My wife, Lovely, has a penchant for needing to know the root causes of things that are not right. Yesterday, I took her to one of the best hospitals in the country to take a test that would forever answer the question of what is causing the noise in her ear, and her issues with balance. This test, the name of which I can’t pronounce or spell was the last one available in the doctor’s bag of tricks that could produce an answer. The test took ninety minutes to complete. She got her answer. It is a nerve in the ear that has been damaged and it is the one that connects the brain to control balance.
“What is the fix?”
“There is none.”
“How did the nerve get damaged?”
“We don’t know.”
“Will the constant noise in my ear ever go away?”
“No.”
“Is there a drug that I can use to control the problem?
“Yes, but only a neurologist can prescribe it.”
This answer ends a quest that began in January 2024, with multiple visits to seek answers. I see it as only the beginning to find the drug that works, but she won’t want to live with the side effects.
This is a bad day and time to write for this blog. Lovely and I just returned from a shopping spree at the grocery store. It may just be my imagination, but the prices of everything keep going higher and higher. I wasn’t long ago that we were amazed that the bill was up to a hundred dollars. Today, we topped out at $199.61. Lovely continues to feel like it is her fault for being extravagant. I reminded her that she came with a short list, but I piled too much stuff into the basket myself. “Maybe when Trump becomes president he will get the prices down,” she said. I went into old guy story mode and told her about the last time we had inflation like this was in the nineteen eighties when Jimmy Carter was president. At that time the prices never went down and they won’t this time either. The damage has been done. The government led by his excellency Joe Biden has spent money he didn’t have and now we are paying for it with inflation.
To get my mind off the predicament, I took a back road home through a section of Frankfort to see a new house being built on a five-acre tract, and the one house takes up half of it. Clearly, this family does not have money issues. The owner happens to be related to the local concrete delivery service. They are new to the community, and the man of the house is already running for Mayor. The mansion is at least twelve thousand square feet in size. The family has five older daughters and I figure they must need a lot of closet space.
Yesterday, I finally arrived at the eye doctor’s office on the correct day and time. I was ushered into one of the exam rooms and waited while a young lady put eye drops into my left eye to enable her to measure eye pressure, then another drop to dilate the eye for the doctor. I played my phone game while I waited. Eventually, I was ushered into the laser lab and directed to sit in a specific chair. I resumed my game. The doctor entered, and I was shocked. I have grandchildren that are older than this guy. “You’ve had this procedure performed on the right eye in July, so you know how it goes right?” “Yes I do, let’s get it over with.”
The last doctor who did this was now retired and happily spending his fortune doing nothing. The doctor sat opposite me and told me to rest my chin on the rest and move my forehead into the brace. “Look at the red light.” I happily looked at the tiny LED bulb suspended above his left ear. The procedure began. Pop, pop, pop—he was killing this unwanted membrane between my lens and good vision. After about ten pops, he would say, “Blink,” and then go back to pop, pop, pop, pop. I could hear him moving the laser from spot to spot and pulling the trigger at each point. It couldn’t have taken longer than five minutes for him to finish. I looked at him and said, “why did I get the impression that you were playing a video game?” “Yes,” he said, “it is a lot like a video game, I’ll see you in a month.” He ushered me to the exit.
After it was over, I opened my left eye and saw nothing but blackness. Is this what it feels like to be blind? I wondered. When I reached the exit, my vision was as good as when I had walked in. Twenty-four hours later, my left eye is seeing sharp and crisp words. Now, I can get some new glasses to correct my astigmatism.
Yesterday, I drove twelve miles to an eye appointment that didn’t exist. I was so anxious about getting my left eye laser-treated that I made a stupid mistake. It was strange that the receptionist kept asking me for more information. Eventually, she looked up at me, somewhat sad-eyed, and said, “Your appointment is tomorrow, not today.”
I was in shock! How could I let that happen? I looked at the calendar on my phone, and sure enough, it was showing the 17th, not the 16th. When I arrived home, I searched for the appointment card, and it verified the 17th as well. I went to my office and sulked. Now, I am in waiting mode again, anxiously waiting to have the cataract removed from the plastic lens implanted twelve years ago.
At the time, I did not notice how much my eyes had been affected by the cataracts. The Doc kept telling me I should have them removed, and I kept ignoring him. Eventually, I agreed and had both eyes done. I was amazed at how much my vision improved. I went around bragging that now, I could see like an eagle.
Lately, the vision in my left eye has been blurry. I tested myself by closing my left eye when reading and could see distinctive sharp lettering. When I closed my right eye, all I could see with the left was a blurry melt of print. Being a Lion, and being that the Lion’s long-standing priority has been dedicated to vision, I feel it is my duty to get my eye fixed.
I have a problem with the government’s latest ploy to end birthright citizenship. I am preparing to be deported at my age because of this new action. Why? My parents entered the US through Ellis Island. They met and married in the USA. Then I came along with my two brothers and sister. There is a good chance that if my parents are declared illegals, then we became citizens automatically. We took advantage of the parochial school system, not the public school system. Our parents paid for our doctor visits. Neither my mother or father ever accepted ‘charity’ as they called it.
What did the government do for them? They allowed them to vote. My Dad worked for the railroad and his bosses always told him to vote democrat. Dad was a citizen and could cite the date he was sworn in, the judge’s name, and the courthouse where it happened. We learned of Mom’s situation when, at age seventy-eight she finally traveled back to her hometown to visit her mother’s grave. She was at the gate, ready to board the plane and was stopped by immigration. They wanted to see her citizenship papers. Of course she had none. After what seemed like eternity, she proudly told them, If I am not a citizen then why have I been allowed and encouraged to vote all these years? They let her board the plane.
I gazed out the window to look at my once beautiful garden, which I was so proud of, and thought, eh. Winter is coming, and all the weeds and flowers will die, and the wind will sweep them away. Unfortunately, all of my weeds will be swept away, but my neighbors will be swept in. The bottom line is equal part ugly. I often wondered how long it would take for nature to reclaim a manicured garden. I’d say about three years because right now, it has been neglected for two years and it is almost natural. My idea is to hire a bulldozer to come and scrape the entire yard clean. That would give me about three months of pleasure until the weeds take over again. Guys like me belong in senior homes where there are no gardens to look after. If I were to go there, I would probably sit in regret for having left my independence and my weedy garden. My brother is in that situation. He sits in his retirement community in the heart of the city watching cars and busses flow past his window and dreams about escaping to his summer home in Michigan. He sits with as many pots of flowers as will fit on his window sill to substitute for the fabulous garden he gave up. His kids removed his driving privileges and car keys two years ago and he is left to cruise the hallways with his walker while leading a conga line of seniors shuffling after. He spends his hours spreading cheer and doing good deeds for his fellow senior neighbors. At ninety-three he still dreams of traveling except he is left to the mercy of his kids who still lead active lives.
Most of us have the small problem of a money shortage. If we had money, we could hire a full-time caretaker or two to drive us wherever we wanted. They would also manage our pill boxes, pack our clothing, and provide an occasional meal. All we would have to do is wake up, brush our teeth, dress, climb into the car, and instruct “Westward ho James.”
During the garden season, we would sit in a wheelchair and direct the caretaker to pull this weed, cut that branch, and plant the rose bush here. There are many people who live like that. My problem is finding caretakers who know the difference between a flower and a weed and, of course, finding the $300 plus per day to make it happen. Instead, I sit and watch YouTube videos and feel my muscles melting away. My fingers and hands begin to develop tendonitis from overuse of the keyboard, and I wonder what my options will be when I reach the next stage.
Reading fiction novels is an excellent way to waste my years, and I read at least one book per week. Once in a while, I’ll pick a political science book or some other non-fiction genre, and it’ll take me two weeks to finish because I fall asleep too often with the boredom of facts, figures, and theories of how to improve the world. After reading so many murder mysteries, I avoid them because they romanticize killing. The next more popular genre is love stories, they bore me to tears. What I do find interesting a is a good love story salted with many erotic scenes. They remind me of my ‘good old days.’ Biographies are good. They are intriguing, and I love to know how people spent their lives as compared to my own.
After twelve years of blogging, even this hobby is becoming tiresome. I overthink what to write, but my life is the same every day, and it seems I have nothing interesting to say anymore. Politics has been a fun topic, but hundreds of political people are writing about every political speech, tactic, lie, and activity of candidates. Who cares what I have to say? So why waste valuable time saying it.
In my younger years, I would take a bike ride to get my juices flowing again, but this year, I finally sold my trusty recumbent bicycle and have already spent the money I got for it. I’m running out of options to discuss here, which prompts me to go and eat a sandwich.
