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.