Poles Apart

 

 

The door is halfway open to the hallway. I can see well from my little examination room as a Dr wheels his touch screen up to my room, but before entering it he taps some icon and a song comes on from the overhead speakers. He's pleased and turns it up more by sliding his finger up. Pushing his touch screen in he introduces himself, “I'm Dr SuchnSuch!”

I then say to him because I immediately recognized the guitar solo, “You like David Gilmour??

He stares at me for a second...”You KNOW who he is?”

“Yeah, that's “Poles Apart” from the Division Bell you're playing now.” It's a song where Gilmour tries to patch up the past he had with Syd Barrett and Roger Waters.

He again stares...”How...? None of my patients know of this..you're the first to make any mention of it. I play it all the time.”

We then kill 15 minutes speaking of Pink Floyd, Roger Waters and comparing concerts we've seen, before we get to the task at hand, checking me out.

The tests come back, “Yup, didn't really have to do them but wanted to confirm what I thought. You have lobar pneumonia, lower right lobe, could hear it on the stethoscope. It's pretty common...it can last days or weeks, depending on who you are and in your case, you were probably walking around with it for a week w/o knowing it til the last days it kicked in.”

I think, “Great...same damn thing my Dad would get, again and again,” but he hated Dr's and never would see one. Last time he got the big P, it took him out.

“Go to CVS, get these meds and it'll be gone in a day or two.”

Then...

He's following me through the maze in the office space speaking of other Pink Floyd stories he had. The other patients waiting are sort of looking at us, hearing us speak of things NOT medical. At the entrance, he says...”Kudos for knowing 'Poles Apart!' You certainly surprised me on a Saturday.”

The only other Dr story I have was when my brother was in RI Hospital and his Dr had paperwork for me to sign so they could do surgery on him.

“Oh, There's Dr Adair now, she'll take your papers”

I turn around and see this little girl scout in a white lab coat emblazoned with RI Hospital/Brown U emblem. She looks 17. I almost say, “You're a Dr...really?” I didn't but was stunned at how young she looked. It then reminded me that I was above the median age for Americans..way above it. The chances of me running into anyone older than me were getting shorter and shorter. It looks like most I meet are younger than me. Well of course they are....statistics back it up. But damn, she looked like jailbait. And apparently she was the one who did the laparoscopic surgery on my brother. Sigh...this little girl has far more talent, degrees and money than I will ever see. 

 

Poles Apart

 

A Little Fun

 

 

That was a first. I crashed a high school reunion I had no business attending. It was the 1982 Tolman High school 40^th. I, instead, was a St Ray's 1982 graduate. The reason I went was because I figured I'd run into kids (now old adults) I knew in Goff Jr High back....in 1979. When we all left jr high, most of the ones I knew went to Tolman. You get older, you look back a lot and these people I knew then did figure in my life to some importance. I wanted to see how they turned out.

A few did recognize me and a few others did once they learned my name. After looking at them sort of intently, I could recognize their eyes. They were amazed by my white shock of hair I sport now. Their last memory of me was of auburn/reddish haired Irish kid.

Dave asks: “So, what are you up too?”

I then tell him I have to compress in 4 minutes 40 years of my life. I tell him of my career path, domestic life and how I just ditched a job and the whole scene a year after covid ravaged the nursing/rehab homes. I stayed “retired' for about a year. His eyes widened when I told him that and I caught it. If you work with the deaf, you learn to read people quick.

“You're retired? He asks, with a bit of surprise.

“No..well...sort of..maybe...I don't know yet.” I tell him. “I am working again and the future I kind of leave open ended as to what's next. To tell the truth, I don't know what the future holds. No one does. Work till I drop, quit, retire and feed the ducks at the pond...take up water color painting? Who knows?”

He then tells me of his three daughters that he's pushing through college. I then think, “No wonder he was surprised at me, he's working to pay off what the state won't.”

A situation occurred where I had the same reaction at my 35^th reunion for St Ray's. I was introduced to a guy I knew back then and then tried like hell to hide my light horror. The guy, I'll call Phill, looked like he was 69 years old. He was bald, covered in old age spots and sort of hunched. I tried, really tried not to look shocked but you can't hide it all. There are days where I feel that old but I don't look like this guy. We spoke for a few and I just scanned him as we talked. “God...how some people age badly” I thought.

I then looked around at the women. There were a couple of Sloppo-patomuses there but most were average. Though there were a few cheerleader types who must've spent 45 minutes trying to wriggle themselves into a pair of skinny jeans. The desperately thin at 59 years of age.

Since I crashed this party, I had no name tag. When I arrived I just sort of walked past the registration table, got a beer and started schmoozing. I wondered how long I could get away with it. Not too long apparently.

Thirty minutes in a guy comes up to me and asks, “Who are you? You have no name tag? Alot of people seem to think they know you but you have no tag.”

“Nope. I am a 1982 graduate of Saint Rays, but I figured I'd see people I know here.”

“Did you pay?” he asks.

“Nope.” I tell him.

“Well,” he goes on, “don't you think it's unfair that these people paid and you didn't?”

I then tell him why would I? I never attended Tolman high, and I was there for a short time anyway and had NO intention of eating their food. I'm not that much of a leech. I too, have some pride.

“But..the rules...you didn't pay!” he tells me.

I lift my glass of Blue Moon beer to him, sort of toasting him and say, “Ain't it funny how life turns out? How these things occur? You enjoy the party, I know I will.” And I walk off.

I knew that he'd rejoin his group and in about 28 seconds my crime would be broadcast to all there. No problem. I headed downstairs to the bar and ordered a greaseburger. There, I am no longer trespassing on the temporary property of Tolman's 40^th that's going on upstairs and I managed to continue my chats with some who were downstairs as well.

Crashing events you were never invited to can be fun. When much younger, a few of us would stumble across a wedding reception at some restaurant or event place and we'd slide ourselves in. The lure of falling down drunk bridesmaids was usually the motive. Or, the reception was really hopping and we'd invite ourselves anyway for a good time.

The best crash was at a Bruce Sundland, Governor of RI event. My brother at the time was a writer and he had written a scathing, satirical piece about Sundlund's dating habits. It was titled, “Bruce Sundlund's Dating Guide” and in it, my brother makes him come off as the sleaziest, woman using, male slutting, whore mongering prick you ever met. My brother managed to get away with it because at the bottom of the piece was written: “This is a spoof, a work of comedic fiction. In no way should anyone take this as a serious piece of journalism. All statements in this article are wholly made up” But it was written in teensy-weensy script so more than a few people never read that part of it and thought the piece was real and just an ugly political hatchet job on the governor. You have to be extra-specially STUPID not to get satire, but there are more than a few in RI who are dullards.

How did my brother know people took it as a real piece of journalism? The paper he worked for received dozens of pieces of hate mail. The editors thought it a goof and it sold more copies. Since the piece was stated to be a “work of fiction,” the paper was barely not liable for libel slandering.

Soo, my brother wanting to enjoy a good time, wants to shake the Governor's hand. The event was at the Biltmore and we go down, dressed sort of business casual and we drink, rob the buffet line and my brother is waiting for the moment to place himself in front of Sundland.

He gets his chance.

“Hello Sir, I'm Ken M____, I was the one who wrote that piece in the Providence Monthly.

It took the gov about 12 seconds to figure it out and then just icily stared at my brother.

My brother and I retreated to a corner of the room, trying not to laugh. I managed to finish off a beer when two very serious looking guys come up to us.

“You two have to leave...now!” they say.

“Why? Asks my brother.

“There's no why, youse two have to go!”

So we leave. Why spend the weekend at the Intake Center at the ACI?

Anyways, I managed to see a few I knew from so long ago at that reunion I might not have otherwise. Where and when would I be able to find them all stuffed into a single room again?

 

Swerve

 

 

I've been quiet huh? Well, there hasn't been much to talk about that I figure would interest anyone. Believe me, I could write about pretty much anything but I am sure the subject matter would bore the hell out of people. Who cares about the Battle of Agincourt except me and a few Medieval history professors? Quickie note on that battle, the English use of the longbow skewered thousands of French knights. It was a slaughter.

So, something new.

I am startled, look up and see I'm halfway into the middle lane on 95N just before I get into Providence. I swing the car back into my lane and wonder why I'm nodding off so many times driving home. I feel soo damned tired that my eye lids, if they close halfway, will drop all the way and I'm half asleep again. I do it again just past Providence center right after the bridge construction.

Not good.

I force myself to stay awake as much as I can and make it off the School street exit and am glad because swerving the car at 25mph is “safer” vs. doing it at highway speeds. I make it home but don't get out of the car. I shut it off and lean my head back and fall asleep for about 15 minutes. Anyone walking by might think I'm dead. I never sleep in my car. I wake up, finally get out of the car, make it into the house and start to get done the tasks I had promised myself I'd do once home.

I barely get the laundry started when I give up and go to bed at 3PM and don't get up till 9PM.

I think I just of been really tired today, that's all.

A day or so earlier...

Halloween night, I could feel a molar on the lower right side heating up, a slight pain. That's nothing new to me. I have tons of fabricated teeth and on occasion, they act up a bit. But on November 1^st, that tooth started to scream. If you've never had a full blow HOT toothache, it's damn near impossible to explain that kind of pain. Ever stub your toe in the middle of the night? Ok, sort of like that but also set it on fire with no real way to calm it down. It just persists. My only go to remedy was ibuprofen which takes the edge off that agony. It's enough where you can't focus on the day's tasks. And that's the crux of the problem. You cannot focus on too much of anything else well when a tooth is pulsating in your mouth. It's deep bone pain under pressure, sharp, heated and throbbing. At work , we have two lines that you can reach us by, both “rings” are kind of similar but differ in cadence. So, the phone goes off and there I am, focused on the tooth making itself VERY known and I pick up...and no one's there. A friend, then asks me, “Are you alright?” He meant that why the hell did I pick up on a call that wasn't directed toward us. I stood there and realized what it was, the damn tooth had me elsewhere.

Unrelenting pain does a great job ruining your attention span and motivation to get other things done.

So I ate another ibuprofen, mindful not to pop them like candy mints. They'd last for about 3 hours and the label says four till you take the next one. Well, I shaved an hour off that. I'm no hard core drinker so my liver is in decent shape to handle that. I wait an hour and finally that loud mouthed tooth is shut up for a bit. Great, now I can focus.

Here's something about toothaches that I found odd and it's probably only me. If I can fall asleep, they don't bother me at all, even if it's a super stinging one. The trick is to pop some pills before bed and hope you zonk out before they wear off.

But...

The next morning I wake up, I'd say, give it about 15 minutes and my body's nervous system kicks in to tell me “you have a toothache!” and does it come back with a vengeance.
The pain is in concert with your heart beat... BANG...BANG...BANG!

I'm up and it's 5AM, I sat here, staring at this screen, occasionally out the window sort of hazed out. My jaw felt swollen and I was getting tired and spacey. Shit...is it spreading? Are we going to have nice systemic sepsis problem I can be admitted to a hospital for? That's the big worry about tooth infections. Will they spread and if they do, then tend to ape. I've never had that happen but I am acutely aware of the danger in that if you wait too long. I then realize the flesh on my right cheek, chin and lower lip is starting to sting. Fuck! It IS spreading.

By 9AM I was wiped out again. I was juggling the next options I had. Call the dentist and fork over about $1000 to $2000 of copays as the upper limit of my insurance would be wasted in seconds. Or, go to the clinic and cheat by getting some antibiotics which will kill the problem but it's only a few month temporary fix...or..go back to bed and see how I felt when I got up.

I went to bed.

A few hours later I get up, waiting for my body to start that cycle again. 'Hey, he's awake, start up that pulsing pain on him again!” But...it didn't happen. As I write this, I knocked on my maple wood desk here as a precaution that it doesn't come back. I hope my immune system won this battle, this time around. My face finally stopped stinging a day later.

I then thought of the time before antibiotics and pain killers and how the hell anyone then managed to tolerate a very hot tooth. . Alot of prayers to God? Booze if you had it? A witch doctor who waved a dead wombat over your head to cure you? You had nothing really but your own immune system which either fought and won or did not. Ugh..

Thank God for Louis Pasteur and medical SCIENCE..thank my lucky stars for being born at the right time too.  Not that I availed myself to them though, but they're there. Cheap prick that I am figuring out cost efficient options. 

I then figured out why I was driving all over the highway that day. Now that I'm older, illness's first symptoms hit me differently. They all seem to start by my becoming dead tired. The other usual symptoms, coughing, puking or turning various colors of red, happen secondly now. I sigh in my mind...”Great, it happens to me on 95 now...”

A paraphrased conversation with Dr. Casarella a couple of decades ago.

“I see your brother too you know...you both have similar teeth...soft enamel.”

Then he asks. “Did you have a lot of fevers as a kid??

I mumble..”Yes” and am very curious as to how he knows. So I ask.

“The molars...and the further back they are, have a dusty white color to them...it's indicative of high fevers...and softening...and it stays for life.”

I think, “Gee, what luck!”