Blind Tiger

 

Recently, I got sucked into watching a rerun of the original Hawaii Five-O (1968-1980) television series.  Saying that I got “sucked in” is completely disingenuous, because I love that series in all of its ridiculous glory.  I did not grow up with it.  My family did not watch it, but as a twenty something kid, seeing afternoon syndicated reruns made me and some of my friends fans.  We all wanted to be as slick as Jack Lord – I still do!  The crazy convoluted plots and dodgy police procedures were common topics of conversations and debates.  I once called in sick from work three days in a row, so I wouldn’t miss all three episodes of the epic V for Vashon trilogy (long before streaming) and when I fessed up to my manager at the time, he understood and claimed he would’ve done the same thing.

 

An early episode from the series is “Blind Tiger” (1969) where Steve McGarrett (chief of the fictional police unit Five-O) has a criminally placed bomb go off while climbing into his car.  Somehow his only real injury is blindness.  He is hospitalized and helps solve the case of the vengeful bomber from the hospital.  During his stay he goes through rehabilitation to learn to live life as a blind person, and his nurse/rehab guide is none other than actress Marion Ross as Nurse Edith Lavallo.  Marion Ross would later become famous and maybe “America’s mom” as Mrs. Cunningham on the 70s TV show Happy Days (1974-1984).  Anyway, her abrupt approach and constant assistance teaches McGarrett to not only function well without his sight, but actually win a physical fight with the bomber (back to try to finish McGarrett off) in a physical therapy room.  Well, the Five-O team arrest the bomber and McGarrett’s sight miraculously returns and he is free to resume his life of being awesome.  Nurse Edith phones his room just before Steve is discharged and cannot overcome her emotions to say goodbye.  The implication being that she has developed feelings for this magnificent man.  Despite Steve’s urgings, Edith will not come say goodbye in person so he can finally actually see her.  The scene closes with her reluctantly hanging up the phone in tears.  And like all episodic dramas back then, we never hear from her as a character again, nor of McGarrett overcoming blindness.  Ross makes an appearance as a hapless and clueless accomplice with evildoers in an episode a year or two later.

When I was hospitalized for about five weeks a couple of months before my twentieth birthday, I bonded with my healthcare team.  Overall, it was a terrifying and painful experience, but dammit, even though I was in the pediatric floor with mostly babies and very young children as a grizzled and gross nineteen year old, I took great joy when a day nurse took care of me several times for a lot of those weeks.  She would come to my room with an acoustic guitar and sing me nursery rhyme type songs.  She joked that they were the only songs she could play, though I didn’t care – I was simply happy to have her there with me.  I’m sad that I cannot remember her name, because she was such a wonderful and caring person who made a massive difference during my recovery.  My mom was struggling with her health in a serious way at that time and could not be with me very much, so the nurses became surrogates that I looked to for reassurance and support.  I was sad at the time, because when I finally was discharged, I did not get to say goodbye to the singing nurse – who reminded me of my second grade teacher, the perfectly named Mrs. Love.  Several years later I saw the Five-O “Blind Tiger” episode and thought about a few of the amazing nurses who have guided me through difficult recoveries, and a piece of me hoped that they were sad to see me go like Nurse Edith was to let go of McGarrett.  I have always kind of hoped that I’d not be forgotten.  This is neither here nor there, but that may have been the first time I fully realized as a young adult that I wanted to always leave a positive impression onto any and all interaction I have with all people.  Because of our nature as humans, my failures at this goal are the ones I remember most, because I, and I think most of us, dwell on mistakes instead of successes and I hear about it, when people do not like me, but rarely hear about the positive moments (like how a lot of people are willing to complain about poor service, but stay silent when service is good).  It’s how we roll.  Somehow I’ve mostly been able to move on from these intense short-lived recovery experiences and close, albeit mostly one-sided relationships with healthcare workers, as they fade into the past and we’re all onto the next phase of life.  Still the notion of a nurse shedding a tear in silence – sad to see me go – makes me feel important, which is a rarity.

However, as I’ve written about in a few prior posts, over the past two-plus years, I have been focusing intently on the healthcare system to try to improve my physical state via therapies and rehab.  The work has been paying off.  Maybe not as much as I’d like, but I think my expectations are far grander than reality is showing.  Because of this focus, I have been seeing the same physical therapist for about two years and have been doing cardiac rehab twice a week since last November.  The staff have become a family to me and over the rest of this month I am going to lose these connections as health insurance coverage is ending. 

I’m worried.  At the beginning of May, by far the best cardiac rehab clinical exercise physiologist (CEP), Hannah (see here) left her position to become a lead at a different clinic.  Though I am excited for her opportunity, I did not and have not taken her absence well.  There has been no fading into the past and moving on.  On her final day, I broke down and cried like crazy – like I haven’t done before, in my memory.  I continue to get emotional when I notice her absence like when they brought in a new “replacement.”  What a ridiculous notion!  And now, I’m facing losing the rest of the team who have nurtured, cared for, and encouraged me.  As well as providing me with social contact – making these appointments the high points of most of my weeks.  Same with physical therapy.  Saying goodbye to Abby will be difficult.  She’s guided me through a lot of difficult times all while experiencing very difficult times herself.  I care about her and look forward to our conversations during every appointment.  In my case, Abby has been a skilled psychologist as well.  I marvel at her creativity.  I will miss seeing Stefan and Lauren at the front desk too.  They’ve always made me feel welcome and valued.  I will miss hearing Lauren call me “Christopher,” because no one calls me that. 

Writing this out makes this all seem a bit trivial, and I don’t know how I’ve become the Nurse Edith and not the McGarrett in these scenarios.  I honestly do not know what’s going on with me. The departure of Hannah has me concerned.  Makes me think of the Kubler-Ross Five Stages of Grief that we were taught in High School Psychology class, and makes me wonder why I dwell in the first stage (Denial) and then skip to the fourth stage (Depression) and ping pong between only those two stages seemingly endlessly.  I’m pretty sure I’ve been bouncing between those stages for the past 35 years.  I’ve never Accepted (stage five) losing my mom to this genetic disorder that has ravaged my family’s lives.  Perhaps it’s because I skip stage two (Anger), because there’s no one to blame, and the “why me?” falls flat because I wouldn’t wish this disorder upon anyone.  I avoid Bargaining (stage three) for that same reason.  Instead of healing and moving on, I continue flail and feel broken, ridiculous, and embarrassed.

As the month progresses, I am steeling myself for an emotionally difficult stretch and hoping I can focus my energy on continuing my health journey by utilizing the valuable tools these amazing professionals have taught me on my own and not wallow in stage four.  I’m hoping I can muster the energy to keep going at all.  Maybe when the times arrive for these tough farewells, I will be able to keep myself from ugly crying by simply disappearing.  But will I ever be able to accept the loss?  Will I ever be able to see beyond stage four and move on like those old TV shows?  After decades of watching Hawaii Five-O reruns, why haven’t I learned any lessons to be magnificent like Steve McGarrett?

Wake (Part II)

Deep Black

Chuck and the Orange sat down on the curved bench changing their shoes. They had both just turned 23 and decided to gather a few of their friends and join a summer bowling league. This was week one. If this May was a sign, then this summer might be a hot one. Chuck and Ryan, or as he had become known that week: the Orange, had grown up doing junior leagues together as kids and thought it might be fun to do a short twelve week league for some fun. It was good for Chuck to get away from the increasingly suffocating scene of his normal routine, which often included Sandray and Jason on the periphery of his social life. It was too much for him to take. He needed to escape, in order to find a way to have fun and maybe meet new people. He had always loved bowling and with Harrison, D and Chris on the team, it looked to be a promising idea.


The league was mostly made up of older people, which surprised everyone at first. Gordy, a tall fat old man with huge bags under his eyes and a giant cigar dangling from his lips pounded by this rookie team and grumbled incoherently to himself as he carried two black bowling balls upright by the finger holes to his team’s appointed lane. Harrison overheard him grumble something again and then begin to wheeze violently, which caught the attention of everyone else. No one was sure if they needed to run over and prepare to enact CPR, or if things would settle down. It turned out that he was laughing and all was okay.

Everyone else, having tightened their bowling shoes with the 1980s Velcro straps, wandered off to buy several pitchers of beer for the first game, leaving Chuck to try and figure out how to enter in each player’s names onto the electronic scorekeeping system. The last time he had bowled in the small town he grew up in, scorekeeping was still done by hand. He was not sure what to make of this. Little by little the names went in. They had already decided on the team name and the order they would bowl in. He typed in TORGO for the team name. Torgo is the stumbling bumbling bellhop from the terrible movie “Manos: the Hands of Fate.” Torgo looked like he had pillows shoved down his pants and stuttered odd things about “the master” as he bounded slowly through life. The Orange would be the lead off man, he requested to be Chin Ho or Wo Fat from Hawaii Five-O, but The Orange is the name he got for wearing an orange shirt one day – the same day we saw a man standing in a decommissioned telephone booth off of 39th Avenue with an orange crate placed over his head. D was an easy type in for the second slot. Harrison was often known as the Iron Fist dating back to a threat he made against Ox who had made him miss his chance to talk with the ravishing Julie Woo earlier that year so Chuck typed “The Fist.” He looked around and saw that Chris had come back from the bar or bathroom or somewhere and was commenting about the intense smell of Pine Sol that was making his eyes water.

“What do you want to be tonight?” Chuck asked Chris. He had only recently met him, as he was a friend of the Orange’s from college.

“How about ‘Doug E. Fresh?” responded Chris, as everyone else filtered in around the scorer’s desk.

“Perfect.” Chuck replied, as he typed in “Dougie.”

Chuck was set to be the anchor and he hadn’t thought of a name for himself. He looked over at Gordy in the adjacent lane, who was once again wheezing loudly. The alley had opened up the lanes for practice bowling and one of Gordy’s teammates had just missed a spare shot. Gordy shouted out “I’ll give you a T for Trying” and launched into another extended death defying throat clearing gasp for life. Chuck typed in “Gordo.” He glanced up at the screen above the lanes. Team Torgo was set to bowl against Steve, Mandy, Bill, Wendy and Tom from the Mike’s Café team.

Chuck stood up and took in the surroundings and felt strangely energized by the horrifically loud crashing of pins crashing from all sides. It’s no wonder everyone that works at bowling alleys wear hearing aids. He glanced back at his new hero Gordy and started contemplating the idea of taking up cigar smoking. His teammates were all similar to him, but not as gregarious, or huge or loud. They looked to be bowling against a Filipino family going off as Team El Tigre. It would’ve taken at least three of their teammates to measure up to the sheer girth that was Gordy’s mid section. In the other adjacent lanes to their right, Chuck watched as a couple walked up to the lanes. They looked to be a married couple maybe in their early 30s, both of them clad in blue jeans and matching T-shirts. They were introduced to their much older teammates and began to get themselves ready. Chuck watched as someone typed Melissa up on the screen. He didn’t pay any attention to her husband’s name. Chuck stood there with his mouth open and all the silly chatter and odd running commentaries from his teammates faded away. Melissa had shapes that Chuck had never seen in person before. It seemed as if all of her assets were always on the verge of bursting free from her tight well-worn clothes and he silently rooted for them to do so. Her jeans were skin tight and starting to split just underneath her shapely backside. Her white T-shirt hugged her waist and was around her chest.  Not leaving much to his imagination.  She reminded him of 70s TV star Adrienne Barbeau.

Chuck never did bowl a practice ball, as he watched Melissa without ever averting his gaze. He watched her roll her bowling ball and it made him nervous and self conscious.

“There’s a hunger inside you!” Harrison screamed, as he slapped Chuck hard across the back, as he dropped a Snickers candy bar onto the scoring desk. “Are you fired up? I’m fired up!” He shouted and they began a hand bleeding series of hand slaps over and over as the Fist repeated his fired up mantra.

Everything became a blur for Chuck and he began to sweat and become nauseous. He frantically rolled his first ball and scored a messy strike. He looked back over at Melissa who was leaning over and talking to her husband who was sitting on the bench framing their two lanes. Chuck felt like he was sweating pure testosterone, as he was struck with pure lust.

Another crashing strike flashed before Chuck’s eyes, as he heard a loud turkey gobble call from behind, along with shouts of “Annie Oakley” and “Blood in the water” all from his teammates. Chuck had opened with five straight strikes and all the shouting was gaining the attention of the other teams. Chuck turned around, essentially oblivious of what was happening. He saw that Melissa was smiling at him and he lost himself into a daydream of her running over and smothering him with hugs and kisses. He could feel saliva pooling up inside his mouth as he walked toward the back of the lanes high-fiving people all along the way including an intricate rehearsed celebratory greeting with D. He had lost the ability to swallow.

In the sixth frame, the rest of the team was riding the momentum. All four of them had rolled powerful strikes and it was up to Chuck to score a perfect star frame for the team and a sixth straight to start the league. He had never bowled six straight strikes before. He still had not. This time, he left the five & eight pins in the middle and quickly rolled a simple spare. As he walked off the lane, Melissa applauded his start and high fived him as he went by. Her husband was in the back buying some beer. Chuck stomped by his teammates and shrugged off their comments about dropping the mashed potatoes and slipping on spilled gravy and how there had been too much butter on his biscuits. He threw his shoes off and went outside into the warm dry air after a scorching hot day. The evening had started to cool the edge off a touch, but it was still just as warm outside as it was inside the stuffy old bowling alley. He sat down against the side of the building, beneath the tiled figures of people-like shapes purportedly heading toward the entrance into the alley. He took a few deep breaths watched the traffic streak by and felt himself calming down a bit – at least enough to regain some composure.

After returning to the fray, Chuck managed to finish the two and a half remaining games without having to leave again, but was still driven to distraction by the presence of Melissa nearby. Team Torgo was on fire and Chuck led the way with all three games coming in above 200, easily the best bowling of his life. The real Gordy even wheezed his approval for the new Gordo.

Chuck felt his senses returning to him after he had watched Melissa walk out the door with her husband and with his friend’s and teammates all wandering around trying to decide what to do next. They had all piled uncomfortably into Chuck’s car, so they all had to agree about what to do. They’d all decided to grab a bite to eat at Sir Loin’s off of Sandy Boulevard, but there would have to be stops at bank machines and convenience stores for smokes and such.

Chuck turned the ignition and “Deep Black” by the Smithereens was still playing from the ride over.

“Deep black jealousy

Every time you look at me”

These were the first words they all heard and Chuck turned the volume way down.

By the time they reached their third brand of bank, it was Chuck’s turn to grab some cash. He stepped out and wandered up toward the ATM with his head down. He knew someone was getting cash ahead of him, so he wanted to look and act as harmless and possible - likely making him more conspicuous. What he was soon to realize is that this person was Melissa from bowling. She smiled when she recognized him.

“Hey, fancy meeting you here!” she smiled. “Great bowling tonight!” She glanced over his shoulder and could see his teammates all standing around outside his ’83 Ford Ltd. Smoking cigarettes and attempting to figure out if Sir Loin would be open and if so, what exactly what we would find inside. She waved to them.

“Thanks, it was quite a surprise,” he replied, embarrassed.

She touched his forearm as she said that she looked forward to seeing him next week and trotted off to her car. Chuck watched her bound all the way there in the dim twilight. She waved again as she sped off out of the bank’s parking lot. His teammates all watching her leave as well.

Chuck turned to the ATM and stuck his bank card inside the slot. It asked for his pin number and despite having had the exact same account since his mom had helped him sign up for a checking account when he was in the 8th grade, he could not think of what it was. He typed in the first thing he thought of. He tried another when that failed. He began to sweat again and attempted another set of numbers with futility after the machine had spit his card back out. This time it did not return his card. His three strikes were used up. He was now on record as a man trying to steal from his own account.

Melissa had wiped his mind clean.



Part I can be read here
Part III can be read here

Sinking or 'Grease' is the Word

This is the second to last 'kidney journal' entry, before I gave it up for good.  What amazes me most about reading through these again after so many years, is how far technolgy has come in 9 short years.  So many things I reference in here were outdated long ago.  Forgotten relics.  Some things never change though, and that is my dislike of that guy in "Grease."

Friday, August 15, 2003.



Ever since beginning dialysis, I started watching a lot more television. Not that I already wasn’t glued to the set for more hours a day than I would ever want to admit throughout my life, but now, it’s not comparable. It started with the addition of two new Law and Order spinoffs. Throughout the 90s, I only had one show that I felt compelled to tune into each week and that was the original Law and Order. I got hooked on it when my Mom and I watched a few episodes of the first season together before she passed away. Now there are three of them to keep tabs on! Since I am now tired, weak, and sedentary from being sick, and slowly working my way to stuffed animal status, I see lots of TV at home every evening in addition to the four or so hours of barely interrupted time during dialysis. Currently, at dialysis I have figured out how to watch four straight episodes of Perry Mason on three different channels during my stint. If I tire of the courtroom drama, I can always watch the eight episodes of M.A.S.H. that are spanned across two different channels. During the evenings, I have started watching the two CSI: shows and I love the new show Boomtown and especially the new version of Dragnet with the Married with Children guy. I actually get frustrated when they schedule “my” shows against each other. It really is disgusting. But now that it’s been summer re-runs for some time, I have been left with nothing, because I have seen all of the episodes already. Life becomes empty when it’s based on a TV schedule. That’s how I wind up watching Debbie Travis’ home improvement show Facelift late at night, when I could care less about that shit.

The other evening, I was tuning in to watch TNT’s nightly run of old Law and Order episodes hoping to see one where I don’t remember the outcome. This night, however, TNT decided to show the old musical Grease. I have seen Grease many times, but found myself excited to see it again anyway. The thing that I noticed about the movie that I had never noticed before, and I’m sure that it had everything to do with these new (to me) surround sound TVs and the weird sound separation that they seem to create - every time a song scene came on during the storyline of the movie, the vocals sounded as though they were being piped in from a giant hangar or spacious old train station. The vocals echoed at me as if Olivia was singing into a toilet paper tube from behind me. The reverb was downright silly. Unfortunately, every time I’ve watched Grease, I am reminded of my dislike for one of the extras. It’s a guy that’s in most of the song and dance sequences and he bugs the living shit out of me. He’s the one near the end of the movie, during that closing song (wompa lamma lamma ding dong?), who is wearing a light green short sleeve shirt and tan pants. He does a Groucho Marx inspired dance for a moment. Next time you run across it, and that’s really the only way anyone watches this movie, you’ll see who I’m talking about. At first, you’ll say to yourself, “that’s funny that Chris doesn’t like this guy.” Then, the next time you run across the movie, and you will, you will begin to see this guy running about throughout the entire movie, like during the “Grease Lightning” scene, and during the entire dance contest stretch, and even during the “Summer Lovin’” extravaganza near the beginning. I do not know why his presence irritates me so much, but even as an eight or nine year old watching that film for the first time, he made me angry. Every time I see him, I want to turn away. I threaten to hunt him down and torture him the way he has tortured me for years. Yes, I talk to the TV. And, no, I wouldn’t want to hunt him down.

After watching Grease, and running the gamut of practicing my “hickey from Kenickie” impersonation, my terrible Travolta singing, and trying to avert my eyes from the evil extra, later that night I came across the pilot movie for Hawaii Five-O. This is the first episode of one of the best shows ever and I had never seen it before! The pilot has a different Danno. This Danno chain smokes and doesn’t have that weird hair or the childlike run, and the dialog is more free and intriguing. Plus the pilot introduces us to the dreaded Red China agent Wo Fat, and of course, Steve McGarrett – the Lord, Jack Lord. We get to see the blue suit, his freakish skeletal face, and that hair. We get to hear him tell Danno to “BOOK ‘EM” for the first time as he arrests CIA agents just for being a nuisance to him. McGarrett commands and coerces people who are supposed to hold more power than him, though we all know better. There is nothing else quite like this show. There is nothing quite like wasting one’s life away by watching television all hours of the day and night. It’s no wonder I can’t sleep anymore.