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.