My Family

[Drunk Monk]

So the next part of the cruz relocation has been staying at the 'rents. This week is the hardest as it is T's last week in gymno, so we've had to stay there all week with the pom. S went back to the cruz. Part of the plan was to be able to surreptitiously help my folks out, as my mom has been caretaker for my dad for 9+ years now and many aspects of the house have gone to pot. It's packed with stuff and really dusty. My mom just got her eyes redone - lens replacements - amazing what optomology can do nowadays. Two walk-in sessions and she's got new eyes. She's seeing clearer than ever, doesn't really need her glasses anymore which she's worn since high school. And now she sees how dirty the place is. On monday, I went to Kung Fu practice as I'm trying to keep up, but my practice has gone to hell as once-a-week just ain't enough for me to maintain my health. I got to my folk's place and was looking forward to taking a shower in what was my old bathroom. It has been redone since I moved out some 3 decades ago. Unfortunately, the hot water didn't work in it (probably no one ever used it since it's been redone) and there was this monstrous cockroach, like Jurassic-sized trying to escape. Oh lovely. So I took a shower in the guest bathroom. Then I made myself a cheese sandwich only to find the mayo was bad, expired last August. I'm like 'Mom, you know this is bad?' and my mom is like 'Really? I can't smell things anymore.' Oh great. She gives me some clean linens, but by clean, she meant that they had been washed and put away years ago and had been sitting in a musty closet for who knows how long? So yesterday I got those washed and dusted out the guest room. Vacuumed the walls, ceiling, shutters, bureau, picture frames, floor, lamps - there was so much dust that things were changing color from grey to faded beige. My mom recently bought this cheap $40 vacuum cleaner which was really more of a toy and just threw dust around. Really needed an industrial shop vac. But it's cleaner now after a few hours of vacuuming. Next I need to start digging out my old room, which has become a storage space. It's full of my old crap, my folk's crap and my cousin's crap. Seriously, I was moving some of my cousin's crap and found a box of garbage - real crap. Like wtf, cousin?! That'll be a dusty, dirty affair, which I'll start excavating tonight.

[Drunk Monk]

It's really weird to stay in my old room at my folks. Firstly, it's jam packed with crap and dusty. But I already told you that. All I can see is that huge poster of Stevie, still hanging on my closet door from over 3 decades ago. Dm remembers staring at that all night long after a certain DOOM bro dropped him off after a particularly rigorous Exotic Erotic encounter with Alice Dee. I had the strangest dream last night, sort of like Yellow Submarine, but the Rolling Stones version. Starting to dig through some of the crap. Found a stack of old cards including memberships to the Rocky Horror fan club and the USFA, plus a lot of ACWLP4B bookmarks.

On another odd aside - I went to Fry's yesterday to get another charger from my burner phone. I need to set one up at the Beach Bungalow and another up at my folks house as I'll be staying there on odd nights... Then, in the last stage of cleaning out my garage, I found another charger... Glad I didn't buy that phone.

And what do I find in my empty cockroach-ridden bathroom with no hot water? Another charger for my burner cell. Too weird.

[Greg_phpbb3_import1]

Against all common sense, the family is heading to Mallorca in a couple of weeks.

My mother, through my father because it's not parenting unless there is manipulation involved, asked if I would be taking photographs on the trip.

[Greg_phpbb3_import1]

So, I'm talking with my father via Skype this morning. I attended a press conference at the Huntington Library last weekend regarding their Father Serra Exhibition. As you may or may not know, Father Serra is one of my Dad's Raison d'Etres at the moment. Or has been for the last ten years.

I shot a lot of footage and took a lot of photographs. Something my father wished had happened while he was actually at the Huntington the day before for a cocktail reception for the opening of the exhibit. Yes, he did a 700 mile round trip drive for a half hour cocktail reception and twenty minute walk through the exhibit. They left Saratoga Wednesday, arrived Thursday and returned home Friday morning. I told him he should have flown. He had a terrible time on the drive home in the heat of the central valley and ended up at the doctor's on Monday because of breathing difficulties. Just so you know, this all par for the course at the current time.

I sent him the link to the video I made for the exhibit. He loved it. But as we are talking about the video, he says to me "Greg, you should think about doing this for a living"

[Drunk Monk]

...you got shirts. Do you got shirts yet? BAB shirts?

[Greg_phpbb3_import1]

You have one. You also have a hat. I wear them to your functions. Where I film.

[Dr. Ivor Yeti]

Did you tell him that it is a fun hobby, but that dance is really your life?

[Drunk Monk]

That's what you need - a BAB hat.

[Greg_phpbb3_import1]

There's this brick wall I'm talking to . . . .

[Drunk Monk]

That would get your dad's attention.

[Greg_phpbb3_import1]

My father wears this device on his finger to measure the oxygen content of his blood. He's been using this device for the past five years. All his treatment is based on the readings from this device. He has oxygen in his room at night because of this device. He has to have oxygen with him on planes when he flies. The idea is he can't be too far from oxygen because of the very important device he wears on his finger.

He wears the device because of the world renowned breathing specialist he sees over at Kaiser. This doctor is at pains to mention all his qualifications when he meets people. He's the head of this foundation. He's on the board of that foundation. He is the Doctoring breathing expert.

For at least twenty years my father has been a diabetic. If he has any experiences like mine, the first thing any doctor asks at any interview or office visit is your medical history. You answer you are a diabetic. Now, since the doctor knows you are a diabetic, he should also know a few things as well. For instance, Diabetes plays havoc with the small capillaries in your circulatory system. The big un-processed sugar molecules go in to these small veins and arteries, clog them up and restrict the blood flow. This is why people lose their limbs from Diabetes. This why people go blind from Diabetes. To recap, diabetics have poor blood flow in their extremities, like fingers.

So, to take an important reading from where the results might be suspect might be contra-indicated. In other words, what kind of moron doctor would take an important oxygen reading from my father's less than healthy fingers? ( Word to the wise, never look at my father's feet)

They switched the readings to my father's forehead for the night readings. All oxygen levels perfect for the entire night. Five years of treating a problem that didn't exist.

Next up, the one year anniversary of the hole in my father's ass leftover from a cyst removal.

[El Dingo]

I'm not going into details, but my experience with doctors for my father left me skeptical.

The nurses, caregivers and hospice were fantastic, but the doctors were all looking for their next "publish or perish" article (and maybe a handout from Big Pharma). When I suggested cannabis for pain relief/appetite stimulant I was pretty much pushed out of the room.

I do not trust doctors (except for mine who only wants me to lose weight) and steers me away from any type of prescription saying - "I wouldn't do it - this may cause erectile dysfunction and nausea" ...

[Drunk Monk]

My father wears this device on his finger to measure the oxygen content of his blood.

Sounds like a Pulse Ox. There is some research on unreliability of pulse-ox for diabetics, however they are often used specifically for diabetics because they can be used to identify PVD.

Next up, the one year anniversary of the hole in my father's ass leftover from a cyst removal.

TMI.

[Greg_phpbb3_import1]

Okay, my troubles with my parents are a thimble full compared to DM's and the Yeti's fifty gallon drum. And I'm guessing (not guessing at all) that their relationship with their afflicted parents is marginally better than I have with my mother. But still, I have stories.

I had an accident is a phrase no one wants to hear. You don't want the phone to ring and have the voice on the other end say those words. You don't want your child to approach with you that chilling phrase.

Nor do you want to hear them when your mother exits the bathroom at the Iron Skillet at the base of the grapevine, reaching forward with some mysterious object in her hand.

After breakfast, my mother dashed to the gift shop adjacent to the restaurant in order to buy more treasures ( A route 66 plate and a tin of playing cards with route 66 on the lid) when she said she had to go to the bathroom.

Because of my mother's gallbladder problems (Look up Porcelain Gallbladder in your handy desktop medical reference) she has to go frequently, sometimes she is even ready for it. This is one of the reasons there were so many pit-stop pictures from the trip up and back from Saratoga. But this trip at the Petgo Truck stop seemed to be taking a lot longer than usual. Eventually she did emerge and it was the confusion caused by the accident statement that made me actually take the wet object from my mother's outstretched hand.

When the words finally resolved themselves in my head, it was too late to hand my mother's paper towel wrapped underwear back to her or at least refuse accepting them. The next phrase brought the incident into clarity.

"You need to go into my suitcase in the car and get me some clean underwear"

So, the wet object I am holding is your dirty underwear probably fresh from a wash in the sink? Good times.

A happy story for you to think on whenever you travel the grapevine and see the giant Iron Skillet sign by the side of the road.

[cranefly]

Checking my mental notebook: 1) Hole in ass due to cyst. 2) Iron Skillet.

Yep. Now both cerebral hemispheres have something to visually entertain them forever.

Sigh. At least it's purged the longstanding pom penis blues.