I can
count on my fingers the times I have left my home since November except to go to
the store or to see doctors. It hasn’t been a good time. Nobody really knows
how rough it has been because the only time people see me is when I feel good
enough to leave home. Needless to say, my calendar has been empty since I didn’t
feel well enough to commit to much. Yesterday, there were three items on my
calendar: check on Betty, see the liver doctor, and the Anderson East concert –
a birthday present that I have looked forward to since my birthday in December.
The
appointment with the doctor was actually something I looked forward to, also.
He teased two visits ago about getting to divorce me and I was sure this would
be the day. It was an emotional moment for both of us the day he mentioned divorcing
me since, when he got a little choked up while explaining that very few
patients are compliant enough to cure the level of liver disease I was
battling, I was taken back to the working years that I miss so much and the
many hours I spent listening to doctors express frustration and sadness over
the patients who won’t follow their advice and then don’t understand why they
never improve. He looked me in the eye and said, “Most of my patients die so I
appreciate you.” We sort of met at the heart at that moment and, although I was
glad to have healed my poor liver, I thought I would miss him when he divorced
me.
The
student saw me first, reviewed my record, and said he didn’t think there was
anything more they could do for me. Everything looked perfect. But when the
teacher came in, he said everything appears to be perfect but with my many
diagnoses, it’s possible that lab results don’t reflect the real picture.
Normally, he would follow-up with a biopsy but there is something less invasive
available now – at the transplant center. Again, returned to the old days when
I was on the transplant committee at the hospital he is sending me to. And, he
wants me to build a relationship with the transplant team – just in case. I
told him I worked with that team for twenty years but we both grinned when I
added that the ones who knew me had probably retired. So, instead of getting
that divorce, I’m going to create a relationship with a transplant team in case
my healed liver doesn’t stay healed. A bit disappointing but I still had the
concert to look forward to.
The nurse
came in with a needle to give me the new one-time pneumonia vaccine because of
my history of H1N1 and pneumonia, and the fact that my healthy before liver,
kidneys, and lungs all took nose dives when I gave up cigarettes – a strange phenomenon
that got me assigned to this guy in the first place. I asked if the shot would
affect me and if so, could I return the next day since I had plans that night.
She said it might make my arm sore but otherwise shouldn’t bother me much. I took
the shot in my left arm.
The
concert was standing room early. Even though I’m too vain to leave home on days
when I need the cane, I considered it. Decided against it since I’d have two
daughters present to hold me up if necessary. We arrived about thirty minutes
early and found standing space near the stage that worked for me because I’m
taller than they are. I’m a people watcher so the group to the right were fun
for me – in the study of old guy trying to be cool in front of his son’s
friends and looking like a fool sorta way. Other than his son’s total lack of
body consciousness and elbowing my right arm until I congratulated myself on
the left-arm-for-the-shot decision, they were mostly fun. In contrast, the
father and husband of the group to the left apologized a couple of times and
tried to reign in his wife, daughter, and friends when they trampled into our
space.
The most
fun we had during our waiting time was trying to lift our feet off of the
sticky carpet. One daughter stepped out of her shoe and we discussed how
horrible it would be to have to touch that floor and why would they use carpet
instead of flooring they could mop, etc. To them, it was probably just a silly
conversation. To me, it was much more since the likelihood of me ending up on
the floor was much greater. That made me a little bit sad.
On the
positive side of this mixed evening, I thoroughly enjoyed the warm-up band that
I had never even heard of before – enough to come home with two CDs, which I
used for protection for a short time. By the time this group was finished, my
pain level was about an 8 on that 1-10 scale. When I reach that level, my hip
goes numb which probably sounds both confusing (how can it be painful and
numb?) and consoling. My pain seems to transfer; as the hip goes numb, the pain
just finds a new place to land. And as the hip goes numb, the chances of
hitting that disgusting floor increase.
We made
sure to only leave our space one at a time. If one went to the bathroom or out
to smoke, the other two got bigger and saved her space. When I returned from
purchasing my CDs, two new women who hadn’t been there before were now in front
of us. I could either step back and crowd the kind people behind us who had
been there as long as we had, or stand my ground and crowd the crashers.
(Anyone who has been anywhere near me in recent months knows what I think about
party crashers and it isn’t a bit pretty.) One daughter was turned around
talking to the people behind and pretending not to notice these women and the
other had steam pouring out the top of her head. “They keep bumping into me and
crowding me out,” she complained. We both scooted back a bit and I asked if they
had been there. No. They had just come and pushed their way in. I didn’t
imagine that.
Even in my
new position, which I thought was a bit impolite to the people behind me, the
woman in front of me kept backing into me. Hard. And it didn’t appear to be
accidental since she would look at her friend and grin each time. I had the CDs
in my hand so I held them with the pointed end out so she would hit that
instead of me next time. Pain level at least 8 means I am concentrating with
every bit of self-control I can muster to keep from crying already. Having a
rude bitch bumping into me on purpose is unnecessary and unacceptable. Going to
the back of the room was probably the best option but I wasn’t even sure I
could walk back there without embarrassing myself since the walk back from the
merchandise table had been difficult and I staggered a few steps and figured
people probably thought I was drunk.
So, I
stood there, with my CD point out and hated the bitch more each time she bumped
into it and laughed and pushed harder the next time. I finally said to her, “You
already took the space I had been standing in. You want the space I’m in now,
too?” She laughed and nodded and started swinging arms and dancing around to
show me she would take whatever she wanted. One daughter left and the other
told me this is how things are. I moved over into the space the daughter who left
had vacated and thought that would solve the problem. But, it didn’t. Bitch
switched places with her friend, too, so she would be in front of me again and
leaned back, putting her full body weight (which was a lot) on me. Pain shot
through my hip, up my back, into my head and I thought surely I would hit the
floor. And that’s when I shoved her.
I had no
idea how hard I shoved her. She sailed about three people spaces into the group
to the right, knocking a couple of them off balance. People stepped back like
they expected a fight. She yelled loudly that I kept pushing her, hoping, I
guess, that the bouncer who had taken a couple of steps toward us would hear. I
looked him in the eye and said, “You know how long I’ve been standing here.” He
nodded and stepped back. She returned to stand in front of me but didn’t push
me anymore.
8 went to
9 in no time but the headliner came on and I got to scream. That helped a
little. I stood there until the Charlie horses in my foot and calf were
unbearable and I knew I wouldn't be able to walk out if I didn’t do so soon. So, I
went to the back of the room and limped around the rest of the show, so sure
the cramps would take over my entire body when I sat down in the car to come
home and my daughters were going to hear me scream and cry.
Fortunately,
that didn’t happen and I managed to get myself to bed without waking neighbors.
I hate
rude people. This was definitely a case of not knowing what someone is going
through but it shouldn't have mattered. Even if I had no pain, she was a bitch.
