May 30, 2007

Six of One

Things That Are Good:
The other half's surgery is done and she came thru with flying colours. Things were as expected.
The house is blessedly quiet.
I will have some help getting said quiet house cleaned up tomorrow ... which means it won't be so quiet, but that's okay.
My buddy Martha sat with me until we heard how the other half's surgery had gone.

Things That Are Not So Good:
Four to five hours of sleep a night for several nights destroys my gastrointestinal system. Which was already not doing well this past week.
The other half "woke up" from the surgery screaming ... apparently the IV popped out just as they were preparing to inject the pain meds and it took them a while to quiet her down.
The 2.5 hour surgery that was to begin at 7:30 didn't start until closer to 8. 9 rolled around, no word from the OR. 10 rolled around. Nothing. Okay ... 2.5 hours ... should hear between 10 and 10:30.
10:30 ... 10:45 ... 11:00 ... I think it was at least 11:15 before I heard anything and I was seriously starting to FREAK OUT.

Goods definitely outweigh the bads ... and I'll just be glad when she's all recovered and we can completely put this behind us. I honestly knew that I was nervous ... but I had no idea how tense I'd gotten. I just kept repeating, it's a routine procedure. Sheesh.

Posted by Red Monkey at 7:08 AM | Comments (0) | Struggles | Stumble

May 28, 2007

Nervous

So ... tomorrow my other half goes in for a completely routine surgery. We know what the issue is ... it's not serious in terms of life threatening or anything ... but definitely a required surgery. We've been hoping for the surgery for quite a while ... and yet ... now that it's impending ... I'm finally nervous.

I don't tell her that, of course. I want to portray a nice, soothing confidence so that she'll go into this in the right frame of mind. And, from her reactions, I'm certain that I'm succeeding.

So I'll just write it here, knowing she very rarely reads the blog:

I am nervous.

It's easier to go through something myself, than to watch, ultimately helplessly, as someone I love dearly is in pain and going through surgery. I've pooh-poohed the six months of chemo that I went through in 1999 and 2000. I've shrugged off the two week-long ESHAP sessions which were done to prepare me for a bone marrow transplant. I've gloated that my bone marrow transplant was, in fact, one of the easiest and most "boring" transplants Indiana Med Center had ever seen. (Or was that University Hospital ... I dunno ... was the same one Lance Armstrong got his cancer taken care of at. ... Good gods ... two dangling prepositions ... ACK! the English teacher in me is screaming right now.)

I have spent so much of my life throwing myself into the line of fire in order that someone else wouldn't have to feel the pain, that I'm completely unprepared for how to be when I can't take the pain onto myself.

On top of this immediate issue is the fact that my little sister has one of those annoying health "non-issues" right now ... that is, the medical community seems to think it's not an issue, but all of us regular-joes kinda look at it like, excuse me, WTF?

Just a little stressed.

And this is compounded by the fact that I now have to find a new general practitioner doctor of my own. The one I've been to for years is not on my new insurance. And the one that I just started seeing and absolutely ADORE ... apparently freaking abandoned her practice quite recently. No notice. I went to get my Effexor refilled ... pharmacy never got the 'scrip ready. I finally went in ... they can't get a hold of the doctor. I call the office ... "Oh, she's not here anymore." EXCUSE ME????? "I think she went to the VA hospital."

No forwarding number, I can't find the number in our phone book and now I'm off the meds that make ya sick when you go off them cold turkey. No wonder I've had stomach issues the last week or two.

So ...
anyway ....

Surgery prep junk is today starting at 11 a.m.
Sadly, no bbq for my partner today ... she can't have more than a light lunch at 11 (and believe me, light lunch according to the hospital ain't much) ... and then just liquids from noon on. Then off to hospital by 5:30 tomorrow morning ... surgery at 7:30. Then there's a minimum of 2-5 days in hospital.

It's gonna be a loooooooooooooooooooong week.

Posted by Red Monkey at 5:19 AM | Comments (2) | Struggles | Stumble

May 19, 2007

Mummy

Imagine this ... you go to a real estate auction in Spain. There's this great little property, seaside, and you're thinking, how awesome would this be? So you bid. Much to your surprise you win. Turns out the person who owned it before didn't keep up with the payments and kind of faded out of the picture back in 2001 ... yep, six years ago. This being an auction and all, you didn't get a chance to go through the house, but hey, for what you paid, this is a great deal.

Now ... you have the keys ... you're going to see your new property for the first time. Open the door, the place is great. Walk into the living room.

And you're greeted by the previous owner.

Who's apparently been sitting DEAD on the couch for six years.

She's a mummy ... no wonder she couldn't keep up with the payments. Apparently the salt air really "cured" what ailed her.

The story is shocking enough if you've just taken possession of the house and met the previous owner this way ... but think about it deeper for a moment ... how truly sad is this story?

She was dead for SIX years and no one noticed. Her estranged husband didn't file a missing persons report. Neither did her kids. What kind of a life had she led that brought her to such a turn of events that the only one who noticed her absence was the mortgage company? And apparently, really, they only noticed the absence of payment.

I think about the people I know online and offline. I think about the people who've slipped away, whom I've missed. I've tried to connect with some of them and I've always been delighted when I have. But I wonder and worry about the others ... that's just a part of who I am, I guess.

Who will fill out your missing persons report?

Your bank? Your credit card companies? your spouse? friends? kids?

Posted by Red Monkey at 5:26 AM | Comments (0) | Struggles | Stumble

May 4, 2007

Sometimes, People Suck

I hardly know what to say ... there are simply days when I am frustrated by humanity ... by circumstance ... by life in general.

Suffice it to say that I have been planning on adopting since I was ... ooooohhhhh, about seven years old. People kept telling me, when you get older, you'll change your mind. They were wrong. I never did.

I'm 38 now. I'm beginning to think that my dream of adopting a pair of siblings ... roughly 2 and 4 or 5 ... is not going to happen. I'll be nearing 60 when a 2 year old graduates high school ... and I've not only had cancer ... I had to have a bone marrow transplant ... who knows what that has done to my life expectancy ... perhaps nothing ... perhaps shaved 10 or more years off. I don't know.

But there's this kid I know. He's a great guy. Smart as hell. Hurting, I think. And he reminds me a hell of a lot of me at that age. He's no angel, and I have no delusions about that. But I want to help.

Hopefully, starting next week, I'll get that chance.

But for now ... for now, I'm a bit mad at the world. For all of the kids who've been forced into situations which are less than ideal. For all of the kids who are hurting. For all of us who were once hurting kids ... and are now grown.

For the survivors who went through the unthinkable and still survived.

A friend IM'd me today ... and as we were talking, she responded to my "It's not fair" with this:
"A fair is a place with rides and cotton candy and corn dogs."

True.

But dammit, I hate that things can be so incredibly unfair to so many.

There's no point to this post. Sorry to subject you to it ... just something I had to ramble publicly about, I suppose.

Meanwhile, keep me and my buddy, "Jeff," in your thoughts. He needs things to be a little more fair than they have been. I'd like to see him off the insane ride and on something more fun. I'd like to see him get some of the cotton candy and corn dogs and even some of the prizes he wants from the games that always seem so rigged. He deserves a little fun. And respect.

And some peace.

Posted by Red Monkey at 4:01 AM | Comments (3) | Struggles | Stumble

April 19, 2007

"Put 'em Up Against The Wall"

Once upon a time ... back in the mid to late 80s ... long, long ago ... a small group of misfits decided to eat lunch in a favourite teacher's classroom instead of leaving campus for lunch ... or sitting in the school cafeteria. Bright students, all, intellectually curious, we were nonetheless misfits. We soon discovered that the back "wall" of the classroom was actually a chalkboard. Being silly, we began writing the lyrics to the theme from Gilligan's Island on the back wall one day, just trying to see if we could remember it all.

Then it was lyrics to various songs from Pink Floyd's The Wall.

Soon thereafter, the sideboards were taken up with our silly and convoluted plans for world domination.

Ed, sometimes Brian, myself, Dan, Ben ... a few others who appeared from time to time.

We were being silly and we all knew it. Most of the guys played tabletop war games and knew their history backwards and forwards. It was fun to both discuss silly strategies and learn history all at the same time. But more often than not, when Doug appeared with us at lunch, we stopped the games.

Doug was simply too serious about his plans for world domination. I don't know that his intensity scared anyone in the group, exactly, but he made us all uncomfortable.

Doug was one of those overly brilliant kids whose brain had simply developed far faster than both his moral compass and his common sense. And let's not talk about his social skills. He had some, but he thought social skills were for lesser mortals than he.

We went to a high school where one kid drove a Lambroghini, another regularly drove his dad's Alfa Romeo ... and, not being a big car person, I've forgotten the third big name car that sometimes graced our parking lots. They took spring break at Padre Island or Florida ... Christmas at Breckenridge and Taos.

In short ... I went to school with the same kinds of kids as Dylan Harris, Eric Kleibold ... and apparently Cho Seung-Hui.

There is no reason ... there is no excuse ... for killing 33 people.

Our little lunchtime group was brilliant ... we were misfits ... most of us were angry ... most of us felt powerless.

Nonetheless, we managed to get through high school relatively unscathed.

The day that I heard about Columbine ... I thought to myself, my god, that could have been us. I seem to remember one discussion ... a day that Doug was there ... probably the day we stopped playing the silly world domination game with him in the room ... when we talked about how to get rid of the bullies and popular kids in our school. I can remember exchanging a look with Ed and Dan. This wasn't a joke any more. Ben was a bit too intense. Doug had altogether too much of a plan set up.

Had any either of them had access to real firepower ... or that one last event to cause them to snap ... "Columbine" could have happened in Texas instead of Colorado ... and at least 10 years earlier than it did occur.

There is no reason ... there is no excuse ... for killing 33 people.

Doug had two humbling experiences his senior year, after discovering that he'd be going to Princeton. I like to think that the one in which I was involved taught him something of humanity and consequences and perhaps helped to kickstart his moral compass. The other, I think, simply taught him some humility.

First, Doug was angry both with my best friend ... and with me. I can't remember why he was ticked off at Drew, but he decided that the best way to get back at him ... was to first take out all of Drew's support network. That is, he was going to make sure that none of Drew's friends were in a position to help him when Doug finally struck out at Drew.

Because I think he felt humiliated by me (completely by accident), I think that's why he chose me as his first victim.

In my first year of college, I was still living at home, by command of the parental units. Over Thanksgiving, I attended a little bash just a few blocks down from my house. It was only the second time I'd had alcohol and I got a bit more than I should have. Apparently, Doug thought that I "liked" him ... and he tried to kiss me ... being completely drunk ... I didn't realize what he was doing until his tongue was in my mouth. I got him to stop, tried not to hurt his feelings ... and then went home. I felt bad about it, but I didn't think too much of it.

Drew was talking with Doug a few days later and told him of course I'd tried to stop him ... didn't Doug know I was gay??

So ... ready to take Drew down, Doug called my house and told my mother that I was gay. The end result of that mess was that my parents divorced and I was told to "change or get out." I got out.

But I quickly figured out who the anonymous tipster had been and went up to the high school to confront Doug and simply ask him why he had done that. I was going to do it privately, but when I got to the school, the teacher I'd had for English the year before told me to come on in to the classroom. Somewhat reluctantly, I wound up asking him why he'd told my mom I was gay in front of his whole English class. He couldn't meet my eyes. Just stared at his desk and mumbled it wasn't him.

I assumed that the class wouldn't really take his side or mine ... being gay was not "cool" in 1988, as the AIDS epidemic was in full swing and being in Texas and all. I found out later that most of the class gave him the silent treatment for the rest of the year.

What was interesting was that it did seem to penetrate Doug's brain that I wasn't there for revenge. I wanted an answer ... I just wanted to know why he'd seen fit to try to ruin my life.

(What was his second event? In short, he was making a kitchen-chemistry bomb. It didn't go off like it was supposed to. So he picked it up, and, cocky as always, shook it. Apparently it blew up in his face and while it didn't seriously hurt him, it did do some damage to both his face and his cocky attitude.)

There is no reason ... there is no excuse ... for killing 33 people.

Cho Seung-Hui claimed that he was driven into a corner. That it was "our" fault that he had already killed two and was about to kill more. Obviously, if Cho was disturbed. At this point, many people directly affected by his actions hate him right now. Many people not directly affected also hate him.

From the garbled and rambling document that he mailed out he railed against the rich who "crucified him."

There is no reason ... there is no excuse ... for killing 33 people.

What I fear right now is not another copycat. It's not another school shooting. It's that we will continue to ignore the lessons we should be learning from all of these people who snap.

From all of these people who feel that they are powerless and so seek to grasp some semblance of power by blindly rampaging against those they feel oppress them.

I saw an old-ish movie a few weeks ago. The Player, with Tim Robbins. It's all about this hot-shot producer who treats people like crap ... disposable ... objects to manipulate. One of the writers that he has jerked around decides to get revenge ... calls him ... sends him death threats ... on and on. The producer begins to behave a bit better. Trying to make up to everyone in hopes that he'll make up to the guy who's harassing him. Whilst talking to a writer that he thinks is the one harassing him, he snaps ... drowns the guy.

At the end of the movie, the producer has discovered that he's killed the wrong guy ... the writer harassing him gets his movie made after all ... and the producer goes right back to being a total asshole.

There is no reason ... there is no excuse ... for killing 33 people.

Have we done the same thing? I know that I see these patterns of behaviours going back long before Columbine.

I see it in the wars we wage against each other, be it nation against nation ... or neighbor against neighbor. And when the inevitable tragedies come to light ... we cry and we mourn and we rail against the unfairness of it all.

But do we change?

Charles, Eric, Dylan, Cho ... there is no reason, no excuse for what they've done. I do not pardon them for their actions.

Instead, I fear for us all. For those moments when we're tired and cranky and fed up ... and we snap at the wrong person who then goes out and rampages in some way shape or form. Maybe they just get drunk and then drive. Maybe they internalize some unthought criticism and spiral for years before taking some action.

Our words and actions toward other people ... are they kind? are they thought-full? are they both compassionate and true?

Or, completely without meaning to, are we somehow helping to shape the next tragedy?

There is no reason ... there is no excuse ... for killing people.

I discovered through some friends from high school, that a boy I dated my junior year remembered things completely differently from me. He attempted to turn our high school dating into a recreation of his favourite TV show, Moonlighting. The problem, of course, was that he was no Bruce Willis, and I was certainly no Cybill Shepherd. And, to be honest, attempting to be funny and amusing ... and ultimately, shallow ... 24/7, was far too draining for me.

I was surprised at how bitter he was about it ... twenty years after the fact. I had thought we'd parted on good terms. At least, that we had made some peace about it.

How do our actions affect others? We can't always know and we can't always be completely responsible for speaking one wrong word which affects another's mind in unexpected ways ... any more than we can live in daily fear of planes crashing into our buildings.

But we can strive to be full of thought in our dealings with others. We can attempt compassion and understanding.

And then we can pray to whatever higher powers there might be ... that it's enough.

Posted by Red Monkey at 11:15 AM | Comments (5) | Struggles | Stumble

March 21, 2007

The Bicycle Bell

Supposedly I'm good with words. People tell me that all the time. (Well, maybe not ALL the time, but a lot of the time they do ... particularly when they don't wanna write something and they think they can pawn it off on me.) I've had this ... well, gift, I guess ... since I was a little bitty kid. In fact, at the age of four, my mother was shopping around in Carmel, Indiana, where we'd just moved, looking for the best nursery school for me. I'd been pestering her with "When do I start school" for about a year, I suppose ... and since my birthday is in the beginning of November, I was going to have to wait another year to begin kindergarten. Anyway, while she and the lead teacher wandered off to look at the facilities and programs and chat with the teachers, I slipped away at some point. Sat down at the edge of the little stage. And began telling a story.

I've no idea what that story was, now. As Chris told Gordie, stories just came out of me like bubbles in soda pop at that time. But apparently by the time mom and the lead teacher found me, I'd gathered a crowd of kids around the stage, all listening raptly.

In fact, I was hired as a copy writer for my current job, but to be honest, that word-smithing is the least favourite part of my current position now.

And in moments like this ...
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... words fail me even more.

I avoided church like the plague for a good 10-15 years or more. I was a burned-out and disillusioned church-goer, tired of the hypocrisy and political in-fighting. And then I discovered Southside, a truly unique place, in my ever-so-humble opinion.

One of the people that I met there was Mary Lee ... though to hear it spoken, you'd swear it was Merrilee, all run together. Maybe it was because we were both Texans. Maybe because we're bother ornery as all hell. But I really got along with Mary Lee. Sweet, opinionated, wonderful lady.

When she broke her foot last year (I think it was last year), she had to use a walker for a while, and OH MY how she hated it. After some time, her husband got her a nicer one, one with a seat that she could rest on if she needed to ... and a basket for storing things. She complained about it, dammit, she wanted to be independent again. And she hated the space the thing took up. She joked about needing a horn to toot-toot people outa her way. Cuz Mary Lee was always on a mission.

Not long after that, I was in Toys R Us ... cuz I'm often there ... and I remembered to go to the bike equipment and picked up a nice little bicycle bell with kitty-cat paws on it. I was excited the next Sunday to give it to her. Oh my, did she laugh, an infectious and honest Texas belly laugh. Oh, ornery and fiesty, she was already planning on how to wreak havoc with that bell.

Every week at church when she'd see me, she'd ring that little bell and just giggle. Never failed to make us both laugh. She'd ring it and holler OUTA MY WAY as she made her way out of the sanctuary and into the narthex after service. And giggle again.

The tubing of the walker, however, was more slender than that of a bike handlebar, and before long, the bell would slip part-way down the walker and out of reach. She'd fuss, she'd make the kids and grandkids fix it, but eventually ... it would slip away again.

Much like she slipped away this morning.

The only words I know now are cliches, dull and hollow thunks, not the clear, ringing tone of her bell.

Wordless.
Just the sound of her bell.

Posted by Red Monkey at 2:40 PM | Comments (6) | Struggles | Stumble