“Daisy,
Doubts, Depression, Doctors, Deprivation, Daydreams, Dalliances, Despair, and,
Duracell Batteries”
09/12/12
To my always, dearest, dearest friends, and
ever-constant, kind and loyal readers,
Please forgive me, as—once more—various illness,
pain, depression, and sorrow over that which I cannot change, has caused me to
be isolative, weary, and distant from my computer.
Daisy continues to linger on, and—on some days, even—to
rally; those these most hoped for episodes are transient, and never last. I would like to imagine that she is
responding well to all the different medications, and, in truth, I do slip her
a little more pain medication to make her as comfortable as I can.
She was to be seen by the Dr. Wheaston, the, ‘mobile
vet’, but to my mind, Daisy’s condition has not evidenced further decline (in
fact, last night), I got down to the floor (painfully!), to play with her (on three,
difference occasions!), to scratch her ears, and call her ‘good girl’, and
other pet names that she seems to respond to.
This will doubtlessly sound silly—especially coming
from a fifty-eight year old man, on oxygen, to boot—but I have a number of ‘silly’
names I call her: “Daisy my baby”, “Daisy, my buddy and my pal”, “Dais” or “Daister”,
“The Daismeister, “Poodle”, “Monkey face”, “Daisy, my little pussycat’, or, “Daisy
Dukes B---“ (which gives all of her names, when she in in deep, and darkest
trouble!).
Or…and I am truly embarrassed to say this, but
sometimes I make up little, stupid songs, like children’s nursery rhymes, and
sing to her; this she almost always ignores, as—actually, were it done to me—I would
too!
And, my dearest friends…what is probably, decidedly worse…is
that sometimes I talk to her in ‘baby-talk’.
I would die of mortification should anyone ever hear me, but Daisy seems
to like it, and—really, friends—frankly, that’s all that really matters.
And as the mobile vet can only visit on Wednesdays
or Fridays, Daisy’s visit has been moved to the 19th of this month.
For the most part—though it only cause me to be more
depressed than usual—I have almost blocked thinking about ‘that time’, and, ‘that
decision’. If you will kindly excuse the
awful pun, ‘I might as well be Egyptian, as I am so in ‘De’NILE’ ; funny, wasn’t
it? All I can say is that, presently,
any diversion—however inane—is a diversion, nonetheless.
I have been in so much searing, and seemingly
unending agonies of pain, and depression, that I have had to respond by taking
extra, and extra-again, pain medication until my mind feels like cotton,
incapable of any ‘deep’ thought; its all I can do to hold on to the coattails
of the Present as it unfolds second by second.
The Future only offers in her out-stretched hands the fruit of folly,
peril, and destruction. While the Past—my
dearest friends—is a clouded and obscure and distant evil fun house; there is
no pleasure in remembering. Even as I
write this to you, the Past seems to be something I should be glad to have
escaped from.
So…what else is left? The space between sullen heartbeats, or
jagged breaths? Or the tympany or thrall
that happens with every pulse-beat of pounding and immutable pain that slides
down neurons like imps from Hell, to strike at the body in a hundred, different
places all at once? What is the weight
of a sigh? Or the height of an atom of
despair? Or, the depth of a single tear?
I was seen by my Primary, today; while she is
enormously engaging, pleasant to speak with, and, I imagine, as about as
understanding as any professional person could be, under the circumstances.
As to my pain, it is as if she cannot discern the
difference between shooting an arrow, or just throwing it. And, regarding my agoraphobia, depression,
anxiety, she is more than relieved to leave it in the careless oversee of my
Therapist.
Neither he—nor, anyone else for that matter—can ever
plumb the complexities of the mind; imagine turning rapidly, the dial on an
A.M. radio, in hopes of finding those three, or four stations whose generated
wattage allows them to stand out from the rest in terms of fidelity, and
crystal-clarity of sound.
More simply…I dare you to try to pick out one or two
voices in, say, a Mormon Tabernacle Choir!
Oh, one has brief hints that one voice may emerge above the rest, but it
is elusive, and frankly, such individualism is counter-productive to the
success of any choir, as all voices should be blended into a harmonious one.
Today is September 12th, and, I am SO
broke, to paraphrase a neighbor of mine, “I’m so broke, I can’t even afford to
pay attention!” ANY further expenditure—this
month—must of necessity be thrown upon the old charge card; which is, in a way
like digging a grave before a person dies. As to say that balances tend to
gather, as ‘snowballs-into-avalanches’, due each month, but so self-perpetuating
that they will never be paid off in full.
“Daydreams” and “Dalliances” I can definitely blame
on my dear C.N.A., who helped me with my thrice-weekly shower.
Our conversation—as it usually does—turned to our
winning the Lottery, and splitting it, as—once a week—I give her two dollars
(one, for each of us), to purchase ‘quick picks’. Of course if we did actually win, she
promised she would, “drag my ass, oxygen and all, out of the house”, to race to
the State Capitol to collect.
What’s fun—in full spite of the gaping realities of
poverty and insufficient funds—is to plot what we’d each do with the money.
Somehow, it would fuel both our separate escapes:
hers, with her two girls, and her mother, to pack up, and kiss “Dodge”
good-bye, leaving a petulant and disagreeable husband in the dust.
I cautiously believe that my ‘escape’ would be a
retrenching and re-fortifying of my situation—here, for the most part—in hiding
from the World. To be more, ‘invisible’ (certainly
even, more than ever I am now!), withdrawn, isolative, and protected from the vagaries
and follies of Man.
But, frankly, my dearest, dearest friends, NO amount
of money can truly protect one; if—for example—an asteroid is destined to drop
from the sky and obliterate one, it hardly matters if one is in a seventeen-room mansion, or a
double-wide, mobile home.
Chaos has a bad habit of influencing even rogue
Finality. The fatality of a ‘slip’ in
the tub does not depend in any way whether the tub is gold-plated!
And, it was she who—rather excitedly—told me that,
with all that extra money, I could successfully go out, meet someone, and begin
a relationship, nay…do we even dare mention ‘love’?
Friends, this actually makes me laugh, and—frankly—I
can use all the humor I can muster.
Honestly, I cannot even, at present, drive to buy my own groceries. If
the grocery store did not deliver, or my neighbor move away, or, ‘Elder
Services’ close their doors, I would probably—maybe—starve to death.
I can almost see myself all pretty and clean,
dressed up, with oxygen AND a cane, hobbling anywhere to go out on a
date???????????!!!!! Just how ridiculous
a picture does that conjure up?
No, my friends, while I will most grudgingly admit
that sometimes Cupid will erringly fire a telling arrow at persons in their, ‘Autumn
Years’—by the way, a kind reference to anyone clearly headed for the glue
factory!—I am perfectly content to let all that bother quite pass me by; it
might be the meds., or the mind, or the situation, but—nevertheless, frankly—I am
ever so glad I no longer have to either look, or act my best. Besides, who do I need to impress, when I
probably now need a nurse, more than a wife?
Actually—in thinking about spending some of my
well-earned Lotto dollars—I have been looking at a site wherein antique and ‘just,
plain OLD’ cars are offered for sale. It
surely must be some genetically impressed, ‘guy thing’, as—for instance—my dear
C.N.A. could not be less interested in, say, a 1938 Packard.
I—on the other hand—could see myself duded-up, and
ensconced in the back seat, kind of like an uglier, male version of, “Driving
Miss Daisy”, as I waved (in the style of a Queen Elizabeth) at the passing
villagers, on my way to ‘Burger King’.
You think that that’s small potatoes?
Since I cannot drive myself, or get anyone to go for me (except but
rarely, and then with excessive offers to treat)—for me—trying to get to Burger
King is an accomplishment equal to one’s riding a raft to Fiji.
And finally, in yet another aggravation, the
T.E.N.S. unit I purchased not three weeks ago (I think?), completely kicked the
bucket this morning. When I telephoned the medical supply company from whom I
ordered this contraption, hoping that it might successfully assuage some pain,
and thus, lower my dependence on opiate pain medication, I was told that, 1) it
was no longer under warranty [gee…THAT was quick!], and, 2) that the battery
had gone bad. “In a month?!”, said
I. Oh yes…that what I really needed was
not any, ordinary 9-volt battery, as found in a local pharmacy, namely “C.V.S.”,
but—rather—the ‘energizer’, bunny, drum and all.
Of course, friends, you already might guess that
when I opened the back of the case to look at the battery, there lay—not a “Duracell”,
but, the same, common battery as found at C.V.S. So, frankly, they knowingly loaded my machine
with a battery that wasn’t worth shit.
And while the ‘proper’ batteries cannot possibly
cost that much more, still, I am without use of the dammed thing until I can
get someone to go to the store for me. Call me petty should you so choose, but
I think that since I am being denied any of the pain-relieving benefits of a
unit that cost me $175.00!, the medical supply company should on the wings of
flying horses, hurry the hell out here, and replace the T.E.N.S. unit’s battery
at once, and, with no additional cost to me.
Oh well, I guess I have—without doubt—rambles on, and
on, and on, but to what end? I STILL
have NO idea of what—if anything—to throw-together for supper; preparing for
one, and having to eat alone most often proves to be both a chore and a bore.
So—once—again, dear Daisy and I will spend—somehow—another
somber, and quite unrelieved night. I
could be, I suppose be worse; I could have been twins! And that’s almost two too many!:)
Please know that on this Wednesday evening, as on
all the others, that I ever think most fondly of you, my dearest friends, and
gentle readers.
And wish you be without pain, or despair,
full-surrounded by family and friends who love you.
And that your day has passed fair and pleasant, unto
a night that is soft and gentle, remarked by blissful and undisturbed repose;
as always, watched over, and kept ever safe by ministering angels!
And…as
always, please, please know that I love you dearly!
‘Zahc’/Charles
