checking in - nestling in narcoland

The morning deteriorated more rapidly than I have been accustomed to. When I start to feel bad, my whole body starts to feel bad. I started feeling bad before the sun was fully up. Weak, sore, depleted, and my throat, tongue, and mouth lead the pack. You get the idea. So I started the hydrocodone early. I will just keep myself in that zone today. And, it really makes a difference. The drug sort of surrounds me like a warm robe on a chilly evening. I don't get too loopy anymore, I must have adapted to my daily use. And, today, I will indulge by taking a dose at noon, four and eight. I hope that doesn't become a daily reality at this point, but, I repeatedly get told it is not necessary to suffer needlessly when these narcotics are available. So...as I write, I am feeling a little better. Now, I have to focus on keeping hydrated and feeding myself 5 cans of food (it's called Jevity...specifically made for tube feeding.) I never feel like doing that...it's a psychological resistance I think, because there is no reason not to. I am sure that when I start getting dehydrated, it just complicates everything else. I am stubborn in stupid ways.

Another stupid thing I do is watching the food channel. I just watched a show on the best sandwich places in the country. Of course, they featured a few New York Delis, Katz's and the Stage Door deli...featuring huge pastrami and corned beef sandwiches on delicious bread. And a sandwich shop in Pittsburgh that always puts slaw and fries inside the sandwich. I remember doing my internship in Memphis...the year Elvis died...I lived in the ghetto, and I remember venturing out to a small corner deli. I ordered a BBQ chicken sandwich...the guy said..."light or dark meat" I said "dark" He asked..."do you want cole slaw with that?"...I said "sure"...He took a slice of white bread, put a chicken leg (bone and all) on it, scooped a scoop of cole slaw on top of that, and then topped it with the other slice of bread, wrapped it up and handed it to me. I was thinking he was dissing me, but, i was not about to protest...it turned out to be just the way they served it.

I learned that year a little of what it feels like to live as a minority person...I was one of the few white people living in the neighborhood, and I had stones thrown at me a few times by 12 year old gangbangers as I walked to the hospital where I worked. I taught my beautiful American Eskimo dog, Nanook, how to "go" on command...there was a patch of grass behind the apartment complex, and it was very dark and isolated at night. I would take her out at around 10PM...we would run to that patch...and I would shout "GO" and she would squat and take care of business, and then we would run back into the apartment. We had it down to a science...until one day...she chased a cat...I went after her as she pursued the cat...got her turned around, and as I headed back to the apartment, a very large man with a very hostile attitude leaned out his window..."Is that your dog?" He asked..."yes", I replied, thinking he might tell me how beautiful she was...No, he wasn't that type of neighborly... "Well, that is my cat"..."the next time your dog chases my cat, I will kill it." I think I thanked him, and Nanook and I made haste back to the apartment. The director of the Internship told me he insisted I find another place to live as it was a very dangerous part of the city...I looked at it like an adventure...and though I was scared a lot, it really was an adventure. I befriended a guy ( or should I say, he befriended me) who didn't have a telephone and came over to use my phone to line up drug deals...he decided he needed to teach me how to defend myself when out and about. I guess he really needed to keep me safe so as to have access to my phone. He started by telling me to get a pair of dark glasses and wear them 24 hours a day. He said if anyone was able to get a look at my eyes, they would see I was an easy mark. He told me to never take those sunglasses off. He tried to teach me to sound tough....saying things like..."OK, you got a knife, but I have one good kick...come on MF...cut me, and you will spend the rest of your life peeing out of a bag attached to your body." I couldn't pull it off without smiling. We actually did become sort of friends, this inner city drug dealer and I. In fact, he invited me to a get together at his place with some of his friends. I went. His friends and he spoke English, but it was a different language than any English I ever heard. We spent the evening laughing... they at me and the way I talked...and me, at me and the way I talked....it was a lot of fun. And since my man said I was cool, I had no issues with his friends, and they had none with me. I had many, many adventures that year. Inner city Memphis in the late 70's was quite a place. Quite a place. I had an internship experience unlike the other interns, as they all lived in apartments in the safer suburban areas of town...they invited me over to their places, but were unlikely to want to venture out to my neighborhood. I never got cut, never got mugged (but did wind up being "approached" by a man with a gun late one night out back by the patch of grass and ...for real... talked my way out of that, though it was my reasoning, and not my "tough" talk that saved my bacon) and I met some very interesting folks. Quite a year. The internship was decent enough as well.