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.....