dry drink mix, sugarless mints etc.

I found two notices in the mail that both continuances on the Workman’s Comp/GB case had been denied. I have to be in court one day after the surgery. I’ll call the lawyer first thing tomorrow morn and find out for sure. Normally knee surgery is an outpatient procedure, so maybe they don’t understand that my leg is being severed, then reconstructed so that it’s straight and that takes weeks/months to heal. I also got a letter from Social Security. They’re suing GB for not paying a bill for Dr. Mind and it was transferred to SS who paid it. Now they want reimbursement plus interest from me.

What next?

My sister Betsy called me-My mother's in the hospital with a blood clot in her lung. My aunt's had one before and says it's uncomfortable, but nothing serious. I had one that nearly destroyed my heart. There's not a whole lot that they can do except keep her in observation overnight and give her drugs to disolve it-probably coumadin like they did me. It's a good thing her lung caught it instead of her heart. I'd go visit her in Pittsburgh, but I go into the hospital this Thursday myself and I'm on all sorts of medications that won't let me drive. If they tell me that I have to be in court Thursday, that kills the operation, so I might visit her this weekend, but I doubt if she'll be in the hospital that long...

I'll pray for her tonight; and I don't do that very often for anyone or anything...



Tuesday May 19th 2009
Today was a day of frustration. Mr. K/Lawyer was in court all day and I still don’t know if I’m going in for surgery Thursday or not. With all of the continuances canceled I’m fucked if I don’t show up in court. His assistant finally called me back this afternoon and said he’d call me tomorrow morning to answer all my questions.

On top of that, now I don’t know if I should pay my car insurance for 6 months or for 1, because if I do, and they cut me off my checks I won’t have next month’s rent, and since June’s the last month of the lease, I doubt if my landlord will renew my lease in July… even though I’ve lived here since 1987.

I’ve got a ton of cleaning to do and I still have to pound out that review of Dynasty before I go to surgery on Thursday, (assuming I do.) Wal-Mart has a sale on Diet Dr. Pepper that is insanely low, so I dragged myself past my front door, put the top down and enjoyed the sun on the drive. It's kinda depressing, I used to not care about the cost of anything, now I get all excited about saving a couple of dollars of 12-packs of pop. That hit me full force when I met a neighbor in the elevator and I told him that they had 12-packs for $2.37 each and he asked me "Is that good?"

The hospital said to stop medications except the Coreg for my blood pressure and not to drink liquids after midnight. Like I needed to be reminded after all the surgeries.

Betsy called me this afternoon, and as I suspected my mom’s fine. As I told her, it’s serious, but not life threatening. They’ll probably keep her through the weekend for observation. I’m planning to go visit her this weekend if I don’t go into surgery. I’ve wanted an excuse to trek home to Pittsburgh for a long time, and this should do it. "Home," that's a good one. They say, "You can never go home" and they're right, it's not the same place that I grew up in after so many years.

I’ve thought of taking all the money I’ve had left and flying out to see Betsy one last time and then going to my favorite Agate Beach in Newport, spending a few days in contemplation and then walking out into the ocean. I’d like to be cremated and have my ashes spread out there, should it come to that. Suicide is something I haven’t thought about in a long time, mostly because I figured sooner or later the odds would catch up to me and I’d die in surgery.

Now with all the pressures coming from all sides, and no lover for comfort and solace, it gets harder and harder by the day to cope.

Don’t worry; I’m too much of a coward...

...today



Wednesday May 20th 2009
I blew out another one of those energy saving light bulbs this morning… or at least I thought I did when it went out-they're supposed to be guaranteed for five years. I have one in the lamp over my desk and reached up to see if it was in tight when it started flickering. Just as I almost it touched it, it came back on again. I shrugged and went back to work on my latest review of Dynasty. It flickered and went out again… so I reached up and again before I touched it, it came back on but then a moment later flickered out and then stayed off.

I groaned, muttered to myself and went and got a new one, screwed it in and went back to work. About five minutes later the new one went out on me. Only to me do these strange things happen. Below my desk in the foot well is a surge protector and apparently the cord to the lamp was barely long enough to plug into it. when I move the lamp around, the cord tightens and it tries to pull out of the plug. The motion of my foot when I moved my body to reach up, barely disconnected it, and when I moved again, it had just enough slack to reconnect.

(sigh)

I got the call from my lawyer this morning. It turns out the court papers say I have to be there, but it’s not like a subpoena or something and he said to go ahead and have my surgery tomorrow morning and they’ll accept my absence. It turns out that the hearing Friday is the psychological claim and the 28th is the appeal to the physical claim.

If I lose my checks, I’m fucked. I’m going to have to gamble and pay the rent and one month of car insurance, because I won’t be home Friday to find out if their check was deposited, since the hospital doesn’t have internet access for patients.

Dr. Mind told me today that I have to be one of the strongest people she’s ever met psychologically to have survived the last five years of physical and mental blows and still be standing upright. I was proud that she thinks that, but I wonder if she senses that I’m still thinking of suicide from time to time. I was so crushed when I found out about my mother and I’m still worried, though I know it’s not serious, they way things go for me I still worry.

Well, it’s 3:30PM and I better get back to work on my latest article for BC… more later.

11:19PM
HOW THE HELL DID ADAM LAMBERT LOSE??????

I talked to my sister Betsy, she said my mom's doing much better and will probably be home tomorrow. I've still got laundry to do and some house cleaning. The thought of hoping not to wake up after the operation keeps invading my thoughts, but I push it away. I still want a brother-brother relationship with him and to reestablish a relationship somehow with my mother.

You probably won't be hearing from me for a while. I expect to be in the hospital about a week or longer, and then an after-care facility until I can walk.

I'm seriously thinking of staying up all night so I'll fall asleep before they give me gas or shoot me up. I've gotten so used to this, I'm actually still awake on the gurney all the way into the operating room-WHICH IS KEPT VERY DAMNED COLD!!! That and the nurses are very un-casual about wandering off quickly with what little I'm wearing once I get there too.

Thursday, April 02, 2009

April 2009

Wednesday April 1st 2009
Today was a blur that I’m not sure I want to remember. I couldn’t sleep because of the pain in my gut from the ulcer, so I took some Percocet… Realizing too late that that meant I couldn’t drive stoned.

I washed all my clothes in hot water hoping to shrink them to fit, but still had baggy jeans. I took a shower and called a cab at 2PM to meet my lawyer at 2:30, but the cabbie got lost and I didn’t get there until 2:50. A problem cropped up I should’ve accounted for, but didn’t-I couldn’t recognize my lawyer. It’s a psych thing having to do with my medications; I can remember names or faces, but not both. I finally gave up, and as bailiffs were in the waiting room calling out names, I called out his name… no one responded. Fortunately the lawyer sitting next to me knew him and went out returning with him a few moments later.

Apparently there’s no hope, or as he put it afterward, "nothing horrible happened, but then nothing good happened either." Since both parties agreed my leg still needed surgery, the point of contention became collecting workman’s comp while being delayed during my heart problems.

The psychological problems were discarded because the arbitrator had only just now gotten the papers from Dr. Mind, so they’ll be delayed for a later hearing sometime next week. In the mean time I have to try to get permission from Dr. D/heart and/or Dr. S/heart for Dr. P/foot to operate. I don’t have to have the operation next week, I just have to have an appointment.

After the hearing, I realized how much I missed my cell phone from the 90s, even though it looked like and weighed about the same as a brick. No one has payphones anymore and I wound up trekking all over the place on foot twice before a flower/gift shop cashier took pity on me and let me use his phone.

As it was, it took nearly an hour in downtown rush hour traffic to get me home.

I felt like I could drive by then and went to Wal-Mart to pick up some prescriptions, and encountered another problem: Medicare is really screwing me-I test my blood sugar 2-3 times a day, however since the prescription was for 50-test strips, Medicare decided that was once a day and that I couldn’t refill the prescription… for 50 days.

I can tell that this week is going to be a real test of my sanity.

Aunt Margaret, Betsy, and Dr. Mind were nice enough to call to see how things went, but I fear I was in a tired and foul mood. I hope they understood.


Friday April 3rd 2009
I would've classified this as “another out of the blue” disaster, but I half expected it. I called the city and paid the electric bill of $10.70 and she looked and confirmed that my meter reading has been the same since February 14th… My meter just up and stopped!?!

My fridge was still plugged in along with the heat, aquarium pumps etc, so there should've been some usage? She said the bill was a service charge, not for power consumption.

This means that next Monday they’ll be out to inspect the meter and probably replace it, then bill me for Jan/Feb, Feb/Mar, and Mar/April based on what the previous three bills were (Oct, Nov, Dec) which averaged $125 each, or a balloon bill of $375 minus the most recent three payments I made which only total around $35.

I may have to publish this as a work of fiction, because who the hell would believe it?

I sent my mother a birthday e-mail today, unfortunately she still doesn't know much about using e-mail, so I hope she gets it.

After balancing my financial spreadsheet, I've got enough for next month's rent with $40 left. Where the phone bill, groceries and prescriptions will come from is anyone's guess. I guess I'm still on a quest for a bank with a handicap ramp for robbers.

Another aspect of this is I have to cut back on my grocery budget. Cheap food is loaded with salt and sugar, and it may get to the point where suicide is a moot point and $1.00 TV dinners etc. will accomplish that chore for me.

I'm beginning to think that Social security considers me a prank caller, as I've called so many times, only to have some worker promise to call me back-and then not. So I'll wait a few days and try again. No one still is able to explain about his $3000 overpayment I'm repaying, but they keep charging me for it anyway.

Mostly I tire of constantly being convinced that it's all too hopeless to deal with any more. Unless I absolutely have to, I don't even leave my apartment to go downstairs to check the mail.



Monday April 6th 2009
Dr. Mind called me this afternoon just after I got out of the shower. I couldn't stay on the phone long with her because I had to be at Dr. D/heart's in less than an hour. I promised I'd see her on Wednesday.

When I saw Dr. D/heart this afternoon; well actually his nurse/assistant, she said all of the scars all over my chest are healing well. I told her that I had to have permission from him for the knee surgery in order to get my comp checks going again. After hearing all that’s been going on, she said she’d make a point to talk to him and get back to me in a few days.

She said my coughing fits of late may be a side effect of the Lisinopril I’ve been taking and told me to go off of it for a month, and take a new drug called Cozaar instead that was developed specifically to sidestep those side effects. She gave me a month’s supply for free from her drug rep samples, and said to try it, and if it worked for me, she’d give me more.

Discussed my problem of not being able to afford good food, and she offered no solutions, not that I expected any going in. I’d much rather be eating salads etc, rather than $1 packaged dinners loaded with sugar and sodium.

I was going to go to Social Security's office up in Worthington in person this morning, but it occurred to me that without the official papers saying I'd been cut off financially thanks to GB, the visit would be useless.

After the appointment, I drove over to Wal-Mart and bought some more stuff. I’m trying to be sure I’m stocked up for the month and as much beyond as possible, as finances falter and disappear. Now I’m a little under $100 shy of next month’s rent. That means that with the $70+ phone/internet bill due on the 20th, I’ll have to use the last of a $200 cash reserve in order to make May rent with the this month’s phone.

I’m worried all this is going to make the ulcer worse. With all this bad Karma I'm due to win the lotto... of course I've been thinking that for the last five years.

I can’t believe it’s snowing and below freezing! Thank God I didn't buy those flowers. Last weekend I was cruising around with the top down. They are predicting more of the same until Wednesday.

If the electric company came out and looked at my meter today, it’s news to me. The power obviously stayed on, or I’d be resetting a bunch of clocks… I feel a creeping bogeyman approaching with a $300 utility bill the end of this month.

I had to change jeans today because the ones I wore only last weekend are now two inches two big and they were crinkling up under my belt… Speaking of which, I have to buy a new belt as I’ve reached the last hole and it’s still too loose; either that or use a knife to make a new hole so it’ll fit.

…such is life.


Wednesday April 8th 2009
GOOD FUCKING NEWS!!! I finally dragged myself out of the apartment and checked the mail and Workman’s Comp denied GB’s motion to stop my checks. I just hope this means they’ll reinstate coverage of my visits to Dr. Mind at Ohio State.

Now we’ll see if the games begin, will they use some excuse to delay sending me Friday’s check?
Will they try to short me a week from the appeal process?

I called Dr. P/foot’s office and they said they’d schedule an appointment as soon as they got something from Dr. D/heart’s office. I called D/Heart and they said would clear me for the knee surgery, and that anything I needed to send to Dr. D could be taken care of immediately. I’m covered, if I lose the appeal, it’s a moot point as the appointment for presurgery reinstates the claim whether they like it or not.

Yay!

Saw Dr. Mind and she said I’d be covered by Medicare if G.B. still tried to screw things up for me. I’ve got to work on getting an explanation out of Social Security about this multi thousand overpayment I’m paying back.

Came home relieved and almost happy for a change.


Thursday April 9th 2009
I drove out to Dr. S/Heart’s only to discover he’d released me from his care after the visit a few weeks ago about the lump in my side. I was told that as soon as he did, Dr. D/Heart became my primary cardiologist, so his permission for the knee surgery takes precedent.

Dr. Mind called to say she’d talked to Mr. Lawyer and he was amazed at the victory we scored over the evil GB. I kept telling her that I’m at my worst now, when I should feel safe, is when I start worrying about what will befall me next. She chastised me and insisted that I remain happy and upbeat through the weekend.


Friday April 10th 2009
Morning: I checked my checking account balance and as I thought, GB screwed me… again. Instead of $441 they only deposited $283, which is probably what they owed me up until April 1. I left an e-mail with Mr. Lawyer and a message with Dr. Mind. This probably means they didn’t reinstate my Cymbalta prescription or have started paying for my visits to Dr. Mind again either.

I’m so sick and tired of cowering waiting for what shit they’re going to pull next, but I’m powerless to act against them.

Evening: With the fall of BC's Forum and no plausible explanation as to why, I fear that traffic to my six websites is also going to fall dramatically as the Forum contained links to each. I'm damned proud of that big volume of material. As for here, I'm not mourning income from my ad revenue when someone clicked on it, because I was/am only making pennies a day from the few that were interested enough to bother with them.



Sunday April 12th 2009
I spent all day Saturday and today pondering what to do with my time now that the Forum may be shut down permanently… or for the foreseeable future. I decided to go over my completed the manuscript for my novel "System 10" and got discouraged.

I began writing "System 10" in my senior year of high school, back when there were no cell phones, few faxes and the Internet was just a glimmer in Al Gore’s eye. After putting it away for a while I started up again with it around 1989 while learning how to use a computer for the first time. I’d become an assistant area supervisor for and map maker for Dominos, and along with the office I was given, came a new computer, which I didn’t know how to use, so I typed the 500+ page manuscript into it while learning how to use Word for Window’s spell and grammar checker.

Over the years that followed, I had to keep revising and updating the damned thing in order to keep up with current technologies, and because of it, many of my plot lines had to be drastically rewritten or even eliminated all together. Ergo, why didn’t he just call on his cell phone, why didn’t they just track him on GPS? And on and on. Finally around 1995 my business interests began taking off and I was doing a lot of traveling, so I put it to bed.

While on one of my business trips to San Diego, an idea for a sequel came to me, and I began writing again, this time on the sequel (A Ghost of a Chance.) I had the opening five chapters, the middle three, and I’d fleshed out the ending but then I was attacked in 2006. Now that I look back at both books, I’ve fallen in love all over again, but unless I publish them as a time period piece, I’d have to alter both novels into something that’d be unrecognizable from the original, and that sucks.

I guess I could find worse things to occupy my time.

The coming knee surgery has me worried. The radical alteration of the bone just above my left knee will leave me unable to walk or get around easily for some time, and then there’s the follow up operation to repair the knee itself.


Monday April 13th 2009
My sister Betsy called me last night and today to give me the details of a fender bender she had yesterday. Her new (and hunky) boyfriend Norm was driving her and her grandkids in Betsy’s Grand Cherokee on some errands and to make some family visits, when a car apparently tried to pass them from close behind, and sideswiped her jeep instead. Fortunately no one was hurt, and after a brief exchange the lady driver that hit them left the scene before she could even exchange insurance info (which automatically makes it her fault.)

Betsy was shaken up enough not to want to drive today on a trip with her daughter Amber, but she’ll be fine. The cops are still shuffling her around, but apparently a piece of paperwork somewhere said the other driver left the scene, so that’s okay, and she confirmed again that the grandkids are okay.

Just goes to show, just when you think your safe… Thank god for the big jeep they were in.

Apparently the damage was cosmetic, and she can still drive it.



Thursday April 16th 2009
After several days of psychologically trying to get myself out of the apartment (sometimes I go for more than a week without even opening the door), I finally got mad at myself and went to see Dr. T, GBs physician that authorizes my checks. She was instrumental in getting me the great judgment in my favor. I have to get what’s called a C84 signed by her or I can’t get the rest of my checks.

I arrived there (fortunately her office is only two blocks away downtown) only to discover that she wasn’t there today, and the only available appointment was at 7:30AM tomorrow morning… yikes!

From there I put on my determined face and drove several miles north of the city to Worthington to try to get some straight answers out of Social Security… again. I walked out more confused than when I walked in. The lady said that almost four years ago, someone misreported my income and now I had to pay it back whether it was my fault or not. They’d threatened to take it all at once and not give me a check for months until it was paid back. We’d worked it out last January so they’d only take $40 out of my check per month until around July, but with Dr. Mind’s help I signed a waiver request to have them set that charge aside. I discovered to my chagrin that the paperwork for it never went through, nor was it on their computer.

I tried to get the woman (who wouldn’t even let me see a caseworker) to understand that I’d been in the hospital for nearly four months, but she was very unsympathetic and made it sound like it was my fault for not leaving my hospital sickbed to check my mail. I also couldn’t get her to help me get a renewed password onto the Social Security page, and she said I had to log on and put the request on-line… but how do I log in without a working password?

Sigh.

My left eye is beginning to clear enough to see shapes, but the big debris chunks floating around in there will require surgery to remove. I'm still having trouble sleeping because my ribcage hurts from two surgeries and I may have to go on the morphine again. My upper body is covered with scars and pain, not the least of which was fracturing my right arm in four places. If you look at the URL, you'll note this blog used to be called "Blogging on the edge of suicide".

At least I had great weather today; it warmed up to around 62 and I cruised around with the top down and the stereo up. I stopped over at Wal-Mart and picked up some necessary supplies, then went over to Kroger’s, only to discover the stuff in their circular that was on a two day sale, well they were somehow out of. If they weren’t so close, they’d lose my business all together.

I got home around 3PM only to discover that my air conditioning compressor must be out of Freon again, as it’s only putting out cool instead of cold air. I gave up and turned on my bathroom and kitchen exhaust fans and opened the sliding glass doors. I’m still cowering in fear at what the next electric bill will look like. Either it’ll be another $10.70 service charge bill, or a three month accumulative bill.

Then I was dumb enough to open the mail, I got a notice that GB is appealing the ruling on my comp checks, and a letter from my lawyer saying I had to get busy with the c84s for the knee surgery, so that which ever way they ruled, it’d be a moot point.

One piece of good news, apparently social security disability recipients are getting a $250 stimulus check at the end of May. Thank God, now all I have to do is hope that they don’t keep it towards what I owe them. God, five years ago I’d have considered that throwaway wallet cash. I’d spend more than that taking my friends out to dinner, or throwing a poker party down in the game room.

Dr. Mind called me this afternoon to remind me to get an appointment set up with her next week. I’ve lost my every Wednesday at noon regular appointments thanks to GB. I just hope I can get them to reinstate my Cymbalta prescriptions. Then I’ll start using Medicare at Wal-Mart and Workman’s at my other pharmacy to double up on my antidepressant in case GB pulls their shit again and cuts me off without warning. It’s really important, because with the penthouse lease coming up in July, if the rent goes up, the last thing I need is to have unpredictable and violent temper storms because I ran out again.

Penthouse… I can’t afford to move out, not that I'd want to having lived here almost 22 years. Then again I couldn't if I wanted to, because I'd never get up enough for a first month's rent and deposit somewhere else.
Par for the course.



Friday April 17th 2009
I dragged myself out of bed and went to see Dr. T/GB this morning. She was very nice and wrote me a prescription for my Cymbalta. I’ve been put into one of their cycles again (no surprise) where I have to report every three weeks, which means every other visit falls into the middle of a two week pay period and I’m left with only half a check unless I verbally specify how the paperwork is sent. Also the prescription for my Cymbalta only has one refill, so if I miss one even by a matter of a day, they won’t authorize it. Fortunately, for the first time in a long time, this one went through without a lengthy “prior authorization” process and I actually got it today!

I decided to drive around in the sun today, since I was out there and didn't know when I'd be again, and I had fun-I really love driving. I’ve still got to put 1,500 miles on the car yet to get the odometer to match the title’s reading. That’s hilarious.

I got home, and no sooner got in the door, when my sister Betsy called me from Agate Beach, Oregon. One of the last west coast business trips I took landed me in Newport and I stayed at the Holiday Inn Crown Plaza on the coast. It overlooks my favorite beach and lighthouse, and Betsy called to tell me that she was thinking of me from there. She refers to it as “my” hotel. Norm took her there for her birthday.

Spent the rest of the evening talking to Aunt Margaret and watching TV while chopping up tomato and onion slices for sandwiches.

The chest pain is really starting to wear me down, but I don’t want to go around stoned on Percocet or Morphine all the time. I’m also considering starting up with the Trazadone again, just to get a good night’s sleep for a change… any one of which could be addictive.



Saturday April 18th 2009
I got a booklet in the mail today outlining my benefits for Medicaid, problem is I don’t get Medicaid unless they’re in the mood, other than that not much happened.

I wound up taking a Morphine tablet tonight; I'm developing a pain in my right side, which worries me because the damage is on the left half. It feels like a pulled muscle from favoring the left side... I hope.



Monday April 20th 2009
I started out the day calling Dr. P/foot’s office to find out if they got authorization by fax from Dr. D/heart. She’d just gotten in from an extended weekend and hadn’t time to look yet. (sigh). I e-mailed the situation to Lawyer/K’s office and his assistant later e-mailed back that the C84 from Dr.T/GB authorizing further checks should’ve been enough to get things moving. Instead they’re probably dragging their feet, gambling that if they win the appeal, they won’t have to pay me from April 1-to the date I have my knee operated on.

She said they’re confident that GB doesn’t have a chance with their appeal.

Dr. P/foot’s office called me around 6PM!?! wanting to know if I wanted to schedule surgery, even without the authorization. I said I’d rather schedule a pre-surgery appointment until I could find out what happens with GBs appeal. So I’m scheduled for April 29th, wouldn’t you know it, the only day available to see Dr. Mind.

I'm going to have to remember to call Teresa to ask if she can take care of the cat while I'm in the hospital... again. With my luck with no internet access, that's when I'll get the killer electric bill with no way to pay it until I get out of the hospital.

Right side pain came back. I'm beginning to think the Morphine pills are just sugar or something. I switched to two Percocets/Oxycodens today, and got near instant relief.

I decided to see how fast I could reconfigure my financial spreadsheet today and did it in an afternoon, adding budget formulas for money I don’t have, and how soon in the future I would have it… (if at all)

Megamillions is $130 million tomorrow night. I can only hope.



Tuesday April 21st 2009
I checked my e-mail this morning and discovered that GB had finally deposited the remainder of last weeks check, so I immediately programmed a check to go out for next month’s rent before they changed their minds. That helped me work out the final cell formula for my spreadsheet for unposted checks, so now that’s done.

If they deposit this Friday’s check like they’re supposed to, I’ll barely be okay. That’s a load off of my mind.

I took a break from re-redoing my spreadsheet-now to accommodate my prescription inventories, and went through Blogcritic’s available review materials, which is great, because I get free DVDs and CDs from artists I choose and like, and all I have to do is write a review of what I think of them.

I found a few DVD box sets and CDs of The Alan Parsons project extended versions, The Mod Squad, Hawaii 5-0, and Dynasty, and sent out e-mails for them.

My left eye is clearing up even more, but I know that while the internal eyeball will be good, I’ll still have a huge amount of debris in it, that only surgery will remove. I’ve got to get it done before I have to renew my driver’s license next year.

MegaMillions is up to about $160 million on Friday.



Wednesday April 22nd 2009
I woke up screaming my head off on the floor next to my bed this morning about 6AM. Fortunately I didn’t hurt or break anything. It was one hell of a nightmare, and I guess fortunately I don’t remember most of it. In a dark cave with my three attackers behind him, the devil with my father’s face, or my father with the devil’s angrily got in my face as I was laying on the ground screaming in frustration, “What do I have to do to finally kill you, huh? WHAT’S IT GONNA TAKE?”

My throat is still sore.

I got an e-mail saying that the four Alan Parsons Project CDs that I was so looking forward to reviewing were no longer available as they were offered last January while I was still in the hospital, even though no one claimed them. Dammit.

Dr. Mind called this evening as she was about to leave her office and I told her about it. She still wants to see me next week, if not sooner.

I was going to go out and plant all those flower seeds in the planters today, but it was just too cold out. Starting Thursday it’s supposed to be in the 80s for about four days straight. I hope I can pry myself out of the apartment. I haven’t been outside since… it just occurred to me that I can’t remember last week. This is starting to scare me. The doctors say it’s normal after what I’ve been through, but now I’m beginning to wonder about brain damage from the loss of blood.

Considering last night, I hope I don’t start staying up until I’m too exhausted to sleep again, hoping for a dreamless night.

This computer has begun running really slow, and I'm wondering if I've got a virus. I'm multiple protected by Window's Defender, Spybot, Window's Firewall, and McAfee. You'd think that would slow anything down, but until Yahoo made me switch from Norton, I was doing fine. I've tried defragging, disk clean up, and dumping my huge temp internet file. I guess what's left is uninstalling McAfee and reinstalling it and hoping for the best.

Someone started clicking on my ads, for which I’m very grateful, but they should know that if they do it more than once or so a day the group tracks I.P. addresses to see if it’s the same person and they’ll give me hell and threaten to pull the ad revenue or worse.



Thursday April 23rd 2009
I’ve been waiting, no cringing, for the latest electric bill so that I can submit it to Medicaid to help me with my Medicare premiums of about $125 a month. I've been telling them my electric bill is about $125 a month, and they want me to send the actual bills to confirm it. Only I, me, only I, could have a problem with too low of an electric bill. According to the city, this is the third month in a row I’ve used absolutely no electricity; the bill says I used zero kilowatts(???), and I’m holding another current bill for $10.70 (the service charge). That means I get to hold my breath again while I wait for next month’s bill to see if it’s a make up bill for five months! Bills due in Feb-$25.??, Mar-$10.70, Apr $10.70, May $10.70 and June?

It’s insane, really insane that nothing in my life, even when it’s good, am I allowed to enjoy it. I called the electric company last month and they assured me that it was an actual reading(s), I left a message with my apartment manager today on his machine to ask if I could see my electric meter. I wonder if it’s even possible for a meter to not be functioning and still provide power?

I drove over to Wal-Mart and nearly emptied what little I have in checking on a couple week’s groceries, gambling on GB not screwing me over with tomorrow’s check. It was in the high 50s today, but I rolled the windows up on the car, put the top down, cranked the heat all the way up, and had a good time. Tomorrow it’s supposed to be good and warm/hot, and I may stay out of the house all day.



Friday April 24th 2009
I went over to my apartment building manager’s office this morning, and found a note on the door saying he wouldn’t be back until Monday. About half an hour later his brother called in answer to my message, so I told him about the electric meter, and also asked him to get maintenance to check my A/C unit on the roof as it was putting out cool air instead of cold last week and with temps in the 80s this weekend, that’s not good.

If the sounds on the ceiling of footsteps are any indication (and not Santa Clause,) I’d say I’ll have cold air for the weekend, and with a free electric bill until they fix the meter, this might turn out to be a good thing.

When he’s done, I’m going to take my watch over to a jeweler’s and have a couple of links taken out of the band (for which a special tool is needed that I don't have, to do it without destroying it, and also I’m going to show up in person at the city utilities office at city hall and explain the situation with the electric bill, hoping to avoid a huge bill next month. I plan to drive a lot in this sunshine, and smile a lot too.

JJ our maintenance man just left; he took me down to see my power meter and indeed it isn’t spinning! He said also that they can’t come back on me and send me a huge bill, we’ll see. I’m going to shower and shave and leave for there now…

4:PM-Well this is cool-maybe some of my bad karma is turning around. I talked to the City Auditor/Treasurer, who informed me that they sent a guy out last week who reported that my meter is working perfectly… Okay. She said to “let sleeping dogs lay and that if I get any hassles to call her personally. Free electric!!! Until they figure it out for themselves! Ho Ho! Now all I have to do is keep my apt. manager from reporting it himself and I’ll be okay.

I drove up north to a little jewelry store I used to do artwork for, and was shocked to see that nearly every store in the strip mall they were in, was gone… except them! They were very nice and took out two links from my watchband and repaired the clip for about $13. I enjoyed the sun and the wind with the top down too. I’m… I’m… I’m having a good day. QUICK, someone call Teresa to come and feel my forehead!



Saturday April 25th 2009
I discovered that I can make the blog banners taller and spent all day redesigning my Gay Pride's web page banner. Then I went out and drove around enjoying the sun.


Tuesday April 28th 2009
If you’ve got the time, check out my Gay Pride page, (link is in the left sidebar) I did a lot of research and was astonished at how many famous gay people there are! I just added about 35 names to the hundred or so that were already there!


Wednesday April 29th 2009
I spent the morning with doctors, and my next round of surgeries are set for mid-May, right in the middle of GBs appeal to my Workman’s comp benefits. Joy. They’re going to try a new medical procedure, which means not having an external fixator around my thigh for months, but might entail being stoned on pain meds for a long time afterward.

They’re concerned about my heart and the possibility of a stroke too. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to hearing that news. Blogcritics Magazine rolled out their new look and redesigned webpage today and it’s a mess. It looks great, but they should’ve held off at least another month until all the technical kinks were worked out. Links that don’t work, article comments with no article titles, an absent “fresh comments” page, authors unable to publish because the damned thing won’t take an ASIN number from Amazon, articles nearly impossible to find unless they were published less than a couple weeks ago with nowhere to look for them, the list goes on and on. I tried to warn them, but all I get is static and “We know that already,” so I’ll let them alone for a while.

I’ve got a ton of articles I want to write before I got in for more surgery, and if I keep getting all their hassle, I might just publish them here than there. Their “must publish here FIRST” bullshit is really starting to wear on me, especially when we don’t get paid for contributing to the success of their website, and after four years I’m wondering if another four is worth the aggravation.

I’ve been having trouble with my car alarm. It arms, and then won’t let me back into it again without setting it off. It means using the back door way in and disarming it, but while I’m doing that, the alarm sounds for a good two minutes anyway. What’s appalling is that in broad daylight in a handicapped slot right in front of a store, no one even gave me a second glance with the thing blaring away! Then when I get home I have to crack open the manual and reprogram the remote again so I can re-arm it.

I didn’t see Dr. Mind today. It sucks not owning Wednesdays at noon anymore, but her receptionist says she’s trying to recapture them for me. I got the first volume of Dynasty season 4 in the mail, and the 6th season of Hawaii 5-0 to review. I’m glad I got the Dynasty free. With most TV series, they release the entire season in one set. With the Mod Squad I discovered they each were divided into two volumes, which cost twice as much to buy an entire season, and if what I’m reading on the box is any indication, Season 4 of Dynasty comes in three volumes! Talk about greed. I’m tempted to tell my readers that it’d be worth it to wait a year or so when the price is marked down on Amazon, to purchase it.

My ears are ringing really loud today, and the chest pains have returned when I inhale all the way. I’m wondering how I’m going to get around when I can’t walk on both legs. One is being operated on; the other is donating bone matter. I’m kind of worried that I’ll be put in a rehab place instead of being able to come home.

We’ll see, I guess.



Thursday April 30th 2009
Yesterday they confirmed a case of killer swine flu in Columbus, then it was revealed it was on the Ohio State campus. Great; now I have to worry about Dr. Mind, and also that’s where I go for treatment for severe depression and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder… just as I was succeeding in it becoming easier to talk myself into going out my front door, if only just to get the mail!

According to the evening news, that Columbus flu victim was a staffer. From what I've heard, despite the cases growing across the U.S. their all mild, except the kid that was visiting from Mexico that died in Texas. They also say that the masks that everyone's going so berserk to buy aren't dense enough to stop the airbourne virus.

Maybe I should cough a lot at the GB hearing and scare the piss out of them.

Thursday, March 05, 2009

March 2009

Since I was unconscious most of February, I'll have to reconstruct it at a later day... Sorry

=========================================

February highlights to come:

~Triple bypass heart surgery
~Nightmare physical rehab facility
~LOW Blood sugars between 51-60
~Infection-sent to E.R.-removal of over 900 CCs of fluid off of left lung.
~Return to hospital after nicked blood vessel explodes in my chest, I lose 1 1/2 times my normal blood content, doctors have to literally slice me open from my shoulder blades to my left side to drain blood out of my chest.
~I die twice in E.R. requiring electricity and CPR
~Drug induced coma for three days
~Hospital stay from Jan 23-Mar 4

===========================================

About a week and a half after the triple bypass surgery on my heart on Jan 23rd, the fluids that were packed into my body cavities began to build up. I was rushed to the hospital again from the physical rehab facility, and a drain was put in my back so that the doctors could take over 900cc of fluid off of my left lung

Unbeknownst to me or anyone else, they nicked a blood vessel with the drain. At first the effects were unnoticed, but kept growing and I was sent home over the weekend to continue recovering.

=================
Mon Feb 16: Morning. I have no first-hand memory of this at all and this was told to me 2nd hand by nurses, emergency squad personnel and my friend Teresa over the last two weeks.

I woke up early Monday 16th with the feeling that something wasn't quite right, but I couldn't name it. I felt dizzy and didn't trust myself to drive to the emergency room, so I called my friend Teresa and asked how soon she could get here.

She said I sounded terrible and raced the 911/squad here(it was a tie-she let them in my apartment). They say I was incoherent when they arrived and would only respond to them through her.

Within minutes of arrival at Grant Hospital I went "Code Blue(?)".

A blood vessel had split and blood began pumping rapidly into my chest cavity instead of my circulatory system. I'm told I didn't lose units, or pints, I lost gallons, or as they put it 1-1/2 my normal blood content and I died (their words), requiring CPR and they had to pull a heart surgeon out of another operation in order to save my life. Within half an hour another was summoned and they resorted to cutting me open from my spine between my shoulder blades to a point between my left armpit and my hip in order to allow the fluid to drain quickly from my torso.

Right after repairing the torn artery, another ruptured, requiring more blood, this one was worse and they told me I died again. Requiring CPR and the electric paddles to bring me back to life. In all, my blood content was replaced three times.

I spent 3 days in a coma in Intensive Care and eventually couldn't remember anything that happened for a week afterward, or my name etc, and I spent the rest in a private room unable to move without Morphine or Percocet.

I'm currently on pain meds, muscle relaxers and heart pressure prescriptions. It's going to be a while before I can update this, so I wanted you all to know I was
alright (so to speak). The amount of fluid they added in order to stabilize my condition after three major operations added 45 pounds to me and I had to lose it before I could function, walk or even eat on my own. Last weekend through a drug called Lasix, I dropped 40 pounds and gained enough strength on my own in order to move and I've improved enough to come home.

I will not be answering the phone etc in order to regain what state of mind I had before this whole ordeal, but I'm glad all of you have sent so many e-mails of concern.

I'm going to be constantly assessed for brain damage because of the loss of blood and things are bound to be both hectic and confusing.

Please bear with me until I've recovered enough to respond...

Jet




Sunday March 8th
GB set the wheels in motion while I was in the hospital on the 17th of last month to cut off my workman's comp checks, but I'm just getting around to opening my mail. Same bullshit from them, they say my heart problems don't have anything to do with my original injuries. The original doctor they hired to take care of my knee won't declare me Maximum Medical Improvement, so they hired a different one to say it was, on the basis of only one brief examination.

It's preying on my mind that parts of my memory are missing, not only from the coma, but that afterward after I woke up, I couldn't remember what happened the previous day in intensive care. How do you remember what you lost? Could this be the very definition of losing my mind.

Flashbacks of the robbery/beating, though nearly five years ago, still had me waking up screaming in my hospital room, to the point of having them knock me out with sleep meds and morphine. My biggest fear is becoming addicted to them.

The only way I can function is on a pain medication, because my chest and ribcage have been ripped open so many times recently and they had to cut through muscle and bone to get to my heart. I found out that Wal-Mart won't have the pain prescription the hospital wrote until next Tuesday and it's killing me since Wednesday night in terms of mental stability and also lack of sleep now that I'm home. I tried calling other places to fill the prescription but their wait is even longer. It's apparently some kind of custom Morphine blend.

The doctors for the third time have tried to take me off of Lantus insulin, and onto something called Novolox 70-30 blend but I don't know how to do syringes yet as my Lantus comes in preloaded pen cartridges where I just dial up the dose and stick on a tiny needle, inject, and it's done.
So by my request, they prescribed the new insulin in pens, but Wal-Mart was all out of it, so I got little bottles... again, but no needles... again, with no scrip for them so I have to wait until Monday to get it straightened out.

All I can remember of that day weeks ago in February is that Monday morning, I didn't feel quite right, and then blink-Wednesday evening I was staring at a false ceiling and wondering how I got there. That means I was in a coma for 2 1/2 days and then woke up in the Intensive Care Unit. I'm worried that the massive loss of blood may have done some brain damage, but I'm not sure... maybe I'm just getting old.

I've had so much stripped away from me; all but a couple of my friends, my career both here and in California and Chicago, a lifestyle of carefree travel and finance. I smile that I had to work pizza delivery to shield my income the same kind of people that come after you when they've found you've won the lotto or something. Somehow I'm still surviving. I still have the penthouse that I've lived in for 22 years and the car I worked so hard to save because it's the first one I bought new, but I could lose what's left of my sanity if they cut off payments for Dr. Morrison at OSU and the Cymbalta prescription that's keeping me in an even keel.

Depression is setting in hard, I'm thinking of hoarding Cymbalta by cutting down to 60mg from 90 to make it last. Suicide is never from my thoughts, but they're overridden by another way to survive this, but I'm running out of strength both mental and physical.

I keep cursing myself by asking what can happen next that's worse than what I've already survived? Congestive heart failure, then a silent heart attack, then surgery to insert stents to keep my coronary arteries open, then a triple bypass, then a blood vessel explodes twice in my chest and I literally die twice in one day.

No court date's been set yet for Workman's Comp to take away most of my income, but the attorney I didn't know I had, assures me it'll be soon. I consulted him on a "favor for a friend" basis in 2007 just to see about Disability, and GB is sending their communications through him now. I told him I felt bad about not being able to pay him, (he's with one of the most prestigious law firms in Ohio), and he says not to worry for now.

A difficult task at best.

Today (Sunday) I have random fluid filling my mouth as if I'm close to throwing up, but after I painfully rush to the toilet, nothing comes up, not even dry heaves. My leg at the graft site appears infected, but not swollen, so I'll leave it to professionals next week. Lack of pain killers and sleep leave me barely able to function mentally. I've still got diarrhea and the water pills are draining the fluids off my legs.

Now if I had something to stem the waves of hopelessness that wash over me constantly...


Monday March 9, 2009
Woke up feeling weak, but carried on anyway, there’s so much to do that I should’ve done yesterday.

I took a blood reading and it was 100; while that’s exactly where it should be, my body’s used to 170-224 so I feel weak at “normal”.
I set to work and called Wal-Mart, but my pain meds haven’t come in yet; God how much more of this can I endure? They asked me to call back in an hour.

I called Dr. Knee’s office and his workman’s comp nurse all but agreed with GB that they shouldn’t be paying me if the heart problems weren’t part of the original injury. She wouldn’t contact the lawyer’s offices, and said they had to contact her. She said that they could reactivate the claim from her office when I’m well enough to have the operation though.

It means I’ve got to live on another $300 or more until June or July before Dr. Heart-2 will sign off on my getting the knee worked on. With a possible/probable rent increase in July and god knows what else. I’m finding it so hard to keep fighting.


Tuesday, March 10, 2009
I went on line and paid as many bills as I could. If I don’t get the GB check this Friday I won’t have enough for April rent, or the car payment afterward.

I called Wal-Mart pharmacy again this morning to see if the morphine came in, and they said it wouldn’t get there until Fed-Ex brought it at noon. At noon (to my relief) they called to say it came in.

There’s nothing I enjoy more than “cruising around with the top down,” but it’s been in the 20s and 30s with snow all over the place, so I was rather shocked when I tuned into the radar channel and they said the current temperature was 79 degrees!!! A new record for Columbus, and I didn’t care where I had to go, I just wanted/needed to be outside. I went out and power/coin washed the car, which at the time I thought was a good idea, but it turned out wasn’t-though I survived. I filled the gas tank and headed for Wal-Mart. All I could hope now was it was in the pill form and not the shots because I still didn’t have syringes. While there I picked up a week’s groceries.

Even though I have one of those two wheel grocery carts to bring things from the car, if it’s filled and heavy, it’s still very exhausting to use. I remember when I could carry all my grocery bags without even considering their weight. I’d heard that a hardware store on campus sold four-wheel carts and decided after Dr. Mind’s appointment tomorrow I’d go look for it before I ran out of money.

The mail was nothing to celebrate.

I’m starting to get collection agency notices already from hospital bills that either Medicare won’t cover or there’ve been paperwork fuck ups. The letter came that my lawyer filed for an extension on the hearing. With all the fluid they put in me during the emergency operations, I’m taking Lasix to get it back off again… but I still have an extra 20 pounds or so to go. Because of this, none of my clothes fit, and I face the prospect of going to a formal hearing in sweat pants and shirt, and offending some uppity judge because of my attire.


Wednesday March 11, 2009

The temperature dropped 45 degrees last night-forecast mean’s no more cruising around with the top down for a while.

No matter what pills I took I couldn’t fall asleep last night, and I wanted desperately to sleep through the chest and back pain. The morphine seemed to work less than the Percocet. Around five in the morning, I had to get up and set the clock/radio for fear of missing my noon appointment. I woke up at 10:30AM and made up a shopping list. Yesterday’s unopened mail revealed a bill for Dr. Mind’s services, which means GB has cut me off. I immediately called Family Pharmacy only to discover that GB had also cut me off from my Cymbalta “cold turkey” again. For once I was prepared for that, as last time I when on a rage rampage and trashed my penthouse from end to end, that it still hasn’t recovered from.

It dawned on me that with all the hospital releases came prescriptions for all the drugs they’d been feeding me, and that one of them just might be Cymbalta. If that’s true, maybe I can get Medicare to pay for it.

I cut myself from 90mg to 60, hoarding the 30 towards such an occasion. I think I have enough of the powerful antidepressant to last for another month or so, if I’m careful.

I got another letter from the lawyer including some “C84s” that’d extend my com checks for Dr. Mind to fill out, so I took them with me on my visit. It was a rough session, since we hadn’t had one in months. The hardest part is that she was informed (but I didn’t know) that GB ordered that I only have two more visits (this one included) this month, and only one next month. She said the bill was a mistake and took it from me, but I suspect she plans to pay it herself. She was only too happy to fill out her C84 and mail it to the lawyer.

The rest of the time was spent covering how alone I feel, how the depression is affecting my sleep again, and now the nightmares are back with a vengeance.

Afterward I set out for the hardware store hidden within the streets of the off-campus student houses east of OSU. After dozens of turns, I found it… it’d closed last week.

I gambled and went up to Meijer’s where I bought the original two-wheeled cart, and was surprised to find a four-wheeled one for $19.95!

When I came home from the hospital, I brought their menu with me and decided to recreate it as closely as I could. To that end, I bought a bunch of deli containers at the restaurant supply store across from Meijer’s, and portioned off cereal, food, salad, cantaloupe, red grapes, orange sherbet etc according to their guide.

When I got home, Dr. Mind called and said she mailed out the C84, but that hers wouldn’t carry as much weight as Dr. Knee’s. She said she talked to a woman at Workman’s Comp and that she was under the impression that as long as I was under appeal and the case was unresolved, that GB couldn’t cut off my checks. We’ll see Friday… which I just realized was the 13th.


Thursday March 12-Sunday March 15
This has begun to happen to me a lot under stress. I don't remember what I did yesterday, nor do I remember today. I just woke up from a daze and it's all gone; like the time I woke up in the hospital. Either I'm going crazy, have Alzheimer's, or I suffered brain damage after the emergency.

In any case, it's really fucking with my brain that I can't remember things that happened an hour ago. It's like the time I drove almost all the way to Indiana before I woke up and had no idea how I got there a few years ago.

Can you imagine the feeling that you can't trust your own mind?


Monday March 16th 2009

Well, I’m back to jotting things down so I’ll remember them. Nuff said.

I got a harassing phone call from some collection agency for over $1,700 from when I had the heart attack last August. I explained my situation. She said she’d stop the calls, but there was nothing she could do about the collection process.


Tuesday March 17th 2009

Got a nasty e-mail from my Pittsburgh sister today, implying that I'd somehow threatened her job with this blog. Considering that her name is never mentioned and we have no common friends, and that she's changed her name twice through marriage, somehow I don't see that happening.

It took me a while just to find the passage she was referring to, and then, it's too vague to even be concerned with. As usual, she's more concerned about how the world revolves around her, than to be in the least concerned that I died twice last month... which is why I still don't believe she could be that upset over not being able to come and see me in the hospital. More than likely she's just upset that my Aunt Margaret knows more about my life than she does.

I've decided not to deal with her anymore, it's just not worth the hassle or the drama. My one regret is not being able to talk to my mom, since she doesn't know how to use e-mail, my sister reads it first. I've tried calling her cell phone, but the last few times I've called, my sister either answered my mom's phone, or was near enough to be within earshot.


On the health front I've developed a lump about the diameter of a grapefruit that's sticking out about an inch, just beneath my left armpit and I may have to go back into the hospital about it, if I can't get an appointment with Dr. S, my general physician.


Wednesday March 18th 2009

Woke up this morning to sister B’s regular phone call and was in agony. The lump beneath my left armpit is getting more and more sore. It’s 7:15AM so I’m going to wait till 8 AM and see if I can get into Dr. S. If I can’t I’ll have to go wait in the emergency room.

I guess while I’m waiting I’ll update my medical history...

The hospital called and said Dr. E was in surgery. The outpatient clinic called and said my doctor will be out of town until next Monday but that it was something that my heart surgeon should see, I called Dr. S's office and he was in surgery at the hospital and Dr. D is unavailable too. I finally had to settle for an appointment with Dr. S tomorrow at 10AM.

I guess I'll just have to get stoned on Percocet or Morphine and try to endure. Before you envy me, junkies only use them to get high, but if you actually NEED the damned stuff, it does nothing special for you... except take away the pain...

Thankfully.

I called Teresa this morning in case I have to ask her to take care of the cat while I'm in the hospital, and as usual she said she would-God lover her. Spent the afternoon with Dr. Mind. It's really fucked up that this'll be my last visit with her until April 7th. The workman's comp hearing has been put back to 3PM April 1st. How do I convince myself that the following is coincodence???

A. My last authorized visit with Dr. Mind is April 1st
B. My doctor's follow up appointment with Dr. D/Heart is... you guessed it April 1st

And people wonder why I have a persecution complex?

I'm going to spend the rest of the day trying to mentally relax, somehow I don't see it happening.

I just got off the phone with my sister B on the west coast, she had wonderful news, when her co-workers and inmates at the jail found out that she was being laid off tomorrow, they fell all over themselves looking for a position there as a state worker and found one as a "gate keeper". It doesn't open up until a couple of months from now, so they went beserk on the computer and made up a resume so she could put in aplications for a temp job until it opens up and made her up around 15 copies.

It's so wonderful and I'm so happy for her, she'll get to stay where she is working with people she knows and who already love her. She said she was driven to tears when they went berserk trying to make sure there was some way she could stay there, and the prisoners went bonkers trying to show her how much they'd miss her. I've been really worried about how down she's been the closer to her being laid off tomorrow, but now that her state/sheriff friends at work are really pulling for her to stay, come hell or high water, I feel much better.

I envy her the love they have for her. I made her promise to call me and tell me about the party that's being planned for her last day tomorrow.

I just took two percocets and I think I'm getting stoned, it doesn't hurt to lift my left arm. All I have to do now is remember to set the clock/radio tonight for Dr. S's appointment...


Friday March 20th 2009

Dr. S-Heart told me yesterday that it was a grossly swollen muscle that'll take about two months to heal, nothing to be done but to suffer through it.

I got a phone call from Dr. Sk-MD this evening. He was apologizing that he couldn't see me earlier and I was really touched by his concern. I told him what Dr. S-Heart said and he said okay and that he would be in his office Monday afternoon.

Next Monday afternoon would've been my Workman's Comp hearing... (sigh)

Suddenly all energy left me around 7PM and I fell asleep and didn't wake till 1AM. This is really starting to get to me.

Sunday March 22nd 2009

Yesterday was hell, Today is still hell.

Yesterday, I was still in the throws of my coughing fits. They'd end up with my suddenly feeling like I was going to throw up, because my mouth would start watering really bad. Most of the time, I'd just swallow it (water) other's I'd run to the toilet only to lean over it and let it drip/drool into the toilet, but nothing else happened. These episodes would last about 30-45 seconds on the coughing, and as much as five minutes on the watering mouth.

On top of that, I'm burping up the most god-awful tasting gas that's a cross between mud, lawn grass and dog shit. I have a total loss of appetite, not a good idea for a diabetic. I can't tell if it's the burning sensation as food hits my gut, or the total lack of energy for getting up and preparing something-even something simple to eat.

This afternoon the coughing fits and burping continued, still dry, but now along with the feeling like I'm about to throw up, add on the feeling I'm near passing out.

I want to call 911, but another part of me says I can't afford the uncovered squad trips to the hospital, and yet another wants me to die (if that's what's going to happen) and be done with it.

I hate feeling like this. I used to be so carefree, now I can't reach backward in time and regain my health, my muscles, and my bank account, my multi-careers... So what's left for me to need to hang onto... I'm finding it harder and harder to find a reason, and the constantly increasing misery and hopelessness I fear will soon overtake what strength I have left.

I'm going to try to take a shower, empty the cat litter, and then drive out to Wal-mart for supplies... if I make it that far.

Update 1 2PM-I'd say I don't fucking believe it, but I do. I couldn't even muster the energy to go from the den to the shower. It looks like I'll colapse on the bed and sleep. I know the lack of energy is from not eating, but...
Oh to hell with it...

Update 2-6:45PM-Forced myself into the shower, it didn't help, though I feel cleaner. I changed the cat litter, and collapsed back in my chair in the den where I'm typing this.

For the first time in a long time the heaves started and I ran to the toilet, but of course they were dry... again. All I have to show for it is an aching chest. Time for a Percocet and maybe a Morphine together, because it hurts just to move.



Thursday March 26th 2009

Monday morning it all came to a head and I had to be rushed to the hospital again. The feeling like I was going to pass out, and the weakness was because I had two ulcers. I was leaking blood into my stomach and it wasn’t pretty.

Today, just to keep me reminded that I'm never safe, my left eye began hemoraging from diabetic rhetinopathy and has little drops of blood in it, and is completely blurred.

I just got home a few minutes ago from Wal-Mart and have to wait for my ulcer medication until tomorrow, so as usual it’ll take me a while to catch up.



Friday March 27th 2009

After them saying I'd have to come back today, the pharmacy told me today that my Nexium for my ulcer medicine wasn't covered by Medicare without "prior authorization" and I'd have to wait for a doctor's call to the pharmacy. It's just like the scrip for the morphine pills that I couldn't get filled for nearly a week only to find they didn't seem to do anything.

I've lost count of how many times I've screamed "I DON'T FUCKING BELIEVE THIS!"

They're making an ulcer patient wait for ulcer medication.

With the loss of 60 pounds in 4 weeks, I bought a belt today and discovered I fit in my medium jeans and my skinny jeans jacket... let's see how long that lasts.


Saturday March 28th 2009

Morning: Still no word on the Nexium prescription.

For some reason I’ve got the urge to buy flowers for my balcony, maybe some petunias and geraniums. I haven’t opened my curtains in possibly two years, much less sat out there and enjoyed the sun and view.

The stronger part says to keep fighting, to not give up, to shake my fist in the face of the fates that keep striking me down every time I get up from the last blow. An old friend named Gonzo once told me “fall down nine times-get up ten.” While nice, I’ve exceeded that limit.

I miss creating, writing, art etc because it used to be such an important part of my being. The explosion of self-confidence in the late 80s, when I began to travel and started making good money keeps haunting me. I’ve even begun to miss the fantasy cars I used to create for myself and others when I had the means and connections. One in particular: the twin of the Triumph TR9 that I got as an insurance settlement. On a whim, I decided to create a perfect duplicate of the car in case one got hit, complete with the tricked out Buick 3.8 litre V6 grand national, Borg-Warner 5-speed manual hooked up to a 69 Ford Torino 12-bolt 9-inch rear end. Stainless steel pipes, Edlebrock 4-barrel carb and intakes, custom Cyclone headers and acceleration that would press you into the seat... and of course those British Racing Green fog lamps.

I get nostalgic when I see an old movie just looking at cars in the background. The 50-70s were an era when you could just look at a car and be able to tell the make model and year at a glance. Sadly those days are gone.

My left eye is beginning to clear up ever so slowly. The debris from the hemorrhage is consolidating into big maroon clots that float in my line of sight like I’m living in a lava lamp. Yesterday I couldn’t make out anything but a blur around them, but now I’m beginning to make out vague shapes. Nothing that will give me three-dimensional vision, but it’s better than nothing. There’s always the possibly of one of the clots going to my heart, lungs or brain.

Somehow I don’t think God wants me to die that quickly. If not God, than he knows whose torturing me, and is doing nothing to stop it, so it’s the same as God himself sanctioning it.

Evening: Spent the afternoon playing phone tag between the pharmacy and the hospital and it looks like nothing's going to get done until Monday. Expected. How I didn't get an ulcer long before this I'll never know.

I'm still thinking about getting out tomorrow and shopping flower seedlings. Maybe I'll take Teresa with me. I guess that means I intend to hang around long enough to see them grow. Teresa's found a house that she really likes, maybe I'll offer her $300 a month to rent a room from her... yeah right. There's two things wrong with that, A. Friends should NEVER live together, B. I'd never be able to drag myself out of this penthouse after living here since 1987.


Sunday March 29th 2009

Spent the morning and afternoon redesigning my financial spreadsheet again, since my medications keep varying from week to week, I've decided to stop trying to track them, which gave me more screen space for tracking budget and cashflow problems.

Had a nice long talk with my Aunt Margaret today, she calls me every day to see how I'm doing, and it makes me feel less alone. Except for my sisters in Oregon, she's the only one in my family that accepts me for who I am and what I am without reservation or judgment. I just wish I lived closer to her. I used to have that same kind of relationship with my mother, but she lost her house and moved and it all fell apart like a soggy doughnut... alas.

Called Wal-Mart pharmacy and Medicare still hasn't authorized the prescription, so I've gone nearly 4 days without the ulcer medication.

Later today, I'm going to start gathering papers from files to try to fight GB trying to take my checks away... and do my laundry.


Monday March 30th 2009

I found out today that Chrysler's going under, possibly for the last time. If anything fucks up on the car, I'm screwed. According to my understanding, even though I'm the only registered owner of the car (according to the bank) Chrysler and the state of Ohio consider me the second owner because I purchased it from a lease technically making Hunting*** Bank the first owner. I've tried to explain that Hunging*** converted the lease to a loan, but according to the registration I'm the 2nd owner, which voids all original owner 75,000 mile coverages and the dealership claims I bought it "as is".

Fortunately nothing has gone wrong with it.

According to most news agencies this morning, the government now considers Chrysler a small enough company to let fail on its own without further emergency assistance. In other words they want to cut their losses and run. Apparently their only hope now is Fiat... joy!

Well I guess I could start bragging I drive an Italian sports convertible now?

I called Grant Hospital and Wal-Mart, they both say the problem is Medicare refusing to approve it because the prescription is for two Nexiums a day and they only want to pay for one. I tried to explain to them that my ulcer problem is so bad that it required hospitalization and warranted two pills a day, but now I haven’t been able to get them since last Thursday and they all say there’s nothing they can do.

I called Dr. D/heart and had to reschedule my appointment with him because it's the same day as the workman's comp hearing on Wednesday. Rescheduled for Monday the 6th.

My best friend Teresa came over this morning to check up on me, and it brightened my whole day having someone close by that cares so much. If I were straight I'd be madly in love with her. My whole attitude is so much better with her visit and the smiles she forced me to use, god love her.

While she was here, Wal-Mart called to say Medicare finally approved the prescription, and the problem wasn't what I thought it was. The approval was requested for 2 years!!!!!! of which they gave one!

I called the hospital and they said that considering the stress I was under, it's possible I'll need it for a year.

my god

My left eye is falling into the pattern the right eye did before I required surgery. The debris from the burst blood vessels is floating all over the place to the point of having to close it in order to read. For all intents and purposes I'm blind in my left eye. Even though it's gradually clearing, it's the maroon tint that's clearing, but the blurred vision is like a sheet of plastic wrap over a pair of glasses, just enought to make out shapes, but impossible to focus.


Tuesday March 31st 2009

JUST when I was silly enough to think things couldn't possibly get stranger, I checked the automatic payments on my checking accounts when I seemed to have about $250 more than I thought I should, only to discover that my electric bill for February was $25.37, My electric for March was $10.70, and my bill due the first of April is $10.79 !!!!????????!!!!

Either someone is helping on my electric, or the bills were estimates. (January was $126.90)... Now I know I spent most of January through March in the Hospital, but I did leave the heat on for the cat, and the fridge still ran etc.

The scary part is if they're only estimated readings, and they take an actual reading in April, I could be looking at a catch-up bill for over $300. If they take workman's comp away tomorrow, Social Security will raise their checks, but with them deducting the "overpayment" that no one will explain, I'll fall $300 a month short of my basic bills and expenses as it is, and that could be devastating.

Now the question is am I stupid enough to call the electric company; or just let sleeping dogs lay and hope for the best?

Saturday, January 03, 2009

January 2009

Saturday the 3rd
The new year starts out with hope, after all what else do I have? Either my heart's getting weaker or the depression is getting deeper, because I can't stay awake for more than three hours at a time, which worries me. Except for finishing up my 2009 financial spreadsheet and my electronic calendar reminders, not much has happened in the first three days of the year.

I've searched all over the place and can't find my car registration. I have a feeling it was in the clear plastic bag that the plates came in, and when I had my oil changed at the dealership, it might have been discarded.

I'd intended to get out to Wal-Mart at first light, but just couldn't get moving. I still don't have a duplicate Medicare card, so I'm thinking of just taking in all the paperwork. I've resolved to do three tests a day on my blood sugar and to take all my prescriptions full strength. After doing an inventory for the spreadsheet, I've got about an extra month on most of my pills in case Disability, GB, or Medicare cut off the prescription help.

For that I'll need test strips, the most expensive part of the whole problem. That's why they give the testers away free, they make their profits on the test strips.

My state of mind is sort of an emotionless numb. Dr. Mind's back in town this Wednesday. With the exam that GB insists I have that morning, it's going to be tough getting from one appointment to her.

I have a feeling I've got a heart clinic appointment this Monday too...

I went out to Wal-Mart for supplies and left thank you notes for my neighbors D and Vicki for their Christmas cards. My damned car alarm went on strike again, and unfortunately it's years out of warranty. Fortunately when it does, it won't let me or anyone else in, rather than just going dead. It's a long and annoying process of turning my key to the "on" position, pressing and holding the secret button and then waiting for three chirps, then hitting all the buttons, one at a time and hoping for the best. Of course to get in to do this entails setting off the alarm. I was surprised to watch everyone in the parking lot at WM just keep walking on by as if nothing were happening with my alarm going off.

Today's mail, I swear I don't know where I get the strength...

First I owed Social Security for some clerical error $2,424
Then the last week of December I owed them $2,900

Back a couple of months ago I got a letter saying my Disability check would be increased to $484. A few weeks later it dropped to $464, then Medicaid said I made too much on what I'm getting from workman's comp, so they're charging me about $100 a month for medicare premiums and my check dropped to $384. Now they're saying they're taking more money out for what I owe them and my checks are dropping to $347.

GB in the meantime seems to insist that I go to their doctor's appointments that are on the same days as the preliminary tests for my heart surgery because I was stupid enough to e-mail them the dates of my exams or they'll stop my checks.

I am so close to swallowing all of my pills and saying to hell with it...



Monday the 5th
I was determined to get to Social Security today, and had another mental coma. I started sorting letters since October (none had the same amount of my checks or how much I owed them) in fact I can't even understand why I owe them. Anyway I started at 8AM and after about an hour I decided to take a break and play a game of chess on my computer, and looked up and it was after 2PM.

I don't know what I did during those last hours, but I know it's like the depression I had in 2005 where I'd sit on the side of my bed and stare at the wall for hours and think only 10 minutes had gone by.

I tried calling Dr. Mind but she was with a client. I got my federal tax books and don't know if I'm even supposed to file a return. The confusing letters just from Disability are over an inch thick.

Dr. Mind called me this evening and I told her about the latest news; she said to bring all of my paperwork with me to our session on Wednesday and she'd try to work it out into something understandable.



Tuesday the 6th
It's starting again; I didn't wake up until 6PM today. The worst part is trying to keep my prescriptions on schedule as to when I'm supposed to take them. I'm just now taking this morning's doses and unless I space them right, I'll be up till 4 tonight.


Wednesday the 7th
I went to the first half of the process to keep my workman's comp checks re-certified. I actually made it to the designated doctor's office at 20 after for my 9:30AM appointment, only to find that they'd put the wrong time on my appointment letter and I had to sit there in the waiting room for an hour and a half before they'd see me. The office turned out to be directly above the doctor's office that'll be doing my heart.

I got some cranky old man who looked at the x-rays of my foot and then ordered x-rays of my knee. I have a bad feeling about this. It's obvious that my knee is over 20 degrees out of alignment, but he could say that it can't be fixed. After all, he's being paid by the company that's trying to cut me off from my checks and financial help.

I got to Dr. Mind's office on time (barely) and couldn't find a parking slot. Wandered the offices to try to buy quarters for the parking meter, and wound up calling her up and having her come down with some. The parking guys told me that the center island meters were good for an hour, but the notices still said half an hour, because the work order hadn't been filled for the new ones... so I put a quarter in 15 min, 2nd quarter in 30min. 3rd quarter... 30min. I had no choice, our sessions last an hour so I had to gamble.

We went over all the Social Security papers I'd collected and she was aghast. The only choice is for both of us to go there together Friday after next, but I have a GB med exam to extend my benefits another 30 days on that day.

I just can't get a break.

At least I didn't get a parking ticket.



Thursday the 8th
I went on line this morning to try to complete one of the most depressing chores that anyone can do. Completing a will update and a Living will, in case I wind up in a coma the rest of my life.

Of my most cherished possessions there's my tapestry, my piano and my desk. More and more I'm beginning to believe that I'll just go out like a burnt out light bulb... so why bother? I won't feel the passing of time/eons after I'm gone.

I just got a glimpse of my calendar. I have to go to Grant Hospital tomorrow for pre-admission testing for my triple bypass. It's now a reality instead of a concept... I could be dead in a matter of weeks.



Friday the 9th
I made it to my preliminary exam for my heart operation today. They're wavering between the 23rd and the 25th because of scheduling. Everyone's bitching I don't send them a date, and I don't even know it for sure myself now.

For the first time I had to piss into a cup!

They took an EKG and sent me on my way. Monday, I have to report to the Heart Failure clinic for some blood work. I've got so many doctors now I need a score card to keep track of them. Went to Wal-Mart and picked up enough supplies to last for two weeks, I don't want to leave food to rot in the fridge like last time.

I've become less and less afraid of death, probably because I no longer believe in heaven or hell. That neither gives me comfort nor concern. Living alone does that. Maybe I'm hoping that I'll die on the operating table by someone else's hand, as I'm too much of a coward to do it myself.

I still haven't written a will, I've got less than a couple of weeks now, I better get busy. On the other hand it'd be a fitting revenge to let them fight over my stuff against the State of Ohio when they try to recoup my burial costs.



Monday the 12th
Went to the Heart Failure clinic at the hospital today. They did a blood work up on me and I'm still low on potassium, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHRGH! I hate those damned pills, they're huge and hard to swallow, so you have no choice but to let the damned things partially melt in your mouth before washing it down. Then you burp the rest of the day tasting of hard boiled eggs.

With all the cheap food I've been forced to buy lately, I was worried about my sodium (salt) content, but they said it was fine. She said it was most likely that my recovery time would be three weeks, but that I'd only be in the hospital a few days... after heart surgery??????

Come to think of if; my mom was only in the hospital a couple of days after she had surgery on hers too.

So much for saving about three weeks of prescriptions and food... damn it. My only hope now is to find a way to straighten out the whole social security/disability/medicaid mess.

I got a comment on the photo of a TR9 prototype I used to own that reminded me of the good old days when I had lots of money, confidence, and a body to go with them.

I spent the rest of the day sleeping, knocking around the house, or watching TV.

I've been tempted to go to Big Boy's and eat a "death by chocolate"-which is chocolate cake, with a wedge of vanilla ice cream in the middle, covered with hot fudge, whipped cream and a cherry. Being diabetic, it really would be death. God I can't remember the last time I ate a cherry! (No jokes from the peanut gallery please)



Wednesday the 14th
I saw Dr. Mind today, gads the roads were a nightmare, though I must admit I've missed seeing giant fluffy snowflakes. The trouble is; let a billion of them come together, through the majestic force of nature... they can screw up a whole city!

Dr. Mind's meeting me at the social security place at 9:30AM Friday morning, so I'll have to get busy assembling papers. (groan)

Had some chest pain for which I did a nitro glycerin tab, which helped. Stopped at the store and picked up some supplies and came home and slept... I do a lot of that lately.



Friday the 16th
I went to the social security office with Dr. Mind this morning. We've got a windchill factor of -25 this morning, the car wouldn't remote start, so I had to go down and babysit it fluttering the gas pedal to keep it running. At least it started.

I thought my hands were going to freeze to the steering wheel. I've got about 20 pages of some kind of waiver request to comprehend and fill out. Dr. Mind seemed to think there was reason to be optimistic, but I've got my doubts... we'll see.

I've got a 2:45 appointment at WorkHealth this afternoon.

I just found out that GB (as feared) didn't direct deposit my workman's comp check into my checking. Unfuckinbelievable.



Saturday the 17th
I woke up around 8 this morning with really bad chest pain, and burping up what tasted like hard-boiled eggs again. After about half an hour of moving around, I resorted to a nitro glycerin tab and at 9 I felt better.

I checked my checking account and BC deposited my regular Friday check today, but it's pending and I can't touch it until the 20th... bastards.

My chest is still really tight and tender to the touch. Hopefully I'll make it through to Friday. Over at BC, JOM is now going by H&C? I'm not going to leave a legacy of good articles only to have the son-of-a-bitch leave his shit derogatory remarks on them, so I may just publish them here exclusively instead. He seems to have gained some fans, that are encouraging him on, fortunately he's being an asshole on someone elses work.

Tons of snow keeps falling and it was -26 last night. My electric bill will probably to $160-200. definitely not what I need.

Saturdays are usually slow days for me, I hope this one stays that way.

I got drowsy and felt weak so I went back to bed, and woke up laying in my own diaheria. I'm so close to giving up. I cleaned it the best I could with disinfectant and then dumped alcohol all over it. Went to wal-mart and bought a new blanket and some laundry soap. The bedroom smells like shit and disinfectant. I don't think I have the strength to try to flip the huge mattress, but I guess I have no choice.

I'll be busy down in the laundry room. I've taught myself lately to not ask how this can possibly get worse.



Sunday the 18th
I woke up late this morning and everything was in total silence. I was shivering, felt cold, and my feet were freezing. My skin was cold to the touch and I thought that maybe I was dead it was that surreal.

That's when I realized the power was out. I got up and put on a sweat suit and socks and went back to bed. Mischief came in really handy today as her normal body temperature is around 102.

The power stayed out until around 3 this afternoon.

Just what I need, to come down with pneumonia just before a heart operation. I'm feeling weaker and weaker and out of breath by the day.

I watched them pull the A320 out of the murky water off of Battery Park in New York City and was astonished at how the upper half of the jet looks brand new and the lower half was almost completely shredded.

I was going to watch the Lincoln Memorial concert for Obama, but the power failure took out our building's HBO converter, so I missed it.

I checked the news on line and found the actor that played the robot in the original "Lost in Space" (Danger, Danger Will Robinson!" died of congestive heart failure. I've had two bouts with congestive heart failure myself and survived both of them. In my current state of mind I don't know if that's a good thing or not.

I got really tired around 3PM and went back to bed. Woke up at 9:30PM.

Typical day.




Monday the 19th
Started out the day with a call from Grant Hospital, the operation's set for the 23rd instead of the 25th. I was shaking my head that they were doing surgery on a Sunday, but I guess their schedule was packed. I have to report at 5:30 AM. Gads....

Tomorrow's inauguration day. A day that'll bring joy and completion to a lot of people's lives... but not mine. Oh don't get me wrong, I voted for him and supported him, but I look at tomorrow as a missed personal opportunity.

I have two siblings who to the best of my knowledge, haven't even told their grown children that our grandfather on my father's side was black.

I've always been proud of my racial heritage, (which has gotten me into trouble a few times.) So why would I regret tomorrow? If only I still had the financial means, if I had the mental strength, I'd be there in Washington D.C. I'd be there, with my eyes closed summoning the spirits of my late father and grandfather, and when I knew that they were there with me, I'd open my eyes and focus my ears and let them be overwhelmed by the swearing in of the first black president. I'd let their pride wash over me and knew that they were happy.

Of course my father maybe a bit less than his father, but that's because Dad was a stone-cold steel-willed Republican, who would probably only grudgingly acknowledge the pride he felt at that milestone, and maybe point out (aw he's only half-black anyway) to which I'd have to remind him that so was he.

I'll be watching it on TV instead, but maybe they'll join me here.

It's a strange thought, considering my feelings of late; that death is merely a cessation of existence, no heaven, no hell, no after-life. You are then you aren't.

I've only felt the spirits of two people, my late cousin Billy and Michael Plake. It's like a battle in my head as to which concept of after death is correct. I guess for most people it's a matter of which gives you more comfort.

Right now neither fits the bill for me... Unfortunately.



Tuesday the 20th
Spent the day watching the inauguration festivities. It'd figure that Bush would pick a chief justice who can't even keep the oath of office straight in his head, or at least have the presence of mind to bring a "cue card"

I fear I've gotten a cold or some congestion from the power being off, just what I need this close to surgery.

B, I my sister that calls me every morning on her way to work hasn't called in almost a week, so I called her. It turns out she's having trouble with her cell phone company and only just get it straightened out so she can make calls. I was worried.

Heart surgery is coming up now in a matter of days. It's getting harder to realize that I might only have a scant week or so to live.

Knowing my condition having read my comments on BC's website wherever I go, JOM/H&C said I should try to find a Jehovah's witness on Friday. I was so pissed I nearly quit BC and deleted my profile... but at the last minute decided not to burn that bridge.



Wednesday the 21st
Started out the day at Dr. Mind's. Since I don't have an "official" will, she asked me to write out for her what I wanted done with me, and my stuff if I didn't survive the surgery on my heart. My god that was depressing. She went over the Disability forms with me, so after I mail them tomorrow maybe something good will happen for a change.

I was waiting at the corner of 10th and High and had a flashback of my attackers running towards the car threatening to shoot me through my window if I didn't unlock the door, it was so real I almost ran the light.

I went to Wal-Mart today to pick up my prescriptions and instead of it coming to about $25 with my co-pays she asked for over $135. It turns out that while they appeal my case they shut off part of Medicare part D. It's ridiculous, they cover all my diabetes supplies EXCEPT the test strips! I could afford everything if they weren't trying to charge me for the diabetes test strips at full price... so I got everything but. This means that once I get back from the hospital, I'll have to guess at my Lantus insulin dosages.

I've got to go see GBs psychiatrist tomorrow to confirm that I'm really stressed out. I'll prove that easily enough; after I e-mailed them my surgery was on the 23rd, they heartlessly scheduled the appointment for the 22nd-tomorrow. No amount of explaining is going to convince me that's not a coincidence.

I'm getting weaker and weaker to the point that if I bend over to pick up something off the floor I get dizzy, and if I go from the living room to the dining room I get winded, panting for breath.

There are times when I hope I don't survive the operation day after tomorrow...



Thursday the 22nd
Tom came by and took my father's hard drive. I'd reformatted the unit five times, ran a strong magnet over it and then baked it in the oven. The place smells like burnt plastic. My family will probably hate me for it, but all of the hatred, and terrible things he revealed about them from within his twisted mind is now gone forever, and now it's only my burden to carry.

My family would be at each other's throats if they'd had access to it. I think my father left it to me because he knew how much it'd torture me, and the effect it'd have on completely destroying any relationships I had left with them.

I got a call from my good friend Teresa today and she will indeed come over and check on Mischief for me while I'm in the hospital-god love her. She pointed out an aspect of this heart operation I hadn't considered; the chest is completely covered with muscle which has to be cut through in order to get to the ribs and heart. Not only do my heart and ribs have to heal, but my muscles have to knit back together, and I'll probably be very sore for a long time afterward.

That's going to be rough to survive. It's possible that I may have to go to a nursing home or something to recover for a while.

Anyway, she took a lot off my mind that Mischief will be okay.

I spent two hours at the psychiatrist hired by GB today, I swear the first hour was covered asking me questions about what date this or that was operated on and he'd jot them down on a legal pad, and I kept pointing out that he had all that info in the sheet I'd just handed him... it was like he didn't care and that his diagnosis was a foregone conclusion.

Every time I tried to talk about the ordeal I was going through, he'd interupt with another question about which doctor worked on my foot or ankle or arm. What seemed like an hour went by like that.

My last supper will be home made submarine sandwiches on wheat rolls.

Should this be my last entry, it's been fun... It could take me a long time to recover, and get back to this.

Tuesday, December 02, 2008

December 2008

Wednesday the 3rd
Hit the ground running and paid the electric and phone on line. I'm planning to take my temp/title and finally buy plates for the car, then hand carry the documents over to my caseworker and try to get this shit with my disability check resolved. My direct deposit for December was only $328 and I'm going to be in some serious hurting if I don't get it done.

These depression symptoms are holding me back, and I've got to find some way to defeat them. I see Dr. Mind this afternoon and this being frozen for hours at a time has got to stop.

I still haven't heard from Dr. S-heart, though Dr. P-knee sent him permission to operate on my heart. I have a feeling GB's just waiting for an excuse to cut me off, so I'm going to have to take matters into my own hands.
-------------------------------
I should've known better than to think I could take control of a runaway train/life. I came home to pick up some extra paperwork I needed and found a letter from Social Security saying that because some clerk had put in that I was getting paid twice a month instead of every two weeks, I'd received over payments from Disability over the last three years totalling $2,424, which means the full amount of my monthly disability checks will be withheld by them until it's fully paid back. I won't see a check from disability until June of next year and then it'll only be a partial one. On top of that I'll be billed an additional $124 that I can't afford a month for Medicare coverage, meaning my only income will be from GB/workman's comp, whose only purpose in life is to find a way to cut off my checks.

-------------
It's 5:20 in the morning. I can't make the rent and car payment on $882 a month, much less heart prescriptions, utilities and groceries. It's all so hopeless. Over the last couple of weeks I've seen a couple of social workers and none can untangle this mess, much less explain it so I can understand it.

I'm still looking at triple bypass surgery on my heart, and operations to my knee. By February I'll have lost my car that I fought for so hard and I'll probably be evicted from my home of over 21 years by my birthday in May.

In front of me is a clear plastic glass, containing all of my heart, blood pressure pills, Plavix and Percocet/Oxycodone. beside it is a big glass of diet Dr. Pepper. The coward in me is stronger than I thought, I've just spent half an hour sorting them back into their individual bottles. I feel so defeated

It's amazing how my life can go from up to devastation in the space of a day. I'm going to call Dr. Mind tomorrow and see if I can get an additional appointment with her. If not I may not make it through the weekend.

How much more can I take?
Not much I'm afraid


Thursday the 4th
Throughout the night things just kept building up in me last night. This morning I made an effort to get ahold of Social Security, but gave up. I called Dr. Mind's secretary and found she had an 8AM opening, so I went to meet with her and she confirmed my fear that I'd read the paperwork right; I'll get nothing from Disability until July of next year because of some 3-4 year old paperwork fuckup to the tune of almost $2,500.

Apparently I looked so devastated, she wanted to admit me on an inpatient basis, but I resisted that because I have no one to take car of Mischief.

I meant to drive straight home and found myself on the other side of town instead and went to Wal-Mart. I bought enough food to last me til maybe Christmas... I hope.

I fought so hard to get the trust of everyone at Hunting***, and I hate that I may let them down. With only $880 a month, it'll come down to either the rent, or the car-but not both. It's so overwhelming, that I came home and slept until 8:30 this evening.

I can't get that glass of pills out of my head from last night.


Friday the 5th
I slept straight through today, waking up maybe an hour or so, before becoming so sleepy I had to lay back down again.

This was punctuated by phone calls from Dr. Mind telling me that she finally got through to Social Security, and that they said the letter I got was computer generated, and that they were only going to deduct $45 a month until it was paid back.

I fucking almost killed myself over the prospect of losing most of my income for the next 6-months over a letter they said to ignore?

I honestly don't know how much of this I can take.

I finally woke up around 9PM and I've been rattling around the house ever since.

Why don't I have an ulcer?


Sunday the 7th
I wish I could get out from under the physical effects of depression. I should be jumping for joy and yet I'm still tired and sleepy... at least I hope it's depression. It could be my heart for all I know. Dr. Mind called me yesterday afternoon to check up on me, but other than that it was uneventful (if you want to say snowing like crazy uneventful).

It's 4:59PM and I just woke up. My phone is going to get one hell of a workout tomorrow. Adsense, the company that places advertisements on my sites sent me a very nasty e-mail yesterday threatening me because I'd put little notes asking readers to click on their ads. I thought they'd want me to, but noooooo, I'm not allowed to draw attention to them at all. Apparently I get paid by how many clicks, and if they're not from genuine interest I'd get nothing. Jesushosannachrist. I only get something like three cents a click and over the last three years I've cumulatively made about $25, and they don't send you a check until you hit $100. I've been thinking of pulling their ads completely for the space they uselessly take up anyway.

Time to shoot up some insulin and eat...


Wednesday the 10th
I got another letter from Social Security and the totals didn't match what Dr. Mind said I'd get. I took it with me to our session today and she seemed worried and warned me to watch my cash closely in case they take their good old time with the paperwork and don't send me a check for January.

I got a parking ticket at OSU. they have a whole line of handicap slots near the door to Dr. Mind's building. Only four or five are regular handicapped, the rest require a permit from the emergency room. $35 I can't afford.

I did accomplish one thing, I finally got out to the deputy registrar and bought the correct license plates for the car. They wouldn't give me credit for the year's worth I bought in July. Expected I guess. On top of that I'll have to buy new plates in May.

I sent out the painting of the house I grew up in to the family as a Christmas card on Tuesday. No one responded. I feel kinda stupid that I thought they might. My brother sent along the e-mail address of D's son, my nephew, when he sent out his mass thanksgiving card, so I sent one to him. This is the nephew I'm told that she never even told that I existed. I met him for the first time at my father's funeral in 2006 and he seemed like a nice enough guy.

God knows hew she explained that she'd never spoke of me to them. She probably said I'd been in jail or out of the country or something and that she was ashamed of me.

Anyway he just got married a few months ago, I'm just finding this out, so I sent along belated congratulations and a long letter with memories of growing up on Rouser Road.

I can't straighten out my sleep schedule, it's all over the place.

Next chore is to get my car insurance straightened out, and to take all my paperwork to Social Security and then Medicaid to see if I can get Medicaid to pay for my Medicare so I don't have $100+ deducted from my checks.

The last couple of days I haven't drempt anything, or nothing I can remember. No nightmares no flash backs. I hate not taking my pills when I'm supposed to, I'm trying to hoard back as much as I can in case GB pulls my prescription help.




Sunday the 14th
Woke up around 2AM. The last two days have been spent trying to figure out my finances, and hoping the weather would clear up long enough to go out and get supplies.

It really bothers me that I can sit down somewhere and go into sort of a mental coma, think a half an hour has passed and it's been three or four. I don't fall asleep, or at least I don't think I do. It's supposed to be up in the 50s today so I'm compiling a list of supplies for the next week.

I called Dr. S-heart's office Friday but the secretary was on another line and said she'd call me back, which she didn't. I've got a GB medical exam tomorrow afternoon, so I'll try to call him again in the morning.

I've been thinking about death to much lately. I'm becoming more and more convinced that it's the same non-existence as when I was born. I'll just stop being. It worries me as I become less and less afraid of it.

It was in the 50s today, unfortunately too cold to put the top down. Went over to Wal-mart and sat an hour waiting for a handicapped motorized cart. When I finally got one it died in the meat department, and by the time I got my stuff, I was exhausted.

Checked Fri & Sat's mail and found the watch I ordered crumpled in bubble wrap in my little apt mailbox instead of in a protective cardboard shipping box... they sent me the wrong watch. I should've seen it coming. The one they sent looks super cheap and I'm in the process of writing a blistering letter to them, and a furious article for BC.

Couldn't keep my eyes open past 8PM and woke around 3, Knocking around the house ever since.

Monday's going to be a bitch...



Tuesday the 16th
I got an e-mail from GB wanting to know why I haven't had the knee surgery again. I've only explained it a hundred times. Dr S-heart never got authorization from Dr. P-arm/knee to do the triple bypass on me, so I'm trapped between two nurse's voice-mails. Social Security sent yet another letter that doesn't match the dozen or so I've gotten, so I'm back to not knowing how much I'll get beginning Jan 1.

We had a snow storm today, with the threat of a bigger one tonight, so I went and got supplies over at Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart pharmacy called to say Dr. S-clinic finally phoned in my prescriptions, but I have to wait a week to get the rest of my 14 different pills because Medicare won't pay for them if it's been less than 30 days of my last refill.

All this and it's only 4PM.

I've become obsessed thinking about death and what happens to you after you die. Dr. Mind says it's okay, it's when I don't think about it out loud that most people do it.

My whole world, my whole life has shrunk from traveling all over the country, having fun and lots of money, to sitting in front of this computer day in and day out because I'm afraid of strangers and have pushed what friends I have left away months/years ago.

I've got to figure out where the money for the damned OSU parking ticket is going to come from too.

Sometimes I wonder where my hope comes from.



Wednesday the 17th
Dr. Mind is going to see about fixing my parking ticket (God love her.) She's going to be gone the next two weeks over Christmas and New Years, just when I'll need her the most with trying to straighten out this Disability bullshit... that and I really don't look forward to spending it all alone. I'll probably do what I did over Thanksgiving; not sleep very much, and then sleep all day through it.

I drove over to my Chrysler dealership for my 42,000 mile oil change. I decided that I'd find out if my warranty for 7 year-70,000 was still good, and they said that as long as the car was only in my name, the drive train warranty would be good. That means I still have to follow the guidelines in the warranty book. Since I own a luxury car, they assume I can afford all the "every 3000 mile" expensive required checks, like the oxygen sensor, the transmission, and all the electronic stuff.

alas.

Went up to Wal-mart and picked up this month's prescriptions. Dr. Clinic added the damned huge horse pills for low potassium that I nearly gag on trying to swallow. Oh well.

I worked on the painting of the house we grew up in on Rouser Road tonight, and added Mom and Dad at the back door all bundled up against the snow carrying groceries. I left it kind of ambiguous as to who they were, so anyone can imagine anyone there since they're so bundled up.

I'm going to e-mail it out tomorrow morning. no one wrote back after I sent it the first time.


Thursday the 18th
Brock called me from New Orleans this afternoon, and reminded be of all the fun we used to have in San Diego. He's my hero, he did exactly what I would've done. His family was wiped out by Katrina and he dropped everything, sold his business and used every cent to help the people he loved.

The only thing is it hurt so much to know that I'll never have that life again. Brian and I used to love flying his business jet, laying over in Las Vegas' McClaren. I ache sometimes that I could never reach back and live it again. Like the time I flew Betsy to Las Vegas to gamble for a few hours and give her a good time that she deserved.

The heart meds aren't working as well as they did before, I get dizzy and sort of stagger around the house, it scares me so much I'm afraid to go outside where I might plow into the concrete face first again.

When I went out yesterday, I actually walked in the grass instead of the sidewalk "just in case".

The antidepressants aren't working as well either. I guess I'll have to make that appointment with the psychiatrist about upping my dosage. I blew up at my sister in Pittsburgh today. Oh I meant every word, I just could've found a more diplomatic way to have said what I said. At least I didn't use the analogy of a vulture circling overhead waiting for me to die.

I feel so all alone today...

I've got to get busy working on a pill inventory for my next year's spreadsheet... well that's something, at least I still expect to be alive next year.


Sunday the 21st
I'm starting to get scared. The dizzy spells when I lose my balance are becoming more frequent. I spent most of yesterday either sleeping or working on preparing my 2009 spreadsheet. I've got only $157 left in checking after I paid January rent. This sucks. Thank god my car insurance is paid up for 6 months... Now all I have to be scared of is the electric bill.

I wish Santa Clause would send me a lover so I wouldn't have to be alone-God it's been about five years. I'm not talking sex here, I'm talking companionship and being the most important person in someones life.

Christmas is the hardest of all, because I wish I had enough to help out my friends in need like I used to. The humiliating thing is I'm the one in need now.

Yesterday was my Aunt Margaret's birthday-dear god she's 61, I hope I'm not the only one that remembered to call her.

We had a hell of an ice storm yesterday, I'm worried about my brother in Seattle. He drives a bus for a living and they got slammed with a snow/ice storm. I e-mailed him yesterday and reminded him he doesn't have a license to use a city bus in the demolition derby... I hope he got the good-natured joke.

I'm getting reaction to the Christmas card I made of the house we grew up in... but not really what I hoped for. I seem to be the only one in the whole family that has good memories of that house.



Monday the 22nd
It's gotten dangerously cold today, with wind chills as low as -15 degrees. I'd planned to hit the social security office today but couldn't get out. I've also got to get a code for returning the crap watch Amazon sent instead of the one I ordered.

I spent I lot of time thinking about suicide today; not mine, but of others that came before me. I guess the first person I ever knew who did was Michael Plake. The reason(s) he did aren't important, only that he did. I'm sitting here next to his piano, I used to think it was haunted. In gold leaf I had a little "in memory of" put on the name plate in front of the keys. It's a 1908 Winter & Company upright grand piano, which means it turned a hundred years old this year. That I see it every day when I sit down in front of this computer in my den is maybe what triggered such a gray day.

I'm told he took a bunch of pills, Put on Tod Rudgren, tied a garbage bag over his head and left this world for the next. I had two friends named Casey and K.C., one I loved, but I was still getting over my first love, so I was afraid to tell him so. K.C. died in a car accident before I admitted how I really felt about him. I had him semi-moved in to my apartment... and my heart. His heartless parents refused to allow me to go to his funeral, then changed their mind. At the time I arrived at the funeral home, they used his key to raid my apartment of anything that might be his, leaving me with nothing but regretful memories and a blue plaid shirt.

Casey went on to be a model, and very prominent in the adult movie industry. After he made his fortune, he moved back to New York and tried to make it on Broadway, and when that didn't work out he moved to his home state of Florida. A few months later he found out he had AIDS and put a gun in his mouth, that's back in the 80s when AIDS was a death sentence without the drugs they have now. I didn't find out until later.

Back when I had the capital in 2004, I lent a friend $45,000 to fix the roof of a popular bar he'd opened with a lot of hope after it was inspected and not up to code in Chicago. When local gangs started "fag-bashing" and knifing tires in his parking lot, he realized he couldn't pay me back. In early 2005 he called to find out how I was and when he found out how bad off I was, he tried for a few months to try to come up with a payment that I told him not to worry about... and he killed himself too.

Thinking of what their acts effected their loved ones, proves how bad an idea it was for each of them. I'm hoping I don't follow in their footsteps...



Tuesday the 23rd
I braved the cold and a prayer was answered for my car battery and she started right up. Wind chills are still in the negatives today. I went up to Wal-Mart and put in a stock of supplies.

I got a call today from Dr. S-heart's office, and after my appointment with Dr. Arm/knee on Monday, I should have a pretty good idea of when my open heart-triple bypass is. Now all I have to do is worry about whether or not I'll be getting disability because of all the confusing letters I've gotten from them.

I sent out e-mails about my watch, Watch Island is trying to say they're sold out of the particular watch I ordered, and tried to claim that the watch they sent was identical just a different color, which it wasn't by any stretch of the imagination. I threatened to write an article at BC about the whole experience and lo and behold, they said they were refunding my money, I could keep the watch that they finally admitted that they'd sent by mistake, and they'd get in touch with me when the one I wanted was available. I suspect it'll be $125 instead of the marked down price that Amazon.com quoted me.

groan

Christmas is getting closer and closer. With the imbalance in my brain causing the depression and all the prescriptions I'm taking, their interreactions are causing me to lose my temper at the slightest excuse. I've nearly cracked my keyboard in half twice just since I started this entry, because the delete key gets activated somehow and starts wiping out the following sentence, instead of adding to the beginning of it. This unpredictibility means spending another Christmas alone. It sucks being alone.

I have no choice, with the outburst of anger from them delaying my Cymbalta over a month and my trashing my apartment in a fit of rage, not only am I too weak to haul junk out to the dumpster on the opposite end of the complex, but I'm also too weak to clean up the disaster I created without colapsing in exhaustion or nearly passing out, so I'd be embarrassed to have guests here anyway.

Last night the dream was of my own voice crying out, "I don't want to be alone any more, I can't take being alone any more."

I'd finally gotten my life together over the last ten years with lots of friends, parties and trips all over the country, and now god has picked me up and put me back where I started.

I don't know if I have the strength to fight my way back up again.

Now that I know the aproximate date I'll have the open heart surgery, (between the 20th and the 25th) I'm afraid of dying again too.

I want to scream out "I can't do this any more!"



Wednesday the 24th
At 7AM I came close to crying for the first time in a long time. While going through the news, I was dealt another blow.

There were three loves of my early life, the house on Rouser Road (torn down in '68) the Greater Pittsburgh International airport (torn down and replaced in the late 90s and my love of cars... Specifically Pontiacs.

I grew up in an era where you only had to glance at a car to not only know its make, its model and its year, but its pedigree. Now it looks like the impossible may happen... again.

With the crisis in the auto industry, "more than just rumors" are flying around that Pontiac may suffer the same fate as Oldsmobile. My parents had Pontiacs all through my youth; my father even considered a brand new '73 Competition Orange GTO a family car. While working at a McDonald's as a janitor in my youth in Barberton OH, my co-workers secretly bought me an Oldsmobile 442 as a Christmas gift.

Three weeks before Christmas I was riding a 10-speed back and forth to work, and they decided to get me a car (that my sister Betsy somehow kept a secret was amazing). They began hinting around about what my first car would be and I immediately responded a Pontiac...

...this threw them into a panic. They immediately sold the 442 and bought an 8-year old Pontiac Lemans Sport. I loved that car so much and kept it running for another 11 years. I feel as crushed as I did when I was told I needed triple bypass surgery next month.

What else from my youth can disappear?

--------

Noon, the local newscast is broadcasting reports of Santa's progress in Australia. They're also doing recipes for Christmas treats, and it reminded me of the Gay Crisis shelter I helped build for teen that'd been heartlessly thrown out of their parent's house just for being gay. I used to spend days in my kitchen making cookies and treats. One day I cooked two turkeys and a bunch of mashed potatoes. I thought nothing of blowing $5-600 for one meal with them.

The city is in bad financial state and closed the shelter last month, along with 15 after-school recreation centers. It makes me sad to think about the smiles I used to bring to people. The director used to scream "Grab your toys and warn the men, the Pizza queen is here again!" as I'd show up with 30-40 Domino's pizzas at the door on Christmas evening, and then later they were Donatos.

Any reminder of Christmas hurts so much I want to cry, but can't, though I feel it welling up inside of me without any outlet or release. As little as two years ago I had the best Christmas display out on my balcony, now I didn't even put a wreath out on my door. The only thing out there is bags of garbage that I'm to weak to tote out to the dumpster.

Friends and family would be able to see how much I'm hurting, so I'm refusing any offer of a visit from anyone.



Thursday the 25th
I spent a lot of the last few days fighting off these anger/rages that come on without warning. It's one of the things that cause me to keep my friends away without explanation. Now that Dr. Heart's office has given me a 60 day window for my open heart surgery, fear-of-dying-adrenaline is playing hell with my brain chemistry. We've been trying to rebalance my prescriptions, but nothing seems to work, so I'm more and more alone and isolated.

What a time for Dr. Mind to take two weeks off for the holidays.

It hurts how much I used to look forward to Christmas months in advance, and now I dread it. I tried unsuccessfully to stay up all day and night yesterday, hoping to sleep all through today, but it didn't work.

Vicki and Don next door have their kids and grandkids over. Happy news, they seem to have gotten back together, at least for the holidays. I've spent the last 10-15 Christmases with them until this year. Now I don't dare make a sound, in case they hear me and invite me over. I hate to think what a thoughtless outburst could do to damage our friendship, so I'm laying low and quiet.

Their little kids keep bursting out of their door screaming in glee and running up and down the hallway playing with a toy car or a basketball. A couple of times I've wanted to shout angrily for them to shut up, so I know I have to keep away from everyone, and maybe not even answer the phone. Betsy's called me twice-She always gets answered. She has to work today at her Oregon prison. She's one person I feel safe with; her and Aunt Margaret. Last night I burned 6 sub buns in 3 sets because every time I'd put them in the toaster oven, someone would call from a doctor's office. I was short with Betsy on the last set, and apologized later for it.

Christmas dinner will be a box of stovetop stuffing with a can of Swanson's turkey meat mixed in, and a can of Diet Dr. Pepper. As a diabetic I shouldn't, but the bland diet minus sugar (diabetis) and salt (heart) just isn't going to make it today.

I almost wished I'd die in my sleep last night, but then thought better of it, it'd ruin the holiday for my family and friends to link the two events together.

The lesser of the two evils I guess is to stay alone in my self-inflicted isolation. Brenda e-mailed 7that she's sending me something for Christmas... bless her. It'll probably be the only present I get this year, and I'd be afraid to thank her on the phone for fear of what I might say, so I guess I'll e-mail. A lot less personal, but much safer.

Ho Ho Ho bah humbug...



Friday the 26th
11AM. I called Teresa this morning and made arrangements for her to come and check on the cat. I also offered her the last of my cash stash to come over and help me clean. After I get the spreadsheet programmed, I'll have the computer take care of sending out checks to the utilities and car payments.

I'm going to have to check with the lawyer about the will etc, and make sure my landlord knows that no one but Teresa may enter my apartment while I'm out for any reason what-so-ever. I tried to get ahold of Social Security Wednesday and everyone seems to have taken the week off for the holiday, so there's no sense in trying to go today, so I'll have to make a day of it Monday, since I have all of my doctors appointments anyway. I e-mailed GB about my heart and knee, but on one responded, so they're probably still out too.

When the triple bypass surgery was just a concept, I passed it off as no big thing, but now that it's a reality, I'm scareder than I thought I'd be since they nailed the date down to Jan 23rd.

I've got the weekend to get things in order before all the preoperative stuff starts. oy



Saturday the 27th
I was bombarded with mail today, none of which I understand, and there's so much of it, I'm having trouble comprehending it.

First, my sister Char was sweet enough to send me $100 today, and Brenda sent me a $20 in a Christmas card; god love them both. The electric bill due the 30th is for $126.80. That's how my life goes, damn it.

I went to Wal-Mart to get groceries and was floored when it came to $104 because I needed an ink cartridge for my printer to print out all these notices hoping Dr. Mind can help me comprehend them

I've gotten 5 half-inch-thick medicare books, apparently from the same company, but with different client numbers. I've started reading them and can't understand a word. I'm most worried because Social Security has started deducting over $100 a month from my disability checks so that instead of $487 I'll only getting $380 or so a month. I can't make heads nor tails of if I can be saved by Medicaid; every time I contact them or SS Disability, I get a different amount I owe them or what my monthly check will be, and every time I try to contact them, the monthly check gets less and less.

This stress both emotional and physical is tearing me apart to the point where I can't function. On top of all that, GB is demanding that I go to doctors of their choosing to confirm that I'm still hurt enough to be eligible for workman's comp payments, and want me to see some doctor the first week of January, in the middle of trying to get to the heart clinic, WorkHealth clinic and all the appointments I have to be at regarding my knee and my heart. On top of that they're demanding that I go there instead of seeing Dr. Mind Wednesday after next, even though I'll have not seen her for two weeks by then.

They're adding stress to every aspect of my life by constantantly demanding I be here there and everywhere at least once a month, when it used to be only once every two or even three months. That means hassles when prescriptions are only written a month at a time, and unauthorized when they're "reviewing" my case.

I keep getting letters from "Chrysler" saying the warrantee on my car is expired, even though I confirmed with my dealership that it hasn't. No matter how many people I tell this to, they won't stop sending me "final notices" and bills for coverage I'm getting free.

I go to sleep and can't, I'm having chest pains that only the nitro glycerin pills seem to help. My cardiologists seem to be delaying my operation because they don't know if Medicare or Medicaid is going to pay for the damned thing or not, and as long as all of this is going on, I can't get my left eye operated on so I can see out of it... probably for months

On top of all that, with the angry outbursts that seem to come out of me without warning, I have forced myself to suffer this alone... I mean really alone, because I'm afraid of pushing away what few friends I have left.

God, I need Dr. Mind, and I won't see her for at least another ten days. I hope I can hold out. I'm really fucking up bad, because I've started hoarding medicines and cutting pills in half because GB can and has in the past taken away the prescription help at any moment without warning, and I can't afford full price of close to $275-300 in pills a month.

I'm probably killing myself by not taking pills that I should be, but what choice do I have? As it is I'm eating cheap food loaded with sugar and salt, because it's all I can afford, and with the threat of not getting a disability check in January, I'm back to one meal a day until I'm sure.

I'm so afraid of it sometimes, but there are times like now when taking my own life would be the most painless way out.

Though I'm still too much of a coward to do it.



Sunday the 28th
Got an e-mail from Brenda, she says she reads this every day, I don't know why, but somehow only now did it hit me that people that I actually know read this. It got me to thinking about why I'm writing it here instead of privately... probably because every journal I've ever kept by hand or on computer turned into a "once in a while thing" where I'm pretty much keeping this one every day.

I think it came down to, that when I think about death, I've become more and more convinced that I'll just go into nonexistance-nothing no suffering, no passage of time, no conscious awareness past that last heartbeat, and that maybe no one will ever know I was here. This forum is a little more long lasting, and it's better than a tombstone, as long after I'm gone, it'll still be here, and would go a hell of a lot farther to explain who I was than a name briefly glimpsed and then forgotten on an unfamiliar grave marker... especially if I wind up cremated.

My father's computer is on top of the piano beside me. I've removed the hard drive and will be destroying his journals before they can hurt someone. Why he decided to torture me with the responsibility is anyone's guess, but I will carry out that last task before I go.

Affairs with women in West Virginia, trists with women in Florida and Germany, claiming to be on a supply mission to Viet Nam, all the while in a woman's bed in New York. Hateful things written not only about me, but everyone in our family. How he conned my uncle out of tens of thousands of dollars, only to lose it all in the stock market and gambling in Las Vegas.

I don't know, maybe he thought I'd gleefully distribute copies to everyone to spite him, not thinking ahead to how much pain it'd cause to so many people. I'm sure that's why my mom and sister are so determined to be here in my absence while I'm in the hospital, but that hard drive will be baked in the oven to destroy the data, then discarded in an undisclosed dumpster before I let that happen. They may think of me as the unwanted, unloved, pervert and evil bastard of the family, but I care about the effect it'd have on them despite that.

.......

I woke up this morning at 7:05AM and couldn't tell if it was morning or evening. Shortly after I started working on my 2009 financial spreadsheet. Things are going to be tough the first couple of months financially until I get the Disability check thing figured out, but I have one savior; while I'm in the hospital for several weeks, Medicare will be buying my food and drugs. If I time it right and pick up my prescriptions just before I go in for the heart operation on the 25th, I could pick up a month in unused pills towards the security of not worrying if GB is going to suddenly cut me off, or social security.

Anyway I stayed awake til just past 11AM and got really drowsey, so I had to go back to bed. I don't know if it's physical effects from Depression, or my heart. Either way I've unwillingly gone back to sleeping 6 hours and being awake 6, which means a lot of times I don't know what day it is because humans have a tendency to consider the last time they were awake as "yesterday" which doesn't work in my case.

I've got to remember to set the clock radio for the doctor's appointment about my arm, and remember to ask for the x-ray to take with me to the GB exam.

I'm back to writing complex math formulas in spreadsheet cells, and it makes me miss the "good ole days" when I did it for a living, and making some good money from small businesses and friends. What makes me feel even better is that I'm doing them in my head instead of on paper.

...in some ways I've still "got it" anyway.



Monday the 29th
I went over my medicare/medicaid paperwork and still can't make heads nor tails of it. I've begun to suspect that companies that aren't officially with either one are sending me junk mail, hoping I'll use their card, and I'll have to suddenly pay a bunch of fees I wasn't aware of.

I have to see Dr. Foot/arm at 1:20 then do a bunch of other errands, I'll also have to deposit Char's check so it'll clear before the check to the electric company get's cashed. My whole life I've never bounced a check, I won't start now.

Dr. Foot/Arm says my arm is completely healed.
That encouraged a smile out of me.
Then he told me that GB has been on his office to sign a statement saying that I wouldn't survive the knee operation after my heart operation, and asked him to say there was no point in doing the knee because of it, and to declare me "MMI" which is maximum medical improvement...

...Mind you my leg still looks like a clock that reads 7 O'clock/

She sent me an e-mail this morning informing me that since I'm still considered an employee of "the pizza shop" that they have programs that might be able to assist me... I almost fell for it, until she added that I was to contact her immediately if I even try to call them... which sounds like yet another plot to dump me from their payroll. These are the same people that forced me to put in 15/5 applications a week in order to continue getting my checks-BECAUSE THEY IMPLIED I WASN'T AN EMPLOYEE!!! and I was instructed more than once to say "no" when asked if I were currently employed on my applications.

Time to talk to my lawyer again.

Anyway, Dr. Knee says I should make it through the heart surgery stuff just fine, and then to contact him about my knee afterward. He also might just recommend the artificial knee after all.

I feel really betrayed for trusting the woman at GB who keeps sending me warm friendly e-mails, only to find out she's trying to stab me in the back. Now all I have to do is figure out a way to calm down and lower my blood pressure.

I may come through this not trusting anyone ever again... especially after learning some time ago that Dr. Mind is being forced to turn over her notes to GB/Workman's comp. How can I possible get any positive results from seeing a shrink if it's obvious that what I'm telling her is being broadcast to a bunch of strangers, looking for any tiny excuse to dump me high and dry?

I don't goddamned believe it... on second thought I do. Wal-Mart just called to say my doctor faxxed them a prescription for my vitamins. It should be free under medicaid, so I asked if they were, he said no, because I'm no longer covered. I said I was covered under Medicare part D (at over $100 a month I damned well better be), he said that particular drug (vitamins??????) isn't covered under part D, and that I'd have to pay for it.

I told him to put them back on my profile, and I'd straighten it out the next time I came in with all my new cards. I have this sinking feeling I won't be able to get my January prescriptions. It's a toss up if I'm going to cry or put my fist through a wall, and I can feel my mental state crumbling, worrying what's going to happen next?


Tuesday the 30th
Finally got myself together enough to drive all the way out to Ohio State's traffic division this afternoon to pay the parking ticket, only to find that Dr. Mind was wrong; her appeal was on the computer, and I'd be notified sometime in a few weeks if I have to pay it and if I can buy a permit, so I can park.

A jackass named JOM who's a thorn in my side commenter at BlogCritics Magazine has resurfaced again as "Hope and Change", spewing ultra-rightwing, false, and misleading bullshit all over the place. Fortunately I haven't published an article in a while, so he's doing it on other's less deserving. At least I'm finding a healthy outlet for my rages.

I'm trying to make arrangements for getting help while I'm in the hospital with feeding Mischief and making sure she's not left alone. I'm never sure about T until she actually does it. She's never let me down, but I don't know until that day.

I must be jealous because she has a life and I don't...
..............

Well, now that the news is out, I can say that the first of our family has been hit by the economy. My nephew B is a gulf war vet, who came home to only be able to find work as a mechanic (despite big promises made and broken by the military about post service education and help; My younger brother-who is also a gulf veteran, (whom I'm very proud of) is a city bus driver in Seattle for the same reason-not that there's anything wrong with that, but it's not what was expected coming out of 20 years service.) My sister B called me wanting to know if I had any suggestions on how to help him, since I'm closest to where he lives and it hurt like hell to admit that I couldn't, as I'm usually ready and able until recently to help anyone in need.

There was talk of him coming here and taking care of me after my heart surgery next month, but I didn't think it'd work out as I'll require someone with EMT or better training, and I only have one bedroom. That and his ex-wife doing everything she can think of to make trouble for him. He was screwed over by a boss who did faulty work on a car, and B suffered the consequences for pointing it out to the customer after he returned to complained... now they've both lost their jobs.

I love every one of my family, despite their feelings towards me.

Five years ago I'd have mailed him a check for at least $500 so he can get home to Oregon, now I can't spare 10. This sucks so bad...

...I'm going to go to bed tonight and ask God a few questions... Well, I'm going to use what little faith I have left to pose a few inquiries.

Why give me the talent to create great art, only to take away my state of mind needed to create it?

Why give me the opportunities to accumulate some wealth and success only to have them vanish before my eyes. The ability to help out friends financially, to help out family that I care for without asking anything in return, to do great things financially in my community, only to watch it slip through my fingers.

Why give me the ability to create a great body, that opened doors on the west coast for wonderful opportunities, only to see it disolve away before anyone could see it?

Why take what peace of mind I have away from me?

Why give me so many close friends that I cared about, partied with and cared for, only to see them all be forced to move away?

I used to be able to feel god's love. I remember my righteous anger at people who said I should fear god instead of love him... now it's gone.

How can I keep living, if I'm losing the fear of death?

I'm losing my sanity; sometimes I can feel it, and yet there's the old Jet inside of me compartmentalized in some safe place where I can pull him out when I write an article, or have a political fight with someone on BC... but why can't I get him to stay?

It's like the nightmare I used to have where my old self from 1988 comes forward in time and sees me now with my heart conditions, my depression and my loss of confidence and decides he doesn't want to see that future for himself, so he puts a gun in his mouth, and I wake up screaming.

I used to be able to ride a 10-speed 10 miles a day to and from work without breaking a sweat winter, spring, summer or fall... Now I can't walk to my car without gasping for breath.

I've relied on my faith in God to get me through the tough times, making it a point to thank him for the good times and the strength to endure the bad times.

...why?

Friday, November 14, 2008

November 2008

Saturday November 1st – Tuesday Nov. 11th
The first days of this month were hell. Like the end game of Tetris, things started falling on me faster than I could handle them, so I didn’t. In fact I just sort of left reality for a while. But somehow some mental defense mechanism has made me forget most of it. I know that because of this my aunt panicked and thought I’d died or gone into the hospital, also my friend Brenda had similar thoughts and contacted my whole family by e-mail to see if any of them had heard from me.

I love that they cared enough to be concerned, the depression makes me feel as if no one cares.

I still have to fill out the paperwork rejecting having to pay over $120 a month for Medicare B, C, D. because I can’t afford that much out of my disability checks. I start to fill them out and “What’s the use?” overwhelms me. I’m still worried that if one of them doesn’t still cover my prescriptions coming up this Saturday I could be looking at paying $250+ for pills.

I’ve been trying to reach my caseworker at Jobs and Family services about my Medicaid and change of income, but with no luck (her voicemail is always full) I know that as soon as I do, my social security will go back up because I’m not paying for Medicare, but at the same time they’ll reauthorize paying for Medicare. Then when they see my disability checks go back up because I’m not paying Medicare, they’ll drop me for being over the limit and making too much money.

I really wonder why I keep fighting to keep my sanity.

Gas prices are falling through the floor again after peaking above $4.25 a gallon, now they’re dropping down to $1.89 in some places. I still think Bush gave his oil buddies inside information about the “Stimulus checks” so they could gouge as much money out of us as they could, knowing it’d all go into our gas tanks… and their pockets.

I called my Allstate agent about saving money on my insurance and he gave me a pretty good deal, but I’d have to put over $600 up front, and have to pay every 6 months instead of monthly in order to see any savings.

Went to the heart failure clinic on the 10th and they said my lab work looked good. Without Medicaid I’m worried who’s going to pay those lab bills.

Wednesday November 12th
I’m still putting off getting my license plates, mostly because I can’t afford a year’s worth of plates I’ve already paid for, then again, Huntington warned my current plates are invalid. It dawned on me that Work Health (workman’s comp)’s exam usually falls on the same day as the Heart Failure clinic appointment, so I called them and sure enough I’d missed my appointment. I rescheduled for this Friday.

If I don’t go, GB uses it as an excuse to cut off my Comp checks.

Dr. Mind says I don’t have anything to worry about on that front, but I know that if they cut me off, it’ll take weeks to get it straightened out, like it did the beginning of this year. On the same front, she told me that she relented and had to turn her notes over to Workman’s Comp/GB. I really don’t feel right about some stranger reading about my problems.


Thursday November 13th
I’m having trouble sleeping. My chest pain and trouble breathing prompted me to try a nitroglycerin tablet under my tongue. After about 5 minutes it worked. My chest is still tight all night long. No matter what I try I’m still not able to sleep until around 5 in the morning. My whole sleep schedule is out the window, because I get drowsy around 1 in the afternoon and again around 9PM… then I wake up around 1 in the morning and can’t fall asleep again and the cycle starts over again.


Friday November 14th
Went to Work Health appointment this afternoon-she authorized me to see a psychiatrist about changing my depression meds, or the amount of the prescription. I hate those things, because I have to walk into a total stranger’s office and convince them in half an hour that “I’m depressed.”

Afterward I drove over to the Short North post office and mailed Betsy a package. I bought her a Haynes manual on her Jeep Grand Cherokee, a Rubik’s cube and Rubik’s revenge, 30 of my prescription Percocets for her foot pain, because the damned things cause all kind of nasty side effects to me, (dry mouth, phantom pains,) and the talking alarm clock like the one I have. Why, because I’d bought them for her last Christmas, but didn’t have the money to ship them, this one package cost over $10.

I’m still having trouble sleeping, and I feel exhausted all the time. I have a feeling my heart is expanding again and pressing against my lungs. At night if it gets too tight to breath, I find if I sit up it eases. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I’m still having nightmares every night, but fortunately I don’t remember what they were about, only that I’m grateful that my neighbors aren’t complaining about the noise.


Saturday November 15th
I’ve noticed that after the toilet flushes; I don’t hear water running back into the tank. The next time I have to use it, it works fine, so who am I to argue? This apartment has turned into
something I’m really ashamed of, and I don’t dare let anyone in. I don’t know whom else I can contact about coming out to clean for me, because I can’t afford it. I feel like I’m going to pass out just walking all the way in back to the dumpster, and carrying something there is even worse.


Sunday November 16th
I took the top off the toilet tank after it didn’t flush and discovered a tiny trickle coming out of the valve that refills it. Having no clue what I was doing I began wiggling things and muttering to myself, but nothing worked. I switched to cussing under my breath, but that didn’t work either, but I felt better. I reached down and opened the wall valve from the water supply to full blast and nothing happened.

Heaving a sigh of frustration, I closed the valve all the way, and out of curiosity opened it back up again, and lo and behold the toilet tank started filling like there was nothing wrong with it. I flushed it and after it emptied, it wouldn’t refill again. More or less out of not knowing what else to do, I reached down and closed and then opened the wall valve and it started filling again.

These things only happen to me.

Until I can get the place clean enough for visitors, that’s how I’m going to have to operate the thing. I think there’s a flaw in the flap that keeps the water in the tank and the fill valve can’t keep up with it, so I’m going to have to flush, then shut off the valve and leave the tank empty until I need it, and let it refill while using it the next time.

This is like my TV when the speaker audio went out on it. I found that by turning on my surround sound system, it’ll process the sound from some other amp in the tv. It doesn’t make sense, but it works… except when I forget to shut the damned thing off and it’s on all night-oh it still works, but I cringe at what the electric bill will look like.

Betsy it talking about coming out from Oregon to take care of me, but I can’t afford the airfare, still I can’t afford a visiting nurse either.


Monday November 17th
I went over for my 6-week check up on my arm. Dr. P says it’s healing really great, and he’s proud of the progress his new system produced. He was a bit concerned about how pale I looked. I figured it was my heart getting weaker, or the lack of sleep lately.

He hit me with GB writing and calling him to find out if my heart operation could possibly keep him from doing my knee, and if it was possible to do the knee first. He assured me, he was right in there fighting for me, but I have the impression they’re still looking for any excuse to cut off my checks until the knee is operated on.

Just one more thing to obsess and worry about. He gave me two x-rays to take home as a souvenir.


Tuesday November 18th
Last night’s nightmare had something to do with my attackers chasing and then running me down with my own car. I think it might have something to do with the news media lately covering Somalian pirates hijacking huge oil tankers and cargo ships off their coast. (My three attackers were Somalian)

It’s getting really cold outside, I’m worried about my heating bill. Lately my lower legs or hands are ice cold to the touch, but I don’t notice them until I reach down and touch them.


Friday November 21st
I spent most of the morning sorting my October paperwork, October bills, and October correspondences into my hanging desk folders. I came across a blue postcard saying I was due at Dr. S-Outpatient’s office at 1:45PM, which would’ve been an hour from then. This would be a good excuse to ask his social worker if she could translate all the notices from the county and Social Security and maybe figure out a way to get my checks back up to where they should be.

I got there just barely in time, and the doctor’s receptionist said I was supposed to have been there at 1PM, so I showed her the appointment card; she frowned at it, and then showed me that it said I was supposed to be there at 1:45 October 21st…… October? Uh this is November.

I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. I went over to the social worker’s office in the waiting room, and her head was spinning just as fast as mine.
Here’s the vicious circle I’m trapped in…

1. The county determines I’m making too much monthly income and withdraws their help co-paying my Medicare premiums; even though I’m making the same as when
they approved me.

2. Social security sees that the county has stopped paying
the Medicare premiums, and reduces my disability checks by over $110 a month,
directly deducting the premiums from my checks.

3. With my checks/income
suddenly $110+ less a month, I’m now qualified to receive help from the county
Medicaid, and they start paying my Medicare premiums.

4. Social Security sees that Medicaid is paying my premiums for Medicare part B,C, and D and stops deducting the Medicaid premiums from my checks.

5. Medicaid sees that my income has increased by $110+ a month, and determines that I’m making too much per month to qualify for help with my Medicare premiums.

6. See #1

On top of all that, I’m told that due to a clerical error my checks fell from $484 to $424 and after the Medicare premiums, it fell to $328 a month.

The only thing that the social worker can suggest is that I try to arrange a joint appointment with both Social Security and County jobs and family services (Medicaid provider) at the same time.

I came home feeling as helpless to solve the problem as when I went in.

I got on the computer and ordered my medications to be picked up at Wal-mart and hoped Medicare covered it since Medicaid has stopped. I went up to Family Pharmacy and picked up my Cymbalta, then over to Wal-Mart and relieved that the bill was only $18 or so.

What next?


Saturday November 22nd
Ohio State beat the living hell out of Michigan yesterday. I’ve never cared that much about college football, but in Columbus it’s the only game in town, and once you’ve lived here a few months, you’ll notice that the streets and expressways suddenly go empty the moment an Ohio State game starts. It’s nearly impossible not to get infected with “Buckeye Fever.”

After the game and the cheering was over, I suddenly felt so alone. As more and more Christmas decorations go up, I get more depressed. I used to have the best display in the city, and my Xmas tree in lights on my balcony could be seen a mile away. My joy in the holiday was secretly helping friends out anonymously, now I’m the one needing help.

I’m looking at open-heart surgery with no way to pay for it, Thanksgiving and Christmas alone, and two knee operations. I’m constantly worried about GB cutting off my workman’s comp checks without warning, like they did at the beginning of this year, and my not noticing until a week or so later because they’re directly deposited into my account.

Sometimes I hope I don’t survive the heart operation…


Tuesday November 25th
I wish I knew, or could understand what’s happening to me lately. I want the “me” that I was before Nov. 2008, and even though I know that’s not possible, I keep reaching.

I’m this cheerful joking guy in the comments section of BC, and also this guy sitting naked at my computer terminal, trying to stay numb to everything that’s happening around me. I’m afraid to even walk around my apartment for fear of falling. I have dreams of taking all my pills and laying across some railroad track.

Everything’s a contradiction. If death is just a continuation of the state you were in before birth, then what do I have to be afraid of? And yet, I’m too strong willed to give up the fight.

The troubling things are when I’m driving and half an hour later I have no idea how I got there, or the time I almost drove to Indiana without knowing it. I can’t trust my own mind any more.

I don’t look, I don’t feel, I don’t act like I did before. So many times I hear myself saying, “I can’t do this any more” in frustration.

… and then I go on line, maybe make a few comments here and there, and I feel better… for a while.

I wish I could make sense of it all.


…I wish


Thanksgiving... Thursday November 27th
I remember when I used to love the holiday season. I’d just be coming off the holiday client artwork for Christmas, Valentine’s Day ads, Washington White Sales and what I used to like to refer to jokingly as George Birthington’s Wash Day Sales.

As I’ve spent more and more time alone instead of with a bunch of cheerful friends clustered around barhopping, Christmas shopping and partying. Last year was the first in over 20 that I didn’t put my Xmas tree in lights up on my balcony because of my heart problems. I ended up in heart surgery Dec 28th.

Usually Vicki next door invites me over for the meal, but no word from her this year. She took a bad fall like I did, and may be unable to cook this year and is spending it at her daughter’s. In any case I’ll be alone.

I thought of whipping up something frozen or out of a box that’d vaguely resemble a turkey dinner, but frankly a diabetic is pretty much banned from just about everything you eat for thanksgiving and it wouldn’t be the same without cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, stuffing and all that pumpkin and pecan pie. I start to whimper just thinking about it. Last year I combined stove top stuffing with a can of Swanson chicken… it just wasn’t the same.

About now I’d be on my satellite on-line plotting out a route to friend’s houses at three in the morning Christmas Eve for my anonymous secret Santa drops of goodies and toys or a couple bags of staple groceries.

Now that’s impossible.

I think I’ll concentrate on a bunch of DVDs that’ll make me laugh and distract me from today’s scheduled funk; after all it’s worked the last three years.

I still haven’t heard a single word from Dr. S-heart about when he wants to schedule my triple by-pass. After Dr. P-arm/knee cleared me for the heart procedure.

My arm’s healing very nicely, though it’s damn near impossible not to pick at it the scabs.

After he told me what GB did, asking him for an excuse to delay the surgery, I have that ax hanging over my head that they could cut me off financially without warning again.

Bah Humbug
-----------------
After four days of only being able to sleep no more than two hours a night, I slept through Thanksgiving, with little two hour breaks of being drowsy and trying to rattle around the apartment, then back to bed.

Finally around 10PM I got up and had to eat something to balance the insulin, so I tossed two Salisbury steak dinners in the microwave.

Happy thanksgiving.



Friday November 28th
Everyone's out shopping, me; I'm fighting a nose bleed for the last two hours shoving wads of paper towels up my nose. I spend most of the morning on-line trying to find a watch similar to the one that got broken, but no luck at any price. All I want is a hybrid analog/digital/alarm/hourly chime chronograph. Apparently they've gone out of style.

Apparently no one wears a watch anymore because everyone carries cell phones.


Saturday November 29th
Spent all night last night trying to get my nose to stop bleeding, shoving paper towels up it and holding pressure to it. Finally stopped around 5AM. My brother sent me a photo of his family and they all look great. My good friend Brenda sent me a bunch of spelling corrections on this blog when I woke up at 3:30 this afternoon. That may sound aggravating but it's not. Like everyone else, if you write something, you can read it a dozen times and since your brain knows what you're trying to say, it just skips over the mistakes and it takes someone who's never read it to catch them. (thanks Bren)...

Fucking hell, I went the whole day and scratched the outside of my nose and the damned thing started bleeding again. I wanted to put in some supplies from Wal-mart before the big snow storm came, but couldn't get out before dark because the fucking thing wouldn't stop bleeding.

It finally stopped around 3 this morning.



Sunday November 30th
I spent most of the morning at Wal-Mart stocking up. I've got to watch my money pretty closely through December because 3/4 of my emergency stash went to the 6-month payment.

I got home around 10AM and wasn't sleepy so I stayed up til around 2:30. Since I couldn't sleep, I designed the new shortcut menu for this page so I don't have to keep rearranging everything so it's in some kind of order and the reader can simply hit "home" and then click to the date range they want to read.

I woke up around 6:30 freezing. When I'd left this morning, I turned the thermostat down to around 60 and forgot to turn it back up. Tomorrow I've got to fill out and sign the new insurance policy, go buy plates for the car (something I should've done months ago, if not for my heart problems, copy all the Disability and Medicaid notices and drop them off in person for my caseworker, since I still can't reach her, and then come home and collapse.

(groan)

I wonder how much of that I'll actually get done?

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

October 2008

Wednesday October 1st
For some reason today, I was thinking about how much I missed my brother. Up until now my mother, oldest sister and brother have been religiously indifferent at best towards me, at times not even acknowledging that we were related. My Pittsburgh sister even went so far as to not tell her current husband and son that I even existed until my father's death. Suddenly all three are insisting that I tell them when the surgery is. Considering that it's at least two months from now so I can stabilize, they'll probably think me a liar (as usual) when I deny knowing the exact date.

I’m trying to side on the premise that they’re worried about losing their heathen brother/son and are genuinely concerned, but my family has a history during such occasions. I'll make friends and get on a warm relationship with one, and we're so worried about it blowing up like a newly found landmine that we usually back off before it (or one of us) blows up. Only my sister in Oregon and my trusted aunt in Pittsburgh accept me for what and who I am.

After sending out a bunch of e-mails about going in for triple bypass surgery to my friends, I re-checked the paperwork and could only find a confirmation appointment with the surgeon on the 9th. I called his office and was told he needed the arm/knee surgeon’s permission to proceed, but I still needed to come into his office for an EKG.

I'm told that when my uncle Wayne died, one of my relatives flew out and descended on his home, and then proceeded to strip it of every valuable he had before my mom even knew he’d died. I felt for her because I knew she must've been heartbroken.

Right after my father’s death in 2006, other family members in effect did the same thing, because due to a legal loophole that said that our minister didn’t have legal sway over dad’s possessions until he’d passed some test so he could become his legal executor, anyone could go in and grab anything out of his house and legally get away with it.

I remember being struck by being told that when an inventory was made of his house, the one that that struck him as unusual was that every bit of cash, even some furniture was stripped from his house. When (and after) the reverend finally got around to finalizing the will, I was invited down in the aftermath, and he gave me a half-full box of photographs that apparently someone had hoarded away, meaning to pick up later… Knowing how concerned about the photos my family was, I called to say I had the old photos and that they were in safe hands. While on the phone with my mother, I could clearly hear in the background as my sister began screaming at the top of her lungs that I was a thief and had stolen them.

Because of my knee and foot, I couldn’t load up my car, so the reverend and his son did it for me, so whatever I have, I have legally… their protests be damned. As a point of fact, I wasn't even aware of most of what he'd given me until I'd driven hundreds of miles back home and unpacked it. The items were his decision as executor, not mine.

Later when I tried to boot up my dad's computer, I discovered the routine had been sabotaged so it couldn't be. I pulled his hard drive, reconfigured it as a storage/slave drive on my own computer, and then discovered that many of his computer files had been accessed... days and weeks after his death/funeral. Some of his diary files were protected by passwords and hidden within system files where no one would think to look for them, so I had the hard drive documented and its files put on dvd/discs so I could read them later. The point here being, someone sat in front of his computer after his death, and when they couldn't find the files I later found (possibly because they knew they were there somewhere) they decided that if they couldn't have them, no one could.

Considering the disdain my oldest sister has always had for me, and how she instilled that into my mother who went to live with her, I can't be less than suspicious when she/they suddenly wanted to come and pray over me. At one time or another they've expressed out-and-out hatred, resentment or disdain, usually ending with them wishing they'd never knew their perverted, and immoral brother.

I fear that the moment I go into surgery, they’ll arrive at my door, insisting that my apartment building manager let them in in an attempt to recover my dad's transcribed diaries off of my computer... they seem to be that obsessed with them. After reading some of them, I can see why. I can think of no other motivation for them to suddenly have such a drastic change of heart and want to be near me in my desperate hour of need.

It’s a terrible thing to think, but they have a track record, and I’ve heard of other incidents... you'll note that no names have been mentioned here for legal reasons, so if the guilty raise hell it's only out of their own guilty conscience. No one else could possibly figure out who I was talking about.

My shrink “Dr. Mind” is gone for two weeks, which means I haven’t seen her for over a month, which might explain the paranoia.


Thursday October 2nd
I guess I better brace myself for another financial disaster, no county health card in the mail, which means no help with the Medicare co-pays and no prescription help.

Nearly puked trying to clean out the fridge, the stench of three-week-old ground chuck while I was in the hospital is overwhelming and I ended up tying a wet towel around my face. Rotting red cabbage heads and assorted veggies all went into a big garbage bag. When I tried to lift it, I knew I was in trouble, because I’d never make it down to the dumpster with it, I’m so weak. I tied it off, put it in another bag, and another, if it’s gets to bad I guess I can carry it out on my balcony to freeze over the winter and worry about it after I have my heart and knee operated on.

Spent the afternoon and pulled everything out of the freezer and wiped the whole fridge down with sanitizer.


Friday October 3rd
I woke up screaming last night. The former me, the 30-year-old muscle me of the mid-80s came into my bedroom, took one look at the “me” that he would become, and pulled a revolver out of his pocket, stuck it in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

I’ve been popping Oxycodone for the arm pain, and the dry-mouth is horrible. It comes on instantly and if a glass of water isn’t near, it’s hell. The garbage bag with the old food in it is expanding. I asked one of the janitor/repair guys if they could lug it down to the dumpster for me, but he hasn’t shown up yet.

I’m in hell, trying to do everything with my left hand. With the entire fridge’s worth of food ruined, I drove one-handed to Wal-Mart. Reaching across myself to shift gears while parking, trying to snap the shoulder harness into its clip with my left hand and worst of all trying to get the key in the ignition with my left hand.

At lease it was warm enough today to cruise around with the top down.

Came home with only a two-day supply because I forgot to take my little two-wheeled basket cart with me, so I had to limit what groceries I could carry up from the car.

Just when I had a hopeless feeling about to overwhelm me, Dr. Mind’s supervisor called me this evening to make sure I was all right. He was great and talked to me for about an hour and a half. I found out later he is in charge of the whole psyche department at Ohio State, and that he’d put everything aside just to talk to me… wow.

I got more mail from the county, Social Security and GB. It’s becoming so overwhelming that I chucked it all into an upper cubbyhole of my desk and slept the evening and into the night.


Sunday October 5th
I finally got around to opening a bunch of mail; Social Security says that due to a clerical error from three years ago, they might be reducing my monthly checks by $60 from $484 to $424. Great; just great. I went the rest of the day in a blue funk, mostly sleeping for a couple hours than up for a few etc. etc. etc.


Monday October 6th
I guess I can’t get pissed off, even if I wanted to on the Cymbalta. I should be having fits. I called Dr. Heart2 to find out if the open-heart surgery is this Thursday only to discover the office appointment was this Thursday. I was on the phone for so long trying to get through to my county caseworker and not succeeding, that I had to reschedule the follow up appointment with Dr. Pfoot for Wednesday. Dr. Mind is out this Wednesday, so that’s okay.

I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to get through the press-this to talk to them, press that-to talk to her, only to get caught in a loop of invalid extensions and full voicemail boxes. Where do I go from here, well either off the balcony or swallowing all of my pills. My disability check will drop again when I have to start paying $125+ for medicare until I fill out the paperwork turning it down because I can’t afford it.


Wednesday October 8th
The appointment at Dr. Pfoot’s was very bizarre. I had about 10 doctors there all wanting to see my xrays and all Ooooos and Ahhhhhs. Apparently a new procedure was used to put my arm back together and I didn’t need the cadaver bones after all; or for that matter, a cast!

He said he wanted to wait an additional 6-weeks before giving permission for my heart surgery.

I’ve been doing stretching exercises to try to limber up the sore muscles. I still can’t reach my mouth with my right hand and a spoon. I’m eating mostly sandwiches and finger food that isn’t good for me.


Thursday October 9th
Dr. S-heart’s office turned out to be way out by Mt. Carmel East Hospital. He explained that my heart is in very bad shape and we have to get it worked on soon or I may die waiting. One chamber in my heart is expanded to a little over twice its size and the muscle that operates it is dead. Sometimes it empties and it takes 2-3 beats to refill before blood goes to the next chamber. That’s what causes the blackouts and faints.

He tells me I’ve got a 17% chance of dying on the table and another 17 that I’ll have a stroke. He has to wait for Dr. P-foot’s permission before he can operate. GB will probably use it as an excuse not to send me workman’s comp checks till my knee is operated on.

I was so distracted with worry and confusion that I nearly ass-ended a car. Why do these things keep happening to me? Driving one-handed is not only painful but dangerous, Thank god I’ve got an automatic transmission, because I could never drive a stick in that much pain. Parallel parking is an adventure of reaching my left hand over my lap to operate the gearshift.


Friday October 10th
Right on cue, GB e-mailed me because I missed my appointment last Monday, and they only have paperwork that would’ve paid me up to Sept 22nd, which means if I can’t get an appointment by Friday, I may actually owe them.

Groan

Dr. Mind’s boss at Ohio State University called this evening to check on me, I gave him the details of how I’m beginning to feel crushed from the load this bullshit about my checks is putting on me. I read him a transcript about a nightmare I had, and we talked a while longer. He’s a really nice guy.

After I got off the phone with him, I felt hungry, but did NOT want to cook, so I shocked myself and went to the local Donatos and ordered two Italian subs… They were sooooooo good.


Saturday October 11th
My mom and sister in Pittsburgh keep bugging me for an exact date of my heart surgery, and when they can’t get an answer from me that they’re satisfied with, they talked my brother in Seattle into trying to sweet-talk it out of me. I hate how suspicious of them I am, but other than very rare occasions, I only seem to get god’s judgment from them. It’s been getting so intense, that I’m beginning to think of them as vultures circling over head, waiting to get their hands on my stuff and the photos I was given by the reverend that they all are so intent in getting.

I can still hear my sister’s voice in the background while I was talking to my mother, calling me a thief at the top of her lungs with as much venom and hatred as she could muster. From that point forward, I don’t think I can trust any friendly overtures she may send my way.

Which is a shame.


Sunday October 12th
I woke up this morning with my upper right arm aching so badly, I broke down and took a Oxycodone. It eased the pain but I suffered from dry-mouth the rest of the day. I’ve been going over my budget, and I don’t dare let my car payment or my rent go late. I got my medical/Medicaid card for October so I guess this’ll be the last time I get help from Medicaid to buy prescriptions.

My arm is feeling a little better. I hope I don’t get hooked on the Oxycodone. Fat chance; the dry mouth leaves such a terrible taste and is almost worse than the pain.

I’m seriously looking at using my handy pill splitter to try to make the medications last. I know it’s wrong, because half doses may not keep the proper amount of drug in my blood stream, but prescriptions could go from $15 a month to well over 200 or maybe even 300.

My eyes feel like they’re burning as if I’m trying to cry-god I wish I could. Never in my worst-case scenarios did I ever think I’d be so bad off that I’d have to choose between eating and my pills. The only way a workable budget is possible is if I reduce myself down to one meal a day.

God I hate this. I crawled up in a fetal ball and slept the rest of the day.


Monday October 13th
Déjà vu, I have an appointment at the heart clinic and one at Work Health (the people that authorize my work comp checks). My heart still sounds okay, I lost about 5 pounds and all my blood levels were okay, except the potassium level, so I had to take two of these god-awful horse pills that make me choke.

I went to Work Health afterward and after taking about the problem with my heart interfering with my leg operation, I filled out the forms and hoped for the best.

I went on line trying to find a duplicate of my watch again… no luck.

I went online to reorder my meds from Wal-Mart for pick up, only to discover all of my insulin prescriptions had expired. I called Dr. S-clinic and got an appointment for Monday to get the prescriptions so I could pick them all up at once.

Friday October 17th
Teresa surprised me with a phone call this morning and in passing, said she’d found my class ring!!! I was so happy, especially after my watch was destroyed in the fall. After I hung up with her, I went and looked, but it wasn’t where she said it was. At least I know it’s here somewhere instead of under my car seat or on a sidewalk somewhere.

I used to be a big fan of “The Four Tops” a Motown group responsible for such hits as “Sugar Pie honey bunch” ect. My old writer “self” is tempted to write up a BlogCritic’s article on him. I fell this afternoon and had to swing myself around so that I didn’t land on my right arm. I couldn’t get up and realized just how trapped I’d be here alone. Eventually I worked my way into the living room, where I have a swivel office chair. I struggled my back onto the seat, then pushed it backward against the couch so I could slide up in it into a seated position. I was panting and exhausted by the time I was able to sit up, so I watched TV for an hour.

Lately I haven’t had an appetite, but if I don’t eat I could make the problem worse. I hate feeling helpless; I hate being alone and friendless because my depression won’t let me deal with only a select few. Sometimes I with I could just die of natural causes and have it over with.

I watched TV and ate a frozen dinner, then went to bed.


Saturday October 18th
I wrote an obituary and submitted it to BC this morning. They were so impressed, they rushed it on to the website. I checked on the comments this evening and part of Levi’s family were so touched, they started using the comments section of the article to communicate with their relatives. I’m really honored. I just wish there was some way to get paid for it.


Monday October 20th
Stopped by the outpatient clinic of Grant Hospital to get my insulin prescription. He wrote it out for 12 months. I just hope my medical card covers it.

Got home this afternoon, more bills etc. I went through them and discovered that Medicare instead of GB is paying Dr. Mind.

I found my class ring. I’ve worn the damned thing for more years than I care to admit to, and I’m just happy to have it back on my finger.



Wednesday October 22nd
After searching the Internet again high and low I still couldn’t find a replacement for my watch. It’s a hybrid analog and digital with an alarm, chronograph and hourly chime. I’ve got to be out and about today so I took it with me hoping some clerk would say they had something like it.

Went to my first session with Dr. Morrison in about a month and a half today. I took all the paperwork with me concerning GB, Work Health, and Social Security, and she couldn’t make heads or tails of it. I’m reluctant to pour out my heart to her, now that GB is making her turn over her notes on our sessions to her. I don’t see how she can help unless I’m completely open with her.

Afterwards, I made a trek out to Westland Mall, where I first bought the watch and I couldn’t believe my eyes. At first I thought the whole mall was closed but Sears was open, so I tried there first. The cheapest watch they had was over $400.

Unfortunately the mall doesn’t have motorized handicapped carts, so I had to take it slow and rest a lot. I was completely dumbfounded. In a hustling bustling mall with over 60-70 shops, all but about five were open. The place was deserted, the spop windows empty or papered over. The two jewelry stores that had anything were way out of my price range.

I figured since I was in the area, I drove down Georgesville road to check the big Meijer’s department store… it was closed! Drove home in a daze. I cut through downtown and headed towards Wal-mart via Morse Road and since I was now aware of them, I was shocked to find the biggest Lincoln Mercury dealership in the area was sitting empty and shops all over the place were too.

I’ve got to get out more.

Came home and ate dinner, watched a TV show or two and collapsed into bed.


Saturday October 25th
I got another confirmation letter in the mail about a three-year-old clerical error. My disability checks have been reduced from $484 to $328 a month because the County Medicaid no longer pays my Medicare premiums, so they’re being taking out of my checks. I got to work writing the formulas for my 2009 financial spreadsheet, and within an hour or so I’d become mentally numb to the point of just sitting here staring at the monitor, but not thinking anything. I took my afternoon pills and went to bet around 7PM


October 26th to the end of the month
The last week of October is a mystery to me. I felt trapped in a mental maze with no way out. If I report my new income to Medicaid, I’d be eligible again for them to take over my Medicare payments. But the moment that happens they’ll stop deducting the payments from my Disability checks, which would raise my income back up to being too high to qualify for Medicare help, so they’ll stop and my checks will sink back to $324, which will make me eligible for Medicare help………

Monday, October 13, 2008

September 2008

Tuesday September 2
What I'm feeling today is very difficult to put into words. It's like I'm watching from a safe distance while another me loses his mind. In fact so many pieces of me are missing, that sometimes I don’t think I’m “me” any more. I can't remember the last time I looked in the mirror; I shave blind in the shower. It’s like I don’t want to meet the stranger I’ve become eye to eye. I used to care that my hair was just right, my clothes were just right and now I’ve become an unrecognizable slob in an oversized sweat suit.

I've lost the "Jet" I worked so hard to become once I moved to Columbus, and the one from Barberton wants to reclaim my body.

Nowadays, there are things I do that just don’t make sense.

Until I actually touch the doorknob of my apartment, the thought of going outside of it is nearly impossible-irrationally so. Once I'm outside I'm fine-unless it's dark of course. It’s like those three “bogeymen” are outside, just waiting for me to leave my safe haven so they can finish the job they started in late 2004. The former “me” had a ball inviting friends here to dinner and a DVD, or maybe a few games of 8-ball in the rec room. He loved to go out and have fun with friends to the movies, out to dinner, dancing at a bar, but now that desire is gone. I lost that need so gradually over the last four years, that I can’t remember specifically how it left me… only that it’s gone.

I love salads and always have. I'd buy fresh vegetables chop them up by hand, make up my own salad dressings from scratch and then live off them. I wasn’t a vegetarian by any means…. I just loved salads. But now I go to the market, take time and care to select only the best… and then watch them rot in my fridge instead of chopping them up. I just suddenly don’t have the energy; I’ll literally and physically become too tired. My passion used to be cooking and the more complicated the recipe the better.

Then there are the terrible flashbacks that happen in real time while I'm awake walking in Wal-mart or out driving. One of my attackers appears out of nowhere, shoots me and then I feel the bullet tear into my scull and lodge in my brain. I feel and smell the blood, but there’s no pain.

At night the nightmares involve getting on my knees and begging them to kill me rather than live the last four years. Another has me I grabbing the gun to try to take control of the situation, holding them at gunpoint, but the police suddenly arrive and shoot me before I can explain. I've gotten away from them only to find myself being chased down by them in my own car and they run me over. In almost all of them, I'm dead, but I still can sense what's going on around me, and can't tell anyone that I can hear them or cry for help.

Now that I'm safe today, my car loan miraculously approved and my bills are manageable. It’s so unfair that my dreams are still of killing myself before something else catastrophic happens again to spoil how suddenly out of harm's way I feel now. I got my county health card, so I don't have to worry about medical expenses and hospital bills, but it's so god dammed unfair, that I have to live in fear that something new will happen, the loan will suddenly be canceled, my health will fail, welfare will call and say the card was sent by mistake. You’d think I was irrational to fear such things, and just enjoy myself and relax… but I can’t. It hurts so fucking much that I can’t.

So every so often I think of suicide, before god or the devil strikes his next blow to see if I can graduate to the next level of pain and still survive with my sanity. From 1985 till now I've lived a dream come true. A great life, travel, respect, business friends, success, a great body (for a year anyway) one of the best apartments in the city and the well being of being able to handle any problem.

Then not only was it suddenly swept away without warning, it was done tortuously slowly, until I've been reduced to a little begging mouse, unable to walk right, and now irrationally afraid of strangers that I used to extend a glad hand and a smile to.

The only thing I didn't have was a family I could share it with. None of them wanted to hear about their gay brother's success, despite the number of photos I'd send, they didn't believe it anyway. Now I can't lament that they never saw it, because I've lost it now...

...but I had friends that gladly took their place; people that extended love and regard for who I was, instead of disgust at who I was 10 or 20 years ago, or the homoSEXual pervert that their bible-beating priests warned them I’d become.

I NEED the Jet with the body, the brains, the confidence and the budget to grab anything I wanted, anything I needed. I used to be the dependable one that friends came to for help or a shoulder to cry on. Now the roles are reversed and I don’t like living the other side of the coin.

I've gone from paying my rent a year ahead of time, and overpaying the utilities so I didn't have to worry about a bill if I were out of town for an extended period of time, to begging and rolling coins for gas money.

My heart won't let me exercise or even walk short distances without becoming exhausted, keeping any semblance of past fitness out of my grasp. The side effects of the diabetes and other drugs cause weight gain, which only worsens my health.

The 2nd worst day of my life was when I had to apply for county help and food stamps. The worse day, was being told I made about $36 too much in income from disability and workman's comp to qualify for it, and then being informed that I'd have to sell off assets like my piano that's 100-years-old this year in order to qualify for their help.

I'm safe now; I'm scheduled for the operation on my knee that'll get me back on track... so why am I so damned worried? I keep reaching back into the past to try to recapture that "me" but it's gone like nearly every house I grew up in, the neighborhood I loved, and even the airport was torn down.

And all the while I stand to one side, calmly watching myself go through this, not realizing that I'm watching myself slip away...

How is that possible?


Friday September 5
I spent the last two days sleeping, though I fought it as much as I could. I know this is just a physical effect of depression, but I'm trying to mentally fight it, with only mixed results. This being an example since I'm writing this at 6 in the morning on Saturday.

I forced out a new BlogCritic's article on the Classic Rock Group "Heart" demanding that McCain stop using their hit "Barracuda" to introduce Sara Palin. Turns out a bunch of other artists are just as pissed too. After a little polish it’ll probably be published tomorrow.

I got a letter from the county, they want an award letter from Workman's Comp. I asked for one and was e-mailed something scrambled in a ".pdf" file, so I stuck some direct deposit receipts in their envelope and mailed it out, hoping for the best.


Tuesday September 9
Some good news!!
It's 4:30 in the morning and I just woke up. I fell asleep yesterday around 5PM. The day started out early with an eye exam at OSU. I failed my eye test on the right eye miserably.

They had me take off my glasses and they had another look and couldn't find anything wrong. While the doctor explained that things take time after surgery, I happened to glance at the eye chart and was shocked that I could read the 20-25 line!!!... without my glasses! The head surgeon came in and said, if I could do that than "we'd" hit one out of the park. (he did the work)

I've got an exception on my driver's license that I have to wear corrective lenses, and now the comical part is I can see better without them than with them. Finally a problem I can laugh at! They may have to write me a note, telling any cop that stops me that it's okay.

"Officer, here's a note from my mother!"

My left eye seems to have a lot of pressure in it, and they've prescribed yet another kind of drops for it. I'm glad the county's paying for this.

I wound up paying my car insurance Saturday for a month. I waited until the last moment, because technically the car isn't leased, it's owned, but Hunting***'s taking their good old time. I'm past worrying about it-which does no good anyway. I've had three or four different doctors look at me and told me there's no physical reason for the sleep problems, so I'm back to physical effects of depression.

The flashbacks are getting more intense. If I pull up to a traffic light, and the car next to me has young black men in it, it's terrible and I sweat bullets waiting for the light to change. I'm the farthest thing from a racist you can get, so you can imagine how much this bothers me. Thankfully I can't remember much of the nightmares shortly after I wake up, but the horror lingers for about an hour or so.

I couldn't fall asleep until 5:30 AM yesterday morning, and I had to drag myself out of bed to make the early OSU appointment. I got home, put the groceries away and tried to put the new phone system together and suddenly felt tired and woke this morning thinking it was around midnight and it was 4:30!

I'm still looking at the components scattered all over my desk. Any minute now Mischief's bound to jump up and scatter it all over the place. (I'm shocked she hasn't already.)

The desk sort of has a "center console" in the hutch, and I found a phone, answering machine and a "caller ID with voice" that all fit into it like it was made that way, all in black so it goes with the dark cherry wood.

I'm feeling incredibly sleepy...

...I can't believe it's 11:30 PM.
The 11:00 news reported the last thing I needed to see; the manager of the Dairy Queen on Tamarack Circle, that I used to trade pizzas for treats with was shot during a hold up this evening. The location is within the same business circle where I delivered pizzas from and within yelling and sight distance of where I was robbed/beaten.

This is going to be a hard night.

Still no word from Hunting*** bank about my car.

GB wants my written authorization for them to read Dr. Mind's notes of my sessions with her. I don't want to, it's such an invasion of doctor/patient privacy. It's the same as them demanding my personal medical records, probably hoping that they'd find some pre-existing condition that would give them an excuse not to pay my medical bills.

I feel a cloud of choking doom descending. Irrational or not, I'm worried that Hunting*** is about to do what Chrysler did, sign all the papers for me to buy my car, and then pull the rug out from under me 15 days later.

I wish I could stop being so pessimistic, but it's become a iron-willed defense mechanism that I hate, but can't shake off. The constant need to be on alert to defend myself from the next disaster that will befall me.


Wednesday September 10
Dr. Mind suggested hypnosis today to deal with the flashbacks and nightmares, especially since they've intensified since I saw the news story about the Dairy Queen manager being shot. I've very uncomfortable with the idea, possibly because I'm a control freak.

I enjoyed cruising around with the top down and bought some batteries for my new caller I.D> unit. I got home and found my payment book in the mail. The papers said the payments were $292 but they're $296, oh well, I can breath a sigh of relief now, the car is mine.

I got home dead tired but couldn't fall asleep. There are three constants of this ordeal; the love and caring from my sister Betsy, who knows all my secrets, My aunt Margaret who I told first, because she loves me without judgment, and of course "Dr. Mind.

Speaking of Dr. Mind, she told me that workman's comp told her that I didn't have to sign over permission for GB to read my session notes.

I got another letter from the county, Jesus every time I think I've sent them everything they want they demand more. Now they want an injury statement from my doctor... what next?

Tomorrow I go in for my pre-surgery exam. (groan)


Thursday September 11
Spent the morning at Grant Hospital being poked, prodded and measured. After they did an EKG on me, I was a little worried that they wanted another permission from "Dr. Heart".

I went to my usual comfort station after nearly every session with her... Big Boy's out on route 71. Wednesday is my official day to live a little.

Came home and opened my mail and...

SOMETHING GREAT HAPPENED!
Out of what might have been a major headache, something great happened for a change! My first car payment (according to the payment book) is due on the 15th of each month, so dumb ass me goes in and reprograms my checking account to sent them the payment for September... and two days later I realized that the payment is due the 15th, but it wasn't scheduled to go until the 17th (yikes-the due date of the lease payments).

So in a panic I call Hunting*** to explain why my payment will be two days late only to discover that the extra payments on the rental contracts for August and September, were reworked into my payments on the loan... AND I'M ACTUALLY A MONTH AHEAD ON MY CAR PAYMENTS!!!!!!

I must've asked her a dozen times "Do extra payments on the loan go to the end of it, or to the next month due"... and she said it goes toward the next month.

I don't have another car payment until November 15th.

I wish you could see the grin I'm wearing!


Friday September 12
There was a news item about a woman finding a dead body behind... You guessed it, the apartment building on Tamarack. Just when I convinced myself that it was all a coincidence, the Big Boy's where I go every Wednesday got robbed last night.

What me paranoid?

To distract myself I wrote a new article about the media manipulating poll data to make it appear as if the election was closer than it was in order to keep their ratings high. It’s amazing how I can tap into this writer’s persona and pluck out articles.


Saturday September 13th
Spent the day writing formulas for my new financial spreadsheet design. Decided to relax with Ohio State vs USC. Wrong move. It’s rare that OSU’s football team loses. Columbus is not smiling tonight, I'm glad I'm not out in campus area.

I forced myself to watch Saturday Night Live tonight because Hunk/Babe/Champion Michael Phelps was hosting the season premier. I gave it my best, and hated it. I can't see how that audience can laugh at the most unfunny material. I was so pissed, I wrote a review of it that I published on my own website instead of BlogCritic’s


Sunday September 14th
We got hit with hurricane Ike... here in Columbus!?! Not a whole lot of rain, but we had constant wind that took out trees, power lines, and the occasional semi that braved Rt. 71. I watched my lawn furniture out on the patio go flying. Fortunately the railing stopped them from sailing off and hitting cars down below.

I went out for supplies and it was really warm, so I put the top down. It must've been between gusts, because the moment I left the carport, the wind went nuts. We have two beautiful two-story tall blue spruce pines at the outer corner of our swimming pool and they were both destroyed and laying on their sides. Our landlord was out gathering up chaise lounges-it was a miracle none of them wound up in the pool.

Halfway to Wal-mart, I was temped to pull over and put the top up, but I was worried I'd lose it in that wind (no exaggeration). My adventures included being behind a semi whose trailer was penduluming back and forth and I was convinced it'd tip over if I tried to pass it.

The traffic lights were all out, and about every fifth car apparently didn't know that you treat the lack of traffic lights like a 4-way stop. I got the top up between gusts and nearly got taken out by a shopping cart pushed by the wind in Wal-Mart's parking lot. I bought a bunch of groceries, some salad stuff and some ground chuck to stock up in case the power’s out for a while.

I stopped at a restaurant supply store only to find them closed because the power was out. On my way back to the expressway, something caught my eye in the rear view mirror... it was a sizable piece of a tree that was gaining on me. It suddenly blew upward and hit the minivan next to me!

I've got two doctor appointments tomorrow...

Fun fun fun...


Monday September 15
The day started out very cluttered and rushed. Columbus had just endured (barely) hurricane-force winds but no much-needed rain from Ike. A casual glance at the local morning news revealed nearly the entire county was blacked out from trees falling on power lines. I always shake my head at such events and wonder why the hell all power lines aren’t buried under ground.

I guess if it makes sense, it’s against company policy.

The county wanted even more documentation to continue giving me Medicaid help with my hospital bills. First stop was to Work Health two blocks away at 8:45AM. I went outside to find shreds of tree branches everywhere, and a three-story tall pine tree from who knows where laying sideways in front of our building’s car port… directly in front of my car. It took me a while to realize it was one of the trees that line up behind our carports!!! It’d actually been uprooted and flipped up and over our cars to land in front of it!

Well I guess in front of it is better than on it.

I called Work Health and explained why I couldn’t make it in and they said half their staff hadn’t shown up yet, so we re-scheduled for 2 PM. After checking to make sure Mischief had enough food and water in case I was gone most of the day, I set out and was relieved that they got the tree moved in time for me to make my appointment at Grant hospital’s heart failure clinic, where they wrote out a paper to say what ailed me, poked, prodded and punctured me, and sent me on my way around noon.

With two hours until the WH appointment, I decided to make up a supply list and hit Wal-Mart again in case the power was out for a long time. Downtown seems to be one of the few places with electricity. I pulled into my apartment complex and parked in the little green space between the buildings with a swimming pool and trees (what was left of them anyway,) got out of the car and for the tiniest fraction of a second something blurred, then in what was less than a second, my bare knees crashed down painfully onto the concrete, half an instant later, I heard and felt my elbows follow suit, and before I could react my face followed.

I lay there stunned, as a secretary from one of the offices came running out and asked if I was okay.

My right hand was above my head and as I rolled over, I seemed to have lost control of my right arm and every time I willed it to move, it’d flop somewhere else. Everything happened so fast that I was just getting over being stunned of it… then it caught up to me. My knees were bleeding and began to hurt, my right arm held a flash of searing pain and I was still having trouble adjusting to seemingly no longer having any control of it.

A crowd began gathering, and I still couldn’t get up and several people made a point of making sure I didn’t. The wail of a siren brought a rescue squad and I told them I thought I’d dislocated my right shoulder and they immediately wisked me away to Grant Hospital.

Great, just what I needed; another $735 ambulance bill for a two-block ride.

The doctors sort of avoided my direct gaze as they muttered amongst themselves. I’d just overheard one of the firemen telling them he couldn’t get an accurate blood pressure reading, and after they did one of their own, that’s when the muttering commenced.

Next came x-rays and they cut my shirt off of me. I don’t know what they gave me for the pain, but it no doubt was expensive, popular on some backstreets, and did its job very well. Doctors kept milling in and out with frowns and hushed voices and after a while a nurse came in and said she’d turn the lights off and that I should try to relax.

I woke up in agony; I’d been having a nightmare about my three attackers again and suddenly found my mangled right arm under me. I lost my breath, equally afraid and in pain. I had to search for it and when I found the bedside panic button my right hand wouldn’t reach for it, which made me even more scared. Suddenly I couldn’t take more than very short breaths before something painful in my lower right abdomen would hurt and prevent any further intake. With all my strength and about to pass out, I screamed, “HELP ME, GODDAM IT!”

A nurse came stomping in and turned off the little alarm I’d set off, bitched me out that she was the only one on the floor, and that other people were hurt worse than me, and then slammed the door without even asking me why I’d called for her. Now I was completely lost. I didn’t realize until I caught sight of the wall clock that it was now almost 1 in the morning!?!

A few minutes later a male nurse took my blood pressure and it was something like 63 over 24. My normal is 128 over 85, so I was scared. I took stock of myself, I had huge scabs on my knees and elbows, my face didn’t seem damaged, he finished and turned out the lights again…


Tuesday September 16
Sometime around 7 or 8 in the morning, I suddenly realized that I’d been in the emergency room nearly 24-hours! A doctor came in and said they were going to do a cat scan on me to determine why I’d passed out… I didn’t remember passing out.

If the test revealed anything they didn’t tell me, but in the process I was transferred (without realizing it at first) to a regular roll around hospital bed from the gurney I’d come in on. On the trip up to the room he told me that a sudden drop in blood pressure caused me to lose motor control of my body muscles, and they couldn’t explain why. I also had a total of four fractures in my upper right arm, one of which went from top to bottom in a spiral.

I was taken up to a semi private room that I’d seen 11 times before in the last 4 years and someone came up and put a wet splint on my arm. A nurse came in took my vital signs and left, then an orderly arrived and wheeled me, bed and all, down the hall, up a floor and into a private room in the intensive needs ward.

I was immediately confronted with a sign on the wall in big letters (that they read to me) that I was not permitted to get out of bed for any reason unless a nurse was there to assist me. While my head was still spinning, a nurse came in around noon and asked if I’d called room service and ordered lunch yet.

Huh? Room service?

The last thing I was was hungry.

Since a day ago things were going by in such a blur, that reality hadn’t caught back up to me yet, but now it was… big time. I'd left my car in the central park area and it'd probably be towed away as there's a 24-hour restriction on it. I missed the appointment at Work Health and without a signed C84 form from an examining doctor; GB would gleefully cut off my Workman’s Comp checks. Since I didn’t deliver the medical statements to County Medicaid, they’d cut off my financial help with my medical and prescription bills, just as I ran up probably $40-50,000 of them.

In the time it took me to realize that, I occurred to me that some member of the staff insisted on coming in every 10-15 minutes to take my blood pressure.

A deep resentment/depression began building up in me. It was almost as if God had decided that to make up for the success I’d fought to earn, now I had to have a personal failure to balance it out, and each crisis seemed to get worse, and always I wondered if I’d find the strength to endure. I talked a major bank into loaning me $10,000 so I could keep my nice car less than a year after filing bankruptcy, so now for the joy and accomplishment I was foolish enough to celebrate, I had to pay by winding up in pain in the hospital.

“To bend, but not to break,
to yield, but not capitulate,” that’s always been my struggle.


I fell into the all too familiar pattern of sleeping all the time-classic depression-unfortunately knowing that doesn’t help you avoid it, to escape where reality and pain couldn’t find me, but the nightmares could. Sometime later in the night I woke up and realized that Mischief only had about a day of food and water last Monday... it was now Wednesday.


Wednesday September 17
I’ve unfortunately gotten used to the nurses and doctors showing up like clockwork in my room every so often to check my vital signs or draw more blood. The damned diarrhea just won’t let go, and with my arm in it’s splint, I can’t raise myself out of bed by myself, so a nurse has to help me every time I need to go to the bathroom because I can't use the bedpan with only one useable hand; which is humiliating. Since I’m right-handed and my right arm is broken, I’m in really terrible straights. One of the most difficult things is to try to wipe your ass with your left hand when you’re right handed.

After I ordered breakfast and it came, I realized all the things I couldn’t do now, like feed myself. The food fell off the spoon just barely controlled by my left hand, before I could clumsily get it to my mouth. I could no longer sign anything. Every so often when pills came, I had to dump them in my mouth, and then quickly reach for the water to swallow them. Little condiment packets had to be torn open with my teeth and milk cartons were impossible one-handed. I began feeling more and more depressed, and more and more helpless.

I started ordering things like hamburgers that I could manage with one hand. They started trying to cheer me up with tiny cafeteria tubs of ice cream for dessert, and then forget that I couldn’t open them.

Poor Mischief was now probably two days without food. When you’re sick, or hurt over a long period of four years, like it or not, your friends start wandering away. It didn’t hit me full-force until I tried to get someone to check on my cat and my doctors started constantly asking, “Don’t you have a friend that could help you?”

I finally got a hold of T, who thankfully still had the keys I’d given her. About five years ago things weren’t going so well and she asked me if she could come in twice a week and clean my penthouse. With the uncovered hospital bills, and then the bankruptcy costs it wasn’t long before I couldn’t afford her, but I let her keep the keys. She hadn’t been answering her phone because she was busy with her own disasters. Her apartment had been broken into twice and nearly everything of value was stolen; and in the midst of that I had the nerve to ask her if she could go check on my cat.

I felt like a heel.

I fell into the familiar pattern and slept a lot between nurses coming in. I curse the man who invented the hospital bed with control buttons to raise and lower it in places you can’t reach. I quickly learned how to hit the buttons with my elbow.

The nightmares began again about the attack.

God, is there nowhere I can escape from all this? As they loaded on more Percocets to ease the pain in my arm, most of my time was spent thankfully unconscious. Just as often, I’d fall asleep wishing I wouldn’t wake up the next morning…


Thursday, September 18
I woke up startled to find myself standing in the dark, whipped by fierce wind. I was clutching something to my chest that was so big in diameter that my hands barely met on the opposite side of it. I chanced opening my eyes to find myself maybe 30-40 stories up in the air.

An ice-cold gust tore at my hospital gown, nearly clawing me off my perch. I was on some kind of radio/TV tower that gently rocked back and forth in the gale. Below, cars crisscrossed an expressway oblivious to me. The asphalt shimmered in the glossy rain.

My right arm ached from holding on for so long. If I could just lock my fingers together I might have a chance of surviving this, but my fingertips barely met, and each movement allowed a little bit more slippery rain to seep inside of my arm's.

Screaming for help wasn't going to do any good-no one would hear me. Whatever it was I was standing on was sharp; probably rusted, and cutting into my bare feet. Braving a better look, there wasn't anything I could grab onto for a more secure grip.

A blindingly red light was at waist level, and if I could climb up two steps, my feet would have something warm to rest on. My arms began to hurt trying to barely grip the thick pole I was clinging to. For a moment, I thought of trying to reach the top of a guy wire that slung diagonally to the ground. It looked rusted and would probably cut my hands to shreds.

Off to the west an electrical storm was approaching swiftly from the horizon. Aside from the low rumble of thunder, all that I could hear was the tires hissing on the roadway below and a steady low hum from a thick cable that snaked up the tower.

The situation was all too familiar-I'd been here before, and I decided I was just too weary to endure it again, so I simply let go and gracefully fell backwards into the wind, doing a graceful flip to find myself rushing headlong toward the ground.

...I woke up screaming in terror.


...They told me today that I was scheduled to go into surgery on my arm next Tuesday and that I’d probably go home tomorrow. I had a bunch of bills that had to be paid, and I couldn’t program my checking account from a hospital bed, so things became urgent. T (god love her) came up to visit me and got the key for my locking door chain, then went over and cuddled Mischief. When I arrived here, my blood pressure was through the floor and my blood sugar within the mid-300s. We solved one problem by getting them to not use dextrose in the I.V. bags and miraculously my blood sugars started falling below 100! I went Wednesday and today with no insulin at all!

To this day I still theorize that my diabetes was brought on by the "fight or flight" syndrome, in which my body is always prepared for a fight response, loaded with sugar in preparation for a fight that never comes.

The blood pressure was another thing all together and they kept sending me downstairs somewhere for more scans and exams and EKGs, always returning me to my room with worried looks. It was telling that they wouldn’t even transport me down in a wheel chair; I had to be wheeled down bed and all! I was so weak I barely could stand on my own.

Last night I woke up again in about a quart of my own diarrhea and suffered the humiliation of about five nurses cleaning the bed and me up at four in the morning. To their credit, they made me feel like it was something they did all the time and not to be so embarrassed.

The result was I found myself on a liquid diet of broths etc.


Friday, September 19
I’d hoped to go home today but before I’d even gotten my liquid breakfast, they told me I had to stay a while longer because of the low blood pressure. By then I’d lost track of how many, and how many different doctors had come into see me; much less what they were babbling at me in “doctoreze.” They seemed to be concerned that I'd had a stroke. Others seemed to be saying that the stents that'd been installed in my heart weren't working as planned, and might be cutting off bloodflow instead of improving it.

I had a TV on a long arm that extended down in front of me over my bed; I also had a table where I could keep a bottle of water ever at the ready. Whatever the pain meds they had me on were, I suffered the severe side effect of without warning my mouth would go completely dust-bowl dry, to the point of my tongue tasting of salt without any moisture and my lips chapping.

I began threatening the doctors, nurses etc. with a cup at the end of the bed. Every time one of them came in and swung the TV, or food/drink tray out of my reach but never put it back before they left, had to put a quarter in the cup. The threat wasn’t really all that effective, but at least I tried to find something to smile about.

The fluids in the I.V.s were changed to whole blood. I found out for the first time that my blood type was A+.

For the last couple of days I’ve seen people appearing out of the corner of my eye. Of course when I looked up there was no one there. I attributed it to nursing staff walking past my door, casting a shadow into my darkened room. Then it began happening in the daytime and from the direction of the windows. Dear God what else can you do to fuck with my mind. They were always faceless figures in black that’d scamper into my room, stop, and then silently vanish without using the door.

Some new doctors came in this evening and said there was new concern about my heart. My cardiologist signed off on my operation on my arm, substituting the permission that would’ve been for my knee.

My arm became impossible to find a place/position that was comfortable in. As the pain grew, I resisted telling the truth on their “pain level scale” because the side effects of the medications were worse that the agony I endured.

Sometimes, no often, I wished I had the ability to cry; to really flood the place and release all of this frustration and pressure, but the tears won’t come and the pressure stays building behind them. Try as I might, I couldn’t fall asleep between the nightmares, flashbacks, phantoms and worry about my cat.

A nurse came in and brought me a sleeping pill. Up until now I refused to use them for fear of becoming addicted, but tonight I caved and took one.

I woke about four hours later to find a little gold teddy bear from someone with a get-well card…


Saturday, September 20
I’m beginning to wonder if hospitals don’t come with an old man down the hall screaming his head off all night as standard equipment. This one had to be tied to his bed and they put a muzzle on him to shut him up.

So far I’ve consumed two units of A+ and my blood pressure is starting to come up. I’m also not feeling as weak and can go to the bathroom by myself. Some physical therapy people came by yesterday and helped me try to walk around. I was so shocked at how out of breath and panting I was just getting from the bed to the door. Today was a little better and I actually walked up and down the hall.

My Aunt Margaret must employ spies. She never calls unless a meal has just been delivered, or nurses and doctors are surrounding me. Her and Betsy’s calls have saved me from a deep depression, just by letting me know they care.

Doctors kept parading in and out, and I guess I’m going home today. They have to replace the entire bone structure of my upper arm using cadaver bones. (I found out later that they'd used a different method and I didn't need the cadaver bones) I’m surprised I’m not haunted. My blood sugars are staying right on target without much insulin. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m so tired because I’m walking around with only about 1/3 of the usual amount of glucose I have in my blood.

By noon they were ready to usher me out, and gave me a cab pass for the ride home and some new prescriptions, most notably Nitro Glycerin for under my tongue when my chest hurts. The operation to repair my arm will take place at 7:30 AM next Tuesday and I have to be there by 5:30… ugh

I got home around 2PM and moved my dust and pollen coated car back over to my private carport. It took some doing to ignore the flashbacks, as I stood in the exact spot there I’d collapsed on Monday. I can still hear my knees, then my elbows, then my face hitting that concrete. It's an odd sensation, because I can remember the impacts and the sounds, but on pain.

I got in the apartment, dropped the mail on the desk, cuddled Mischief and then went to the fridge for a can of pop. I nearly threw up. All that food I bought was rotting (especially the meat). I’d never have the energy to pull it out of there tonight, so I left it for tomorrow.

The mail contained news that the county was declaring me ineligible for further help with the co-pays of Medicare part B because I was making too much money! I’m making the exact same amount as I was last year when they approved me. This could mean losing $95.50 or more a month from disability… something I definitely can’t afford.

I shuffled the other bills around, got on line and checked my e-mails and paid everything in advance electronically from my checking in case I had to recover more than two weeks after next week’s operation. I’m afraid GB will pull my workman’s comp benefits again when they find out the operation is on my arm (which was what was scheduled) instead of my leg.

At the bottom of the bag of my possessions and clothes that the hospital packed up was my beloved watch of 17 years…

…the crystal was shattered and missing, as were the minute and hour hands. The second hand however was determined to keep treking around its face. My mind just sort of froze for a while. By 5PM I was so tired, I collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep.


Sunday September 21
I woke up this morning with a mouth so dry it felt like I had salt crystals on my tongue-It’s the damned Percocet’s side effects. I’m going to have to start sleeping with a glass of water next to the bed. Teresa called to see how I was and told me she’d found my lost class ring, but I haven’t been able to find it.

I chanced driving over to Kroger’s to turn in and buy the prescriptions Grant Hospital gave me. With my useless and painful right arm, I had to lay across my driver’s side seat to insert the ignition key with my left hand. I got there at 6PM only to find that the pharmacy closes at 5 on Sundays. Fortunately the pharmacist was still there and he said they fill them and have them delivered tomorrow. There’s a drug called Lovenox that they want me to use instead of the insulin up until I go in for surgery.


Monday September 22
Woke up to my mouth feeling like it was lined with those cheap brown paper towels that you find in public restrooms. My arm hurts like hell when I try to sleep; for one thing I keep rolling over on it. Kroger’s never came with my prescriptions, I called and they said they make their deliveries in the afternoon, so I said to forget it. I should’ve been on the Lovenox for two days before the surgery, so it’s usless to me now. I called them back a little while later and they said their delivery driver couldn’t find me. He was looking on every fifth street (there are 4) in Columbus except the one I was on.

Despite my getting a little dizzy when I stand, I forced myself to drive out to Wal-mart and get my monthly prescriptions for my heart and leg. It seems like every time I think my life is turning around and headed in the right direction, this happens. I’ve got to remember not to eat tonight because of surgery tomorrow. This time I was sure to leave Mischief enough food and water for three weeks just in case.


Tuesday September 23
As many surgeries as I’ve had, they always worry me anyway. For one thing it seems to take longer and longer for me to go under from the anesthetic and I’m still awake in the operating room-which is extremely cold. I forgot to shave my chest. Why? Because they stick these adhesive patches on my chest to attach electrodes for the EKG etc, and then tear all my hair off when they remove them.

After the operation, I woke up in a private room and stayed there long enough to wonder where I was before I was wheeled down for x-rays. Then I came back to another room. This one was semi-private, but no one was in the other bed, so I had it to myself. I must’ve had 8-9 nurses and as many doctors come in and look at me within two hours. I began to worry at how worried they seemed to be about me.

I ordered “room service.” Gads it’s a bitch trying to eat with only one hand (of course I'm right handed and so I have to use the left), and they even tortured me with a little tub of ice cream that I couldn’t get open. I’m trying to smile through all this, but it’s not easy.


Wednesday September 24 thru Monday 29th.
The days are sort of blurred together. They say I lost two units of blood during the operation and they’ve been giving me I.V. fluids to try to make up for it. It took me half the day to realize I wasn’t wearing a cast; just an oversized elastic bandage. I’d like to say I slept through the day, but it was more like dozed. Every time I’d almost drop off, another nurse would come in and want to take my vital signs, take a blood sample, ask me a dozen questions or give me a pill.

The Percocet they’re giving me keeps my mouth bone dry and I insist on having a water pitcher next to my bed at all times.

A nurse told me one morning that they were concerned about my blood sugars… they were marginally low!?! One said that without the stress I normally go through at home, my body doesn’t have that “fight or flight” response.

Suddenly I can’t sleep at night, but instead I’m napping during the day. The nurses have been giving me sleeping pills, which up until now I’ve resisted because I’m afraid of becoming addicted to them. The days seem to be filled with an assortment of doctors, all asking me the same questions and all are concerned with my low blood pressure.

Aunt Margaret calls me daily, and I’m happy she cares. Betsy can’t call me so I can keep her awake on her way to work at 4 in the morning her time, because the switchboard won’t allow incoming calls. Along or about the last weekend of September, I began sleeping all the time, I’m not sure why, only that I was more unconscious than conscious.


Tuesday September 30
Discharged from hospital. According to my discharge papers, I’m scheduled for open-heart surgery on the 9th.

Went through a stack of bills and found a bunch more notices from the county about being turned down for help with my hundred or so dollar co-pay to Medicare. Just what I needed, more stress. That probably means that come November my disability check will fall to about $370.

I almost threw away what looked like one of those phony credit cards they send with applications for credit, and in fact had tossed it in the pile to go in the basket. The next letter I opened said that I’d been approved for food stamps??? I almost smiled until I read the part about how I was only getting $14 a month and it was preprogrammed onto the card I nearly threw away. 14 bucks; well I guess that’s better than nothing, but not by much.

Out of force of habit I’d thrown my broken watch in the tray on my desk with my wallet etc, and was startled by it chiming the hour! It’s a fancy (well it was when I bought it) hybrid analog/electronic, and I guess the electronic part still works.

Teresa did a hell of a lot of cleaning, but the food I bought just before I fell is still rotting in the fridge. I tossed it in a big garbage bag, big mistake, now I can’t lift it to carry it to the dumpster.

I tried to make sense of all the legalese infected mail from the county about being denied benefits because I was making too much money, even though I’m making the same amount I was making 6 months ago when they approved me. I felt so overwhelmed, that I just went to bed and slept.

Saturday, August 30, 2008

1987-1996 Livin' the Good Life

For reasons that will become obvious, I’m going to have to disguise people’s names and alter company names. Also I’m going to have to compress some time lines to save space… Please remember that unless you know who I am behind the handle “Jet in Columbus” no one could possibly figure out who YOU are, so don’t be so paranoid!

ALL PHOTOS IN THESE BLOGS ARE PUBLISHED AS SMALL IMAGES-SIMPLY CLICK ANY ONE YOU'D LIKE TO SEE AND IT WILL ENLARGE FOR YOU... THANKS


This is how I lived the good life and then found myself living on the edge of suicide.

By 1989 I’d scrimped and saved enough to finally start living the good life while I was young enough and had the looks to enjoy it. In that year I moved into a nice one-bedroom third-floor apartment in the heart of downtown Columbus, Ohio. I had hopes of one day living up in the penthouse, but for the moment the apartment served my needs, since I was rarely at home most of the time anyway. Instead I was away on either art business, in San Diego or shuttling pizzas around. Most of my clients were here locally, and the rest were in San Diego, San Francisco, Chicago and New York.

By then I had eventually taken up photography seriously. My uncle had given me my first tiny camera as a child by helping me purchase it with the Bazooka bubblegum wrappers I'd been saving.

Why settle down in Columbus?

Right out of High School, my sister helped me move away from the soap opera that was my hometown of Moon Township-a suburb of Pittsburgh. I wound up in Barberton Ohio, just south of Akron. I worked midnight to eight in the morning doing maintenance work for McDonald's for just shy of ten years.

I had always liked to pencil sketch and had even dabbled in acrylics oils, and one day a friend noticed a doodle of the house I'd grown up in on my wall. He asked if I could do an artist’s conception of what a home he wanted to build would look like from a set of blueprints. Just for fun I did several showing different versions with siding, brick, stucco etc. As word got around, other friends would describe their hopeless fantasy dream homes, and I’d do faux-blueprints, wall paintings and sketches as a sideline living.

Two days before a full-field inspection of our McDonald's, a bunch of black & white prints of historical pictures were vandalized at our store. I was asked if I could quickly produce some replacements in time for the inspection. This one is of the long-gone American Hotel.

I guess they liked them because shortly afterward I was invited to do some landscapes for a couple of other McDonald's in the area under construction; mostly pictures of local homes, farms, and businesses that’d burned down, or had been torn down. There's a few more examples near the bottom of this chapter.

Jet'sArt Custom Illustrations was born.

One day on a business trip with some friends, I discovered and fell in love with Columbus, Ohio. After moving down here and setting up shop, my friend Rich talked me into purchasing a little 1979 Triumph Spitfire convertible. A friend took a polaroid of it-it's the only photo I have because my Nikon was stolen from my car at a rest stop on Rt. 70. (It's the top image of three below-The one without a wing... and before you ask, it came with the stripes already on it.)

Wing?

Uh Rich?...I've never driven a car with a clutch before! He taught me how to drive a "standard" the same way he'd taught his wife... In the middle of a school parking lot, he showed me the shift pattern, showed me where the clutch pedal was, then got out of the car... Needless to say, after about a month of cussing I had to replace the clutch. His wife would later laughingly confide that the reason that he'd talked me into buying it was because he'd hoped I'd destroy the little *%^#@! trying to learn a clutch and then give up and sell it to him really cheap.

To quote "Tweetie Bird"... He don't know me vewy well; do he?

He pulled a practical joke on me one morning... I went out to find he'd painted "JET'S RUNNERS" on the tires in giant white lettering.

WING?? .......(patience)

No one told me just how hard it'd be to find parts for the little British 2-seater... because they stopped making them in 1980. When I decided to replace that clutch, I discovered that the only way to get the transmission out... was through the interior ...which meant my taking out the passenger compartment tranny cover, floor shifter housing, seats, and the carpet... oy. Oddly enough, the more I learned its "pain in the ass" foibles, the more I grew to love it.

Shortly thereafter and out of necessity, I began buying several of its cousins, brothers and sisters to get replacement parts such as very breakable pot-metal interior door handles, trim pieces, tail lights, mirrors etc, not to mention hard-to-find engine parts. Looking back, I don't seem to recall that I had ever wanted to know about a Stromberg "side-draft" carburetor... or for that matter how to adjust one. The stock 4-cylinder 1500cc engine came with a carburetor that occasionally requires you to unscrew the cap on the top of it and put a couple of drops of oil in it every so often??? I'd never seen a carburetor that stuck out of the side of an engine. I was going to ask what that canister stuck sideways on it was, until I guessed correctly that it was the air cleaner. It took me 20 minutes of muttering to myself to discover that the fuel float that I was trying to locate and adjust was only accessible through the bottom (?) of that little carburetor!

A riding lawn mower engine?

Nah too big for that-It produced damned good fuel economy though and the little thing "hauled ass." (went fast for you non-Americans)

In all of my photos, I couldn't find even one Spitfire with an open engine compartment. I found this one on the web. (In case you suspect me of doing it, I'd never paint anything even resembling pink... yuk) Take note of those chrome clips up there just behind the wheel wells. If you undo them, the whole entire front clip flips up and stands vertically on the bumper! You'll need to know that in just a few paragraphs hence...

With four cars to pick things off of, I spent all of my spare time restoring it, and in fact wound up with enough spare parts to build two good ones, one for long trips (plain brown) and one to show off in (the striped one below). Rich managed a pizza shop in Hilliard, Ohio, and during the winter break in the art business, I delivered pizzas for him. A huge blizzard hit that winter and he in his little Spitfire and I in mine, were the only two vehicles that didn't wander off into a snow drift and get stuck. The comical part of that is when I got stuck, I simply put the car in first, got out, and lifted up the back end, then rushed to get back into the car... I had a lot of fun that winter.

I eventually sold one of the restored Spitfires (the one without the stripes) to a constantly begging and pleading collector in Chicago and was pleasantly surprised that I got enough for it to have paid for both cars and then some! He sent me on a scavenger hunt by telling me about a couple of rumored mid-70s Spitfire prototypes and after doing some research and a ton of driving, I discovered not one but TWO brown "JetFire Xs" (!) with those distinctive "Super Bee/bird" rear spoiler wings. The middle one's serial number ended in Xo2 and the bottom one ended in X05. They apparently had been proposed for the American market, but never went into production and they'd somehow avoided the usual practice of putting failed prototypes to death in a crusher. Now come on-with a name like Jetfire how could I resist?... So I bought both of them. I found out later that British Leland couldn't use the name Jetfire because GM had named an Oldsmobile that and they held the rights to it. Oddly enough, they're both titled as 1979 models, but I think they may actually have been based on two different model years. Either that or one was updated after it was built to display the final "1980-1" model, which was the last year they were built.

They both came with stock OEM equipment in "plain Jane" BL brown when I got them, with the following exceptions...

The spoilers...obviously, but each "wing" was of a different design, materials, and probably manufacturers. I saw a photo of one on a race track with a HUGE one. If it hadn't been for the weight of the engine, it probably would've rested on its back bumper with its nose in the air. Both cars also had identical custom tan interiors, but without the usual plaid tartan in the door and seat panels. I liked the yellow paint trim stripes that came on my stock Spitfire so much that I had it (kinda) duplicated on the middle one (stripes) to set off its wing...

Unique to the middle one in the above image to the left (yellow stripes + wing)

It had a huge Triumph logo on the hood (excuse me, bonnet) in yellow, which the other didn't. It vaguely resembles a "T/A screaming chicken", but not quite. It had flared body-colored brown side mirrors with a yellow trim stripe. After deciding to keep this one, I matched the yellow color when I and a friend with a paint shop added the stripes later.

...Of course Bill (the backyard mechanic guy I was buying/swapping parts from) had a screaming fit when he saw I'd had the very rare car repainted. It got three coats of stock brown paint, another two of the yellow, and three of clear-coat... then it was sanded to within an inch of its life to a near mirror finish.

It has twin five-foot-tall tilted back antennas on either side of the fiberglass airfoil. The passenger side one is for the AM/FM cassette and the driver side one is for a CB radio. Someone wandered off with the CB equipment (but fortunately not the wiring) before I got it, so I installed my own. (I had a great CB handle back then, which required anyone wanting to talk to me to call "Earth"... This is Snowman to Earth!)

Oddly enough an admiring cop at a restaurant pointed out that it had no side marker lights, which shocked me because after a couple of months you'd think I'd have noticed!?! I frowned and went out to look for myself... he was right!

The bottom car of the image above had a much cleaner look to it, but "felt" smaller, and it had an unusual set of accessories that I'd never seen on a Triumph Spitfire. It came with a bulked-up 4-cylinder with a Weber carb on it, but I didn't have it long enough to figure out where the motor was from (probably a Brit brand or something shop-built.) It also had a metal interior transmission cover instead of the usual fiberglass.

It came with black wheel hubs, flat black flared side mirrors, electric windows (!), windshield wipers with a delay circuit, electric 6-way driver seat (!!!) a motorized rear-view mirror that auto-tilted when someone with high beams was behind you, no stock body striping along the sides and it sported the more modern black rubber bumper. For some unfathomable reason, the tan interior and seats came with black carpet, and the matching floor mats had big white Triumph logos which would've been a bitch to keep clean.

It had an unusual airfoil that folds/curves in at the bottom supports and appears to be fiberglass over steel. It looked very breakable and if I hadn't bought it as an investment to resell rather than keep, I probably would've junked it in favor a duplicate of it's twin brother's much sturdier wing. I felt sorry for the poor thing and transferred my "Jet's Runners" tires to it to give it a more sporty look until I could get out and buy stock white-letter radials for it.

Frantic car collectors began hating/dreading/blacklisting me because I had a knack for finding unusual cars and then had the nerve to actually drive the damned things, customize them, and let them run free to terrorize the unsuspecting local townsfolk, rather than grow old and bored somewhere in peace on display. I had a friend build me a new dashboard out of mahogany (All Spitfires' dashes were hand-made out of wood) for the striped one, and installed digital instruments (another unforgivable sin from what I'm told.) What? Oh calm down; I saved the original to put back on... what're you cringing about?

After all, isn't that what they're made for... driving? I loved driving it too, and it was great at gas stations and restaurants, but the cops kept pulling me over because they wanted to know what the hell it was. I got used to them taking photos of it too, and then sending me on my way.

From what I'm told there were only five prototype versions ever built, each with a different air foil and engine; one was missing, three were still in existence and one had been wrecked beyond repair on a race track...

In my travels, I spotted a beautiful brown absolutely immaculate Triumph TR7 and fell in lust... uh love. After having it checked over by a body shop, I was astonished to discover there were only two very minor dings on the whole car, and it had its original paint!

A week or so later I bought a 2nd older brown TR7 to strip body parts off of, in case I needed them for the good one. As it turned out I didn't need them and the second older one got the dreaded (by others) yellow stripe treatment and became my daily driver while the nice one you see to the right took me on business trips.

I also soon learned that the downfall of every Triumph is its dreaded and storied Lucas electrical system. I began storing aluminum foil in the glove compartment to wrap fuses with until I could get home.

I don't think I even thought about how much I was spending back then. I was doing well enough to be careless with my budget. That financial condition was to the point where I'd pay my apartment rent up a year in advance and overpay hundreds on my utilities so I wouldn't have to be bothered with them.

Bill and I started looking for a warehouse where we could stash the cars that we were buying and then stripping for parts. Without really trying and out of necessity, we started a business (with me a silent 1/3 partner) selling and repairing Triumphs and MGs, and parting out what was left. (Cue the Pet Shop Boys) "I've got the brains, you've got the brawn-let's make lots of money!" Much to my surprise my partner Bill did quite well in the mechanic/business end of things.

A couple of months after I’d lovingly completed my older TR7 the way I wanted it, a drunk driver doing about 60mph plowed into me on a rainy night near Ohio State University. I was sitting at a dead stop at a light and he hit me from behind, crushing the back of it all the way to the seats, and slammed me diagonally across the intersection and into a tree… then continued on as if nothing had happened.

Fortunately there was a Columbus cop coming the opposite direction and radioed help for me, while he chased him down.

Two mind-boggling things happened that night. I had to be pried out of the car and was amazed to find that I only had a couple of bruises. The second was; take a look at the deck lid in the bottom photo of the wreck. The Camaro crushed the trunk nearly to the seats (the gas tank is behind those very seats by the way) and yet the trunk lid was almost completely untouched and is hanging right where it should have been!!

His insurance company asked if they could surprise me with an offer of something special if I’d settle without litigation. All they'd tell me sight-unseen was that it was a Triumph TR8 convertible...

(Well, it was titled a TR"8" convertible) anyway. I spent a couple of days fantasizing and wondered if it was some freshly painted bondo-covered junker.

The next week Bill called me all in hysterics and ordered me to get down to the shop NOW.

They delivered it to our shop wrapped up like a Christmas present. I signed a document releasing them from further damages and took possession of it. It was in nearly pristine show-car condition except for the top which had been damaged while in storage. I think I nearly fainted on the spot when Bill pointed out that I hadn't noticed that decal over the right tail light, having been distracted by the custom one-of-a-kind tail lights themselves... it says TR9-with a rather cryptic serial number beneath it?!? I researched and could find no mention of a mid or late 70s TR9. (Compare the stock taillights on the brown one above to the ones below-big difference.

My not noticing it is understandable... I had since moved forward and was too busy staring wide-eyed at the front end... and wondering what was underneath it. Problem was I couldn't find...

If you're not familiar with Triumphs and you haven't enlarged the photo yet, you may not have noticed some peculiarities unique to this particular car. For one thing there's no hood (bonnet)!?! The guys laughed when I tried to raise a hood that wasn't there. The metal front fenders and bonnet had been replaced with a one-piece fiberglass unit. See that clip on the fender in front of the door? Undo them on both sides and you''ll discover that the car was configured just like a Triumph Spitfire and everything forward of the doors-including the wheel wells-pivots up and forward, hinged on the front bumper! I loved the Spitfires for that very reason because it gives you complete access to any part of the engine from nearly any angle.


I was also distracted by a neat bit of custom "metal shopping." Someone had recessed the door handles into black triangles to make them look like a vent for a mid-engined car.

I took these photos after I'd driven it in the rain down to a shop to have a new top put on it (apparently the poor unsuspecting thing had stuff piled on top of it while it was hiding under its tarp.) The duct tape and immaculate paint had me a little suspicious too, but after I had a few body men look it over, they said "No bondo." While they did that, I tore the back end apart trying to figure out why the backup lights blinked with the turnsignals. (crossed ground wire.)

I was looking at a rare car that had been stored in the back of some Jaguar dealership and forgotten... that only happens in fairy tales and car lover's wet-dreams. I also discovered where the big pop-up headlights used to be, now was replaced by modern rectangular headlights underneath that sank down beneath the bumper until they were turned on; then they'd swing up to just beneath the blackout plastic... using the same motors that used to operate the old headlights. Even I was impressed!

His insurance company had the nerve to call and ask me if I liked it. It was a fight not to gush. Note the custom British vanity plates! Whoever transformed it had dumped the standard little small-block V8 and replaced it with a more modern fuel-injected Buick 3.8 liter V6 "Grand National." That was then connected up to a Borg-Warner 5-speed manual with overdrive transmission, and they'd completed the drive train with a rebuilt Ford 9-inch 12-bolt rear end off of a ’69 Ford Torino.

The rear drive train was so big, it was necessary to install air shocks to jack the back up so that the beefed up drive shaft would clear the interior tunnel. Perched atop the power plant was a new and enthusiastic Holley 4-barrel and Edelbrock intakes. Also along for the ride were Cyclone headers and stainless steel pipes... just to make it sound good.

I believe it was Jay Leno who while stating what he thought of a Porsche he'd just driven said regarding it... "If you have an erection lasting more than four hours, consult your physician."

I knew the feeling.

People unfamiliar with the little British sports convertible were always complimenting me on the European wedge styling. Those at intersections were aghast at how fast I could power away from traffic lights, assuming (wrongly) that there was some dinky little power plant under the hood. It also sported the only pair of British Racing Green fog lamps under the front bumper in the U.S.

I eventually sold my beautiful and untouched brown one to the same collector that just wouldn't let me alone before. His chest all inflated at saving the poor thing from me. Where it is now, I'm not sure... probably some undisclosed location with a guard on it...I had no intention of hiding that beauty under a tarp, but I wasn't going to overdrive it either, so with the proceeds I bought a “daily driver”…

...a midnight blue turbo-charged fuel injected Cobra Thunderbird.

The only thing that gives it away to victims of my lead-foot at intersections, was that little chrome Cobra emblem behind the front wheel well? It's got a gas-guzzling 5-liter Cobra Mustang super motor under that grandfatherly looking hood... that'll press you into your seat-Ho ho ho!! I used to be known for never driving a normal car without a story connected to it.

I loved that car ... The striped brown "Jetfire" was borrowed by a friend who wanted to drive it to a local car show. On the way back it was broadsided by a cab running a stop sign. It died as it lived-having fun being gawked at... Ohhhhh Ahhhhh!

I miss the Cobra T-Bird too. A few years later I had the nerve to use it as a pizza car. I sold it to an assistant manager who promptly blew the engine... alas.

While all of this was going on, a good friend of mine talked me into doing a 24 x 36 portrait of Little Raven, Chief of the Arapahos in pencil and charcoal for his local Bureau of Indian Affairs. It's displayed on the wall behind his desk.

Life went on and my partner Bill really started making us some good money and we were gaining a great reputation in the local area… Then his wife sued for divorce, insisted that the business be sold as part of the settlement so she could grab half of his share of what the shop was worth. Bill was devastated and was left with barely two nickels to scrape together.

My money and time was tied up in other ventures, and Jet’sArt Custom Illustrations of course, so I couldn't help him much. I waited until after the divorce was settled and she couldn't take anything else from him, and then signed over my nearly completed yellow TR? to him and my titles to the junkers to sell for what he could get for them, and then arranged for the new buyers of the business to hire him to remodel the shop into an auto parts store in exchange for a small apartment in back where he could live rent free and be employed as a mechanic/salesman/night watchman for them. He has since moved down south somewhere and we lost contact.

I loved that yellow car. I drove it around for about a month before we started transforming it. If anyone knows where it is now, I'd love to see it completed.

Such is life...

This is another example of some artwork I used to do professionally... The image/screen print below is from a nifty screen saver I'd created for my office help's computers where my image (bottom right) and logo fade in and out of the picture in different places and in different sizes. If you catch "me" with the cursor, it would bring up a game menu (for when I was out of the office and they were bored). It's entitled "The Woods". Click on it to enlarge it-though I should warn you it's designed for a 28 inch wide screen graphics monitor...

My art business flourished a few years later, mostly designing custom graphics for CD covers for local bands or graphs and charts that businesses used for inventories etc. In my spare time I worked on a gay spy novel entitled "System 10" and its sequel, "A Ghost of a Chance." It seemed like I'd just finish updating the 600-page single-spaced manuscript, when technology would lurch ahead faster than I could rewrite it, so the book wound up on the back burner again and again... alas. A publisher friend said it'd only sell if it had a lot of sex and violence in it, and so I reworked it accordingly. Now I'm seriously thinking of taking it back to its original state and selling it as a period piece.

In the 1990s a good friend named Brian S. let me hitch a ride in his private "time-share" business jet (that's it on the cover of my manuscript behind the two people shaking hands) for a trip to San Diego. I paid half the fuel and airport fees-it was great. We’d stop to refuel in Las Vegas and I’d have a good time at MGM Grand's blackjack tables.

I've always dabbled in photography, but never-ever seriously. I'd taken one of my Nikons with me on the trip, and had it with me while visiting a friend's small movie studio. As a joke, I was talked into designing the box artwork for a gay X-rated feature that he was producing. To my shock they actually liked my ideas better than their pro's work! They offered me an irregular job whenever I was in town, which eventually became a regular pastime around three times a year.

As I became more experienced, he took me under his wing and taught me videography too. I graduated to much larger and more complicated equipment, none of which I'd be able to explain having-not that it mattered because it all had to stay at the studio in San Diego anyway. I started submitting scripts later and to my shock some were accepted! (Yes, porn has scripts-how do you think they're copyrighted?)

The piece to the right is 48 x 24 and is framed in brass. The lady who was interviewed for this said it was her grandfather and she had an unusual request, considering it'd be displayed in public. He was the local blacksmith and when he posed for the photo many considered it immoral for a man to blatantly display his chest, especially if it was muscular and specifically if it was hairy. Therefore when the plate was developed his undershirt was airbrushed closed to his neck. She asked me if I could draw it open as he was very proud of his physique, having to tote heavy wagon wheels all day... I was happy to do it, and got a bonus hug from her when she saw it.

I began earning some good money-not insanely great money, but it helped me live comfortably and was a factor in my moving into my penthouse and buying some great cars. On one such trip I paid to have my favorite sister flown down to meet me in Las Vegas for some fun at the tables, then afterward we flew back on a commercial airline to her home in Oregon for a great visit.

I recall once offering on a whim to buy her a new refrigerator for Christmas, and it almost came to blows when she wouldn't let me. She's always been very independent and self-reliant. I could see how it'd prick her ego for me to do that, and now I'm sorry I did. I'd always had an open and over-willing wallet when my family was concerned... and despite my current hard times still do.

I've often wondered how my family didn't figure out something was going on, since most of them thought I was only a pizza delivery guy... despite a hefty bank account, a downtown penthouse filled with curios and collectibles, and a fancy car. At one point while touring around Oregon with one of my sisters, I let it slip that I was doing some video work, I don't think she actually understood what I'd meant-in fact she may not have even heard me, but just in the slight case I let it slip again I went out with her and bought a little Sharp camcorder at Sears to explain any further "slip of the tongues" away.

Back then, only two members of my family actually knew about what I was doing on the west coast; my favorite sister and a wonderful aunt. I'd never exactly sworn them to secrecy, after all I'd been disowned by the rest of my folks years ago anyway for being gay. Sometimes I think that they see me as some evil lying perverted homoSEXual who probably has kidnapped and molested every little boy I saw and would rot in hell in eternal damnation. I've mostly shrugged it off figuring if they found out they'd start pointing fingers and self-righteously saying in unison "See, I told you!", which most of them do anyway without provocation.

If certain members of my hypocritical and judgmental family actually knew just how many of their number were gay, they'd spend the next solid month in church, PRAYING that it wasn't some sort of contagious disease, which it nearly is...

...denial runs rampant in my clan-even I'm not immune to it at times.

I figured it was a lost cause after learning that the sister who still lives near Pittsburgh where we all grew up, actually married and raised a family for 18 years and never told her kids that I even existed!

Speaking of relatives, my one regret was that some of my family were going through tough times while I was enjoying myself. My younger brother had been in the navy serving on an aircraft carrier during the Gulf War(s). I was so worried about him, I became addicted to CNN Headline news hoping I wouldn't hear bad news about him.

Before they sent him there, he was stationed somewhere at the naval base in San Diego with his wife and I often wondered what he'd think if he'd seen me all bulked up. He probably wouldn't have recognized me... Hell; I didn't recognize me.

He eventually moved to Seattle and is doing very well for himself.

The 36 x 24 painting below (yes that's a painting) is of a general store in East Liberty Corners. The owner broke down in tears when she saw her long-gone business. She had only one complaint...

She blurted out with a laugh that the sidewalk was never that clean and uncluttered out front.

My older sister in Oregon from my father's first marriage owned a great restaurant in the Willamette National Forest, but it was going under because of local economic bad times, the road through the National Park was often closed and fraught with landslides or downed trees, and her health was failing. I began sending $1,000 checks and Wal-Mart gift cards to them to help make ends meet, without asking for anything in return. I mention this only because later on in my time of need, my father would throw it up in my face.

It’s a sign of the times when you occasionally do something nice for someone, just because it feels good to do it, but then they always suspect that you have an ulterior motive hidden somewhere.

One of my very best friends had moved to Chicago and on one of my visits there he asked for a loan of $40,000 because he’d run into unexpected expenses while opening up a bar in the suburbs. Some real estate magnate was converting a big warehouse into condos, and rather than tear it down, he sold an attached building to Tom. Unexpectedly the building wouldn’t pass inspection without a new roof. It felt good to be able to help him out and even better that I realized I had enough cash socked away that I could do it without too much financial pain.

Friday, August 29, 2008

1997-2004 The best years of my life

(Cue theme song from “The Jeffersons”… Hey-Hey we’re ah movin’ on up!!) As 1996 arrived I finally got my chance.

After being on a waiting list for seven whole years, I was able to move up to the penthouse of our building; top floor-center apartment, wall-to-wall floor-to-ceiling glass, a private balcony covered in my hand-grown flowers and vegetables, and a great view of the downtown Columbus skyline.

As you can see, I'm pretty good at growing flowers. One year I had four big palm plants out there... so the neighbors began referring to my balcony as "Gilligan's Island." Here are samples of recent balconies over the years…

In photo number…

1. Well, that’s part of my view anyway. This is a shot down my balcony railing. I found some planters that would just barely fit in the space between the bottom of the railing and the floor of my terrace. There are all different kinds of petunias that I trained to trail over the balcony in a multi-colored “waterfall”.

2. Another year I had white, peach, pink, red, purple and lavender geraniums in the floor planters, along with yellow and orange giant marigolds. It was the first year I got brave and tried growing tomatos in 5-gallon buckets. The hanging baskets have trailing petunias and geraniums. If you look at the pictures long enough you can smell the flowers.

3. Those big red flowers are Hawaiian Hibiscus plants. A friend of mine manages a drug store that sells live plants every spring. On the first day of the sale, I was amazed to see Hibiscuses for $4.99 each!?!. I went in to ask him if my eyes were deceiving me and nearly fainted… They were supposed to be $24.99 each and had been mispriced. He was so grateful that he let me buy as many as I wanted at $4.99. I got the three of the variety that grow like a 4-5 foot tall tree, as opposed to the bush. To the right of them are my infamous bragger tomatos.

4. Ahhhh the wonders of Miracle Grow. There’s actually a comical aspect to my balcony that I’ve never taken a photo of. A couple of years back I hung up two big wooden birdhouses on opposite ends of the ceiling of my overhang. About two months later I heard the chirping of baby wrens… from both little houses.

A commotion arose out there one day and I looked to find a male wren flying from one house to the other and then back again. At first I thought he was stealing food or nesting material until I realized that I had a little “Payton Place” going on. The cocky little male bird actually had two wives and families!!!

A really dumb move to have two wives living next door to each other. Eventually they worked it out and there was peace…

…until it was time to teach all those kids how to fly. They would fumble out and down to the floor; only to be bewildered as to which house they should try to get back too.

5. I’d learned my lesson after the previous year when I put up four tomato plants, because I wound up giving a ton of them away when I couldn’t eat them fast enough. My landlord had a small fit because he was worried about them falling off the vine and hitting people below… which never happened.

If you look close enough you’ll see that nestled in the bucket with the tomato plant is a green bell pepper plant.

Do I need to describe the spaghetti sauces I and my neighbors made that year?

6. If you look carefully at the very top of this shot, you see the roof of my terrace. After the tomato plants grew 8 feet tall I had to run twine between each of the hanging basket hooks to train the tomato vines to grow sideways… otherwise they’d have tried to top the roof!

Yes, my neighbors were beginning to call me Oliver Wendell Douglas of "Green Acres," with his corn stalks on his Park Avenue terrace. The only thing missing was Lisa sneezing.

Life on the road had taken its toll on my body. What with all that pasta and fast food on the go, and hotel room service catering, it was playing hell with my waistline. With less and less time in the gym, I lost my fantasy physique nearly as fast as I’d gained it.

Oh well, I got to be a “hunk” for only about a year and a half of my life, but then just like Cinderella’s gown and slippers-at midnight, I was becoming the out of shape troll I was before I started all of that weight training. It’s true what they say about being a slave to a muscular body-you have to constantly maintain it 24/7 or all those muscles turn to flab… no worst-make that blubber, unless you’re on steroids, which I refused to use...

...but I was very tempted… oh so tempted.

I found out later that some of the things my co-body builders were injecting me back in the 80s for pain or muscle spasms were indeed steroids and I'd suffer greatly for my ignorance in allowing them to introduce me to them...

On of my biggest regrets was not being close to most of my family to actually relay these stories, not that they'd believe me... then again I had another family here in
Columbus that I'd adopted.

I sometimes go back and look at those pictures from that era and shake my head in disbelief that I actually looked like that. It all comes at a price though, because you wonder if you get opportunities because of your skill or your looks. You also pay for it in health problems later in life... just ask Ahnold the Governator.

I was still driving the tricked-out Cobra T-bird back then on art business trips and as the seasonal business cooled down around the end of October of 1997 I used it to deliver pizzas in. I'd been an assistant area supervisor for one of the big pizza chains for a while-I even had my own office-and it was comical that sometimes I'd be my boss' boss and other times while delivering, he'd be mine.

In one of my over generous moods, I decided to give a needy assistant manager the Volvo 240 DL that I was looking to get rid of, as a gift that he could recondition for his son. On the way to a delivery near my home downtown, I took him with me so he could drive it back to the shop. I laughed and showed him how the mighty big-block Ford could press you into the seat, and pointed to the tack and told him we were already doing 100 MPH, which actually was reading 1000 RPM.

The idiot actually believed it, and as thanks for my generosity, the bastard reported me to the company for doing 100 in a 45 zone!!! They forced me off delivering, took away the supervisor's position and gave me an inside job. The previous year, I'd been presented with a big bonus check (in the thousands) for going ten years without a single at-fault accident or ticket. I was getting offers from a competing company to come over to them as a delivery consultant and guidebook writer/illustrator anyway, so I bid so-long to them the following March when my art business contracts always started coming in.

With Jet’sArt Custom Illustrations and Jet’sArt custom business forms going full-time now, I had a staff by then who’d research what color that old hotel used to be or if any pictures of a long forgotten founder of a town were still in existence.

I was becoming a successful businessman with art clients, invitations and more flirtations in the adult film industry on the west coast and/or New York-mostly as a writer and an occasional line producer.

Being on the road all the time also cuts into your social life, and the more I worked, the less I had time for a lover.

I'd lost several lovers because of my absences, though life on the road was never lonely. I was determined to change that too, by staying closer to Columbus and finding most of my art clients locally. I was afforded more time at home, and stared working on my other hobby... gardening. (Cue theme song from "Green Acres"

As I said before, I’d discovered that I was good at writing map/guidebooks for pizza shops. The manuals would have streets sectioned off by color instead of map coordinates, and included hand-drawn apartment complex maps and instructions on how to get to all streets in a given area. I’d devised a system whereby a brand new delivery driver would be able to route deliveries without any help on the first day he worked, just by delivering only to one color on the map, which was listed on the delivery ticket. Just to make sure my instructions were accurate,

I’d drive the delivery routes there for a while in order to see/record/offer suggestions for any problems that a driver might encounter. As I stayed home more, I actually began enjoying delivering pizzas as a sideline. The beginning of 2000, I was offered the job of an office manager for a very fancy pasta resturant by a good friend and took it. Turns out he wanted it to fail, and counted on my inexperience to run it into the ground. I didn't... by offering delivered gourmet dinners to upperclass customers in Dublin (ritzy) Ohio, so he asked me to leave as a favor so he could hire is current lover for the position.

By June of 2000 I actually had two different major pizza chains bidding against each other for my books.

I paid cash for a white Sebring convertible (which is what I usually rented when I was on the road), which I used to drive to business stops at Sears HQ in Chicago (I'm responsible for those line drawings of VCRs and appliances in a lot of guidebooks) and the surrounding states, ah the good (cars)they do die young. With its untimely death and more improvements to my bank account, I went looking to put a major down payment on a brand new set of wheels that had caught my eye on a whim.

On July 17th of 2003, I picked out an inferno red '04 Chrysler Sebring convertible to tool around in. At the time I thought leasing a car was like renting a car-only for a longer period. The company that owned it took care of the maintenance and upkeep, and I paid for the gas. Boy was I wrong about that! But I leased it anyway, not caring about the expensive required insurance. Unbelievable as it sounds, it turned out to be one of the smartest moves I’d ever made.

It still boggles my mind that my family never caught on, or even asked how I could afford such cars on a pizza man's earnings.

A good friend and client of mine in Pittsburgh had a computer lab and asked me if I wanted to beta-test a voice command system he was working on and hoped later to sell to Chrysler. He’d originally built one for the T-Bird and wanted me to road test the new and improved version.

Nowadays, if you hear people talking to their car you don’t bat an eye, it’s becoming commonplace, but back then, they would look at me funny when I'd walk up to my convertible and then tell it to start, turn on its sound system, change the CD and even tell the top to go up and down... that was until the car actually did it right before their amazed eyes! Back then it was really fun to watch people's reaction.

From what I understand some of the technology actually made it into cars and I’m kind of proud that I might actually have had something to do with that. I would send him e-mails of problems I was having with mine, and he’d work out the bugs and send me new breadboards or software fixes for it. The remote top now appears on the new Sebring hardtop Convertible!

As my business and reputation grew, I was spending less and less time at home again. We have a great private gym in our apartment complex, but I rarely got to use it as more time was spent out of state. A few times, I tried recapture that fleeting body that I used to have, but I'd get caught up in some distraction and gain the weight back and lose the muscle tone I'd gained. I’d find out later I was a diabetic and didn’t know it.

Eventually as the economy cooled, I found myself at home more than traveling too, and pizza delivery was to temporarily become my primary source of income. Why? Well it's hard to explain, but creating art is something that I enjoy... when it became a business and I had to churn them out as a living, suddenly the fun is gone.

Oh don't get me wrong; I was still putting out good work, just not as often... To paraphrase the Righteous Brothers "I'd lost that lovin' feeling."

I tried my hand at being an office manager for a good friend’s restaurant. I found out later that he wanted me to run the place into the ground as a tax right off. By the millennium he’d consumed all of his profits in cocaine. I hung in there through the disputes and bounced payroll checks, not wanting to be the first rat to abandon ship. A week later his mother came in and fired me, since no matter what was thrown at me I wouldn’t quit.

I got a phone call from the supervisor of “the Pizza Shop” wanting me to do a custom delivery map and guidebooks for a new area they were going to try to dominate. That led to another and another, until I had a little office/cubbyhole at their headquarters where I could cut and paste maps together and over-use their photocopier.

With a new supervisor, came objections of how much it was costing. Never mind that I was saving them tons of money on the time it took to train new drivers.

I went back to delivering pizzas… with the occasional trip to San Diego.

When you travel a lot, even if you can afford to pay cash, you inevitably use your credit cards to make airline, rental car and hotel reservations on-line. If you don’t pay attention, they can add up on you, especially if you have money to spare. 2004 rolled around and when resolutions were considered, I decided to forgo extra expenses like health insurance and started paying down a $20,000 credit card debt by sending Visa $1000 to $1250 a month and MasterCard $600, and did it without it even denting my budget.

With each passing year the economy slowed, and my business clients started cutting back on interior and advertising budgets. Clients couldn’t afford my landscapes for their offices and waiting rooms either. I found myself delivering pizzas more to make ends meet, but the tips were great towards those credit card bills; besides I liked the people I worked with. As the year progressed I'd spend more and more time in Columbus and delivered full time and did artwork less.

It wasn’t really a problem, in fact I was thinking of trying to heal the rift between myself and my father by getting some investment advice, because I had quite a tidy sum in the bank by then.

I'd still fly to San Diego on "business" occasionally. During the big fires I contributed cash backing to convert one of our warehouse/studios to temporary living quarters until they could get the insurance companies to help. I didn’t want a payback, I just liked helping people, I’ve lost count of how many people keep trying to read something sinister into that.

By October I'd completed all of the contracts I had for client’s Thanksgiving and Christmas graphics and newsprint ads. I settled into a well-deserved two-month hibernation over the holidays before I’d have to start working on “President’s Day” and Valentine stuff for the first quarter of 2005.

As usual by mid- October I’d get bored and “antsy”.

One particular pizza chain considered "full time" 33 hours!?! It was a good way to make fast extra money for big payments toward paying off my credit cards. It also meant extra pocket money towards Christmas presents and expenses if I wanted to fly out to see family in Pittsburgh or Oregon.

One thing I loved to do was to determine which of my friends were the neediest, then determine what I could do to help. This usually entailed driving around at about 3AM Christmas Eve, and leaving two or three bags of groceries on several doorsteps and sneaking away hopefully unnoticed. There were also the Christmas cards taped to the window of a friend’s front door window with an unsigned money order for between one or two hundred dollars.

No one had to know I’d done it. I knew and that was all that mattered. I’d start planning these sneak attacks months in advance, and have the route and a budget planned out by early October.

Little did I know it wouldn’t happen this year…

As the 2004 election went into a fever pitch, I chipped in and bought a bunch of copies of "Fahrenheit 911" to give out as door prizes at a sponsored "get out the vote" event at some of the local gay bars. One of the highlights was getting to meet John Kerry when he was in town along with Christopher Reeve's wife. Well, that's stretching it a little, I got to shake his hand for all of maybe five seconds, and exchange some chit-chat before he moved on to the next volunteer in the row. Four years later I'd be furious with him for dumping John Edwards to support Obama for president. I wasn't a big Edwards fan, but doesn't loyalty count for anything anymore?

November 2, 2004 I did my best to vote Bush out of office.

Four days later my life as I knew it would come to a crashing end. Not all at once mind you no, it is a slow painful death that almost five years later is still grinding me under its heel…

Thursday, August 28, 2008

November 6, 2004-A Pizza Delivery Nightmare...

Saturday November 6th, 2004 was in some ways a better than average day.

For obvious reasons I’m going to refer to it as “The Pizza Shop.” When the Ohio State Football team had a game on Saturdays, we were allowed to wear an OSU football t-shirt and jeans instead of the usual uniform. That sunny fall day the temperature was in the upper 60s, so I wore a long sleeve gray sweatshirt under my buckeye attire and jeans in order to keep warm during deliveries, basically because I insisted on doing them with my convertible top down. I’d stash the pizzas in the passenger side foot well with a couple extra bags on top of them to keep the food hot with the dashboard heat cranked up.

I loved to refer to it as “cruising around with the top down and the stereo up.” Customers would wave at me and I’d tap the horn and wave back. I had more than a few customers that’d request I deliver because they thought it gave their neighborhood a little class bragging that even their pizza delivery guys used new Chrysler Sebring convertibles instead of the expected competitor’s junkers.

My typical Saturday entailed working lunch from ten in the morning till around nine or ten that evening. I’d made it a tradition to come in early and create a big breakfast pizza for everyone using scrambled eggs instead of sauce and piling it high with the typical western omelet toppings and Velveeta cheese, and then I’d run it through the oven with some hashed browns and all of us would have a super breakfast on me.

From today, looking back four years, it’s really hard to remember how the early part of the workday went, so I’d say my tips were a little above typical. We had a very diverse delivery area with low-income housing projects, vast plots of middle-class streets interspersed with the usual businesses and gas stations you’d find next to the average expressway exit.

The day seemed to wear on forever and by 4PM I was hoping it’d turn out to be a slow day so I could go home early.

No such luck.

At the 4PM shift change we were short of help so I started counting the hours till 9PM. After delivering the evening rush with about four or five other drivers, I was told to take one more delivery run of three stops and then I could call it a night. The evening stayed warm so I left the top down.

The pizza shop is located in a big one-way traffic circle with cars traveling counter-clockwise. It had businesses including our pizza shop-blue circle on the inside and apartments around the rim on the outside, with middle class homes in the surrounding area. I checked my stops, shrugged that they weren’t likely to be tips and grabbed my parcels and cokes, after first dropping most of my money in a lock box in the store.

According to the totals I’d probably have to make change for three twenties since the welfare checks had just come out a few days earlier. I had a huge pocket full of change, and by the evening when I’d get tired of being stiffed at pizza runs, I’d give them 2-3 dollars in pennies, nickels and dimes half-heartedly apologizing that the last delivery took all my currency.

My first delivery was into the apartment complex surrounding our circle and by about eight that evening it’d already gotten dark. After using an alley I made it to the address. Three black guys were milling around a van two slots over. A young couple had exited their car and was in the process of carrying grocery bags through a door further down. I thought nothing of it because people were normally outside on warm evenings, and they were talking to each other openly and I think one even waved.

The long building had sixteen apartments arranged within four separate doors. Inside each outer door was a stairwell to the left that led straight ahead and up to two doors on an upper landing, and to the right it was a narrow hall that led to two doors directly below side-by-side one being behind the open stairwell. The apartment I’d delivered to would be on the first floor straight ahead to the right. Red Circle

I entered the building and knocked. A woman answered the door, I smiled and gave her my cheerful “prerecorded banter” and accepted a check from her. As expected the check was written for the exact amount with no tip. I checked her I.D. and no sooner than I had, the door was closed in my face before I could thank her. I shrugged and headed back outside to the car.

I’d done this hundreds of times before here; our Pizza Shop was no more than a couple hundred yards from the complex and I was more interested in getting the deliveries done so I could go home after a long day. The complex was going “Section 8” which meant low-income customers and no tips.

As I exited, I stuffed the check into my pocket, and from the front door headed for my car. The parking lot was now deserted and I told my car to start, (see an earlier chapter) turn on its headlights and then start the CD player, as I made my way to it.

From out of the corner of my eye I spotted them coming from behind the van and thought nothing of it. I had people approach me all the time asking for directions after getting lost in the apartment complex, or they’d overheard me talking to my car and came over to tell me how “sweet” it was and ask if I’d do it again.

Tossing the bags in the passenger side, I’d almost gotten my door open when all three began sprinting toward me. I’d jumped in, but they caught the door before I could close it. I tried saying, “lock-panic!” to my car but only got the first word out; resulting in only one chirp acknowledgement. The car was now in a "standby" mode. It would now ignore any voice commands and I'd have to hit the disarm button on my remote to drive it anywhere.

The first word only "locked" the car in whatever mode it was in. It was part of the anti-carjacking feature, so that in cold weather I could leave it unattended and running if I needed to run into a convenience store for something. The keys would've been locked in the ignition had I managed to get them in the slot. However at least the gearshift was frozen (small comfort.)

Unfortunately I hadn't managed to get my foot on the brake either. If I were stopped at a traffic light and a carjacker opened the door with my foot on the brake, I could flee the car to safety and call the cops. The anti-theft feature activated, and the carjacker would have control of the car for about five minutes, then all of the controls would freeze, leaving them where the police could find them-five findable minute's distance away, stranded after the engine shut itself off, the keys magnetically locked in the ignition, and the alarm sounding.

I looked up to find the business end of a .45 automatic in my face.

The young one in the middle seemed to be trying to tell me in heavily accented English to get out of the car. Later I'd surmise that the only words he knew in English were the ones he was using because he didn't seem to understand anything I said to him. The area had recently been invaded by Somali refugees, none of whom seemed to speak our language, resulting in most of them being unemployed.

The three 16 to 18-year-old young men were black, and the parking lot was dimly lit. The one in the middle had the gun and the two on either side were jostling with each other to get to me first. The car continued running without the keys in the ignition. Had I gotten the word “Panic” out, the alarm would have started going probably scaring them away.

To this day I'm still beating myself up for not holding down the lock button on the remote that I had in my hand. Things were happening to fast to me and I didn't think of it.

The only thing to do was to do exactly what they said; it's really the only way to survive a robbery, because if you piss off someone that's scared, which most robbers are, you're likely to get shot by them out of frustration.

They grabbed me by my T-shirt, yanked me out of the car, and then threw me to the ground. After dark I always stashed my wallet in my lock box back at the pizza shop for safekeeping. Terrified, I kept telling them I’d give them anything they wanted if they’d just leave me alone. One began kicking my left chest hard with a grin, as the one who spoke broken English demanded money. I only had about $48 in currency plus my big pocket of change. They were furious at what little they'd have to split three ways, and began going through my pockets as I lay in a protective fetal position on my right side.

One stopped and jumped into my convertible. I had one moment of clear thought and threw my keys under the car where they couldn't be reached. The moment he hit the brake the engine died. He started babbling at me in a language I didn't understand and then jumped out of the car to rejoin his friends.

It quickly became a beating in revenge for them having to split only $50 three ways.

Coins clattered to the asphalt parking lot and the one with the gun began repeatedly beating me over the head with the butt of his weapon while demanding the rest of my money and my wallet. I gave him the customer’s check, which only made him madder. The other two began kicking and stomping on my left leg and foot while their leader continued beating me about the face and head.

Oddly enough, I don’t remember being in pain then; I remember the sound of the impacts, but no pain—probably because by then (the doctors later explained) I was in shock. It occurred to me that if they’d meant to or were able to shoot me they would’ve done it by then, so I started screaming for help at the top of my lungs. They immediately panicked and ran away into the darkness between the buildings.

All I felt was terrified fear and panic, but I knew that the first thing to do was to get away from there. My car controls were frozen so that even I couldn't drive it away for about another three minutes, so I ran back into the apartment building. I knocked at the door of my customer and they refused to let me in or even open their door...

That’s when I saw blood on my hand from where I’d just scratched my head.

I urgently and then loudly told them that I’d just been robbed, I'd been hurt, and to call 911. I also asked them to call the pizza shop, reciting the phone number. I got no reply, so I tried their neighbor’s door to the left. They wouldn’t open their door either and I was beginning to fear that the robber trio might come back to shoot me in order to keep me from identifying them to the police.

I was starting to feel dizzy but still not really in pain. The neighbors yelled through the door that they’d called the police and I slumped against the wall under the stairwell hoping it’d hide me. Suddenly the neighbor opened the door, took one look at me and screamed, then slammed the door shut again. It startled me into jumping away from the door and my back hit the opposite wall next to the customer’s door.

That’s when I saw it.

The wall where I was leaning before was covered with blood. I looked down and my shirt and jeans were stained reddish-purple. I started panicking/pleading with them to give me first-aid and that I was bleeding. The neighbor lady opened the door, threw a wet washrag and a dry towel at me and slammed the door closed again.

I wiped my face and the white square of terrycloth came back bright red. I slumped down to a sitting position against the wall and heard the sirens approaching.

Two policemen cautiously burst through the front hall door, guns drawn and anxious. One put on a pair of surgical gloves and checked my head, then radioed the ambulance to get its location and told it to hurry. I kept trying to stand, but he kept pushing me down and saying to relax. Still not feeling any pain, but with a tightening chest, I got up anyway and told the cops what happened. I didn’t have health insurance, and figured that it was just a few cuts on the top of my head and nothing to worry about. My stupid pride or the stress of the situation prevented me from realizing that any medical costs would’ve covered under workman’s comp.

Two of my assistant managers arrived and looked at me like I was the walking dead. I knew I’d be tied up here for a while so I turned over the pocket key to my drop box, my receipts and money, and one of them left with my other two deliveries, while the other assistant manager stayed with me. I refused the ambulance driver’s offer to go to the hospital because I was still not feeling any pain. They wrapped a bandage around my head and gave me an ice pack and told me again to get it checked out before too long.

I nodded after signing something and they left.

Another cop came in and told me that local TV station vans were arriving and I knew that if I couldn’t identify my attackers, they might be able to find me by my face plastered all over the local late-evening news, so I took the cop’s offer to get me out of there before the TV news set up shop.

I was beginning to feel an odd sensation in my left foot, almost as if there were holes in the floor whenever I walked, but I didn’t feel any pain, so I didn’t think anything of it. For a moment I panicked, thinking they had the keys to my car, but remembered I'd thrown them under it and fished them out.

Arriving back at the pizza shop everyone blanched and asked me if I was all right and I said I was. I always had Sundays off and I figured after some rest I’d be back to work by Monday. The manager looked skeptical. He had my paperwork and after giving me the $175 or so in tips I’d gotten from the long day, he said I was $51 short, which is how much the thieves got.

An extreme effort was made to keep me from going back out through the dining room where the customers would see me.

He called company security and told them what happened. Our area supervisor called in and he said it looked really bad and they insisted I go to the hospital. I kept refusing and saying I was all right, so I sat with him in the office for half an hour and coworkers all filed in, took one look and left whispering to each other.

Apparently I was deep in shock and didn’t feel my injuries.

The shock began to wear off... then the pain started.

By 10PM I was really starting to feel an aching sensation in my left chest, so I drove myself to a private urgent care place about half a mile away… it was closed. I knew of another a mile or so away and drove there… it was closed too. The only option left was to go to St. Anne’s hospital.

After circling the parking lot of the unfamiliar complex, I found the emergency room. Each time I'd gotten out of the car only to have to get back in again had gotten increasingly more agonizing. By the time I'd found Saint Anne’s, it was too painful to even open my car door without squeezing my eyes tightly and clenching my teeth in agony.

I seem to remember walking into the emergency room and the attending nurse took one look at me and her jaw dropped. I think I said something like, “I think I need help,” then I felt weak and nearly fell to the floor.

To their credit someone caught me before I collapsed. Thinking back on it, the next day I was shocked at how completely blood-soaked my clothes were. I was run through a cat scan and was told the results. I had nine deep cuts in my scalp where one of them tried to beat me to death with the butt of his gun. They were stapled closed along with two cuts above my left eyebrow. I had two broken ribs, at least one or more fractures in my knee, and a broken foot. My hair was all matted down with dried blood.

Apparently I’d lost a lot of blood.

They issued me orders to see a foot and ankle doctor, a pair of crutches, a prescription for Percocet and sent me home. I couldn’t feel any pain in my foot yet, but my left side beneath my armpit was nearly unbearable. The crutches under my arms were killing my chest, so I walked to my car carrying the crutches instead of using them settling for the lessor of two pains.

I barely got in the car, screaming out loud, and then stopped at the local CVS Pharmacy and got the pain medication. Again it didn’t occur to me until I got back to the car that the pharmacist was probably scared of me all covered from head to foot with blood. Just the effort of moving my arms to open the door was impossible to put into words. It took me another ten minutes just to start the car.

I drove the twelve miles home and it hurt just to turn the steering wheel. I made it into my apartment and found a message from our young assistant manager Matt at the pizza shop, calling to see if I was alright. I decided to call him tomorrow and got painfully undressed and fell into bed.

If only I’d known I wouldn’t be able to get back out of it the next morning…

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

November 7 thru 30 2004-Three weeks of Firsts

This is a work in progress and I haven't posted the pictures or proofread it-thanks for your patience

November 7, 2004. The next morning, just getting out of bed was an exercise in agony. I woke up to find that as a result of the two broken ribs, I was trapped on my back and couldn’t do a sit-up to get out of bed. It seemed that the more I tried, the more it evolved to the point where my abs just refused to obey. Strangely enough once I was standing erect I was all right; it was the transition to sitting or from sitting that hurt like hell. I gingerly edged over to the side of my mattress and rolled off onto my hands and knees, screaming as I landed. In the days and then weeks to come it was so bad that I was increasingly afraid to try. I’d actually will myself to sit up and nothing would happen.

Having the freedom of movement was now less than what it was worth in pain.

Neighbors began checking in on me day and night because I’d involuntarily cry out in agony when I moved around. Because of the staples in my scalp, washing my hair was prohibited until the end of the month. They very sternly warned me not to scratch them or rub them unnecessarily, but I can feel them when I put my head on my pillow and they ITCH.

The crutches are still out of the question with the broken ribs but I kept trying to use them. The walker they eventually issued me wasn’t much better. Trying to stand in front of the sink while washing dishes or cooking became a real challenge. It meant balancing on one foot and trying to steady myself on the walker with one hand, which would leave me only one hand free.

Every morning for a week, I had to somehow get out of the routine of waking up, wanting to shower, shave and get my uniform on, then call some art clients or my friends in San Diego, watching the clock so I’d get to work on time to deliver pizzas.

After an examination at his office, Dr. Foot scheduled me for surgery December 16th. There’s apparently more damage than I thought. I’d never had surgery before. It turns out that I was scared over nothing; they knocked me out before I even knew what was happening. I woke up seemingly a minute later wondering when it’d start only to discover they were done.

Since it was an outpatient procedure, I couldn’t drive myself there and they wouldn’t operate unless I had a confirmable ride home. Dan volunteered to shuttle me. Maybe this whole ordeal will be worth it after all; I’ll get a