FUN AT THE PODIATRIST

As seen at the podiatrist.

Went to the podiatrist, Got my toe expertly debrided, plus I was given special shoes to keep my flat feet more unmoving, which will aid in healing the toe. I return in two weeks, but first I need to schedule a circulation test at Presbyterian Methodist. It never ends, I tell ya...

Dead flesh/callus whittled away. And now, the healing begins.

MY MOTHER TURNS 90

 

So my mother, the one and only Mildred Delores Bunche (nee Smith) , turned 90 on January 20th. I always know how old she is because she was born during the year when the original KING KONG was released. Anyway, my birthday present to her was a fancy order of flowers from a florist and my presence at her house for a night and a day. Here she is with the balloons that a neighbor friend gave her.

The plethora of birthday cards that she received, plus the schmancy flowers I sent.

 

Hanging out in the living room, which has incredibly comfortable seating.

 

Note the self-portrait that I did during my second year of art college. I fucking hate it but mom loves it. I can't stand how its used as the prime piece in a house that has two rooms that are pretty much shrines to me, decorated as they are with multiple framed photos of me.

At her fancy Chinese dinner at Westport's Little Kitchen. I introduced her to crystal shrimp dumplings. They were nowhere near as good as those found at a Chinatown dim sum place, so I told her that when it's warmer she will have to go to a Chinatown dim sum house for the real deal.

It was a shameless massacre of quality Chinese food.

The vist was very nice. Totally pleaqsant and fun, as opposed to our usual bouts of nastiness and fighting. I wish our relationship had always been so Hallmark perfect.

WHEN FRIENDS RALLY

(L-R) Chica Caliente, What Jesus Actually Looked Like, Boom Boom (as in a bass's sound), Madras Mama, (NAME REDACTED), Da Hitman.

So when I decided to check myself into Mount Sinai it was a bit after midnight on Monday morning, so I called the dialysis center to alert them of my impending Monday absence, with a request that they call and let the car service know likewise. (Both were closed until 7am.) What I did not know was taht the number I had for the center ditched my message to some random voicemail, so my message went unheard. As I am never late for a treatment, there was much furor when I did not report for Monday's session. Linda called and left me a message, but I did not get it because my phone's ringer was turned off. Linda therefore called my emergency contact number, and he alerted my immediate support group. They left a number of voicemail messages and texts, but, again, my phone was off. My crew rallied and descended on my apartment, only to realize they did not have my keys.

 

Or so they thought.

 

When I finally got the messages, everyone had just arrived at my place, and I quickly called to put their fears to rest. Lisette told me "You REALLY need to get us a set of your keys." I then told her "But I did. I gave them to (NAME REDACTED)." Lisette held the phone away and told that person "Steve said you have a set of his keys..." (NAME REDACTED) responded with "I DO???" Then they posed for a selfie in front of my building.

 

This is my family, and I love them very much for many reasons, but rallying like this went above and beyond. I won't forget it.

HOME AGAIN

 I'm back from my second trip to a hospital's ER in three days, and I am EXHAUSTED.

A HOSPITAL MEAL DONE RIGHT

A decent hospital meal: chicken Marsala and noodles with gravy.

HOSPITAL BREAKFAST IN HELL

There’s a special place in Hell for those who serve cold, microwaved pancakes with Mrs. Dash as a condiment option. Mrs. Dash is awful enough in the first place.

AAAAAND I'M BACK IN THE ER AGAIN

 

HOME FROM THE ER

I'm home. I'm going to eat some Stouffer's mac and cheese and then pass the fuck out.

 

The final outcome of my ER visit is inconclusive. The hiccups were more or less taken care of by a shot of Thorazine, a dose of Ativan, and two doses of Baclofen. That said, the hiccups were only largely quelled, not stopped. I'm so tired, I'll be able to sleep through the current level of hiccups.

 

Like last time. I was not given a bed or room upon arrival in the ER. It was not a crowded shit show like in November, but there were two colorful characters in there with me. The first was a scruffy-looking white guy who was asleep in the waiting area's La-Z-Boy recliner, and he snored loudly. In fact, nothing could awaken him, not even the noisy floor buffer that was being used around his carcass. He turned out to be schizoaffective and when he awoke he was adamant about seeing a psychiatrist for med to "quiet the voices in my head." That's all well and good, but he was repeatedly told that his psychiatrist was out for a week, and that the drugs he requested could not be given to him so he would have to leave. He robotically repeated his request for drugs and a psychiatrist, and they eventually got him a psychiatrist who explained that he could not hand him the requested drugs. The schizoaffective guy then refused to leave until he got his way, so the nurses called over the in-ER security guy looked like a 6'3" 330-pound answer to Oddjob, and this Hispanic Harold Sakata lookalike was having none of it. He sternly informed the guy that if he did not leave, as he had his discharge papers, in no uncertain terms it would be time for a beatdown. "You pull this shit every day and I'm sick of it," said Oddjob, and the patient quickly got himself together and was escorted out.

 

The other character was a tall, skinny, ultra-ghetto-acting black dude in his early twenties who had just gotten out of jail, gone to a party, and had been shot i n the leg. He called the police, only to himself end up in handcuffs and ankle shackles. Nearly every word out of his mouth was the foulest of profanities, and when not channeling Samuel L. Jackson, he kept demanding a cigarette and stating "I kill people." He also relentlessly and futilely hit on a buxom Latina nurse, who was clearly amused at his failing attempts at getting into her pants. After an hour or so of his entertaining antics, the bored cops finally led him away, presumably back to the jug.

 

When I finally got a room to myself for about two hours, I soon got a roomie in the form of a Jamaican man a little older than me, and he was accompanied by his wife and daughter. He had been super-constipated for days, plus his prostate issues prevented him from peeing. Solutions to the pee problem were tried for hours, until it was decided to catheterize his penis. I don't think I have to tell you that the poor bastard howled and cried like the damned, but nothing was working. The screams were such that I felt my own manhood shrivel like a spider on a hot stove, and suck itself up into my torso. Even the female nurses who were tending to him made note of how all of this was even getting to them. I had to excuse myself from the room, and act that prompted the nurses to kick his family out. I don't know about you, but I would not want my wife and daughter in the room while a catheter was being s schlamped up my John Thomas.

 

Anyway, I am finally home after nearly 13 hours in the ER, and I can't wait to succumb to sheer exhaustion.

ER UPDATE 2

I have a bed and a room, and the daytime doctor is going to do tests and bloodwork to rule out heart attack. Bad hiccups can signal heart trouble, but I doubt that’s what it is. My cardiology checkup a few weeks back was an A+. 

 

Blood has been drawn for tests. God only knows how long until results. Meanwhile, the hiccups continue and my poor throat is ravaged. I sound like Merceds McCambridge.

ER UPDATE

The Thorazine didn’t work, so now they are going to try another med. I have also requested a bed, as I have been awake for over. 24 hours and am about crash hard.

WHILE IN THE ER, A LITTLE TASTE OF HEAVEN

Shot up with Thorazine and enjoying a tuna salad sandwich box while waiting for the Thorazine to take effect. No lie, I love hospital box lunches, with tuna salad being my hands down favorite. Delicious!

BACK IN THE ER

From my Facebook page.

I swear, I just cannot catch a break.

After I ate my breakfast of oatmeal on Friday morning, I began to hiccup but could not do my trick with downing and purging 40 ounces of water to stop them, due to needing time for the food to at least partially digest before I do it, and I finished breakfast maybe fifteen minutes before my car would show up to take me to dialysis. I would just have to endure roughly six hours of hiccups until I got home, where I would do the water purge.

 

Dialysis went fine, and when I got home I did the water purge and got some brief relief. As I was hungry, I hauled ass to the Chinese Popeye's in Sunset Park and enjoyed my favorite meal on their menu, the 5-wing combo. But as I rode the bus to Sunset Park, the hiccups began again. They were quelled while I ate, but they started up again on the bus ride back home.

 

Upon returning home I did the purge trick again, but it provided relief of maybe ten minutes. Over the hours between 5pm and 2:30am I did the purge trick seven times, with the same results. As of 3am, I just did the water trick again and I have utterly voided my system and I feel like a spent tube of toothpaste. That said, the hiccups stopped for another ten minutes, but then they kicked in again, only with less intensity, instead manifesting as spasms of my upper GI tract without any shortness of breath. As I write this, they have decreased to roughly two-second intervals.

 

I am exhausted but I am now also too tired to sleep. I wanted to avoid another trip to the Brooklyn Presbyterian Methodist Hospital's ER, especially in the wee hours, when the place is like something out of Heironymous Bosch, but I am packed and ready to head over there. STAY TUNED

ER AFTERGLOW

Upon getting home from the ER, I slept solidly for approximately 9.5 hours. Ah, blissful sleep without catheterized elders, ghetto thugs, or schizoaffective drug moochers...

SHIT OUTTA (SUN) LUCK

Sun Luck, my go-to Chinese takeout joint, just changed ownership and name (to something I did not bother to remember), and the new owners have changed the menu to an alarming degree. 

When I went in a half hour ago, the place, which is usually glutted with people making and picking up takeout orders, was shockingly empty. The aged placards illustrating the dishes that were once available, with their prices, were now gone and the walls were bare. They also appear to have restored dining in, but no one was seated and eating. I saw and greeted the usual counter guy, who looked miserable, and without looking at the new menu I attempted to order some ribs and an order of yung chow fried rice, but neither exist there anymore. I then looked over the new menu and found that all of my favorite items are gone and the menu is now more generic, seemingly designed to appeal more to the local white hipsters who don't frequent the place anyway. I was not impressed with its bare bones offerings, so I turned around and walked out.

I have gotten takeout from Sun Luck innumerable times during the 25 years I have lived here in Park Slope, and the white-a-tizing of it fare has cost them having me as a customer. (Not that they care.) Hopefully my reaction is a common one that will make the new owner rethink what they have done. 

Oh, and they also raised the prices to a ridiculous level. $12.75 for chicken fried rice? Go and fuck thyself with a hot wok.

REGARDING THE NOVEL OF JAWS (1974): STICK WITH THE MOVIE.

The 1974 first edition of JAWS. If not for the superb film adaptation, would the source novel even be remembered today?

I'm about halfway through the audiobook of JAWS, a novel I have not read since perhaps 1976. I remember finding it boring, especially when stacked against the film adaptation, and that's because the movie trims all of the unnecessary fat from the book. 

The book spends a lot of time on a sub-plot about the slimy mayor wanting the beaches to remain open because he owes money to the mob and the drop in tourism caused by the closure causes tourist not to rent or but summer lodgings, and a mobster has his finger in that potential pie of profit. Much is also made of the attraction between Chief Brody's wife and marine specialist Hooper, and both sub-plots bring the narrative to a screeching halt, utterly forgetting the situation with the shark sometime for a chapter at a time. If the movie had remained fully faithful to the source novel, I kinda doubt that it would be the revered classic that it is today. 

The book is a summer reading potboiler at best, and if you ask me, author Peter Benchley happened to be in the right place at the right time and with the right page-turner for the American book consumer in 1974. Worth reading for the curious and also for those who want to see what birthed the movie. For all others, you can give it a polite miss. It's not terrible, just mediocre.

 

 

AAAAAND I'M BACK IN THE ER YET AGAIN

 

I am once more in the hospital, this time at Mount Sinai, and for the same reason as what landed me at Brooklyn Presbyterian-Methodist. I opted for professionalism over convenience of location, and I am grateful that I did, because there were minor chest pains involved. Nothing serious, likely just irritation due to muscle fatigue from all the hiccuping. I’m being kept overnight for observation and thus far my heart is testing out fine, though I am scheduled for an echocardiogram tomorrow. Please keep me in your thoughts and stay tuned. Oh, and do NOT tell my mother. She would only freak out, which she absolutely does not need. And now, some much-needed sleep.