My Problematic Prostate

I've been undergoing analysis and treatment for prostate issues based on PSA tests and DREs since early November. I'd thought early on that I'd write about it as I was/am scared to death but for a variety of reasons, it didn't happen. Today marks the date I will write about it as writing has always been this free therapy for me. What follows is a synopsis of what' led up to today, January 26, 2014, the day I really did start writing about what's going on and how I'm feeling about this potentially deadly and certainly life altering possibility. Scott Prostate Dilemma 11/7/2013 – Got back from a fantastic vacation with the love of my life to San Francisco 2 days ago and today am in my primary care Dr’s off because my PSA has been rising for the last year. A year and a half ago, 1.5. 6 months ago 2.5. Right before we left for SF, 4.9. I see Dr. Stonecipher, who Ive been a patient of for over 10 years now….solid, smart, kind and the best doctor I’ve ever had. He performs every man’s favorite test, the digital rectal exam (DRE). He feels a nodule in the upper right of my prostate and we discuss prostate cancer He expresses concern and refers me to a urologist for further testing. Dr. Bob explains this will likely lead to a biopsy. I leave stunned, petrified and in a total daze. 11/19, 2013 – I see Dr. Eric Gielser, a well season urologist I was referred to by a friend who has had need to see a urologist. My friend explained that Gielser was a “gentle” urologist with a soft touch. This is very important because I don’t like having anything messed with medically below the waist and I’ve been catheterized once in my life which was one of the worst experiences I’ve ever had. Giesler does a DRE and thinks the nodule Dr. Bob felt is an internal hemorrhoid. But he does state he’s not sure and is concerned about the rapid rise in PSA and the “asymmetry” of the gland. He thinks I may need an MRI and, possibly, a biopsy but wants to rule out infection. I’m sent to a lab to give a semen sample. What I find out about myself the morning I am to give the sample is that I’d have made a lousy porn star…..ejaculating on command/for a test is just not my thing. I need lust and/or love not just a cup. 11/21/2013 – The lab report comes back positive for an enteroccous infection and I’m prescribed a month long course of antibiotics. Yes, a month. Seems that prostatic infections are notoriously hard to treat. Word from Giesler is that we’ll treat the infection and then, after a few weeks for the PSA to settle, retest PSA and decide where to go from there. I am not handling the prospect of prostate cancer well. 12/19/13 – All but freaked out, stressed and not sleeping well, I see Dr. Bob with a huge lsit of questions about the situation. I’m almost done with the antibiotics and have become someone with a huge amount of knowledge about PC, it’s treatment and the life changing side effects. Dr. Bob, the wonderful guy he is, listens to and answers all my questions and does another DRE at my request to see of the asymmetry has gone away. It has not and the bottom line of what he says is, that with every test, PSA, FreePSA, multiple DREs, the fact that I took finasteride (in studies, men who take this drug for hair loss have been shown to have a lower overall incidence of PC, but if they get it, it tends to be a very aggressive PC) all point to a not very good direction. 1/12/14 – As if worrying about prostate cancer weren’t enough, I’ve had pain and discomfort in what feels like the prostate (i.e. low abdomen just behind pubic bone as well as perineal pain and urethral pain. I decide to o again to the urologist and as Giesler is not available, I see a partner of his. He asks questions and does a DRE (am I almost getting used to this?) and diagnosis Levatar muscle spams, or Levatar Syndrome. The Levatar muscle is one that lines the base of the pelvis and if you are stressed (ummmm I have been, just a little), you can react with spasm there just like a person might in their back or neck. Non-narcotic painkillers and a muscle relaxer are prescribed and I can rest easy that it’s not the prostate involved, just the same general area. 1/20/14 – With muscle relaxers, the Levetar muscle seems to have calmed down a bit but I’m not pain free, just better. Now I’m in the home stretch to the PSA test on January 31. I’ve been taking a ridiculously expensive natural supplement for men with prostate issues that has various natural ingredients (i.e. saw palmettos, zinc, bee pollen, stinging nettle, etc) and eating fish and veggies.. If my PSA is high because of the infection (which was cured by the month long amoxicillin), I want to do everything I can to make sure that the reading is an accurate one and not elevated due to infection, recent ejaculation, poor food choices or anything else I can control before taking the PSA test that really counts. I am not feeling good about the test that is to come in a few days. Not at all…….

Blood Lust in America

News came today of the commencement of the trial of the second defendant in the wretchedly grisly rape/murders of a mother and two daughters along with the beating of the father that took place in Connecticut back in 2007. The first defendant has already been tried, convicted and has been sentenced to death. Now before I tell you what bothers me about this, let me make it clear that I have no sympathy for the dysfunctional sociopaths that committed these horrific crimes. They both deserve whatever they get and, my feelings about the death penalty aside, I’ll shed no tear when they no longer draw a breath.

What bothers me about this is the absolute blood lust and willingness to dispense with a trial of some reader comments to the story:

“No need to put this guy in jail. Lock him in a wooden box and set it on fire” “Naw, hit him over the head with a bat. When he wakes and is fully conscious, hit him again and repeat the cycle until he doesn't wake up.” “This POS doesn't even deserve a trial, an eye for an eye for the both of them. “ “why are they wasting tax payer money? Tie and chain them in a house set for destruction pour gas all over and set it ablaze. a life for a life. Send them to hell.”

Now I realize that often people who post on reader comment boards feel very brave as they are “anonymous” but really folks? Really?

Let’s do away with the right to trial by jury if we all “know” the person is guilty! That always worked so well. We just went to the jail, forcefully removed them, strung them from a tree or post and had a little party. It was called lynching and occurred in the U.S. up until the 1960s. Being black wasn’t a requirement for this but it certainly helped make the case a person was “guilty.” Who needs trials when we all “know” who is guilty? Why bother with due process when we can readily identify the culprit?

Let’s bring back burning and beating the condemned to death! I mean, hey, they stone folks to death in Iran and if it’s good enough for them, it ought to be good enough here in the US of A! But why stop there? Public decapitation in stadiums is de rigueur in Saudi Arabia and hey, they are certainly a society we would want to emulate. Some of the comments talked about burning the accused alive; North Korea executed a number of generals in the late 1990s by burning them alive. There’s a country we should be like!

So why don’t we do these things? Because due process is what protects individuals from the state. Because we live in a country where the Rule of Law is something that sets us apart from third world, tinpot dictatorships. Because cruel and unusual punishment is prohibited by the 8th Amendment to the US Constitution. Because innocent people get executed without a fair trial (and perhaps with a fair trial).

But most importantly, because we are better than that.

Mourning on 9/11/11

Looking back to that dark, painful day ten years ago, I was reminded of things I've forgotten. After work on 9/11/01, with the shock of the day still fresh, I made my way home and thought it would be a good idea to get some gas. There was none. At all. If the attack of the day turned into something that lasted longer, the gas in my tank would have to do. I remember that caused me further anxiety, further uneasiness, further clarification that what I'd seen on TV all day was so very real.

I also recall that for many days after the attacks, everyone I encountered at a store or in public was extraordinarily kind. People seemed to go out of their way to be nice to strangers. There was a sense of unity, of shared loss, of commonality. There was no blue states/red states foolishness. We were just Americans and we'd been viciously attacked. It was a huge opportunity for a leader to keep us united, and to ask us all to sacrifice as we went to war with a nebulous enemy. Unfortunately, there was no such leader.

Flash forward to 2011, we were never asked to pay for either of the two wars we've engaged in since that history changing day. The only habits we've had to change are those that relate to traveling through airports. The wealthy were given a “temporary” tax cut that has since been extended. The economy tanked after the money changers were deregulated and we've hardly begun to pull out of the crash. One of those most responsible for taking the opportunity in the days after 9/11 and trashing it is on a book tour saying he has no regrets. Sniping between those of different political stripes is vicious and constant. We don't seem to bat an eyelash at mass killings; they hardly rate a day's worth of news coverage. Lindsay Lohan gets more news coverage than the heroes overseas of whom we now count over 33,000 dead and wounded in Iraq alone. Afghanistan drags on with no real end in sight and ever mounting casualties.

Yes, I'm feeling a sense of loss this day, both for how our world has changed and for the opportunities lost.

There Are Patriots and Then There Are Patriots

I normally dont cut and paste articles into my blog but I found this quite interesting and wanted to share:

Korb and Moss: A true patriot is defined by his actions
Lawrence Korb and Ian Moss, THE CENTER FOR AMERICAN PROGRESS
Wednesday, April 16, 2008

In 1961, a young African American man, after hearing President Kennedy's challenge to, "Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country," gave up his student deferment, left college in Virginia and voluntarily joined the Marines.

In 1963, this man, having completed his two years of service in the Marines, volunteered again to become a Navy corpsman.

The man did so well in corpsman school that he was the valedictorian and became a cardiopulmonary technician. Not surprisingly, he was assigned to the Navy's premier medical facility, Bethesda Naval Hospital, as a member of the commander in chief's medical team, and helped care for President Johnson after his 1966 surgery. For his service on the team, which he left in 1967, the White House awarded him three letters of commendation.

What is even more remarkable is that this man entered the Marines and Navy not many years after the two branches began to become integrated.

While this young man was serving six years on active duty, Vice President Dick Cheney, who was born the same year as the Marine/sailor, received five deferments, four for being an undergraduate and graduate student and one for being a prospective father. Presidents Clinton and George W. Bush, both five years younger than the African American youth, used their student deferments to stay in college until 1968. Both then avoided going on active duty through family connections.

Who is the real patriot? The young man who interrupted his studies to serve his country for six years or our three political leaders who beat the system? Are the patriots the people who actually sacrifice something or those who merely talk about their love of the country?

After leaving the service of his country, the young African American finished college, entered the seminary, was ordained as a minister and eventually became pastor of a large church in one of America's biggest cities.

This man is the Rev. Jeremiah Wright, the retiring pastor of Trinity United Church of Christ, who has been in the news for comments he made over the last three decades.

Since these comments became public, we have heard criticisms, condemnations, denouncements and rejections of his comments and him. We've seen on television, in a seemingly endless loop, sound bites of a select few of Wright's many sermons.

Some of Wright's comments are inexcusable and inappropriate and should be condemned, but in calling him "unpatriotic," let us not forget that this is a man who gave up six of the most productive years of his life to serve his country.

How many of Wright's detractors, Rush Limbaugh and Bill O'Reilly to name but a few, volunteered for service, and did so under the often tumultuous circumstances of a newly integrated armed forces and a society in the midst of a civil rights struggle? Not many.

While words do count, so do actions.

Let us not forget that, for whatever Wright may have said over the past 30 years, he has demonstrated his patriotism.

Korb and Moss are, respectively, Navy and Marine Corps veterans. Korb served as assistant secretary of Defense in the Reagan administration. This column first ran in the Chicago Tribune.

I LOVE THIS!

It rare I post a music video, but Madonna and Justin (and Timbaland) have nailed this! Madonna is almost 50! and looks fantastic and moves like she was 17.......and then there is Justin lookin all hot and the 2 of em together make for a smokin hot video! Tell me what ya think folks:




Thats what Im talkin' about!

No One Said Life Was Fair........ But Jeezus, Come on Now.......

My last post was about the fear I had after taking my mom to the hospital for what we thought was a chest infection or the flu and then came to find out was the compound problem of a large aneurysm on her aorta and chronic lung disease from years of smoking. As I begin writing this the latest turn of events is that she still has these problems after spending 22 days in the same hospital although she was released to spend some time getting her lungs healthy enough for the open heart surgery she still faces. This tough old broad (as she describes herself) fought through those 22 days including a bout of pneumonia on top of the two initial problems with an amazing courage. It has, needless to say, been a very hard, painful road for her. But I really need to take a little time and speak to my pain. This is a long post so my apologies up front.


For 14 of the 22 days I was, for all practical purposes the sole caretaker. Daily there were at least two trips to the hospital and some days three or four. In addition, I brought mother's little dog, Chelsea, to my apartment and I had to juggle stops by my place to walk her (but I did have incredible, consistent help from two friends....I will never forget Velvet Sage and Adamo's almost daily stops to walk her....when the chips are down and your back is to the wall, you find out who really cares and, unfortunately, who doesn't). I only spent one night at the hospital and that was in the middle of the worst of the pneumonia days when I had real fear that she might be on her way out. But 95% of those days began around 7 at the hospital and ended around 10 after her night time pain meds began to take effect. I also tried to work as much as I could but I missed several days and numerous hours here and there. The paychecks and the bank accounts reflect this fully.

Of my two immediate siblings, one was on the west coast and didn't arrive until two weeks into the ordeal and the other, who lives just outside of Austin, was able to come in every other day for 1-2 hours and was in east Texas for a week for a training he had to attend. The one who lives close by has had no need for a relationship or communication with me for the better part of a decade partly due to behavior when I was using and partly due to a controlling wife that he recently divorced. In an attempt to be communicative and informative (something I thought that siblings do for one another), I called this sibling almost daily that first couple of weeks. Turns out he perceived my calling as me making the assumption that he didn't know what was going on and was irritated. Rather than tell me he's irritated, he tells our sick mom.....no communication you know. So I quit calling. Of course no communication means no coordination on help, something I could have really used.

The west coast sister operates on her own time frame. After she arrived on the 14th day, I thought that she would be my relief and allow me to work my usual 8 hours. I was at this point going unpaid for any hours I didn't work. On the 17th day mother was finally strong enough for the heart catheterization she had to have to proceed on to surgery. I called the sister the night before advising that I would be at the hospital at 8 am shortly before they wheeled mom to the procedure and I could come get her after that. "So about 10 or 10:30, right?" No, more like about 9; the procedure only lasts 1.5 hours. Well, she tells me that she just didn't get moving that fast and she'd take the 10:26am bus. I said nothing. Sure enough, at 10:30, mother was wheeled back barely conscious and with orders to lay flat for 2 hours. She was dry and needed someone to hold her hand and give her ice chips so I didn't go to work and just stayed bedside tending to her. My sister showed up at 12:30 just as the nurse was cleaning mother up and getting her set upright. So what it boiled down to was that she could be there from around noon till about 6 every day.

After that episode, the brother blows up because he finds out he wasn't mother's medical power of attorney (of course, if he had been would 2 hours every other day been enough time?). Rather than let it ride and stay calm, he regressed into childhood and ran to our ill mother insisting that the POA had to be changed. Major childhood insecurities reared their ugly heads. I was the recipient of some very angry, hateful emails that referred to me as an "ass", "condescending" and having done a "somewhat ok" job the prior 2 weeks. This all culminated on the 19th day with a meeting in mom's hospital room and each of us being allowed to speak uninterrupted. I got to hear how condescending I was, how inconsiderate of people's feelings I was, how I hadn't done everything exactly right. No good dead goes unpunished. Another brother later chastised me for using the term "my mom" instead of "our mom" in a thank you note I'd written he and his wife. Let's focus on what's wrong, shall we?

If all that wasn't enough, while walking Chelsea (during yet another trip home from work during my lunch), a neighbors pit bull attacked and I had to break it up. Fortunately Chelsea had minor wounds but the neighbor has now said I would need to sue her to get my $135 in vet bills back. To add insult to injury, I called my ex, Jameson, and asked him to go over and check on the dog as I finished work. Well, it seems he had an auto accident while doing so and now he's become non-communicative. It's been the only thing I asked him to do, and he has a car accident and now we don't talk. Am I to blame for his accident?

And if that added to the original family stuff wasn't enough, night before last Adamo shows up at my door at 3 am and is so drunk, he's totally out of it. When he tried to leave, the guy staying the night with me and I tried to stop him as he was too loaded to be driving. Somehow this devolved into a fist fight between Adamo and myself. End result, 2 black eyes, a knot on the side of my head, a bruised lip, general soreness and the death of a friendship.

I really feel like I'm surrounded by insane, self-centered individuals. I've spent a lot of time recently just curled up on my couch just crying and sleeping.

I'm really over people right now.

My Mom's Sick and I'm Scared

This has been a week I wasn't expecting. Tuesday night my mother called me and was having trouble getting a deep breath. She described it like having concrete in her chest. This wasn't totally surprising as she'd been sick with the flu and her usual, but recently rather severe, allergies. What was unusual was how sick she sounded. I immediately hopped in the car and drove out to her place.

I was alarmed when I got inside the house and found her standing, having just finished dressing. Her breathing was extremely labored. We got into my car and I drove to the Heart Hospital of Austin. We were in the ER from 1030pm that night until 1pm the next day at which time she was admitted to a room.

The ER Dr decided to do a CAT scan of her chest to get a good look at her lungs. While the scan confirmed that her lungs were in bad shape with bronchitis and emphysema, the frigtening surprise came in the discovery of an aneurysm in the ascending aorta of her heart. A serious, fairly large aneuryism would be 3-4 cm. Mother's aneurysm is 7 cm.

So she's facing open heart surgery to repair this bubble on her heart. The surgery would be difficult for someone my age who had never smoked. For a 70 year old who has smoked for 50+ years, it's far more than difficult. The odds are not on her side. Currently the Dr's are working on improving her lung function. It's a slow, slow process without much improvement as of this writing.

I've got to admit that I'm really scared about all this and I'm really exhausted. I got virtually no sleep the first 26 hours and was just running on anxious energy. No one else has the time to watch over mother's care so it's largely fallen to me. It means visits to the hospital in the morning and evening and verifying every medication and procedure. It's also not clear how long we're looking at before she can have surgery. But I'll keep on doing what needs to be done because that's what you do for the woman who brought you into the world.

The bottom line is that this son is not yet ready to lose his mother. She's stuck by me and shown me unconditional love always, even when I wasn't very lovable.

I'm scared and hurting.

Friends and Lovers

I’ve had this really disconcerting period over the last few weeks with just about every friend and a couple of former lovers. I’ve started to wonder if I’ve surrounded myself with unstable, irrational, drama filled beings.

The period began with two former boyfriends beginning to text, email and call me to tell me how wonderful and desirable I am. Yet at the same time they continued to be with and post myspace/blog and other writings about how much they loved and how wonderful the current BF’s are. If I’m so wonderful, why are they not with me? I finally had to tell both not to contact me as it was doing a number on my head.

Then several friends had a variety of meltdowns. Drinking too much, breaking personal confidences, needing psychiatric care but not being willing to accept that fact, playing cat and mouse with the legal system, tripping out on me, being defensive if I suggest there might be a problem, drawing me into drama and generally acting less than stable. I’ve seen all this within the last month and I’m just totally fucking over it.

I try to be a supportive friend. The kind that when you have a personal crisis and need someone there, I show up. No questions asked, I’m just there. When you need a favor, I try to accommodate, no questions asked. I think I’m a pretty good friend.

But I’ve felt like just about every person I’m close to has been too much to handle recently and I just don’t know what to do about it but withdraw. It’s as much a self-preservation mechanism as it is a throwing my hands up and yelling I Just Don’t Know What How To Handle It statement.

So, I’m solitary for a while until either I know how to handle my friends or they decide to start acting a little more sane and they get some help if they need to.

Eloise

The memory of someone who was dear to me and who I am extremely grateful was part of my life popped into my head today and it seemed appropriate, since today is Thanksgiving, to write a little bit about her.

When I was little up until about age 14, my family was pretty well off. Indeed we would have been considered wealthy by many. My dad had been a member to the Dallas Country Cub for many years and I spent my summers at the club pool with all the other little rich, privileged white children. I was different from the other Highland Park kids though in that my friends at the club were not the other rich, privileged white children, but rather the club employees. One of the lifeguards was a running buddy of mine and I spent many hours exploring the non-public areas like the laundry, storage rooms, mechanical areas and back hallways of the country club while hanging out with the maids and other staff.


A long time employee of the club was Eloise Walker. Eloise was a stout, strong, African American woman who ran the snack bar/grill at the pool and kept an eye on her favorite kids, one of whom was me. She had worked there for a long time and had known my older brothers when they were kids in the 50's. Eloise had a deep, rather gruff voice but her kindness and genuine love were something that I felt from early on.

I was kind of a misfit when it came to being a rich, privileged white child and frequently suffered teasing and taunts from the other rich, privileged white kids. Eloise knew this and watched out for me making sure that I always had a safe place next to her grill and a warm hug up against her ample bosoms if I needed it. She let me work in the grill one summer for several weeks making shakes and pouring sodas until the club manager got wind of it and made her stop. The other kids thought I was seriously mentally deficient choosing to labor with people who's skin was darker than mine. Of course what I found in those employees, who befriended me, were people who were much more real and far nicer than any of the rich, privileged white kids.

I grew up and moved away from Dallas. Sometime in the late 80's I went back for a visit in Dallas and decided to stop by the club and try to find Eloise. I went into the main kitchen area (which I'd come to know so well from years earlier) and found a manager who advised me that Eloise had had a stroke and was no longer working. I talked him out of her address and went searching for her small, frame house just off the runway at Love Field Airport.

As I got out of my car and was walking to the door, a priest with a clerical collar came out. Fearing the worst, I asked him if this was Eloise Walker's home and he advised it was. I told him how I knew her and that I badly wanted to see her. He advised me that he was her pastor and that the stroke had left her unable to speak clearly. I told him I understood and I went in.

Her face lit up when she saw me and we hugged each other tightly. This woman who had been such a positive influence on me and been a kind of surrogate mother knew exactly who I was even after having not seen me in well over a decade. But her speech had indeed been affected. This strong woman who used to bellow across the loudspeaker at the pool to ask my dad if it was ok for me to have ice cream, "Giles! you want this boy to have ice cream?!", was reduced to garbled mumbling when she tried to speak. There was no understanding her and on top of that, she was frail and weak.

Sadly, I wasn't very strong for Eloise. I completely broke down and sobbed. She took me into her arms and held me, this former little boy who was now a grown man. Eloise was still taking care of "her boy." I stayed long enough to express to her how much of a positive influence she had been in my life and how much I loved her. Then I gave her one last hug, left and cried all the way back to where I was staying.

This was the last time I ever saw Eloise. But to this day I'm grateful that I was "her boy."

46 and I'm Still Here

46. Who'd have thought? I recall a time when it just didnt seem very likely that I would make it to 40 much less beyond that. I was telling a friend the other day of a time when I was here in Austin in about 1988 reading names of dead friends at a display of the AIDS Memorial Quilt at Palmer Auditorium. I would have been 27. I'd already been to over 50 funerals and memorial services and would go to approximately another 50 before I called a self preservation moratorium on my attendance/involvement. It just seemed that all gay men were going to meet that fate and most of us just resigned ourselves to it. No need to plan for retirement, 401k's, long term care or anything of that nature. It simply would not be necessary.

That, of course, is not how it turned out. I never ended up HIV infected and a series of accidents, muggings and excessive quantities of prescriptions failed to take me. So here I am. Thinking about growing older and what it might bring are thoughts that often cross my mind. I recently read a great article in the most recent edition of OUT magazine about a series of well known, aging gay authors who are taking on the last closet of taboo in gay life: gay aging. While American culture in general is a youth culture, gay culture(specifically gay male culture) is a youth culture to the Nth degree. Gay men know in this country that by the time they are 30 they are on their way out and that by the time they are 40, they are expected by many to be in need of assisted living.

Except we're really not. The truth is, like the rest of America, gay America is about to experience a surge of Baby Boomer Gays of which I fall at the tail end. And these Baby Boomer Gays will, like their STR8 counterparts, be unwilling to go quietly to the assisted living facility. We will be dancing, playing, working out, having sex (oh, the horror!), experiencing new things and just living to the extent our bodies will allow us to. And when the body falters, we will seek a new joint from our local surgeon or whatever med is needed to keep us strutting. Millions of aging gay folks keepin on keepin on, installing new hip joints and poppin' Viagra. Must be a scary thought for the younguns :)

But it should be a comforting thought for them. With AIDS a now virtually treatable disease, the worst thing my younger conterparts should have to worry about is being overweight and all the diseases that accompany that condition. But I think they'll be far more concerned with all these aging, surgically corrected, chemically enhanced, Madonna loving, dancing queens 30+ years their senior fighting for room on the dance floor. Something about that gives me wicked pleasure.

So, all that said, here I am turning 46 and wondering what's next. While I have some theories on that, I don't really know for sure. But I do know this: I'm still here. Reminds me of a song (It's a broadway song and what could be more fitting for a gay man, right? I took a couple of liberties):

Good times and bum times,

I've seen them all and, my dear,

I'm still here.

Plush velvet sometimes,

Sometimes just pretzels and beer,

But I'm here.

I've eaten 5 star meals

In my tux

been in the jobs where I made the bux

Seen all my dreams disappear,

But I'm here.

I've slept on couches,

Guest of my friends

but then When I slept at The St Regis in Rome,

I kind of considered it my own,

Who'd have know I'd end up with no home?

But I'm here.

I've checked into a hotel with Tom Cruise

and even then there was pills and booze.

Schmoozed with politicians and stars

Been so stoned I thought I was on Mars

Rahabs, repos, and romances

And I'm here.

Slapped down, slammed around, left town

And I'm here.

So I'm here.

Leather seated Volvo one day.

Next day it goes into hock,

Top billing Monday,

then Tuesday you're touring in stock,

But I'm here.

First you're another true blue champ,

Then someone's uncle,

Then you're camp.

Then you career from career To career.

I'm almost through my memoirs.

And I'm here.

I've gotten through "Hey, fellow, aren't you whoozis? Wow! What a looker and slim."

Or, better yet, "Sorry, I thought you were whoozis. Whatever happened to him?"

Good times and bum times,

I've seen 'em all and, my dear,

I am still here!

Flush velvet sometimes,

Sometimes just pretzels and beer,

But I'm here.

I've run the gamut. A to Z.

Three cheers and dammit,

C'est la vie.

I got through all of last year

And I'm here.

Lord knows, at least I was there,

And I'm here!

Look who's here!

I'm still here.

Jena and The Stacked Deck

This past week brought us the first civil rights demonstrations in this country since the 60's. Yes Mildred, a fair and honest judicial system is a civil right and our justice system has systematically been stacked against African Americans since....well, since forever. Richard Pryor used to say he went down to the courthouse seeking justice and that's what he found, "just us".

CNN did a great story on the whole Jena situation. Three major incidents were mentioned: the hanging of nooses in a schoolyard tree that black students had the audacity to sit under, a white student stopping at a convenience store in a black part of town and pulling a shotgun on black folks when he felt "threatened" (the shotgun was taken from him by the folks who "threatened" him) and the beating of a white student by black students that resulted on the attempted murder charges being filed.

So the way that went was white students who hung nooses were suspended for a brief period of time cuz in was just a "schoolboy prank", no charges against the white student who pulled a shotgun in public and attempted murder charges against the black students who beat up the white student (he felt well enough to go to a school function later that day). Here's how, in a fair system, I would have seen these situations handled: noose boys - charged with inciting to riot or making terroristic threats (or at least expelled from school); shotgun boy - charged the crime of brandishing a weapon, a class A misdemeanor; beat boys -charged with assault.

But that's not how things like this play out, certainly not in that part of Louisiana. I have relatives who live a bit north of that area outside Monroe. The only frame of reference they have for African Americans is the "N" word. That's the primary reason I maintain no contact with those relatives and haven't visited in over a decade. If they think that about black folks, imagine how they feel about gay men.

Black folks have always had the deck stacked against them in the criminal justice system in a form of very unspoken racism. It's long since time that changed. If a white teen had to get beat up and a black teen had be excessively prosecuted in order to get people focused on this, well, so be it.

It's time for this to change. Really.

The Injection

I've been dealing with this herniated disc since July 20. It's been difficult beyond belief and I am way over the whole sit in my apartment, take pain meds and chat on the internet thing. It's also been quite a learning lesson in terms of where support comes from. It seems that for me, support comes from my mom (to the extent she's able) and a couple of close friends. But there is no help offered from anywhere else in my family. Rather disheartening but a good lesson on how to plan for my old age.

Yesterday, I had an epidural steroid injection. I'm optimistic about the results because cortisone in other problem joints has always worked well for me. I had to be at the surgery center (yes, even though it was only an injection, the specialist uses a surgery center cuz he "sedates" you) at 6:45am. I'll never understand why doctors insist on doing stuff like this before the sun comes up. My sweet, dear, reliable friend James got up early and took me. After they made sure to get their money, I was called back to the prep area by this nice RN named Deb.

Deb proceeded to explain the procedure and have me sign all the waivers so that if I became a paraplegic as a result of the spinal injection, I wouldn't be able to say they hadn't told me. Then RN Cathy comes to do the IV. Even with a little local anesthetic, that shit still hurts. After the IV was started, I was called back to the procedure room. I was instructed to lay face down on the procedure table with my belly button on the 3 pillows. What that translates to is that I was on a table with my ass way up in the air. I'd no more than laid down when one nurse yanked my shorts halfway down my tush and the other nurse pumped the versed and fentanyl into the IV. It wasn't enough and I felt the whole damned injection. Ouch!

The entire thing took maybe 5 minutes and then I was rolled over onto a rolling stretcher (I could have walked but hey, for $1500 I'll let 'em push me) and whisked to the recovery area. There really wasn't much recovery as I couldn't tell that I'd been given any drugs. Either they use a very low dose or I have a very high tolerance to versed and fentanyl.

So today I'm sore from the injection but I'm thinking I might be starting to feel a little relief from the herniation. With cortisone, it usually gets a little worse for a day of so before it gets better.

And I so need it to be better.

Gud Simpson

I've finally achieved a long time goal. Whaddya think?

Ouch! What a Change, What a Change........

Last Friday I woke after a great night's sleep, in a positive mood, full of energy. I had my juice and registered for the fall semester back at school with again 3 classes in addition to my full time work schedule. I got showered and dressed and headed out to go to an acupuncturist to get help with a case of tennis elbow I've been dealing with.


I went to sit in my car and there was a quick, intense "pop" in my my lower back/sacrum area. I was seized with such incredible, severe pain that all I could do was sit there and scream "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.......!" (sorry for the profanity, but that's what I said and no other word seemed like it would work at the time). It ended up being a very long day.

To sum up the last 6 days, I've found out via MRI and consultation with a spinal orthopedic specialist that I have a disc herniation between the 4th and 5th lumbar. Indeed even I can see it on the MRI. I don't have to have help walking like I did Friday and Saturday but the pain is constant, real and debilitating. The Dr says we just wait to see if it gets better on its own, I do physical therapy and take meds.

I'm don't like that prognosis, I hurt and I'm frightened.

Lady Bird's Heart

I had the pleasure of meeting Lady Bird Johnson 3 times over the years. Twice in Fredericksburg at the Episcopal Church during holiday services and once about 8 years ago when I was working part time for a catering company and waited on her table during a private party. The times in Fredericksburg I was more amazed than anything else. I'd never been able to shake hands with anyone who'd lived in the White House. It was a cool thing.

Even cooler was waiting on her at the private dinner. It was a small affair, maybe 7 or 8 tables of 8 and I was lucky enough to take care of her table. Seated next to her was Liz Carpenter, well known writer, feminist and her former press secretary. The dinner was held under the stars at a ranch just outside of Austin and it was a pleasant evening...must not have been summer as I don't recall it being typically hot.

Wine was served at the dinner and I recall Ms. Johnson having a glass before dinner and one with dinner. As she got towards the bottom of the glass and the end of her meal, I came around with the bottle and asked if she'd care for more wine. "No dear, I don't think I will" she replied. I grinned and said, "Well Mrs. Johnson, I hear that studies have shown red wine is good for the heart." She patted the back of my hand, grinned and said, "Honey, when you're my age your heart just has to look out for itself."

It was a memorable experience.

I No Longer Feel Guilty About 30 Minute Showers

So here I sit at work doing a 12 hour day (they offered and I needed the overtime hours), 9am to 9pm and I'm looking out at relative sunshine. That's become a rather unusual thing here in Austin where it's rained virtually every day for over 2 weeks now. Consistant rain....flooding rains. The lakes are overflowing, grass and weeds are out of control, the humidity is astronomical and I've taken to carrying an umbrella.

Having been in a drought for a couple of years now, it was kinda cool the first week of the daily rain. But now that we're going on 3 weeks and it's wearing a little thin. Indeed, it's making me and the folks I know a little surly. Yes, it hasn't been hovering around 100 degrees as it normally is this time of year so that's a plus, but 3 weeks worth of rain goes a long way. I'm thinking maybe I'll move to Seattle where it rains less.

Oh crap! I just looked at the forecast and storms are developing to the west.

Inflamed Airways and a Plethora of Courting or How I've Spent My Summer So Far

I haven't written in 24 days so me thinks I'm about due. Perhaps a little explanation is in order as to my lack of time/interest in blogging.

My last day of classes was May 10 and I decided that one of my goals for the summer would be to reinvigorate my social life (i.e. I was going to date some). There were 2 or 3 guys that had expressed an interest but going to school while working 40 hours a week was about all I could manage so I had politely declined until school was out.

On May 12th (that's 2 days later folks), I went on the first date. It was nice to be back in the game and have the possibility of a little companionship. I went out with NewsCameraGuy for a couple of weeks and it was enjoyable but he caught a little cold and gave it to me.

The cold turned into bronchitis which lasted fully 4 weeks. I missed work twice and made a trip to the ER once feeling so poorly I was afraid I might have pneumonia. I mostly put the whole dating thing on hold while my inflamed bronchial tubes healed. Finally, this past Monday, I began to feel my old self so the dating game has been back on with a vengeance.

Tuesday - Breakfast and tour of Austin with Mexico City Guy
Wednesday - Movie (300...great!) and dinner with Cute Meeting Guy (who has certainly gotten my attention)
Thursday - rest and solitude
Friday - Dinner at my place with College Kinesiology Guy
Saturday - Dinner and a play with Former Marine Gymnast Broadway Makeup Guy

On Sunday I think I'll rest.

Guys with colds, or any other communicable illness, need not apply

"We Will, In Fact, Be Greeted As Liberators" - Cheney

We were....at least by the 200 or so people who, in an event staged by the US military, danced on the statue of Saddam Hussein after it was pulled down by a US tank right after the invasion of Baghdad. Yes, it was supposed to go so smoothly....we'd be in and out in no time, Iraqi oil revenues would pay for the costs, it would spread democracy through the Arab world, etc, etc. But here we are 5 years later, $500 billion spent , 3,442 US dead and over 600,000 Iraqi dead and things aren't going so swimmingly.

If W and Cheney had listened to intelligence assessments made in January 2003, we might not be in the situation we're in. The CIA predicted a surge of sectarian violence and that U.S. occupation of Iraq "probably would boost proponents of political Islam" throughout the Muslim world and "funds for terrorist groups probably would increase as a result of Muslim outrage over U.S. actions." Way to go! Let's make a bad situation worse Mr President and Vice President!

I read stuff like this and I have to wonder who these 30% are that still support W/Cheney and think that it was a good idea to have launched this war.

No RSVP....Not Even a .99 Cent Card

I've often been amazed by the number of people who don't fully understand the importance of RSVPing an invitation they've been given. Even more so, I'm troubled by people who aren't considerate enough to acknowledge a special event in a close friend or relative's life when they have been invited to attend but cannot.

My sister recently was married to a guy that she had a teenage romance with almost 40 years ago. It was a nice wedding attended by a variety of her friends, his friends, family members and a dog or two. I had the honor of walking her down the aisle and "giving her away." It was also memorable in that, besides the fact it's the 1st time my sis has been married, my disjointed, often dysfunctional family was all together for the better part of 4 hours and it all went relatively smoothly.

What's gotten under my skin about this is the relatives who were invited by my sister who not only didn't bother to RSVP, but also couldn't be bothered to send her a .99 cent card congratulating her. No email, no phone call, no card, nada. Now I haven't spoken to my sister so I don't know for a fact that she's hurt or even bothered by this but I suspect it's crossed her mind that people she is fond of absolutely ignored this major event in her life. I know that the boorish relatives certainly know better. It's so goddamned insensitive and rude it's hard to fathom. But ignore it they did.

Sad.

Dammit Velvetsaje Tagged Me!

OK, it's not like I didn't have enough to do with the last 9 days of the school semester. Noooooooo! Velvetsaje had to go and get some goals (guess now that he's the ripe old age of 25 he felt it good to get a few ;) and "tagged" me to do the same. Saje, I have goals. I also have a final next Thursday and a group project presentation (which is working my absolute last gay nerve) due this coming Monday.

But, that said, ok. Goals. I actually start each year with goals I write out and keep where i can see them all year. I hate the phrase "New Years Resolutions"...you know, I gotta be a little different. For 2007 the big three are:

1. Spend more time with relatives and friends, particularly those who are on the older side of life.

2. Continue with my fitness regimen and strive to get my body fat down to a single digit (9% would be awesome).

3. Continue to save and get my finances in order.

Since we're now in the 5th month of 2007, I'll add a couple:

4. Renewal of my spiritual growth.

5. Continuation of my scholastic endeavors. I've just about pulled off this semester with (I think) 2 "A"s and a "B". Not bad for someone who works 40 hours a week.

6. Revving my personal life back up; a boy friend isn't a necessity but it would be nice. No drama though.

OK, I tag Cathie and Brad.

There! Done! Back to school work. Later............................................