" An 'A-B-C' Of Home Health Care...Part II of IV "

“ An ‘A-B-C ‘ Of Home Health Care: A List “ “Of Things You NEED To Know (Which Might Just Save Your Life, Or The Life Of Someone You Love), Incomplete As It May Be…Still  “

Part II of IV

04/26/12

While this list is not exhaustive, or complete, I hope that it will give you some greater understanding of things, signs, and symptoms that you really NEED to know to hopefully increase the ‘proactivity’ in becoming more in charge of you own health care; the more you know, the better off you will be.

Some items may appear self-explanatory, or, perhaps, too simple; but you would be truly surprised at the number of Americans who have NO clue.  For example, I have a neighbor in her late seventies, who I found was unable to ‘read’ a thermometer, and who always seemed to have problems with her medications.  This—to me, particularly in this century—was shocking.  What she and her eight-one year old husband would always do, was—in becoming ill—wait weeks, sometimes, before their regular physician’s appointment—as they suffered awfully—and then, would give an otherwise clueless doctor their lists of whatever was ‘going wrong’; it was then up to their Provider to grab some diagnoses out of the air, and prescribe medications that neither of my neighbors could pronounce, knew the purpose, and interactions of, and could scarce-remember the mode of treatment.

And if I may say so, even though they are my good neighbors, and former friends of my late mother and father, was that they were routinely behaving most fool heartedly.  And, dangerously. Once, she come to the house, with an upper thigh (near buttocks) cyst, that she had allowed to grow, until it was swollen so enormously, that it actually up-set her balance, in trying to sit down. 

She told me it had a visible core, and was now so painful due, in part, to the infection, and from the monstrous swelling that had stretched the skin.  Further, in trying to get the core to open, she had her husband ‘play’ with it with often dirty hands.  Tears of Christ.

I begged her to have her husband take her to the emergency room at a local hospital to have it lanced, and a biopsy taken, but she delayed.  Only when the swelling had made her upper thigh almost TWICE the size of the other, did she finally concede to go to have it treated.

My dearest, and sweetest friends, while I have NO desire to offend you, or to make you ill, when she at last had the cyst lanced, so much pressure had built up that the emergency room cubicle she was in resembled more a murder scene; the now-lanced cyst having virtually exploded, spraying blood, glia (base body fluid, tinted a light red/yellow), and infectious pus all over the gurney she was in, the sheets, her, as well as the attending physician.

Funny, the ‘core’ did not explode, as one might imagine a volcano erupting, but, slightly further down the area of swelling. Because she had so long neglected its treatment, there ensued weeks and weeks of drainage, more than daily cleaning of the area, a full course of antibiotics, and frequent dressing (bandage) changes, and antibiotic cream applied to the site.  This, her husband did, as she could not possibly reach the affected area; and since it was located so near her rectum, she had to be inordinately careful in cleaning herself to avoid rubbing stool into the wound, to re-infect it.

95% of all that pain, and time required to heal could well have been avoided if she had had it looked at first.  And while I will address cysts, later, this is not a procedure you can readily do at home, and, the sooner it is tended to, the sooner it will heal.  And these are just average citizens, although most lax in their health care; it was her assumption—for example—that in having to use a store’s restroom, that the infection and the cyst had to have been picked up by sitting on the toilet seat!  While, probably a one-in-a zillion shots that she happened to sit on an ‘infected’ toilet seat, sitting, exactly on a cut she had already open, is wild, naïve, and very ill-thought out.

But, my dear friends, I will tell you that since MERSA has, at last escaped the bounds of the hospital out into the real world, one must now be careful when ever in an environment that is steamy, and humid, wherein MERSA can flourish.  Most lately, it has been found in many places, in spas, and work-out gyms, where the patrons usually, during their workouts, break into a sweat.  Customers are now advised, if not forced to wipe the seats of the equipment, when they are done, with a dilute, antiviral solution, such as Clorox, and to make sure the seats are absolutely dry, for risk of passing along the disease, which does not respond to usual antibiotics, and—in fact--probably accounts for more in-hospital deaths than you might imagine.

MERSA, if memory does not fail me, stands for, “medically resistant staphylococcus {infection} that is supremely difficult to treat, and in some hospitals, the patient is, in effect, quarantined, and placed in isolation, where the staff, in paper gowns, masks, shoes, hats, and gloves have to pass through to a ‘clean’ area.

All that is needed for transmission, is that a person have even a small, unknown cut, or open place, to connect with a moist site—such a recently used, and sweated-upon seat of a stationary bicycle.

Because I’ve veered, again, and that this is so important, my recommendation—in general, because they are so routinely filthy—is to avoid public bathrooms, altogether.  If you absolutely MUST use them, as we all do, at times, try to use feet and elbows to open doors; use paper towels to turn sinks on and off, or open handles to the restroom.  And this is more critical for women, who must sit down to void. Wherever possible, take full advantage of those tissue seat covers. Use several.  And since so many public bathrooms do not have them, when you find one that does, garb several, for future use, and keep them folded up in your purse.  And, friends, although this is unpleasant, but necessary, use your fingers, and your hands as little as possible; depending on circumstance, do not use bare hands to touch the seat to either lift it up, or lower it, and NEVER, use your bare hands to flush.  Either use a wad of toilet paper, or—to be frank—engage the flush mechanism with the sole of your shoe. If, in visiting a stall see that the floor is wet, or has little toilet paper, move to the next stall.

Whenever you exit a public bathroom, try to imagine a surgeon, scrubbed-up, and ready, with both arms out and up to avoid contamination.  Always take with you a small bottle of soap less, sanitizer, alcohol, hand rub.  And try to not pick up food with bare fingers; attempt to grasp them (like fried chicken, for example), with a napkin, or—as the British do, use fork and knife; or—again—please use that sanitizing, alcohol rub for your hands. Any more—though—its not a matter so much how clean your hands are, though it is important, but how clean the hands are of those who prepare and serve your food?

And, along these lines, I would try to avoid being served food by the same person who collects the money. Please think about just how ‘dirty’ currency and coins are.  Sheesh.  I think you’ll find that convenient roadside hotdog not so attractive, after all.  The same, actually with midway food at fairs, or circuses, or carnivals.

Although, as my dear, late mother used to say, “You’ve gotta eat a little dirt, before you die ”,  times have changed, and the ‘dirt’ is much more dirty than it was fifty years ago.

And please, my ever dearest friends, no matter how close your friends are, or how loving your family, please never drink from the same glass, share utensils, or plates, even, though I realize this happens all the time; should someone want to share a tastes with you with proffered fingers, please make sure they’ve thoroughly washed their hands, first.  Better a little insulting, perhaps, than sick.  And, never eat anything that’s hit the floor.  Leave it for your grateful dog or cat, instead.  And please always make sure your own hands are clean…down into the nail beds.

Now I fully know that this is far from a perfect world; we are not a perfect Nation, nor are we perfect individuals.  No one can or should spend their lives in a bubble.  And while our sytems are designed to allow for a certain amount of pathogens, you will—nevertheless—much lessen your chances of becoming ill if you:

1)           Wash your hands thoroughly,

2)           Refrain, as is possible, from getting your fingers on or in your nose, lips, or eyes.

3)           To these I would add, never pick inside the  furthest depth that you can reach in your ears.

4)           Cover your noses with a Kleenex when you sneeze…as one, good, sneeze can travel over one hundred feet, and spray in all directions, as I dimly, now, recall, at some three hundred miles per hour, enough, to cover an inside room.

5)           Cover your mouths—too—when you cough; its only polite, after all.  And should that cough be ‘productive’, meaning sputum tinged in either yellow, or green, those are signs of infection, which you should wrap in tissues, and dispose of, as you make an appointment to see your Primary.

6)           Keep as far away as is possible if someone is sneezing; they may well blame it on their “sinuses”, but for your sake, do not believe them for one second.  It was such a nursing agency person, who caused me to develop pneumonia.

7)           When I used to be employed, and was faced—to frequently—by co-workers who dragged into work, deathly ill, even though they had ‘sick time’, I would become rude, and ask them, “Why-n-hell-didn’t [they] just go the hell home!”

Like many of you, my dear friends at MDJunction, have illnesses that are immune-deficient related, we cannot take the chance that even someone who is casually ill, will not cause us to become incredibly, and unnecessarily sick.  Should I hear someone on the telephone (who is scheduled to come out to my home), punctuated their speech with coughing or sneezing…or, even sound ‘vaguely’ ill, I will press them to reschedule until they are feeling better, which, to my standards means having been on antibiotics for at least forty-eight hours.  I will not allow them entrance.

And while I am about it, it certainly wouldn’t hurt if you make a habit of whiping off the telephone handset, or spraying it with Lysol, if someone besides you have used it.

And I have not even begun to speak to you about the washing, preparation, and proper disposal of food.

But, what I do want to mention to you is how very grateful I am for your kindness, caring, and patience.  In offering to you my most sincere thanks, I am thus pledged to be here for you, to ever help protect you, as I view our friendship as something quite rare and sacred. And a candor, and trust that is most worth fighting for; a delight which is worth savoring, and sharing.

I wish for all a pleasant, peaceful Sunday, free from want, depression, sadness, or despair.  A day of quiet happiness with those you genuinely love you.  Oh, so many blessings do I wish for you, my dear, sweet friends, and ever-loyal readers.

May your day be filled with honest laughter and enjoyment; with every moment filled with gladness.  And then, tonight, I wish you hours of soft, and restorative sleep, with only good dreams; watched-over, and protected by sweet angels by your side.

End of Part II of IV; Part III to follow.

And always know I love you,

‘Zahc’/Charles

" An 'A-B-C' Of Home Health Care: A List Of Things You NEED To Know..."

  “ An ‘A-B-C ‘ Of Home Health Care: A List Of Things You NEED To Know ( Which Might Just Save Your Life, Or The Life Of Someone You Love ), Incomplete As It May Be…Still  “

Part I of IV

04/24/12

To my ever-caring, dearest friends and gentle readers, I find I often think of you, in gratitude for your having befriended me, and ever kept me from feeling quite so alone; you have been as a gift from God to me, and I, for my part, ever wish you well and safe from harm, with days of lessened, or of, ‘no pain’, surrounded by those who love you, with an ease of mind and resting spirit, free from care, and for all the happiness your kind, and loving hearts can hold.

I have thought long about how I might—in some, demonstrable way—send you my most sincere regards for health and happiness, and, in following that natural course of my concern, attempt to ever be of some, slight, genuine help to you, or to those you love. Then, my dearest friends, should that intensely thought-about help prove real, then, and only then is my heart truly happy within me. 

In order to be honest with you, for I would not knowing abrogate you kind trust, I first must preface all by saying that I am NOT a professional, nor am I licensed as a practitioner; I am not a nurse, nor doctor, nor technician in any particular field, so I would suggest to you to that, while my advice is based on demonstrated instances of fact, I would nevertheless ask you to seek legitimate care, by a legitimate Provider, to better answer your concerns, for you are right to have them; and should have them, if for no other reason than to support my arguments, or to clarify your thoughts.

I will say—though—that prior to my disability, I worked long years in the healthcare field, and from simple listening, studying, and reading the appropriate literature, I think I have picked up a few tips that nevertheless might help save your life, or the life of a friend or loved one; but, as such, I must deny any culpability that might otherwise land me in deepest, darkest shit.

However, I WILL tell you that everything I may say, has been tried with some previous success; and then, some of it should be common knowledge, to better help you to become more ‘proactive’ with your own care, and familiarity with your body, and how it works ( and, sometimes doesn’t ! ), only then can you forge a more successful relationship with your particular Provider.  Please do not take offense, but to be unaware, is to be ignorant and vulnerable; and for all my dearest friends who already have been diagnosed with serious conditions, whether mentally, or physically, or both, your needs will be better served by remaining well-read, and well-informed.

First, please allow me to begin with a condemnation of the healthcare system in this Country in general; too often, the ‘third-party-payer’ system, namely health insurance has proven itself to be a gigantic failure.  From unchecked abuses from within, and yes, by Providers who charge billions of dollars illegally, health insurance now has become a luxury that too many of our citizens cannot afford.

Each year, Medicare is hemorrhaged by fraud, deceit, and wrongdoing… costs that are passed on to the recipients; when instead, the A.M.A. should police its own, and Medicare should stop blindly paying out these exorbitant sums, and should—instead—actively seek to revoke an abusers Medicare billing rights, and prosecute the wrongdoers, with heavy fines, and prison terms, while the A.M.A. should get off its ‘old-boy-system’s ass, and start revoking licenses, and where possible, having the offenders deported from our shores, to deny, forever, their return.

At present, it actually requires a physician to amass such death, and miss-prescription sometimes via the good, old ‘sample’ box; or to routinely hand out drugs like candy, or to add to a hospital’s in-house mortality rate among its patients for botched surgery, and inappropriate surgery, and a thousand, other, wild wrongness before the A.M.A. will even begin to question a physician’s record; mostly, these horrible excuses for Providers that we naturally trust as being well-educated, licensed, and proficient in their specialties.

While it may be argued, otherwise, these ‘dangerous’ doctors are—at best—fined, and perhaps suspended for a while, instead of being tossed out in the streets to be had at by ravening dogs. Too, too often, the offending practitioner simply moves to another state, to set up shop again; licenses to practice allowed to continue.

In fact, my dearest friends, the very LAST time I heard of a doctor’s license to practice revoked was some years, ago; a local—foreign—physician became widely known for easily writing scripts for all controlled drugs, such as Morphine, Demerol, Xanax, and so on. 

( Patient’s (?), would go to him, pay for a visit, and come away with prescriptions for all manner of drugs, pain, and sleep medication; in the space of—perhaps—fifteen minutes, clients would happily exit his office, with the often repeated term, “ I got ‘em !.” Never were any tests done, or urine samples gathered.  In the fullness of time, this blatant behavior captured the interest of the F.D.A. as well as the F.B.I., and other, local law enforcement agencies.

Finally, this physician began to advertise in local, weekly papers that for, $50.00, he would write any prescription that was wanted; I even believe around the border of his ad, were listed some examples that were most readily available. Which included practically all narcotics, and opiates, and benzodiazepines, and more; clients who were in genuine pain were seen, chock-a-block with addicts, and recreational users and abusers of these drugs.  It was so easy.  He was, by then, so openly greedy, that finally, the A.M.A. intervened, revoked his license to practice, and had him deported back to India.  Its stupid stunts like that that go on and on before they are stopped.  Meanwhile, the natural consequences of this are: before they can be stopped, by agencies that move with glacial slowness, the population of recreational users, and addicts climb exponentially, while the patients who are legitimate, and in agonies of pain, find that access to the very medications that they need—just to survive—become increasingly more difficult to get, if not impossible.  That Pain Management Clinics and physicians are placed under a microscope (as are the patients), and while any physician can—I believe—prescribe narcotics, few to none of them do, for fear of getting into trouble. And most gratefully leave that to Pain Management, with all its attendant faults, delays, and frank suspicions, that—to my mind—place the genuine patient in the same league as the casual abuser.  How often has this unnecessarily prolonged the treatment process?  And, of course, as usual, it is we who suffer in the interim.

‘A few, personal thoughts:’

After decades of direct observation, it has become my humble opinion that healthcare in this Country is no better—now—than it was before the Great Depression of 1929, or earlier, say, just after WWI., for different reasons.

 When my father was a young child, the practice of medicine was often, ‘wait and see’; to be short and/or frank, in those days—for the majority of Americans—it was a coin-toss: either one got sick, and lived, or one got sick and died.

Millions of our people (besides those around the world) died in that great Influenza epidemic just following WWI.  There were no antibiotics then, and nothing to reduce fevers, saving aspirin, which had been around since 1890.

Certainly, since then, enormous strides have been made in the diagnoses, treatment, and progress of disease.  X-rays, circa 1928; penicillin, discovered shortly before the outbreak of WWII, and so on.  All these new ‘miracle’ drugs and inoculations, and things such as specialized scans, etc., resulted in the practical end of pneumonia, syphilis, polio, and were the products of hard science, investigation, experimentation, the occasional flash of genius, such as the discovery of sonograms, CT scans, and M.R.I’s.  All helped alleviate illness, and prolong life.

During WWII, my father, having been severely injured in combat, was given the latest wonder then: penicillin.  But so new was it, that no one had yet discovered ways to ‘titrate’ ( or, balance) the dose, so that he, along with hundreds of thousand G.I.s, had their battle-field infections cleared, but who subsequently developed life-long allergies to all the ‘cillins’.

But I would ask you, my dear, dear friends, of how much benefit can these resources be if no one can afford them?  Those without health insurance are doomed to a life of needless suffering, and death, or pay exorbitant prices for health insurance that has limitations, requiring one to HAVE to choose a Provider ‘within network’, or one that has horrific co-pays that many cannot afford.

Those who must—perforce—labor at substandard jobs, or, ‘slave jobs’ as they’ve come to be known, should these employers provide even some health insurance, the employee will still see the premiums jump into the stratosphere for additional spouse, or dependent coverage; and frankly, friends, what dental insurance they tack on is hardly worth shit.

And, please allow me to provide you with a chilling caveat: I am now on Medicare, with NO secondary insurance.  Should anyone think that I am on the ‘gravy train, with biscuit wheels’, I would kindly ask you to reconsider.  Under Medicare guidelines, I cannot go to a dentist to have a single tooth x-rayed, treated, or pulled; but Medicare WILL pay, if I have ALL my teeth pulled, and will provide me with one, lifetime set of dentures.  So much for that errant cavity.  I imagine that many of us have dentition problems, infections, impacted wisdom teeth, and suchlike. Again…but who can afford to go?

 What we NEED, is a comprehensive, National Health scheme such as they have in Canada.  Will we ever have one like it, or even, remotely like it?  No, not as long as such egregious abuses remain.  Not as long as a single Tylenol given in the Emergency Room costs about $5.00.

But I fear, my very dearest friends, that I am swaying-off topic, which was to provide you with a few, basic things you NEED to know.  While I meant them to be rather neat, and alphabetical, I’m sure I’ll tend to veer, but I shall try to pause, and take a needed breath, and marshal what thoughts I do have which I hope may prove to be of some, small help to you. 

I shall not lie to you, nor conjure things out of mist and smoke, but, rather, leave my saber-rattling for another time’.  Please know the following things are—in the main—self-evident, if only you but pay heed to them.

It is a measure of how very much I love you.  Please know that.

Should you have further questions, please do not hesitate to speak of them to your Provider, your pharmacist.

Or, should your complains warrant, I would urge you to go IMEDIATELY to your nearest hospital ER, or call ‘911’ if you are unable to get there under your own power.

Before I do get started, should you already be on medications, become familiar with what they’re supposed to do, their potential side-effects, and what to look for, and please always take them as prescribed. Never take another’s medications, nor share yours with another.  Always, keep them out of children’s reach, and away from those who might be nosey.

Make a list of everything you are taking, whether prescribed, over the counter, supplements, vitamins, even.  Make several copies of one, concise list; keep one list with your medications, perhaps, one copy folded-up in your wallet or purse, and even one in the ‘glove-box’ in your car.  Make doubly sure each physician or Provider you see has a current copy.  Update the list, whenever changes are made.  List when you take them and for what purpose, and by what prescriber.  Please list all allergies you have to everything, especially medication.  And while the list does not necessarily have to be alphabetized, it nevertheless is a great help (especially by anyone, say paramedics) who have little time to glance at them, to group like medicines together; thus, all psychotropics are listed together.  Then a space.  Then, all medical meds.  Then pain medications, whether opiates, or benzodiazepines.  Then, over-the-counter medications.  Then, those medications that are taken on an ‘as needed’, or ‘PRN’ basis.  Then any supplements that you may take, and so on.

Also, mention whether you smoke cigarettes or not, and about how many a day.  Be honest, especially if you may smoke a lot, or already have C.O.P.D.  (Chronic, Obstructive Pulmonary Disease, as so many of the narcotics and opiates are respiratory depressants,  that might make breathing difficult).  And then, surgeries you may have had, and when.

Granted, the formulation of your medications list may take some time, but will be worth its weight in purest gold, especially during the so-called, ‘Golden Hour’, that time while, if in trauma, and immediate treatment, your chances of survival are good. Or, during which more rapid intervention might keep you from dying from a stroke or heart attack.

Well, my dear friends, it would appear that the ‘A-B-C’ list, shall have to wait until Part II.

Forgive me, please, for I am exceedingly tired tonight, and—as is my want—am hurting in a hundred places; this makes what I’ve so far said a tease of sorts, but, I would rather be in sharper condition, as to not misspeak myself.

And so, my ever wonderfully kind and caring friends, and loyal readers, as always, I wish for you ‘no pain’.  I wish you health, and greater self-empowerment.  As well as quiet, contemplative days, and evenings, full-surrounded by family and true friends who love you and care for you.

I wish you blissful, quiet nights, free from worry or distress, and a gentle calming into glorious, pain-free sleep, free from nightmare’s awful sway, and protected—and kept safe—by the ministerings  of gentle angels.

End of Part I of IV; Part II to follow.

My dearest friends, and patient readers, please know I love you dearly,

‘Zahc’/ Charles

" Within This Hollow House, How Loud Resound..."

“ Within This Hollow House, How Loud Resound The Faintest Echoes Of Children Laughing, Running; To The Errant Dreams Of Long-ago Love I Might Have Known, But For All This “

04/22/12

To my dearest, constant friends, and ever-loyal readers, without whom my soul-stuff might just fade away, it is YOU who give me greatest joy from your caring, steadfast regard, and your support.

How many times—now—have I placed upon the alter of my trueness, some little entries whose subjects—nonetheless—bestir my being, or disturb a troubled mind, so that—in giving all these thoughts to you, you might—in your immaculate kindness help me find my Voice, and thus, my way?  Or would, I pray, prove to be of some little help to you.  How you save me from a brittle Present, and, with your caring comments help bestill a worried conscience to soothe the complexities of my grief, yet, never do you berate me, whenever these musings often arise from agony that seems without end, or purpose.  Or when I am dazzled by migraines and depressions so severe, and an agoraphobia that too often traps me within the confines of my home, as nowhere else seems safe.

And all those wretched nights of wakefulness, and tortured nightmare, which gives me sweaty chills, and a skewed view of what is real; and when days pass days to further days of an exhausted likeness.  What is the point to all of this? Why is the reason?  For I wish—ever—to know the reason for it, as if that knowledge would, somehow find Justness there, and hence, a calm.

And while I do enjoy the quiet of a peaceful house, with Daisy sleeping near, sometimes that quiet is itself a sound unbearable, that I think would try to accuse me of all my wrongnesses, and choices made in error.

Outside, beyond my reckoning, or my fantasized arrangements, the world moves in an utter indifference to my pleas, and I am left to wonder all the binary consequences had I but decided more wisely.

Although I moved ‘here’ earlier, as mischance and lack of options made it a necessity, for sixteen years, I remained to care for my elderly, ill mother and father; somehow, it neatly spanned my own decline into disability, but I hope I did what I could for them, for they were my world….two, frail electrons that circled me as in an atom of oxygen, and please make NO mistake, I would do it a hundred times again, not out of filial duty so much, but out of love.  Until I could no longer work, I worked full time nights to care for them during the days, while I tried to ever salvage some sleep sufficient to keep a momentum going.

On many a morning—after work—I arrived home too tired to even get out of the car; I first would swing my legs out so my feet touched the ground.  And after five minutes or so, only then could I take a deep breath, and pull myself from the car, to stumble to the door, and in the house.  And I was much thinner, and younger—of course—by decades.

The days, as if foreshortened, passed into quickened years, that sped on and on with a clockwork regularity.  There was no time for ‘dating’, and once, I—with some suddenness—realized that seven months had passed before I took a night off to go out!

And so I watched in a kind of morbid indifference, as my ‘thirties’ passed into oblivion…then my ‘forties’.  There was always so much that had to be done, and in those fleeting days, what brashness I had was always overshadowed by my shyness and reserve, whenever trying to ‘meet’ new people.

I never cared for ‘Sports Bars’, or the like, or to oblige its occupants (who even then, were younger than I), their half-inebriated shouting, screaming revelries, as they seemed to spend equal time before the giant-screen TeeVee—checking out a game--while checking-out each other.  These were the new ‘Captains and ‘Captainesses’ of Industry’?  Most likely, rather, they were flashy, overdressed slaves to lower management jobs…cashiers or assistant managers, or the like, or wilder, anything that required a vest or uniform.

But their professed excitement mixed with the smell of beer, was just too raucous, and made my ears hurt from the inescapable loudness and jostling; I stayed to have my beer, sitting quietly, while I got the cuffs of my shirt wet from the moisture and spilled drinks on the bar.  I never could find anyone for quiet conversation; that seemed—somehow—as inappropriate as spitting in church.

I saw excitement, yes, but a thing I could only think of was a kind of ‘herd’ behavior, by those who were young, and strong, and bright-eyed from the smoke and alcohol; here they were, on a weekend out, throwing damp and wrinkled twenty-dollar bills upon the bar, looking for fun and diversion (which I could not blame them for), but also in something like a  glittered mating game, as there would be the inevitable telephone number exchanged, and as these places were all alike, there would—in time—be singles who would arrive, but, who left—as pairs—to stagger-out near closing time.

And when I left that night, as soon as I quit the door I paused, to fill my lungs with a crisp night air, and with sounds of cheering, laughter, and noise, I drove home, no more the wiser, but no less alone.

And so it was. In older movies, should anyone still watch them, the passing of time, would often be represented by changing calendar pages, blown away by a wind.  Unlikely, but, it was easy and efficient.  My life was just like that.

The time during which I might have met someone to love, to cherish, to respect, and to delight in passed me by, as did the notion of my ever being able to hold ‘our’ babies in arms that ached to hold them close; to ever love and protect them, guide and direct them.  To have a family of my own.  Just think, those children—now--might be starting college!  Or…I might have grandchildren now on whom to dote!

Now…it would not be fair to have a loving wife have to become a nursemaid to her husband, or their children stuck with a father, who—loving them, nonetheless—could not get on the ground to play with them.  And, who in High School wants a parent who’s an invalid?  And the inevitability of my becoming a burden is a consideration now uppermost in my mind.

When I first started this entry, I was overtly depressed and feeling hopeless.  In a way, now, the subject causes me to shake my head in disbelief!  For why does it seem to be such a firmly-entrenched part of being human to want what he has not; to envy others, and to bemoan what destiny had in store for us?

We make the best choices that we can, we hope, and from them weave our futures, and our content.  Granted, my model for happiness was based solely on my being an only child, and having been most fortunate to have had a mother and father who loved me dearly. While our lives were not perfect (whose is, really?), that manifested love was enough to carry us through all the years, good times, and bad.

And while loneliness often makes me sad, it is being Alone that scares me, for there IS a difference.  What will—for good example—happen to me, or, is made to happen to me when I need further care, more than I need now?  Will the County be as kind?  Or will my new ‘family’ subsequently be numbered among the occupants of some sleazy nursing home?

For those thoughts scare the shit out of me.  And, no one likes to die, alone, even though—I guess—we all do anyway.

My very treasured friends, I know you have your illnesses, and are forced, too often, to have to cling to pain, as it will not let you free, I nonetheless most sincerely wish for you days, and days of much lessened, or of ‘no pain’, despairing, or abuse. 

I wish for you a happy home, with laughter to replace discord or anger.  I so wish you be surrounded by both friends and family who truly love and care for you. I ever wish you plenty with enough to share.  I wish you comfort in the ease of pain, and quiet in the reconciliation of turmoil.  I would wish you know from my heart that there is never enough love…or, prayer to go around.  And that, too often, the adult-intrusions of daily life seem to vacuum any joy away to make of daily life a listless drag, instead.

I wish for you a lasting sense of peace, the satisfaction of accomplishment, and that your days are filled with happiness; I wish you physical and mental respite.  And wish for you a rekindling of hope, and wish you ever safe and well.  I wish you love to dry-away your tears.  And afternoons and evenings of delight, and yes…the ability to enjoy life, and to have fun (please never forget how salutary simple fun can be!).  Please know how very grateful I am to you for befriending me, and—despite your situations—keeping me safe and close to you, from your inherent goodness, inner strength, and kindness of heart.

And, last of all, at end of each day, I so wish for you a ‘natural’ but good fatigue that leads to sleepy dreaminess.  I wish for you untroubled nights, beautiful dreams, and blissful and untrammeled sleep, so that, in anticipation, you may always awake fully refreshed; and watched-over, and protected by gentle angels.

And, please know, I love you,

‘Zahc'/Charles

" Friend's Day !" : A Holiday Kept Within The Heart "

“ Friend’s Day !” : A Holiday Kept Within The Heart  “

04/20/12

To my most kind, and caring friends, who in their hearts have befriended me; my ever-constant, supportive readers, both of whom have sustained me, kept the inevitability of silent loneliness at bay, and who truly make my heart happy, while—else, in major pain---would oft despair, I offer up to you, my dearest friends my thanks and gratitude…

If you are like me—perhaps in this singular regard—you make full use of a calendar to record your physician’s appointments, times when bills are due, and must be paid; or to record events, such as birthdays and anniversaries which might otherwise pass your notice, or… in these later years (most importantly), times when medications can be refilled.

And, so often, the little squares beneath each day become a scribbled nightmare; but in consideration of the general frailty of memory, especially memory that is clouded by near-unending pain, depression, or despair, we NEED those little squares to organize our lives; for, who would dare to miss a grandchild’s birthday?  Or, fail to show up for a Pain Manager’s office visit, when it’s the only way you can get those direly needed prescriptions that scarce hold sinew and limb together, and, without which, owing to our psychiatric, and physical suffering, we would soon be in the deepest of deep shit.

You already know the calendar lists all the ‘regular’ holidays, many of which have been conveniently moved, to be observed on a Friday or a Monday, to allow mostly government employees to take advantage of a ‘three-day’ weekend off.  For most of us, these ‘moved’; holidays do not have much meaning; we—if we are interested at all—are more concerned with the dates that Christmas or Hanukah, or Thanksgiving, or, Mother’s Day, or Father’s Day falls on, to give us warning of how much time we may have left in which to get ready for, and prepare.

And should you even bother—beyond half a glance in noticing it—our calendars have become awash in what I would call, ‘ second, or third tier holidays’; supposed weeks and days observed for all kinds of obscure, silly, and often strange events.

While, ‘Secretary’s Day’ and, for those who would insist upon it, ‘Professional Administrative Assistant’s Day’!, (for how much emphasis do we now place in a job title, which—nonetheless—does not in any way imply getting a raise!), might prove to be a day on which such laborers receive a card, and  an extremely small gathering-- in a careless vase--of a very cheap gathering of three very, lonely flowers, and perhaps a paid lunch by the ‘Boss’; to such oddities as, “Boss’s Day”, and ‘National French Fry Week’ (which I made up, but that might as well be listed among the drift of such obscurity, that we look at them, and laugh). 

I somehow believe these odd holidays to be  machinations of the Greeting Card Industry, who also happen to have—for example—cards  such as, ‘Merry Christmas to my Mother’s second husband’, or cards that one can send to one’s pet.  And believe me, my dear, sweet friends, such cards are routinely purchased to be mailed.

There is—I think—a most-needed holiday as yet not found on any calendar, beyond a card that says, ‘Thinking of You!, that has no particular day assigned to it, and certainly one not observed on either a Friday or a Monday, or, at any time, really, that is nevertheless just as important.

“Friend’s Day!”

For me, the celebration of ‘Friend’s Day !’ came about by sheerest accident, some three or so years ago.  My dear, dear friend Joan and I would—on occasion—see some little something that we each thought the other would like; these  gifts were not expensive, but did involve care and consideration in selecting that little, ‘perfect thing’, which then, was painstakingly gift-wrapped.  An accompanying note affirming our friendship was sent in hopes of providing a smile of delight (especially, as most of us like gifts).  Especially, unexpected ones!!!

There was no regular occasion or it; it was not Christmas, or either of our birthdays.  Nor, was it an already accepted holiday on the calendar. For some time, neither of us could come up with a name for this surprise event. Upon thinking of it, we—at last—decided to call them, ‘ Friend’s Day !’ gifts, on a holiday we now called ‘ Friend’s Day !’, to celebrate the day.  These, little surprises--free from any legislation-- could thus be given at any time during  the year…mostly, when we either of us had a little, extra money.  But again, I want to emphasis that cost—per se—was not a consideration.

Imagine, sometime during the week, receiving a prettily wrapped package, with a note of love and friendship attached.  Would it not--perhaps—make your heart glad?  Particularly not having been expected; their untimed arrival adding to the surprise?

Should you have dearest friends, who have faithfully remained by your side, helping you, encouraging you, giving you their attention, and their love, what better way to thank them than with some small and special gift!  Once more, it doesn’t have to cost a fortune, the cost is not the point, but besides any regular communication with them, lets them know just how very special they are to you, and how grateful you are to them for their constancy and friendship, and…love.

A little box of homemade cookies, nicely wrapped, or even some bauble found on sale will more than suffice; for after all, its ‘Friend’s Day!’, a celebration held spontaneously without regard to the calendar.  It’s a holiday in which to celebrate all of your dearest friends.  What means most is not the cost, but the remembrance, made greater when accompanied by a little present, and a short poem, or note, written especially for them,

You do not have to be a Shakespeare, and your five year old may draw better than can you; even if you take a blank piece of paper, and with crayons, draw flowers, trees, a bright sun shining over stick-figure, smiling ‘people’, with a written note that says, “I love you, my dearest friend!” and place it in an envelope, you will send a message from your heart far greater than any literary tome.

And as you-- when of necessity--pause to write upon your calendars, times and places, needs, and requirements, I urge you to stop for just a minute when you can, to consider adopting a ‘Friend’s Day!’ of your own.  Of course—with some slight changes—this works extremely well with others who are special in your life; spouses, partners, children, neighbors…anyone who has—from their kind hearts, made your life a little brighter.

Most recently, I sent to my friend, Joan (who is disabled, nearly blind, and who has extreme pain, when trying to walk), a single pair of sandals, I actually picked up on sale, as I—too--must ever keep vigilant guard on my finances; they were comfortable; she loved the turquoise color…and…they fit!  She can wear them while she’s in her electric cart, and around her apartment.

There was no special day for them; I just happened to see them (and the sale price, which—for me—made them affordable!), and in thinking of her friendship, and her love and kindness, had my dear C.N.A. wrap them up in a beautiful paper, and deliver them to her.  And knowing Joan, even this small gift will make her happy, and will help to keep her happy all the rest of the day, and beyond; sometimes, its little joys that help sustain us, for both the giver, and the recipient.

My truly dear, and caring friends, I think of you often, and wish for you days of lessened, or of ‘no pain’, or distress.  I wish you never know hunger, or sadness; nor regret about the Past or Present.  I wish your pantries be full.  I hope from the demonstrated kindness of your hearts to always, always report abuse.

I wish for you peaceful, lambent days of comfort, surrounded—full—by ones who truly love and care for you, whether they be family or friends.  And hope that you can—in return—express your love to them.  I wish you pleasant afternoons of quiet, grateful contemplation of all your blessings.  And nights of quiet, and restorative sleep, free from nightmare or pain, as ever, kept safe, secure, and blessed by flights of gentle angels.

Please know I love you dearly, my, ‘Friend’s Day!’ friends, when—for, my thoughts of you—every day is ‘Friend’s Day!’,

‘Zahc'/Charles