4-12-06
Good Morning My Love –
Christy’s boyfriend Thomas returned last night from The Hague in Holland, where he endured a six-hour interview for what may be the job of his life. I came in this morning expecting tales of a tearful, celebratory or at least carnal reunion.
But what poor Thomas got was a bit of a cold shoulder, and when he inadvertently woke Christy up during the night he got a reprimand. I’m sure it wasn’t as negative an evening as she made it sound; she likes to play Hard-Hearted Hannah sometimes, keepin’ the boys in line.
And I thought, my God, if that had been me, you’d have greeted me like a conquering hero, no matter how you felt physically or how tired you were. You’d have made me feel so welcomed, so loved, because expressing love, especially after a separation, was so important to you. And I realized again how lucky I was to be loved like that, so grateful you chose me as the recipient of that wonderful love — and that I’ll likely never have anything like it again.
Which of course trashed my morning completely and had me crying and sniffling all over the place,
I remembered my trips to Albany, and how happy you were when I’d return. Thank you so much, my love: you made me feel so damn special!
I guess the dentist beat me up more than I thought. Not only is my face still swollen on the left side, but a bruise has appeared just above my moustache. At least the tooth went down fighting.
Got a call from Pam at Home Instead, with a prospective new client. He’s actually here in town, at the extended care place on Reservoir Ave. Pam didn’t know much about him yet, except that he has memory losses and is a “flight risk” — can apparently walk quite quickly when he has a mind to, and then can’t figure out where he is. Pam assures me he’s easily turned around….Yeah, well, maybe. They’re covering him 9 to 9, 7 days a week, and she wanted to know if I could take a weekday 5:30 to 9 shift. I need the $, but can’t imagine what I’d do with him for 3 1/2 hours. Maybe walk! I think I might take the gig for the money and because it’ll be difficult for Home Instead to find enough baby sitters — uh, sorry, “caregivers” — to cover the time. But I hedged and asked Pam for more info before I commit.
Keep you posted.
Sciatic not too bad, but letting me know it won’t tolerate any pressure. Padded seat, or I stand. See lgmcd enter the Land of Old Fartdom.
Baby, in rereading the part about Christy and Thomas, I realized that there were times when I made you feel unloved, and I apologize to you for them. So many things in life that we do which can’t be undone, and we’re forced to live with the guilt of them. If there was ever a time you made me feel unloved, I can’t recall it, but I certainly recall times of great anger and anguish when I inflicted that on you. I was very wrong, and I’m very sorry.
Miss you a lot today, baby.
I just realized one reason why watching the M.s take all our stuff bothered me so. Remember “Zorba the Greek”? The most vivid scene in it, and one of the most horrible scenes in film history (in my opinion) is when the Russian lady dies and those ghastly black-clad village crones descend on her house like vultures and strip it bare. That’s what it felt like. Unfair to the M.s, since I’d asked them to do what they were doing. Just had no idea it would bother me so much.
You know, I find myself getting more like my mother: very emotional about matters of principle, weepy when someone shows courage and decency, angry when they don’t, even when it involves people long dead. Example:
Just after the Civil War, in a church in Virginia, the minister set out the utensils for communion. It was a semi-segregated church, with blacks standing along the side toward the back and whites sitting front and center.
Suddenly an elderly black man approached the altar and knelt to receive communion. Everyone else gasped; no black had ever taken communion with whites; they had to wait their turn, and use separate utensils (no white would drink from a cup a black had drunk from). The minister did nothing. How should he respond.?
Eventually a white-haired, white bearded Caucasian rose and he too approached the alter. Though he had recently declared himself homeless and penniless, he was held in high esteem by the community. Slowly he came forward, slowly he knelt beside the black man, and waited for the minister, who at last began to administer the sacrament — and gradually, the rest of the congregation joined the two men, and for the first time black and white shared communion.
The white man was Robert E. Lee.
The story brings tears to my eyes, as well as the Lee quote, from the first interview he gave after the war (to a northern paper) that the South was defeated as much by Lincoln’s goodness as by the Union army. What a remarkable, generous thing to say! I’ll have to read more about Lee, and Jefferson Davis, who, if he’d had his way, would still be fighting the war. Each of Davis’ generals, starting with Lee, chose to disobey a direct order from Davis, and told his troops to surrender rather than watch men be slaughtered on both sides for a lost cause. Now that took cajones!
4-13-06
Good Morning, My Best Baby –
I love you! — have I mentioned it lately?
The tooth isn’t quite as sore, though the bruise is a bit larger and I look like I have the mumps. I’ll try not to take a Percocet –
–because, as I learned from Tony the T (it’s later now; I’m back in the house), not only does it make you feel loopy and make you itch (everyone I asked who’d taken it had that reaction) it’s a de-inhibiter, making you more emotional. That was me yesterday. Relieved to know it’s the meds, and not me regressing.
We talked some more about Lisa. He warned me not to be too pushy, not to nag. Vital that the communication channels remains open. Reinterated her need for a good therapist.
And when I got home I got an email from her saying that the therapist she was to interview was part of a plan that had a $500 deductible — bad — and allowed a maximum of twenty visits a year — unacceptible. Of course she bitched about the money, which convinced me she’d cop out of therapy altogether. I wrote her back, saying that if she found a good therapist I’d pay deductible, co-pay, whatever, that I’d work an additional four days a week if necessary, that’s how important I thought it was. Will let you know how it goes down.
4-14-06
Good Afternoon My Love –
Lisa demurred, of course, over my paying for her therapy. But she also said she’d found a practice — 3 women — who operate on a sliding scale, with a C-note up-front payment, which I immediately offered to defray. Catch may well be the sliding scale, considering her salery. We need get a break here!
Longish email from D., who thinks Freddie is sinking fairly quickly and should probably be in a hospice facility. Will go down this weekend and press her case, I guess. She figures Freddie may not be ready to leave home. I wrote her back that — in your case as well as his — choices are all he has left, his only control, and we shouldn’t take that away, even if it means he causes himself some harm. Not that we shouldn’t attempt persuasion….
She also voiced her feelings about Abra, which are mixed. D.’s grateful to her, as I am, but still upset because Abra once said Freddie had no family. She finds Abra a bit cold. I gave her my impressions of Abra, which generally agreed with D.’s. I’ll quote you that part of my reply later, when I have time to copy it.
I’m home right now — only a half day at ECS — soon to go back into town for PT at 5:15. I’m feeling better. Mouth not as sore, sciatic not as tender. Didn’t take a Percocet last night, won’t tonight.
I’ve told Pam at Home Instead I’d try the “flight risk” next Thus., 5:30 to 9. See if it’s feasible. Can use the money, so hope it works out.
Back again. Session went better than I expected. The legs took to the work well. Only bad thing was, the “check engine” light came on while I was in the tunnel, scaring the crap out of me. Car ran OK, the light went off after a few seconds, and I got to PT OK, and had no problems coming back. I see Patrick May 2, but if I have any more problems this weekend will take it in Monday.
This is what I wrote D. about Freddie, and Abra:
“We’re entering tricky turf here, as you know. When Donna reached this point, all she had left were her choices, as limited and tragic as they were, and she clung to them fiercely. Fortunately, she’d make those choices after we’d talked and researched and agonized, so I had some imput, which she valued. That way, we guarded against a choice that went against her best interest. But once the choice was made, she was ferocious about sticking to it.
“I think Freddie operates the same way, except he’s not used to having anyone share the process. We both fear he’ll act against his own best interest by staying home too long and causing himself more pain than necessary. But we may have to accept it, at least temporarily, because — as with Donna — choices are the only control over his life he has left. Not that you shouldn’t try, or that you won’t eventually prevail, but as you anticipate, he might have to get worse before he’ll give in.
“I’ve only met Abra once, when she was here last. But I’ve been trying to figure out the relationship since I first heard about it. The following is pure speculation:
“Abra, a bright and independent-minded young person, is studying at Harvard when she meets Freddie. She’s never met someone like him before: handsome, exotic, strong of personality with an incredible tale to tell, yet underneath very needy. She becomes drawn into the tale, fascinated by this unique individual; she’s drawn to him because she’s socially idealistic, intellectually intrigued, and he appeals to all her maternal instincts. Marriage. But she soon finds out that Freddie really can’t function in her world, and she can’t submerge herself into his. So they work out a deal: she’ll do what she can for and with him, but he lives his life and she lives hers. Peace Corps, and two kids, not his. (That part still bothers me, a lot.) But in her way she’s still loyal to and protective of Freddie, who probably gave her the impression he had no family, at least not any family he was close to at that point, so in her mind she’s his surrogate family, and his protector. These roles suit her mindset, which I read as quietly arrogant, though I believe her affection and regard for Freddie are genuine. Her very own Special Needs person. It was interesting to observe her with Freddie: she had the pleasant efficient manner of the professional caregiver. Under that I sensed some genuine warmth, but it was as if she’d seen the visit as a job that she had to do as well and efficiently as possible, and then leave.
“I remain grateful for her help, but she does creep me out a bit. And I do suspect she feels she knows better than anyone else what’s best for Freddie.
“I don’t think it matters any more. I don’t really care what she thinks as long as Freddie’s taken care of properly. And if she needs to be involved to achieve that end, so be it. I’d rather she not be…but it’s Freddie’s call.
“I’m guessing I haven’t said anything you haven’t already thought of and factored in.
“I’ll call Freddie tonight, and maybe you and I can talk, by phone or email, over the weekend.”
I know how important it was that you maintained as much control as possible. Freddie deserves to keep what little control he has left.
4-15-06
Good Afternoon Beloved –
When I got back from Janet, I found a message from D., who’d heard from Abra, who’d heard from Freddie, who’d had a bad night — so bad that he’s in a rehab place and very possibly facing the end. BP down; God knows what his blood counts are. D. gave me more details but I’ve forgotten them; it’s enough to know he might be dying right now. D. is down at the rehab place, waiting to hear something definite; she says when she knows the score, she’ll call me. Hope I can get to tell him again how fine a man he is, how the world is better for him being in it.
It hurts, baby. I didn’t know how I’d take it, but it hurts.
Just got a royal flush, diamonds. Poker has a sense of humor.
I’m going to ask one favor of Freddie, if I can: when he gets to where he’s going, could he please tell you I love you?
Just finished a long talk with D. She thinks it’s a matter of days.
After a good day, Freddie vomited all night and when hospice showed up it was clear he needed to get more than hospice could give. Not sure why the ER wasn’t chosen, unless it’s because hospice felt the ordeal of the ER was too much and the benefits too slight in Freddie’s position. In other words, the ER might have put him in the OR to deal with what’s likely internal bleeding, all for what? A few more days? And a hospice facility apparently requires an evaluation, and no one’s there to evaluate: it’s Easter effin’ weekend! Nothing till Monday. Christ! (It’s Passover, too, so no Jewish doctors are available either. Any Buddhist M.D.s out there? Shit.)
So he’s in a private room in a nursing facility. BP 95/64, heart 107, neither good, but not immediately terminal either. They fear the cumedin is responsible for the internal bleeding, so they’ve d-c’d it. Morphine every two hours, and in D.’s opinion it’s not enough.
She’s going down early tomorrow. I’ll call in the early afternoon, and unless what she tells me alters my plan, will go down then. It’s my fervent hope that you and he will see each other soon.
4-16-06
Happy Easter My Love –
Walked in the early afternoon, then went down to see Freddie. Ironically, he’s three doors down from where Linda lives. I can’t see him lasting until May, baby. He’s lost another 10 lbs. easy, and looks emaciated. Can’t even sip without his stomach rebelling. I embarrassed him again by telling him how much I respected him. Stayed three hours watching him doze in a very familiar j0hnny — do they all look alike? — trying not to show his Depens to his visitors. His voice is a hoarse whisper. He stays curled up in a fetal position. Thank God he sleeps most of the time.
Of course it takes me back. But I did ask him to tell you I love you. He said he would.
I’ve been bothered by a notion: why did you die? Compared to Freddie you were plump. You weren’t wasting away, as he is. You’d gotten a fairly good report from your most recent MRI. I know you were going to die anyay, but why then? Why, suddenly, did you stop eating and die two days later? Eventually I’ll see Dr. G. again and ask him. I don’t think anything was done wrong, necessarily; I just don’t understand.
4-17-06
Good Afternoon My Darling –
Morning spent playing poker, watching the Sox (losing, at the moment) and emailing Lisa, Tom and John. Told John about Freddie and hoped that he felt at least a little pride at being a part of a family that could produce two such remarkable people as you and Freddie.
Will probably walk a bit after the game. I’m OK, with the usual caveats and exceptions, plus the ongoing soreness in my mouth where the cuttin’ and sewin’ were done. Sciatic better, mainly, I think, because I’ve been sleeping on my back.
Not much to tell you, baby, except that I love you and always will.
And if your sweet belief in the afterlife is true, I know you and Freddie will be talking (nonstop!) and laughing together soon.
Back, pooped from my walk. Baby, did you simply decide you’d had enough back in Sept. ‘05? Wouldn’t blame you, but wish you’d told me. I’d have respected and aided your decision.
On the walk I saw a little girl with your sweet happy/goofy smile. Started to snivel on the spot. Miss that smile so damn much! Later, shopping at the supermarket, found myself wishing I was still buying your flexible straws. Go figure.
4-18-06
Good Evening Beloved –
Stiff and sore from overwalking, but PT helped some. Did stationary bike work for the first time.
Don’t know what will come of it, but I may soon start working with Tom on writing. He’s been flattering about some of my descriptive skills, particularly character sketches, and in an email asked about writing together.
My response was that I could see him in the role of midwife. Ask me questions; I write out the answers; he comes back for more info or insight. We go back and forth until we have a draft, and then we tighten it up. Simple, huh? It would mean that Tom would be editor/muse. To my surprise, he OKd the idea.
Talked to D. No news of importance re: Freddie, other than hospice giving him two weeks or less. D. called Stevie, he of the dim bulb, who seemed shocked at Freddie’s downturn. Duh!
