Mr. Know It All...

 

The body chills started Sunday. I wasn't too surprised as I was outside in the yard, clearing it up one final time and buttoning up the house for winter, in just a tee shirt. So, back inside I fire up the furnace and huddle near the heat register to warm up, which it did. The odd part was that five minutes later I was freezing again. OK, try the furnace again I think. Once warmed up I go about getting some food ready.

I can't finish that. I get hit with a wave of tiredness so strong I just shut off the stove and lie down under a pile of duvets I have on the bed to warm up. This was at six PM. I don't wake up till 2AM and that's to use the bathroom. I make it fine and back to bed I go. I finally get up at 5 because I can't sleep anymore, I get up and stumble to the bathroom once again and lose my balance and crash into the wall. I retrieve my balance by throwing myself the opposite way and lose that, right into the sink. POW! Great, not only am I freezing and dizzy, I'm holding my side as I think I cracked a rib.

After a few, I finally get take my god damn piss.

I sit down and start to think. “What the hell is this? I ain't hacking but the inside of my nose is stinging and running like a faucet. Another thought. “What day is it? Is it Monday...no...it's Wednesday...wait...”

I flip on the computer and it says it's Monday. “Is it really?” as I doubt this machine that rarely makes mistakes. It slowly comes to me, I'm the one that's fogged out and I doubting even the most common sense things that pop into my head. “You're sick! No I'm not, it's just the arthritis in my legs. No dummy, you don't crash on a daily basis! But it could be I need to loosen up more like you always do in the morning. No...you are never are THAT stiff in the morning!”

I get up to start the day and I'm wobbling around. Trying not to repeat the sink crash. I sit back down, a little more cognizant and think, “Is the Minute Clinic open? Shit no, it's way too early. Damn...do I try the ER? I'll be there most of the day!” I go back and forth figuring out what I should do. I could drive there myself but my worry is that I have to navigate the 70 yards to the door and what if I fall and lay face flat down on the pavement before someone notices? I call my buddy up for a ride. M. shows up pretty quickly and on the ride there he tries to sound upbeat but I can manage still to read his face. It is showing some surprise and concern. He talks more and then I hear him say. “That's not what I asked you at all.” I then realize I totally didn't understand what he had asked and answered some other Q I thought he asked.

I get into Sturdy's ER. They take my info and immediately get me into triage. After the usual scans, off I go one of their rooms. I lie there, trying to plan what I'm going to do but I can't think straight at all. Then this spikey white haired Dr comes in, the one I remember from the last time. Dr. Jedrick Chrzanowski. Try and pronounce that! It probably sounds fine if you can speak Polish.

“Well, we'll run some tests and scans. He asks some very simple Q's, year, date, where I live and then plays a little finger game with my hands and then my toes. “Well, I doubt you're stroking out” He says “You answered all the questions right and you can perform these simple motions...we'll find out for sure what's up though.”

Up my nose for the covid, flu, RSV swab and they rasp my brain with it nearly. My blood is drawn and then for the arterial puncture in the wrist. I've never been stabbed that deep in my life and does that sting like a son of a bitch. A couple of Xrays and then I'm left to wait for the results, which come back quicker than I thought.

“You have covid! You also have fluid in the bottom of your lungs and that, ontop of covid's ability to fog you out is why you are feeling so dense.”

I ask, “What about my balance? I was all over the place this morning.”

“Not at all unusual” he says. “I've seen it happen a lot...lucky you didn't knock yourself out cold in the bathroom though. You might have stayed there on the floor for a good while. You're super dehydrated though..We'll do an IV with some saline, some steroids to open you up. Get relaxed, you're gonna be here a while.”

He reads the computer screen a bit more.

“Ohhh, I remember you now.” he says.

“You still live alone? Single your whole life, not married?”

“Yeah” I tell him.

“Uh-huh” Which sound a bit sarcastic to me when he said it.

“You still hike? Climb?” he asked and then I wonder had he taped our last conversation from before.

“No, my legs will scream murder if I put them through that again.”

“Well, you are nearly 60.” he says.

He then turns to me...”You hiked alone a lot? Purposely ever go off trail to get yourself sort of lost, just so you could use a compass and map to find your way back? Testing yourself?”

I turn to look at him, in sort of amazement.

“So you have.” he says. “I have another patient near you age, similar hobbies, hiker, bachelor male type...You like your independence? Staunchly defend it?”

“Yeah.”

“Anyone ever tell you you're stubborn? Refuse to take anyone else's opinion because you think they're wrong?”

“Yeah...I don't' usually voice it but in my head I scream 'Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!' ” Now I wonder why this is turning into a therapy session.

He goes on. “You might be surprised but there's more than a few of you “bachelor males” (his favorite term to use) out there, like yourself. I run into you guys often enough and you're all fairly similar.. It's a great trait, to depend on yourself, learn things on your own, paying attention to the tiniest details, checking things again and again...over doing that...and you've been doing it for years. It's useful but there's a downside.”

“Believing like you do and living alone, you have NO counterpoint to to what you think is painfully right, in your mind and only in your mind. You believe ONLY you can do things "right.". A wife, girlfriend or live in room mate could easily offer a more common sense, grounded view of what's up with you at the moment, like you could've used yesterday when you should have come in, instead of trying to handle this one your own. And I don't think I have to warn you again you carry only one copy of the cystic fibrosis gene, had you the second gene as well, you'd be long since gone like your brother from 20 years ago. You beat the odds, outlived them all by years, but don't think you're totally immune from your family background. You can't will your way out of that fact because your fiercely independent.”

“Was your Dad like this? Independent, Stubborn?” he asks. Holy shit I thought. Bingo! My dad would have to have been dragged by his heels to go to an ER. But I didn't tell the Dr that.

I felt like this guy hired a private investigator to follow me around. How did he know? Well, I guess if you see a thousand patients a year, you learn a few things about personalities.

“Well, we'll get you situated, control it all, but your nose is going to run like a faucet for a few days...don't hang out with others w/o a mask! The fogginess will go away on it's own. And...COME BACK if it gets worse..don't chew over that decision because you think you know what your doing...you AREN'T qualified to do so! You seem to know a lot but nothing in this field!”

****

Years ago, I had worked in social services. I have seen and been through therapy sessions. I'd see the tricks they employ to get you to admit ugly dark secrets, open you up w/o you realizing they're doing it. They can get you to believe, in family sessions, that they are interviewing others when in fact they're watching YOU and how you respond via body language to what everyone else was saying. I was and am still aware of how they investigate. But this Dr, gutted me in minutes, like a haddock on a boat, feeding the seagulls with the useless bits.

At 14, I thought I knew all I needed to know about the world. I was RIGHT. I was SURE. At 60, I still sort of just believe myself because I have known too many idiots and seen how they crash their lives constantly. Take their advice? Pfff! Not in a million years. However...having been exposed like this by a Dr who pinned me to the wall...I should believe I really, really don't know so much as I like to think I do. 

 

 Fall Risk, Bruise Risk, see my arm?...and I'm not playing with cutting tools so don't worry. 

 

 

When I Met Jim Tarricani, A Moment From My Life.

 

 

 

Mel (not you Melanie M, the other Mel!) and Mary were two friends I knew back through the '90s. Unfortunately, due to one misunderstanding and the usual drift in people's lives, I haven't seen either one in decades. Mary and I pissed one another off over what I can't remember now and Mel and I just wandered from one another.

Mel and Mary were friends for the same reason everyone else becomes friends, common views, qualities and each can fill in the other's missing parts. You ever see two people come together and the sum of those two parts is greater than supposed whole? With Mel and Mary, it was the opposite. Those two would come together and degraded till the sum of their particular parts went negative.

Mel, managed in certain people, to have them revert to a younger more immature self. It was what made Mel happy, to return to a time when she was childish and w/o any responsibilities. She was probably the first Peter Pan Girl I ever met, who vowed 'never to grow up.' She managed to get away with it (for a while) as her personality was vivacious, upbeat and quite energetic. Also, like people will do, they allowed her to be that way. We all make concessions to other's personalities as long as the cost isn't too great. We accommodate another's peccadilloes as a manner of course.

Mary 'n' Mel could act like they were 12 year girls at times. The whispering, gossip, giggling, attraction to things that were silly. When I used to drive a convertible, the two of them decided to crawl into the backseat and cover themselves with a blanket I had there, as we were flying down Post Road. At the Airport road redlight, the other drivers shot looks at me, the two hidden girls and then wondered...what I don't know. Mary, was married with a kid and from what I saw, enjoyed the time with Mel as a brief vacation, otherwise, Mary was as dead serious as cancer at times when it came to life at times. But around Mel...she was a different woman then.

I've said it before, I tend(ed) to live life close to the vest as I have seen how it all can go haywire, so keep your shit wired tight. However, show me a girl who didn't live like that, who did run into the street w/o looking, who chased fun at the drop of a hat, and I was immediately attracted. Those women I refereed to as roller coaster rides, not that they were malicious about it or some hidden drug problems in their lives, but addicted to fun and adrenaline rushes.

Mel mainlined adrenaline...and I liked that!

**

Mary, Mel and I were tooling around downtown Providence one Saturday night. We were just ambling around on a summer night, seeing what may be there. We ended up at Waterplace Park at a small event in that amphitheater. The girls were dressed in 90's girl fashion and I? I was dressed a bit cheap. I wore white jeans, top siders with a tasteful (sort of) Hawaiian shirt. I kinda looked like this guy pictured just below.  Yes, it was slightly tacky and vulgar but it gets you attention and I could be a hog for that if I was in the mood. It's a major reason why I tell stories so much, you're focused on me! Yes, I am quite aware of myself at times!

The event was chamber music and the crowd attending it were polite, quiet and behaved. We three never climbed into the seats but instead leaned against a security fence in center/front of everyone there and for a bit, watched the musicians saw on their violins and cellos. Of course, the two girls have to start goofing around with one another and I got in between them, wrapping my arms around their shoulders and we started this slow mamba dance to the music. Mary didn't excite me at all but Mel sure did. She knew damn well I liked her and she ground that feline body into mine as we slowly gyrated to the music.

I think we were the only ones there making any noise and it wasn't that loud to begin with.

I then, for some reason, turned around to look at the people sitting in the amphitheater and I noticed half the crowd was looking at us. The closest person gawking at us, about 10 feet away, was Jim Tarricani of New Watch 10. When our eyes met, I could see what his face said. He was disgusted with us..with me. We three were ruining this noble, staid event by my/we acting like a pimp with two harlots on my arms. Jim and I stared at one another for, oh I say, longer than one should because it started to make me uncomfortable. I know disapproval in someone's face when I see it and Tarricani's face said I was an ignorant, uncultured pig. Well, it depends on the setting doesn't it?

I turn to the two girls and tell them it was probably time to leave as we weren't making too many friends there. Mel, who asked why, then said “Oh Fuck them!” a bit too loudly after I told her the reason. With a little push on my arms, I guided we three right back out of the venue. I was sort of surprised with Tarricani's gaze following us out until we passed the support walls till it blocked his view.

Perhaps, just perhaps, Tarricani's front row, center seat was special? Perhaps there were other luminaries from the State and media in the other seats close by? Whatever that event was, there was no security at all. But how many goons do you need to control the gates at a chamber music concert? I would say...none. Leave the door open and we'll come in.

 

Sort of Barely Well Off Upper Middle Class

 

 

A few weeks ago I read an article about insufferable “new rich” who visit Nantucket. The article went on to surmise that many of the tourists were the nouveau riche who came to the island like it was a pilgrimage to Mecca. “If one finally 'arrives,' one must make at least one pilgrimage to Nantucket to bray about their financial status. Profess your faith through displaying conspicuous consumption.” In other words Rhode Islanders would understand, a spacone.

The original subject of the article was about some nasty Islanders who callously dismissed the poorer residents (the “help”) concerns about finding affordable housing there. Bumper stickers were appearing that said: “If You Want Affordable Housing, Go Back to the Cape Where You Belong.” The author goes on to question whether the help was going to commute the four hour total, ferry to and from the Island, to work their jobs keeping the rich from having to do their own laundry and such. A response to the article had one threatening to introduce as many male and female skunks to the island, in hopes they breed like hell and stink up the place. I think perhaps some nice Lyme disease carrying tics stuck to the skin of male and female badgers would make island living more interesting.

But the author's trip to the Island took on a different bent when he encountered the stuck up attitudes of mostly the visitors of the Island vs. the actual residents themselves. He noticed the arrogant way they drove on that tiny island, with over sized Cadillac Escalades and giant Land Rovers. Add to that their inability to follow parking regulations and parked wherever they wanted. Also the comedy of seeing their purported off road vehicles sunk, up to their axles in the sand, on some of the beaches.

He spoke of standing in line at one of the many ice cream shops near the principal marina there and overhearing, rather TOO easily, some young 20 Something Trust Fund kids insult his choice in sunglasses. They weren't Jacques Marie Mage shades but a pair of knock-off Ray Bans bought at a Boston yard sale. Oh, How gauche! How tacky!

He ignored the comments but it perked his interest and began listening in to some other conversations he would overhear from the young rich he'd find. The best one was where he overheard a young wife, with a little one in tow, rip the hell out of her husband about not “being able to afford the White Elephant Hotel and instead staying at some B&B where they do NOT babysit the kids all day. The White Elephant boasts of a staff where you can dump your annoying, fun killing kids off all day, freeing you to get drunk and go wind surfing. If you're really rich, you can send them to some boarding school in Switzerland. Then you can sail the world in your yacht, docking at all the proper places and be seen.

Ugh, imagine a wife who was soo class conscious to ride you about not moving up as well as you can, so you can afford to brazenly display and shove in the face of others, your wealth? Even if she was hot that wouldn't be compensation enough.

**

On a 4^th of July once, I hung out with some friends I grew up with at their place of business to watch the fireworks at McCoy stadium. It was nicely placed to see it all and an easy in 'n' out as the city population would swell another 20,000 and jam up all the roads. For us, we knew how to navigate the side roads and avoid it all from where his business was.

At the time, I was driving a Sebring convertible which I loved. I always loved convertibles as they were a joy to drive and very relaxing. I had parked mine with the other vehicles there. It was the only “car” in the lot as everyone else drove oversized SUVs. As the night wore on, one of the wives came to me and asked why I was still driving a car. It was the way she said it that dripped of judgment and failed conformism on my part. I wasn't keep up appearances it seems.

I told her I didn't need a truck like that, and being very conscious of costs, I alerted her that the exhaust system on her husband's SUV costs more than than..say a very decent weekend on the Cape. That didn't click for her, she was too involved in her appearance and how she slightly tilted her white wine glass as she spoke to me. Also being desperately thin at 47 didn't help her in my mind's eye either. “You're not 20 honey..not anymore!” I thought.

As she walked back to her family, I mouthed, “You're married to a plumber for God's Sake, who was convicted of drug dealing in his teens. I know, I saw him being shoved into a cop car in Slater Park.” I suspect she was waiting for her invitation to join the Point Judith Country Club. It'll be a lonnng wait honey, you aren't their kind of people. You'd be arrested if you tried to walk in the front door.

At another cook out event, I ran into another conspicuous spender wife. She had questioned why I was still living in Pawtucket and not moved to Seekonk or Rehoboth where all the newly rich ones in Pawtucket fled too. I had told her that it would be nice to have the privacy a couple of acres would give me but the “need” to move just two miles to the east wasn't that strong. As we continued to speak, she fired jabs at me and I at her. When I found out she belonged to a home owners association, I really dug into her. I called them conformist shit holes where “bored rich housewives who have nothing to do but stir the shit in the pot by patrolling the neighborhood looking for petty violations of the association's contract...the wrong colored rose bushes...only red American Beauty roses are allowed!”

I go on...

“My God..it's like a bunch of teen girls ripping up another one over her lack of proper mascara...you'd think these women would've grown emotionally over the years, simply just grow up!”

When I said that, her head spun around and she gave me the worst look in the world.

BINGO! You gave it away! I nailed it! She WAS one of those girls! I thought.

“Hey Kathy, why did you get so angry at what I said? Are YOU one of those girls?”

Silence. Only crickets chirping.

The whole time, her husband was sitting right next to her and just dried up like a spider on a hot stove as we two had this little row. He wasn't going to say a damn thing..and didn't.

She cut me off after that for the rest of the night. No loss. I just felt bad for her husband who had to LIVE with that.