“Saturday,
the 18th of August, 2012: Just An Ordinary Day That Became
Extraordinary!”
08/19/12
To my very, very dearest friends, and constant,
loyal readers,
On Friday, the weekend looked to be a disaster; I
had an appointment with my Pain Doctor on Saturday, which—for me—was hitherto
unheard of. The last time I recall a
doctor’s office open on a Saturday, was—I believe—back in 1988, when a friend
rushed me to a local ‘Walk-in Clinic’, for excruciating pain that was determined
to be caused by a kidney stone.
All manner of potential problems emerged on Friday;
how was I to even get there, as the County Medicare cab only operates Monday
through Friday, and I would—perforce—have to engage a taxi at the full-metered
rate (think, $18.00 each way!), not counting any sort of tip.
And too, my dearest friends, I realized I had become
housebound, not wanting to go anywhere over the weekend.
Oh, sure, I can telephone two weeks in advance, and
reserve a ride with the County Medicare cab, and then manage to force myself to
get out of the house. I can accomplish
this, because the routine is set in stone, and I have seen the same care
Providers—now—for four or five years; the ‘Pain’ doctor is the newest one, at
almost two years.
And so, I find strange comfort in the boring, the
predictable, the expected, as these things make me less anxious, and able to
better tolerate getting out.
And while I am grudgingly able to visit various
doctors, still…I find I cannot force myself to go to the grocery store, or to
the mall, or, for any kind of prolonged drives.
I pay a flat fee, and have my groceries shopped for, and delivered, and
put-away in the house for me.
This last, I justify as a quite reasonable expense,
as I particularly always disliked having to grocery shop, thinking it to be one
of the most egregious wasters of time, effort, and purpose.
I had saved-up the cash, sufficient to go a-cabbing
on Saturday; but then a friend offered to take me to the doctor’s office, and
then stop to have my prescriptions filled!
Of course, I must have telephoned her at least four
times to ensure she was—indeed—going to pick me up, and on time. And, maybe—out of anxiety—I would not
discount some O.C.D/ along the way. Its
just that I apparently MUST have all the details buttoned up, with no zingers,
or whammies, that I might have difficulty coping with.
And, in truth, dear friends, my anxiety level was
going up, particularly when I telephoned her on Saturday morning to see if she’d
be on time, only to find that I had wakened her, and that she was not anywhere
near ready. I—on the other hand—had been
up AND dressed almost two hours before.
And, she did arrive somewhat late, but well in time
for my appointment, and with sufficient time to telephone, and cancel the taxi.
You might know that Nature sometimes can throw shit
into the game, for about thirty minutes prior to my friend’s arrival, the
heavens darkened, lightning caused the electricity to the house to surge, with
several, brief power outages, all of which put my nerves (and, that of the dog)
on end.
And then it began to rain; huge pourings-down of
showers that blew horizontally against the shaking house, causing the front
yard to pool with rain that had not time to runoff. I peeked through my curtains, and could see
nothing but grey walls of rain…real, ‘Old Testament’ style.
And while I do not mind getting a little wet, I mind
very much getting drenched, and getting my hair, and glasses wet (and the
former will ever bug me until they can invent windshield wipers for glasses!).
But, by the time we had reached and entered my
doctor’s office ( and, dearest friends, don’t you just LOVE going into a place
sobbing wet, and dripping, while it seems that everyone else, there, is as safe
as houses, and completely dry. They sort
of stared at me as if I had anything to do with the weather!
After a brief visit with my physician’s Assistant (whom I actually like better!), we were off,
and on our way to get my precious prescriptions filled.
Driving amidst a ton of traffic, in the rain, is no picnic.
And as an already anxious, agoraphobic passenger, I found I closed my eyes at
the busier and more congested intersections; I figured what I couldn’t see,
wouldn’t hurt me.
Now maybe, it was—in part due—to the rain stopping
and going away, or, whether being driven by a friend who understands my quirks
helped, but, I suddenly, and rather oddly found myself not exactly wanting to
go back home just yet.
As it was near lunchtime by now, I asked my friend
if she was hungry. Both of us had missed
any kind of breakfast, and—in running late—she had not even had her morning
coffee.
What next transpired was completely out of either
character or habit for me, for, suddenly, even though I was only a shade
hungry, visions of a steak with huge steak fries wafted-through my tiny mind,
and I could almost smell the aroma of steak.
Quite on impulse, then, I mentioned it to her, and,
surprise!, she said she would be adverse to stopping somewhere for lunch, and
that steak sounded good! (And, unless one is Vegan, when doesn’t it?).
After we had almost gone into Perkins, my friend
took us—instead—to ‘Applebee’s’. It was the most normal thing to do in the
world.
We were shown to a booth, and we ordered drinks
(please keep in mind, dear friends, that I have not had a ‘Black Russian’ in
donkey’s years, and by golly, it was icy, and smooth, and the alcohol
doubtlessly helped put me at ease, and ready for a nice lunch!
Throwing all caution to the wind, a giant, shared
appetizer was followed—of course!—by another drink; and then…the steaks
arrived. I must confess to you my dear
friends that I had quite forgotten what steak looked like, smelled like…or…tasted
like!
And our waitperson, Adrianne, could not have been
more agreeable, more accommodating, or more friendly.
As my friend and I lingered over coffee, and ice
cream sundaes, from my little cash stash, I gave our server a crisp twenty
dollar bill, so that she would not have to divvy-it up with anyone, and I did
leave an appropriate gratuity when she took my credit card.
Before we were served, I had to visit the oubliette to
pee, and to wash my hands. The dining
room was about half full, with most of the patrons ensconced in booths along
the aisles.
Of course I was wearing my portable oxygen, and had
my cane. Was I looked at? Sort of, in an oblique way that people have
of taking a quick gander at something, and then pretending they are looking out
into space at something else.
No matter. It
did not bother me in the least; I merely smiled beatifically at them as I
stumped by.
Then, on our way home, I had us stop so that she
could take my credit card, and put twenty dollars’ worth of gasoline in her
car. And, then, it was to home, again.
The only aggravation during our soiree was that I
ran out of oxygen, never having thought to take along an extra tank. So I quite literally arrived home breathless
and flush.
When later I had time to think, and to reflect upon
the day, it seemed not unreasonable, nor abnormal, nor in any way unaccustomed.
However, I found startling the thought that
yesterday was the first time I had been in a restaurant since…Fall, of 2005,
when I last had occasion to treat my late mother and myself to an alfresco
lunch at ‘Ruby Tuesday’s’, particularly favored by my mom because she really
liked their salad bar; I liked it, because it was close to home, AND, I could
enjoy a mixed drink.
2005???????? Friends, that’s been six years! Its been that long since I last visited the
library, or, took my mom shopping at the mall.
In those days, I still had money, and was able to drive a car. Mom and I would have, “Modified Mom’s Day”
quite apart from the date for Mother’s Day on the calendar.
Mom would always go to the sale’s racks; but,
looking around-on a couple of occasions, I chanced upon two or three suits that
while not on sale, looked wonderful on my dear mother. She used to make me
laugh, as she would run her hand, casually down the garment’s sleeve, to just
barely upend the label to get a quick look at the price. Then, she would always say that it was too
expensive, and would try to put it back on the rack.
But I knew I had won, whenever I actually got my mom
to try the suit on. Of course they
looked wonderful, and on my mom, took on a most regal, stately appearance.
Then, nothing would do but we then try to find
shoes, and a handbag to match!
I loved these outings with my mom, and it always
very much pleased me to be able to get her ‘nice things’. And my mother was—I believe—87 years old, at
the time.
I look back—now—upon these adventures with much
fondness, and warmth of heart.
I know that, on any given day, millions of Americans
dine out somewhere. For me to have been
somehow denied that pleasure for six years makes me wonder all the more how
strangely life can turn out sometimes.
For surely my illnesses, pain, relative poverty,
anxiety and agoraphobia kept me a virtual prisoner within my own home; an
implied—though most effective—form of ‘house arrest’.
I know that there are days, and days, and days on
end during which I am quite housebound.
But, almost six years from last being in a restaurant? How much of a recluse AM I becoming?
Of course, it must be argued that the endless,
wearying Summer’s heat, the poignant lack of funds, and, not having—or, being
able to drive—a car, certainly impose a certain lackluster, inability, or
desire to venture out.
But the self-evidence of truth both shocked, and
amazed me.
Perhaps, though, a larger question remains: I
managed to ‘get out’ once, and have—actually—a splendid time of it; can I do it
again, sometime in the very-near future?
My very, very precious friends, I put the question
before you…do you ever find yourself staying ‘in’ for very protracted periods
of time?
If you do manage to get out, can you drive, or must
you have someone take you? Are there—for
you—any places to go that are ‘off limits’, where you cannot make yourself
go? Or, are you just satisfied to stay
at home, and inside?
I do feel as if I have missing something very
important. And hope—from your comments,
below—to better understand life, in general, and myself, in particular.
But,
as always, please, please know that I love you dearly!
‘Zahc’/Charles
