. . .what i've been up to lately. . .

2008 0804 0330

. . .well. . .that was interesting. . .

sorry about not being around lately, but "things happened" (w.c. fields, @ 1934). hope i didn't keep anyone waiting. also hope i didn't hurt anyone's feelings.

been busy. somewhat.

i haven't been around lately; and, on the offhand chance someone might be interested, i thought a few words of explanation might be in order.

. . .really, i'm just thinking 'out loud', so to say, and documenting a few of the things i've experienced in the past year or so. i dunno if anyone'd even care to read this crap. which it is, for the most part.

roughly nine, ten months ago i was 'involved' in an online rellationship with someone several hundred miles away from here ('here' being defined as 33.2643280029297 degrees north, 95.91484069824422 degrees west. . .give or take a fraction or two. . .). because of her behavior--actions and statements--i''d decided to go and see for myself what the truth really was. since ah's a po' boy, it took some money, but i tend to decide and then follow through. god knows it wouldn't be the first time.

worst part of it was leaving my babies. even while my parents were dying, i'd never been away from them more than 24 hours at one time. not in twenty years. i expected to be gone only a couple days or so; but--pesssimist i am--i put out food and water for about a week.

i took my december house payment for traveling funds. then i got a ride to the bus station in Greenville, about 15 miles away. turned out that it wasn't at two of the locations given, and at the third--an address i got from Google (supposedly reputable)--it'd been replaced by a cemetery.

figgers.

i shoulda stopped then.

i finally found the bus station being ran out of a very small gas station, & i hopped on the first one going my way. it should have been a straight-line trip of about 500 miles, as i'd been assured by several people. that would have given me a round trip of about 36-48 hours, allowing for difficulties. but when i got to Texarkana, i asked again, just in case.

"oh, no. . .first, you're going to Memphis."

it seems that a great many bus stations had been closed down during the Cheney Administration; and, of course, the recession/depression was starting to make itself felt. lots and lots of bus stations had been closed down, and the buses were having to go on numerous detours to take up the slack. it made any and all trips a lot longer. and exxpensive.

(yes, i know Bush was 'the president', but for at least the first four years Cheney had his arm stuck up Bush's ass to the elbow. at least. he was the puppet master. i've come to realize that Bush was, in his own way, victimized or manipulated, and i tend to feel a bit sorry for him.

(but only a little bit.)

anyhoo. . .instead of going through two states, i ennded up going through five. a 12-hour one-way trip took about 36 hours, when it was said and done. lots and lots of beautiful country.

after i arrived at my destination, i ascertained the facts of the case. and the matter was settled. so i took a walk across the town, back to the bus station--in a rather large city--at about four in the morning, in what was 15-degree fahrenheit weather.

i loved it.

(always. i've always loved walking or driving through big cities--in all types of weather & in the middle of the night--when nothing and no one was audible or visible for miles. ain't nothing like that feelin'. ah loves it. . .always have, always will. San Diego or Yuma or Dallas or Amarillo or anywhere else. it was just like being a kid again, exploring hundreds of acres of land, miles away from the nearest town back when i was a kid.

(i hadn't felt so free in over thirty years, just me and the emptiuness and the night. may never feel that way again. goddammit.)

when i got to the bus station, i found i'd missed my ride. the buses home were running 24 hours apart, so i had to wait.

two more days.

the bus headed home was cancelled the next day; the driver was sick. a bunch of people had been released from the federal prison there in town after they'd served their time, so's they could go home; we'd spent a few hours jaw-jackin' and jammin' before we found out there wouldn't be a bus. the prison authorities sent a van to take them to get a bus at the next town over, but they couldn't take me, since i hadn't been incarcerated (liability issues, dontcha know? and so i didn't have a way over.

bummer.

the next day the employees at the bus station offered me a free ticket north, to get my mind off things and probably to get me out of their hair. it would've been nice--a free ride up to the Canadian border and back, and then catch the bus home--but i was worried about my babies, and it was quite snowy and icy up thataways. something else might happen.

so i declined.

and i hopped on the next one headed home. this one was detoured like the one going up; so i ended up going through another five states. ten states i'd never been in or through. gorgeous.

and i found that i'd missed being around the people that go on buses. every walk of life. every mental and emotional and philosophical and religious bend and mmanifestation you could think of. loved talking with them. . .as in years past, i'd found them more honest and straightforward than people you'd meet other places.

if it wasn't for the babiies, i think i could spend the rest of my life just traveling on buses, seeing things and meeting the people that ride them.

. . .be hell carrying my library, though. . .

when i got home, i found that my babies were okay. worried and upset at me being gone, a bit fretful, but okay. and we settled back into our routine.

it wasn't long before i discovered frostbite had set into both my feet, so that i'd have to start building new calluses. i borrowed some money for my house payment and things went back to "normal", as it were.

it started getting cold; and in the middle of January my heat went out. i started developing diabetic ulcers in my right foot. and started walking with a cane. and continued my routine: walking 50 blocks to WalMart and back, 60 blocks to the vet's and back.

i'm one of "those people" who don't have health care; haven't had since i retired. i hadn't been to a doctor since 1997. and finances are a constant worry. low priority, medicine. so i didn't go to a doctor.

my choice, my responsibility, my fault.

by March, i found i couldn't lie down to sleep for the pain the foot caused, so i started sleeping in a desk chair. it was lotsa fun when someone'd jump onto my lap--usually on the right leg--or jump down onto the right foot.

simultaneously, i'd been having problems with my laptop. between the foot and other things, i hit the wrong button during a recovery and ended up deleting each and every program that was on it. so i didn't have a laptop any more, either.

sometime later, i found i was having trouble just walking a couple of blocks to get a bag of dry cat food, so i finally gave in and went to get it checked out at the emergency room.

both my legs and feet had swelled to some extent due to the alterations in my walking, and this concerned the people checking me out more than the diabetes, which was the dominant problem. the swelling was a secondary effect. the treatment they prescribed was nothing more than what i'd already been doing at home, except for prescribing sulfa drugs; the kicker was that they wanted me to wrap my foot in an ace bandage.

this made no sense whatever. circulation was being cut off due to peripheral artery disease/arteriosclerosis. an ace bandage would only make it worse. still, maybe. . .just maybe. . .they knew something i didn't. so i followed their instructions.

(silly me.)

they set me up an appointment with a podiatrist; when i finally got there and she took a look at the foot, she immediately set me up to se a vascular surgeon. he took one look, and wanted me in the hospital immediately.

. . .damn, but people get upset easily. . .

(by this time i'd gotten the first bill from the emergency room. i'd had microstrokes for a couple decades by now, sometimes several a day, due to stress. i'd had less than seven in total since retiring five years ago.

(when i saw the emergency room bill, i immediately had two microstrokes. . .tells you what my priorities are.)

so i set up things for my twins to check on the babies daily and keep them fed. i gathered about 50-75 books, the first batch of many. and held my soul in my arms for the last time in a while. each part of it.

i was to have gotten an operation--recently developed--which would include fiber optic cameras and lasers inserted into the blood vessels to clean them out. before going into the legs, however, they'd go up towards the heart first.

and they found a few things, here and there. twice i was literally on the way to the operating room and was stopped so that something else could be done first. and it kept getting delayed.

they found scar tissue on one lung with no discernible cause; completely unrelated to 50 years of smoking cigars. they found aneurysms, one in the right knee and one at the stomach. they found other goodies too. and they couldn't figger how i'd stayed alive this long with diabetes without taking insulin.

when the angiogram was finally performed, it was a failure. vascular deterioration was too pronounced, so that the only question was how i felt about being chopped up.

i didn't feel any different about it than about anything else. compared to other stuff, what'd been happening was and is an incovenience compared to being away from my babies and not having enough to read. . .i was emotionally and mentally deteriorating being away from them, not to mention being away from my library and the net.

so when i told them to do it, i should've known they'd react by comparing me to others.

while i was discussing it with the surgeon, a nurse had sneaked behind me. when i told them to chop, she gave me a shot 'for stress', which pissed me off. i felt no stress about the decision at all; but they'd found out others going through the experience didn't handle it all that well. i didn't need the goddamned shot. pure waste of money and material.

up until the operation, i hadn't used the bed. i'd sat/slept/etc in the recliner chair there in the room. the leg bugged me too much to lie down. i also didn't care much for some of their procedures, either. when they decided they "knew" better than me what i should eat, i just refused to eat anything at all until they started i.v.'s out of worry. later on Mindi (my daughter) or Linda (my oldest sister) sneaked in stuff i'd rather have had.

i'd also go outside a lot to smoke a bit. had to sneak out during the night--when i was usually up--and get back in through the locked doors and security. didn't take much effort.

finally, on the morning of May 23rd, the Sword of Damocles fell. . .or the saw, as it may be. . .

. . .interesting phenomenon, phantom limb. . .phantom pain. . . after much considered analysis, i'm overwhelmingly certain that it is in large part responsible for the popular concept of the "soul", as currently defined. somewhat anticipated in concepts of the ancient Egyptians or others, who differentiated between several types of soul; or the separate concepts of "soul" and "spirit" by earlier Christians.

and i believe there could be a good multidisciplinary scientific paper in that somewhere, since it'd involve medicine, history, religion, philosophy and a few other things. . .i wonder if it's been done already. . ?

even more so, since life here shares a common biological heritage, i'm positive that nonhumans experience it as well, most easily observable in the behavior of cats who've been declawed. . .which is itself a barbarous and crippling practice, which makes them helpless and shows a distinct lack of empathy in humans. it'd be like chopping your fingers off.

as to my case. . .because of the aneurysm in the knee, it got sliced about a foot above it.

but the leg's still there. . .though it's not there. it seems somewhat permanently bent at the knee, as if i were sitting, though with a bit of mental manipulation (visualization, et.al.) i''ve been able to move it into other positions. for the first few days it was as if it'd never been taken away, as i was still physically feeling everything i'd been feeling before the operation. quite sharp and jabbing pains along the shinbone, for instance. each wound in the foot. and more.

nowadays any 'pain' is pretty much controlled, thought the foot feels as if it's been wrapped tight around the ankle. i can't wiggle my toes, although i'm aware of them. feels like wearing a shoe.

and it gets to be a real bitch when it itches. i keep wanting to reach down and scratch it. or i catch myself doing it.

i've already found out i can't walk on it that good. several times.

so it also gives me new opportunites for things, including humor. and i can't be cited for "insensitivity" if i make fun of it. callousnesss, yes; being an asshole (as usual), yes; but people who know me know i don't mind making fun of myself or making the best of a poor situation. god knows i'm not above self-criticism and self-analysis. and "politically correct" is the same as being brain-dead, as far as i'm concerned.

i am not a sheep.

but i am pissed that i have to be dependent on others, although it may only be temporary. and i stay worried and afraid for my babes.

John has continued to check on them and feed them daily, and he also gathers my mail. Mindi goes thhere about once a week to visit and bring the mail back. Josh (my baby boy) has been taking care of other things, including mowing the yard. and i go every so often to see for myself or do something.

until i can get a replacement for my right step, i'm currently staying with Mindi and her hubby Wayne in Greenville. they have a baby boy, Sam, born at the end of this January. lucky them. . .i'd started out with two. . .and i can't wait till he starts moving around on his own. really moving.

but what really, really sucks about the arrangement is that Mindi was laid off from her job the day before i was released from the hospital. so now it's a family totally dependent on Wayne's income. . .

. . .and now i'm here in the house, too. and i can't change forty years of personal habits, such as being up all night long. . .while i can control my food intake a bit, their electricity bill has at least doubled, not counting other stresses i've caused them.

goddammit.

i've signed up for civilian and military disability pay, but the bureaucracy (as always) is the problem. in the meantime i'm trying to help make up for expenses at Wayne and Mndi's while continuing my own house payments and such. and the medical bills have some rather high numbers. and then there's the IRS. . .

since getting out i've gotten hooked up with the Veteran's Administration Hospital in Bonham, about 40-50 miles north of here and the nearest one. a doctor here in Greenville contracts with the VA, so that i can deal with him most of the time. what he can't handle goes to Bonham; what Bonham can't handle goes to Dallas.

and, at the Dallas hospital, the amputee clinic is located. probably where i''ll finally get surgery for the aneurysm at my stomach, too. if i ever decide to.

a present problem is getting a new leg fitted. i can't. the mental and emotional deterioration--being away from my last family and such--had continued until i was just staring at walls. i was getting crazier every day. i'd gone home numerous times since being released, but i recognized that i couldn't stay at home till i got a leg. one example: Bo and Gypsy find it even easier to trip me over than before. my balance isn't that good nowadays anyway. and there's not enough room to use a wheelchair without several modifications to the house. and i don't want to use a wheelchair.

(i presently use a walker 95% of the time, the wheelchair depending on where i''m going outside of the house. it's been mostly used as an easychair of sorts, at least for the fiirst few weeks; now it's foilded up till it's needed. and i'm not too good on crutches, what with coexistant neurological problems. . .lotsa fun cooking.)

however, because of my dietary choices, i've lost a fair bit of weight over the years. it may be that my hair and beard weighs more than my head. if i had a lot more weight it wouldn't matter, but it does affect how the leg is to fit. and in the past month i've lost even more weight. the Dallas clinic refuses to fit me until it stabilizes, but i can't gain any weight while i have other things on my mind. bit of positive feedback, bit of a catch-22. . .maybe that'll change in a month or two.

but i was shocked--which takes quite some doing--when they said that they had to wait for my weight to get constant before they "put a $10,000.00 leg" on me.

. . .talk about fancy footwork. . .and expensive, to boot. . .

i've also borrowed money to get a new laptop. again, my choice, my responsibility. there is too much i have to get done. or try to get done. luckily, this thing has a minimum of twice the memory of my former laptop, while costing the same. unluckily, i have to get a ride anywhere that has net access. and that time is severely limited. until i get a leg i can't walk across town to get onto the net. i appear to have a bit of a problem between the walker's wheels and stairs or steps. . .

but that's minor; since there are far more important things to worry about than that. . .Shitass and Jade found a loose section of flooring in the lviving room and left the house. he's completely disappeared--no one has seen him--but Jade is living under the house now. she's afraid of everyone but me; and since i'm never alone when i come to visit, she won't come out, even if it is me.

Mindi and Wayne have a cat named Smoky. . .he's a direct physical and psychic link to my own babes, since his mother was Tease, and he was born under my house. with him around idon't feel completely alone.

. . .and Nightmare has passed away. . .just a month from being twenty years old. . .which is going to hurt for a long, long, long time. . .it's bad enough i still cry about the ones who died years and years ago. . .

. . .and other things have happened as well. . .

so.

this is a basic, bare bones rundown of what has been happening recently. lots and lots and lotsa stuff left out. no big deal to anyone but me, if that. i'd felt it was a bit expedient to explain my absence, since very few people were aware of what was going on.

i keep thinking that it may be winter before i get back home. . .and it won't be any warmer for me. . .

i also remember that of the thirteen police chiefs and assistant police chiefs i'd worked with (everyone except the very first), the one who lasted the longest was WL 'Jack' Booth. he was the first black police chief we'd had, and possibly the first in Texas. at least, i never heard or found evidence of an earlier one.

after a long career, Jack lost his right lower leg to diabetes. he retired over a year later, when he'd lost the other the same way.

. . .so there's always the possibility of a repeat performance in my case, too. . .

but the choices. . .and the responsibility for the consequences of those choices. . .are mine alone. i don't ask anyone to agree with them. that's what i consider true freedom to be about: the ability to make your own choice and stick with the consequences, good or bad. i've always tried to live by that.

for the rather depressing view of events this may give some people, i can only give the same answer i gave a friend of mine some months ago. he'd said, "Randy, can't you say anything positive?" And I said, "Sure. . .how's this?"



"You can't die but once at a time."



sayonara. ya'll come back, now, y'heah?