Time to take action...

Yesterday everything changed. The visit to the doctor turned into a suggestion from him that instead of waiting for the different procedures to kick in, I begin my treatment right away, and begin by coming to the emergency room this morning (saturday) and going under his care. I had complained of bad stomach cramps,and the doctor said to begin treatment now would stop them. However, the treatment will result in my having to wear an ostomy bag, for at least a while. How do I feel about that? Scared. After all, my body has hardly been touched for most of my life. But I have to do it.  The cancer is very real---it prevents a good flow of bowels from coming through, that is all there is to it.

So yesterday, with no warning, I was asked to prepare for spending about 5 days in the hospital. It took me  a while to rap my head around it, but I decided this was the best thing to do. Now, with a few hours left, I am just trying to organize the apartment. I did manage to buy Marjorie Morningstar, a novel by Herman Wouk, written in the fifties about an emerging "jewish princess" who dreams of being an actress. Her family has just moved from the Bronx to an apartment on Central Park West, and she is enthusiastic about the move. I think I started this novel when I was about 11, and it was a little over my head. Hopefully I should enjoy it now---will take it to the hospital with me along with Badenheim 39, another novel about Jews in the 30's---this one about a group who visit a resort outside of Vienna to for relaxation, even as the harsh reality of the Nazi advancement is closing in. 

Thats all for now---I really did want to write a post right before my hospital stay. Will hopefully resume the blog when I return.

 

One more day....

until my next encounter with the medical world. Tomorrow  morningI see another doctor from another hospital and present him with the information about the situation and my c t report. How did that happen? By sheer luck, my downstairs neighbor and friend works for one of the major hospital systems in the area. When I told her about my medical situation, she sprang into action.  Using my directory we found in doctor at Northwell and arranged the appointment. She did most of the work; she is most assertive in this field. Still, she insisted that I contact my hospital and asked (actually she said "insist") that they give me a copy of my recent C T scan and Pathology report. This got me anxious---was it right to do this? She assured me this was done all the time, so I did contact my gastroenterologists office and ask for the material. I thought it would be difficult, but yesterday they had it ready for me, so I picked it up. Now there is nothing more to do except wait until tomorrow.

Took a walk earlier today---my head flooded with memories of the play Blues For Mr. Charlie, by James Baldwin, spring and summer of 1964. Part of the short lived, Actors Studio Theater project.  A very powerful piece, a young black man is killed by a working class white man in the south. The play then traces the events leading up to the killing and then shoots ahead to its aftermath---the trial of the white man who did it. Al Freeman Jr. played the young black man---one of the most inspiring and meaningful performances that i have ever seen. He had a scene with Diana Sands, who played his girlfriend, in Act I of the play. The second time I saw it, I was sitting in the front row orchestra---I watched the two of them work together---the vibe between them was incredible; they were so relaxed yet so specific in their energy.  I saw Ms. Sands play Beneatha in A Raisin in the Sun, twice, so I already knew how great she was. Rip Torn played the white guy and Pat Hingle, an actor I always admired, played his closest friend, a lawyer who wants to mediate between the black and white community. 

Why did my memories of seeing this play shoot up at me this morning in such a specific way. It may have been my reaction to the sports boycotts that have taken place as a protest to the James Blake shooting in Kenosha. I heard a lot of talk about that and the possible NBA boycott ( that did not happen) on some early morning radio sports shows. Without getting deeply into it, let's just say I am happy that the players took a stand. 

All for now---24 hours from now, I should have some different information. Will report soon.

a trip to the dentist...

 Once upon a time, a trip to the dentist for a teeth cleaning, and examination was one of only many things cityboy did with his day. After his cleaning in December (the last one before this one) cityboy headed to Friends to watch Drama teacher Steve Boroka tell his story, show films of his major successes (of which there are many) and discuss the future of theater at Friends. Another time cityboy scooted over to the Met to catch a great performance of an opera he considers amazing: Die Frau Ohne Schotten, by Richard Strauss. The cleaning was tough but the fallout was minimal---then on to the next chapter in his life.
  Not so today. Well, this was the first cleaning in eight months, and his dentist indicated that there was  lot of plaque waiting to be cleaned up. But, as usual when he goes outside now for an extended period of time, cityboy has to make sure he has not eaten in at least two hours, and even if he gets hungry, he stays away from food All this worked out well---the cleaning was intense, and cityboy could hardly walk the half block from mid sixth to seventh avenue (57th street) because the force of the instruments was so strong. Then the hunger struck. Cityboy was able to quickly get a roast beef sandwich from a deli on seventh and eat most of it in the park---then grab a 7 bus back to his apartment. At the apartment, he could do little but lie down. So it has been for most of the day. Are the "two activity" days over for cityboy? Must there be only one dominant activity and then "home"? We shall see. For years cityboy had had his teeth cleaned mostly every three months, and the result was teeth that never aged. And how much bacteria that could have spread to the rest of his body was caught in those cleanings?  This cleaning, by definition, had to have a lot of strength---others in the future maybe not so much. Still, the chemistry in cityboy's body has changed, and it meant that once he returned to the apartment, his energy insisted he remain there.

  Cityboy spent the rest of the day, mostly reading the Christie mystery that captured his imagination so strongly yesterday. Got to the end, found out who the murderer was---mystery over. Amazing how Ms. Christie could create the elaborate puzzles and move her people in and out of places so realistically. Of course, now that I have finished the mystery, I realize how superficial, in terms of writing, it is. On to something a little more challenging. And yet, while i was reading it, following the twists and turns of the mystery, I never wanted to be anywhere else. 

Monday evening, late---I was sure there would be no blog entry today, but i seem to have found a second wind--not really tired now. So it happened. Will report soon

quiet day, today....

Got a new belt (finally) read some Agatha Christie, watched some baseball on an MLB trial, and stayed mostly around the apartment.

Texted one or two friends who were not aware of my medical condition. They replied with a lot of warmth and sensitivity and offered me support. Very moved by that. The tickets that I gave away to a friend to an outdoor one person play in Bushwick Saturday night were received and worked very well for he and his date. Another program is planned for Bushwick this Saturday in the afternoon. Wonder if I can make it? 

Began The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Christie at about 5:00 P.M., quickly went through 110 pages. These mysteries are amazing. They really remove your mind from everything else. She just sets up every incident so perfectly. One must read other stuff, obviously, but what she is capable of doing in the mystery form is really unique.

At a neighborhood bookstore this morning, noticed a new novel by Curtis Sittenfeld called Rodham. Apparently it is a fictionlized account of Hilary's life, but in a switch, she does not marry Bill and goes on and has her own career. This author wrote American Wife, which I must have read about 13 years ago, a thinly fictionalized life story of someone who could be Laura Bush, and I still remember it as being very special. Had to really fight with myself not to tear Rodham of the shelf and pay the $28.00 or so that the bookstore was asking, but kept myself in check, and returned it to its place. I have seen a few books in the neighboring bookstores that look really interesting, but I want to wait to see if the next stimulus package will arrive, giving me some economic breathing room. Then maybe I will go after them, Rodham included. The libraries have partially reopened but i hate having to order online, then waiting for a date and time that it can be thrown at me. Libraries for me are about browsing and choosing in the space, and if I can't do that, I would rather buy what I need. 

That is all for now. I have a dentist's appointment tomorrow---really need it, my teeth have not been cleaned for a very long time, and usually this procedure happens around every 4 months. Still, the teeth seem strong---well, we will find out....

Write something, cityboy

 Okay, 29 minutes to a Met Broadcast of Norma, by Bellini. Do you know that Norma was the first opera I saw at the Met? Thanksgiving night, 1956, my friend Ronnie's mother got tickets for her, him and myself. Cast" Callas, Barbieri, Baum and Moscona. Wish I could tell you every detail of Ms. Callas's performance, which I am sure was brilliant in every way, but I could not. Got distracted easily. Sitting in first row Family Circle side, knees hardly had any room. At the time, there was a popular song called Cindy, or Cindy (Cindy don't let me down. Write me a letter soon, and I will be homeward bound). By act III, I was tired, music was not reaching me, all of a sudden, a duet started. Believe it or not, the first four notes were exactly the same as Cindy, Oh, Cindy. Amazing! That got me involved for a little while. Well, my passion for opera  had to wait about ten years before coming to fruition, but I still remember that first trip.

What's happening here. Woke up this morning with a very weak body---thought that I might not be able to move much--a little panic. Finally pulled myself together with the help of some coffee and yogurt--that seemed to revive the body---have done some errands since then Aside from stomach pain am moving around very well.

I was challenged by a friend to seek another opinion re my treatment for the growth. I don't like to go in those areas, but may do some exploring next week. Meanwhile, who is taking care of the enormous stomach cramps that i have felt for three out of the last four days? May have to go back to the clinic to see if I can get some immediate help, since next actual date for exploration is not until September `15.

Was looking forward to the Yankee-Met series this weekend, which has now been canceled. Sad, because both teams were at very interesting points in their chase for the pennant. The possible clashes really fired up my imagination. Instead, there will probably be some double headers next week. 

Finished Suite Francaise, really glad that I read it---a super book. Not sure what is next. Barnes and Noble has A Movable Feast by Hemingway. Have always wanted to read that-this might be my chance. A Chistie mystery sits near my bedside---might be a good time for some escapism.

I have a reservation for a theater project in Bushwick this afternoon; probably will cancel, simply don't feel strong enough---but maybe not. Anyway we will see. And now I still have eleven minutes until the Norma Broadcast begins.

living in limbo....

Thursday morning: situation remains the same. I still have the option of calling up the Radiation Department at Mount Sinai and asking for an earlier time. Probably will do that either tomorrow afternoon, or Monday. Strange, how for the past two weeks, the momentum in discovering what was wrong and creating the strategy for fixing it, was strong---now---a void. Yesterday had tough stomach cramps almost the whole day, but not sure who to call---the surgeons who are guiding my treatment or the Ryan Health Center where my "primary care physician" is in practice. But since my "primary care" person is a stream of residents who move in and out of the Center, every six weeks, I wouldn't even know how to identify this person if I needed them. So I toughed it out. Today the stomach is more relaxed, but I just ate a slew of pretzels (I know I should not have done this) left over from the hummus that I bought at the drugstore a few days ago. Will this cause another "catastrophe"? We will see.

Where do we go from here---for some reason, on my way back from the drug store, I had strong memories of my second Saturday at Hopkins---1960. It was Yom Kippur (day) and Jeff, another freshman and myself took a bus to Park Heights Avenue---the central avenue of the then Jewish community in Baltimore. It was about 4 P.M.; we wanted to find a synagogue that would let us in to the last service of the day. It was a beautiful late summer day, and when we hit the avenue, it seemed lined with families who were taking breaks from the services. And what beautiful families they seemed to be--the men and boys all in suits, the wives, and especially the teen age girls, dressed in a modest way, but a way that showed off their beauty. There was nothing  about this scene that reminded my of life in the Bronx or Manhattan. I was walking in a totally different world, a world that seemed calmer and warmer. Looking at some of the young women, who must have been in high school, admiring and longing for their beauty, my seventeen year old self must have had one of my "green light at the end of the dock" moments. Forgetting about my studies at Hopkins, I wanted to be part of that "paradise". But of course, I made no attempt to meet those people. My friend and I simply walked from synagogue to synagogue until we found one that had seats; we then participated in the final service, then returned to our home, the Hopkins Campus.

Three years later, Yom Kippur afternoon was also on a Saturday. This time, I returned to Park Heights Avenue by myself and simply wandered through the streets, once again filled with Jewish families from the area, But by this time, I had actually dated a few women from the area---from Freshman to Senior in college life years is a long time. I remember being more detached---I simply wanted to look at the scene and remember my feelings from three years earlier with some detachment.

But what I could not have envisioned on that Saturday afternoon, was that these families would be very close to the last families that would be celebrating the Jewish New Year in that area. By 1970, the majority of people living in the Park Heights area would be black---stores would close, crime would go up.  The situation there still exists today---it is a part of Baltimore in terrible need of services, of greater input then the government is giving it, a neighborhood that could use participation by all to make it stronger. 

What makes cities change, neighborhoods change...? Eternal questions that need to be answered.

 

suspended in space....

 A strange experience; but let's backtrack:

Yesterday, met with the surgeon Dr. Mehta and an assistant doctor. They were very warm and accessible, easy to talk to and listened to me. But for what I had there is (was) no escape. Their proposal to handle the growth began with my getting chemotherapy to shrink it, and then, if it was small enough, to operate to remove it. More complications: I might have to have a colonoscopy bag before or after the operation. So there it was, a nine month commitment at the minimum. I think I had expected (or hoped for) much less. I left their office trying to process all the information. 

Some sadness, some "why me?" self complaints, but in reality I felt relieved in the moment. At least now I knew what was happening, what was going to be done about it---the worrying each time my stomach felt a new attack or each time the attack worked itself through, would be over. I was on a track with a vision, and I would follow it. So the present, in a way, is liberated, and can be interesting in itself.

Now the bad news: the doctors wanted me to have an MRI and a chest ex-ray quickly, to help  them get a better look at the positioning of the growth. They told me they would order one the next day (today). That was fine with me; I also returned to the hospital today for some blood work. But shortly after returning home, the phone rang. It was the doctor's office---the appointment for the MRI and the chest ex-ray would be September 15. September 15th!!? That is four weeks from today. I reminded the secretary that these tests were somewhat vital, but all she could say, was, even with the doctor's urgency, those were the first dates available. She told me that I could contact the radiology department on my own, and ask if there were any cancellations, but that was my only hope. You can be sure that either on Friday or Monday I will call that department and see if I can get an earlier date. 

That's what I mean by "suspended in space" (really in time). All the momentum and force of getting treatment has dissipated---assuming I can't get an earlier time, it is almost as if time has stopped on the disease. I am in a strange (and kind of ironic) limbo. 

So there you have it. Where do we go from here? Not sure.

About today

 Here are some facts about today:

It's Sunday

It's grubby and ugly outside. I would love to find an indoor space to relax and read, but guess what? (You already know this) There aren't any. The city, in its ultimate wisdom, refuses to open any indoor spaces for quiet recreation. Cooling centers might be open , but it is Sunday, and they are pretty uninviting anyway. So I have spent most of the day inside.

Early part of the day: WQXR had a set of interviews with black musicians who participated in the classical music field. Interesting insights from the first black Philharmoic violinist, and a conductor whose father was the first black man to be hired to sing at the Metropolitan Opera (Robert McFerrin). Then Musical Director of the Met, Yannick, had his hour in which he spoke about Mozart and played some of his favorite Mozart pieces and some other pieces that he felt were influenced by Mozart. I listened carefully, I wanted to fully absorb his vision.

Later in the day. Lock in the front door of the apartment house became impossible to open. Nervous making. Our handyman Hector, arrived and he and I tried to fix what was going on. Nervous making because sometimes I go to the grocery store late at night or early in the morning. Did not want to be locked out. Finally borrowed another tenant's keys, which for some reason, magically had no problem with the lock, and made copies. I have them now, problem, solved. (I hope)

Reminder: tomorrow afternoon is my interview with the surgeon. She will explain to me what should be done about the growth, and I assume we will take it from there. So this is also a "wait" day---everything kind of stops until we go to the next step with my medical condition. 

"Medical condition" such an odd way of putting it. It seems that not so long ago, I had no"medical condition", I could move around the city, day to night, without worrying about fatigue. But now....

Tonight, will talk to one of my close friends, who is seeing me through this, and probably hear some of the Yankee-Red Sox game (aka, the slaughter of the innocents). Then the morning will come.

So that is it for this blog entry. Sheer facts--will report soon.

So it was....

Thursday morning dialogue:

Doctor: Did you call the surgeon?

Me: No, should I?

Doctor: Yes, about the cancer. The cat scan shows it hasn't grown since the picture taken at the colonoscopy. 

Me: I will call right now.

That was the first time the Doctor actually referred to what the pictures had shown in my body as "cancer". How was I to take that. Wasn't "cancer" what only happened to others? At that moment, my body felt nice and loose. Still, I made the phone call, and will see the surgeon on Monday at 3:30. After that.....?

Yesterday (Thursday) was pretty easy. Spent the day talking to my "support group" of four or five friends, those who have asked to remain informed as things change. Sometimes figuring out who to call when, it seemed like I was planning for a party, or something like that. Late in the evening, stomach cramps began. Still continue now, though not in a terribly intense form.

Had trouble sleeping last night---today, up at 5 for my usual "coffee journey" over to the grocery store 4  blocks away. After that the day moved very slowly. At about 10, felt a need to sleep--that would make sense after last nights craziness. Lay down, for some reason before I fell asleep a memory: of a trip that I would make to Baltimore in late October 1964. My first trip back to the college I had graduated from the summer before. Now I was a student at Yale School of Drama, feeling very outside of things. At Hopkins, I was in the middle of everything, artistic and socially. The group that I had been part of must have had about ten students and others moving in and out. Only two of us--my friend Don and myself---had been seniors. Still missed the "heat" of the world at Hopkins,  the sense, perhaps, that every encounter I had with another person defined me,  the rage I felt when I saw a guy who I felt was much less interesting then myself with his, permanent girl friend, even as I tried to negotiate the much colder world of the Drama School. Stayed over Saturday into Sunday. Tried to get involved in the social "action" as much as I could. On Sunday morning visited J....the woman who was most important to me the year before, now a Sophmore at Goucher college. 

As I remembered it this morning, sleep deprived and all, thought that it must have been difficult to be suspended between the two worlds. The Hopkins whirl --that is, being tested and involved, emotionally and erotically, was much more familiar to me, but now it was stopped.  Still, these were my friends who I shared so much with the year before, and they were still there. Was I envious? Probably. Yet what could I do? I had shown so much strength the year before, that I had to move on. Could I return to Baltimore, get some kind of job and hover around the campus? A joke---it would have been admitting I had failed as a theater person. And I was not going to do that. So after seeing J... I returned to New Haven and continued my time at Yale. 

About four weeks later, after a long talk with my parents, had to admit that there was a strong possibility that I would not continue there---I would return to New York and (if I could avoid being drafted) be on my own. The first major transition in my life was about to take place.

Time to return to the reality of the moment. Friday about 11:30---one errand planned for today, that is all. Try to get as much from each moment as possible. Everything leads to Monday afternoon.

 

Now what...?

 Cat scan done well around 1:30 in the afternoon. Staff who performed it very personable and supportive. I would have liked to see the results right away, but they told me that the results would be e-mailed to the doctor who ordered the cat scan, and then they would contact me.  Staff member told me that the doctor's office would have it by the next morning (today). So I wait. If i hear nothing from them by 10, I probably will call them and see if they have received it. Sometimes a little prodding with the staff can be helpful. 

  Nice sense of relief when I left the hospital. Hungry, had not eaten since around 8:00---the hospital is on 59th and 10th, I remembered an all purpose dining room at 55th and 8th, and walked over, hoping it was open. It turns out it was---and I, who have stayed away from food broiled or cooked, filled my plastic plate with four kinds of chicken. Had to do it. Turns out it was very good and did not trouble my stomach that much. 

Returned home and spent a very uneventful rest of the day around the apartment. Listened a bit to the two baseball games that were on the radio (Yankees-Braves and Mets---Nationals) but found myself annoyed by the repetition of the announcers. I usually enjoy the Yankee announcers---yesterday I simply felt I had had enough of them Some good games this weekend---a Yankee-Boston series is coming up; I will have to figure out if I can tolerate the announcers, since my interest might be strong.

Right now, body feels very loose and relaxed. Still some stomach problems but the "coolness" in the rest of my body is making me feel very optimistic now. Feel like I can go out and do anything. Let's see how that fits in with the cat scan results.

A waiting day...

 A day like no other. Tomorrow is my cat scan---1:30 to be exact! That will reveal the nature of the growth that was discovered in the colonoscopy. Today (at least in theory) I exist simply to move into the next day. Yet a little while ago I was sitting outside the coffee shop on Broadway near 77th street, reading Suite Frsancaise and feeling so excited by the way it absorbed me. A kind of "love" synergy between myself and the book. I wanted nothing more than to be right where I was.

Now, back in the apartment, I try to piece together what the rest of the day will be like. Another trip outside to read, since the last one was so fulfilling. Possibly? WQXR's Mozart festival continues, although it is possible to go to the station web site and find yourself listening to another composer's work, not Mozart. Although the station advertises that mostly Mozart will be played, sometimes they just put on the first work of the hour by Mozart, and then forget about him completely. Still, it is better than nothing, and there are some really interesting music that will be played. So I return to it, hour after hour, hoping to catch the one meaningful Mozart piece that the station allows.

This morning, at around 3 A.M. woke up, remembered the day, and had a half fantasy-half dream. Full of rage, I saw myself as a homeless, Viet Nam war veteran, walking through the city, screaming at the top of my lungs. Screaming what..? Gobbledegook, anger? This man was alienated and crazy. The whole image was so strong, it upset me; I had to reign it in. So what did it mean? I am neither homeless, nor did I serve in Viet Nam. Who was this explosive creature I had put my identity into? It probably represented the rage that I felt, especially at that time, at being hemmed in by the day. That is the conrtradiction of being awke at 3 or 4 in the morning. I seem to be my at my strongest, yet, of course, but where does one put all that energy at that time. Passion trapped in the apartment! So it goes.

And so we move closer and closer to tomorrow. Will report how it goes.....

A Good Friend....

 two days to the cat scan that will bring me more information about what was discovered in the colonoscopy. 

Just got off the phone with my friend Bob, who is being very supportive at this time. How do I know Bob? We met in September of 1957 when we were placed in the same 10th grade class at Bronx Science. Our class was one of 10 10th grade classes in the Science Annex, housed on the top two floors of an elementary school, about six blocks east of the  true Bronx Science. As such, our class traveled together---and this was stifling (looking back on it) because it meant no real experience of other students, save for the 30 one saw every day. Bob and I became friends immediately (coincidentally, my mother had been his science teacher at his Junior High School---we would compare notes, and actually went to a few plays together that year. In the next few years---high school and college, we remained in touch, but did not see each other very often. After he attended Columbia School of Journalism, he left for a job down south and we lost touch. When the internet made it possible to look up old friends, I found him around 2002 working for the Los Angles Times. We did not get together until 2007. By that time he was retired and living in a suburb of DC 

It was actually last year when we went to a National baseball game that he got tickets for when I visited Washington, that I felt very relaxed being with him, sharing memories, etc. He got us great seats for the game---kind of a runaway for the Nationals, but it did not matter. We stayed in touch but since my medical situation has become more specific, he has been very empathic and helpful. Its a nice feeling--I value his support---the fact that we go back as far as we do---that we rode the subway together back to our respective apartments after seeing those plays, gives our relationship an almost mythic feeling to it.

Otherwise, not much else; continued reading Suite Francaise---it portrait of the french people, trying to cope with the Nazi invasion remains intense and brutal. Also, WQXR is having a week of programming mostly devoted to the works of Mozart. Ah, Mozart immersion, can't beat it. How much will I get out of it? Will report soon.

In the house, or out of the house....

 Where do I belong?  A good question. Yes, the colonoscopy was a great "success" from an emotional point of view---I had challenged myself to do something that I felt was impossible and I did it. Nice sense of accomplishment there. But since then---the stomach makes it own rules---things have not gone back to "normal" and I wait for some kind of change. So I am stuck, for the most part, in the apartment. Not really what I wanted, but at times, I think of the chance this will give me to really immerse myself in the novels I am reading---also, all sorts of classical music adventures out there, either on you tube or WQXR, that I can take from. Listen to all the Mozart piano concertos that I don't know (about 4 or 5 not counting the really early ones); watch one of the really early Verdi operas (like I Due Foscari, or Giovanna D'Arco) and try to find some brilliance in these early but obscure works that could be linked to the later work. It all seems very good. 

Yet I want to be outside. But in the middle of the day, I am sometimes very tired. Why?  Where does the fatigue come from, sometimes very quickly without warning? Is it because in this new pandemic normal I have created for myself, I am usually up at 3A.M., feeling very strong and ready to start the day. But to go where? I let the next two hours go by, any way I can, then by 5, know that I can start to get ready for my "coffee trip" to the grocery store four blocks away. And that is the beginning of my body at its strongest. But what toll does that take on my body later---sometimes by ten in the morning, it wants to sleep for a short time, to get back some of that rest that I lose by waking up at 3. Or is it what my blood tests revealed a short time ago--lower red blood cells, slightly increased white blood cells, or the growth that was discovered during the colonoscopy?  Or maybe it is just that the day has no structure---no goals to be anywhere, so the body just decides it wants to rest? Can I come to a conclusion about this any time soon? Well, the cat scan is Wednesday--hopefully I will get some answers then.

So no recent trips to Brooklyn---no walks southeast on Broadway from Myrtle Avenue to the Junction to watch the change in the area. No travels in Flatbush or Ditmas Park to see the lay of the land there, or perhaps a nostalgic trip on 5th or 7th avenue in Park Slope to remember the time in my life when i spent much time there.  No, now there is only watching the opening number from A Chorus Line many times on youtube, or taking one of the neighborhood rides that have been posted on it. Or getting involved in the baseball match ups---i could turn on the Yankee game right now, except that the two narrators of the game are becoming too predictable for me. 

So here we go---happy Sunday---at least lets see if I can get to Barnes and Noble, six blocks away, to do some heavy browsing. Will report soon.

 

The story of my stomach: 8/6-8/7 2020

 9:00 P.M.Time for a desert. I walk to the Grocery Store on West End and 72nd street, one that I have been using a lot since the pandemic began. I grab a coffee and cream yogurt and go back to the apartment.
What had I ate before? Oh, just the bagel with the American Cheese that I got in the morning. Enough to keep me full until the yogurt trip. I assume that I won't need any more food until tomorrow morning's usual 5:30 coffee, and because I am tired---soon fall asleep. 

11:00 P.M.  I awake with a start---from a pretty solid sleep. I am starving. I can't believe how hungry I am. Of course, there is nothing solid in the fridge---I could have bought a "just in case" sandwich but I didn' It is either the Grocery store or Fairway---which I usually try to avoid. I get dressed as quick as I can---stomach still demanding some food, and practically run the four blocks to the grocery store, hoping that the sandwich man has no orders a head of me.  It turns out he does, but he takes my four pieces of roast beef on rye bread (no toast) very quickly and makes the sandwich. For some reason my approach annoys him---I am a little peeved, but I will not start conflict---just grab the sandwich, pay for it, and even as I walk back to the apartment on West End Avenue start to eat it. And it is very good. Now I am in a good place---I expect no more hunger pains until maybe tomorrow morning.

3:45 A.M. I awake again. Now I am having a sugar fit. Hungry for a sugar snack. Nothing to help me in the fridge---of course I could have bought a "just in case" snack at 11, but I did not. My stomach wants a yogurt or an ice cream or a danish---this minute. But it is close to 4---even the extremely safe West End Avenue four block corridor between the apartment and the grocery store, with all its doormen building is a little daunting and nervous making at 3:55. So I reason with my stomach:

Me: you know we should not be on the street until the sun comes up. You never know who is out there at this time of night-I don't want to be a target.

Stomach: I don't care---I am hungry for some desert.

Me; Come on, let's be reasonable--it is not that long until 5:30.With some patience we can make it.

Stomach: You think so---I doubt it. Take a risk, dude, run down there and get me my yogurt.

I realize now that all arguments simply won't work. The stomach has won the day. I get dressed, leave the house, look around very cautiously, see nobody, hear nothing and proceed. Four blocks later I pick up my yogurt and return. No problem. I am happy, the stomach is sated and happy, and you see, it can be done---one can travel on West End Avenue between 76th Street and 72nd street at around 4 A.M.

That's it for today---Yankee game on in 2 hours---should keep me occupied---will report soon.

 

Remembering Pete Hamill..

of course, heard of his passing yesterday. I remember the first article of his that I read that caught my attention. It must have been in June or July of 65, and it was in the New York Post, then a liberal newspaper.  It was an interview with a Puerto Rican mother from the Bronx, who had just gotten the letter saying her son had been killed in Viet Nam. "Porque?" she kept saying, why did this have to happen. And Hamill was outraged that this unnecessary war had taken her son who was simply an innocent cog in the military wheel. It made me want to read whatever he wrote, and in the next few years, I read many of his articles, both in the Post, and some, I think in the Village Voice. But the article listed above is the only one that I remember. I did read his autobiography: A Drinking Life, full of vignettes about growing up in

South Brooklyn, and also with much information about his love life in his formative years. I liked it---glad that I read it. As the years went on, I am not sure how I felt about his high profile dating, and "cool man of the city" attitude. Was it too much "self" and not enough about the world around him. Still, till the end, I always admired him and trusted his vision of the city.

  Before he moved back to Brooklyn, he lived a long time in Tribeca. Then he moved back to Brooklyn---I don't know where---maybe Park Slope or Fort Greene. I always thought that on one of my long walks through the different neighborhoods of Brooklyn I might pass his porch, see him, and start a conversation. We both perceived the city as a world of tremendous excitement--we both understood that just by changing one block, one's whole sense of life in the city could change.  But it did not happen. I wonder how he must have felt as he returned to the borough of his birth and thought of his childhood---in a Brooklyn that was full of poverty, disorder---people fighting to just get by---to the well ordered, safe, complacent and expensive Brooklyn that he returned to. In a way he had lived through a an amazing

cycle of change. But wasn't the reason he could move back because he himself was a success story---somewhat

of a legend in his own time---did the arc of his own success mirror that of Brooklyn itself.

  He and Jimmy Breslin articulated a populist vision of the city--a place where a guy making a decent

salary could be comfortable---a place where the eccentrics and the rugged individuals might suffer

a bit, but make it through and be part of the community. A street corner place--a place where the

neighborhood bar could become the center of one's life. But neither of them wrote much after

2000, when a lot of the city became dominated by the wealthy. Whatever rage this evoked

in either of them, one did not see much of it in print. Their vision of the city was disappearing

before their eyes, and they were powerless to stop it. Their writing could not stop the

aggressiveness of developers or the passion for luxury housing that exploded in

city many times during those years. During that time, I hoped that one of them would

write an explosive piece of defiance, but to the best of my knowledge it never happened.

  And then, right before his death, came the protests--the explosion of pent up rage by both

blacks and whites. I wonder what he must have thought of those protests. Were they the

apocolypse that he longed for--the rejection of the power of the establishment that had

turned its back on his everyday people? Or did his celebrity make him too much of

that very establishment to accept it? We will never know. Still, an important life in

so many ways.

A wide open life....

but not a life trapped in my apartment. First day after the colonoscopy. Very tired this morning. Did not eat well for lunch. Now I wait for the Yankee game ( double header with the Phils) at 4:15. But what does the future hold?

The tests continue---a cat scan of my stomach, to determine what to do with the growth they found yesterday, will happen soon. Then we will see. But I want to move out. There is a protest this afternoon at

6 in Flatbush. Would love to be there---but I don't think I feel strong enough to make it. The next one is Saturday afternoon at 3, also beginning in Flatbush, and moving through Crown Heights. That one I hope to make, at least at the beginning and then maybe walk a little ways on the march. Oh how things have changed? Remember last summer? I walked everywhere. Myrtle Ave from Downtown to Broadway. Broadway from Myrtle to the Junction. Walks from Molasses book store into the eastern part of Bed-Stuy. Stuyvesant Street from Broadway to Fulton Street. And many others. I look forward to taking these walks or similar ones soon, but can I really do it? Is it my stomach and its disorders that limit me from too much acitivity, the early rising and out of the house to the Grocery Store at 5:30, which puts stress on my body as the afternoon comes around, the lack of iron (which I should correct)? We will see---my planning for my colonoscopy happily over, all choices have, at least in theory opened up to me. Its still a long summer.

  Yesterday, after the procedure, just hung around the apartment, faced with many interesting books, but did not pick up any of them---radio---on and off the computer, that was it. Could not stop thinking about

"the journey" that is the last two days with its prep and the procedure itself. Looking back on my resistance in the past (very strong resistance) I ask myself were those fantasies that blocked my commitment, those memories of sadness that I thought would overwhelm me the day before, the rage at having my "autonomy taken away" valid or just silly. I think valid---for some reason at those times I

really felt it was impossible to do the colonoscopy. Now, I am amazed at how simple a procedure it was, also how nice it was to be treated warmly by the five or six professionals, in addition to the head doctor, who were in the room.

  Tomorrow is Thursday---just a few minor errands to begin with--what after that? Don't have to "do anything", but what does that mean. Can I break out of this pattern--so helpful to me while I awaited

the colonoscopy, but which seems to offer me little right now? We will see.

So it is "over".

Yes, friends the event that for the last two years I have scrupulously evaded, the event that evoked all kinds of fantasys of fear and passivity---the "dreaded" colonoscopy was completed today, with all those barriers broken. How? Looking back, not too sure, but somehow the need for understanding the information that the colonoscopy could give me, ultimately was more important then the self protection I gave myself previously for not taking it. Still, it was a trip, a voyage into a world that unsettled me, and now that it is over, I am relieved, and a little empty as well.

   How did I do it? Well, lots of conversations on Sunday, the "day before the day before". That kept me focused. Then on Monday, my friend Sarah gave me a lot of her time, bringing me broth that served to keep me going in the morning, and helping my put together the "potion" that one has to use starting in the afternoon. But for most of Monday, I was by myself---but in a simply pragmatic head zone. The day before, I have learned, is about reality, the reality of not eating most foods, and later the reality of allowing the go-lightly to enter you. That focus was there at all times. Occasionally I would read a chapter from Suite Francaise or listen to the Yankee game---but it all came back to how I was feeling. The prep worked on me very slowly, the complete opposite of what the instructions promised--then about 2A.M.---only five hours before I was due at the hospital, the explosions began. It was as if barrels after barrels of brown wawter were pouring out of my stomach. I was awed, amazed, overwhelmed, but I realized that this is what the go-lightly was meant to do---free my stomach so that the doctor could enter the colon and see what he had to see. More of this happened at 4A.M., I wondered if I could pull myself together for the procedure--but I pushed through, and at 6:30, Sarah was waiting to take me to Mount Sinai.

   Looking back on this morning, it reads to me like a dream. About five different people were involved in the colonoscopy prep; all were warm and conscientious, and very clear about what they were doing. I was not even aware that I was being put under. I felt great on returning to consciousness and Sarah was there to drive me back to the apartment.

  So, it was over---I sort of feel like the college student who has just finished the fifth of his final exams. That's great, I feel wonderful, but what do I focus on now? My mind is going in all different directions. Books surround my bed---is it back to Suite Francaise, escape with Agatha Christie, an Auchincloss short story (they are really good)---can't make the decision.

 There will be some follow up to the colonoscopy. The doctor found a tumor in the rectum---it has to be explored--I will have a cat-scan very soon. But in spite of that news, at this moment I feel relieved, freed, ready to return to the outside world.

 But the pandemic continues--no movies, plays, hanging out to experience---still very much on my own

in this new world. We will see what happens.

whirls and swirls around the day

Saturday morning---two days before the beginning of the procedure. Feeling kind of optimistic. As usual, began my morning by going to the convenience store at 72nd and West End and getting my coffee there. That was at around 6. Strange, how this trip has become so much a part of my life---it is important in that it brings me into the real world---and exorcises some of the over-introspection that I have experiencing in the apartment. Have spent the last half hour with some theater memories,  some discussions (in my head) about the Sondheim songs that mean the most to me. I have probably gone over this territory a few times in the blog, so lets just say that my favorite now is "We've So Little to be Sure Of" from the much maligned--somewhat (but not completely) forgotten Anyone Can Whistle.
Recollections of seeing a preview of the original in 1964 are included in another entry, so I won't go into it here. But as of now, it is my favorite Sondheim.
  An interesting sidelight into my preparation for Tuesday's procedure is the possible presence of hurricane Isasis (not the correct spelling, sorry) into the equation. The hurricane is on top of Florida now, and is then coming up the east coast. But with how much power? No one seems to know for sure---it could burn itself out before hitting New York, go further east, and avoid it, or it could come at the city with its fullest power. If that is the case, it will be here between Monday evening, and not leave until late Tuesday. My procedure is for early morning Tuesday. Its possible that the medical department might cancel all procedures if it appears that the effect of the hurricane will be strong.
That would be ironic, after all my thought preparation that has gone into this so far. No way of knowing now, can only follow storm's development over the next 48 hours. But if I am in doubt, I will check in with the medical department at the hospital. They have been very good about informing me of all things relating to the procedure. But nothing to do but wait.
  Time to get things going. Feeling very "up" as I said at the beginning of the entry. What direction that will take me in I can't say. Will report soon.