c. 2024 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(2-24)
My friend Janis has been recovering from her third stroke since the middle of last year. This odyssey of medical confinement began at ACMC in Ashtabula, found her being shipped to the Cleveland Clinic, then to the Cedarwood Plaza rehabilitation center located nearby, and finally to Carington Park, a nursing home in the city where this voyage began. All the while, I have been one of two trusted contacts with the outside world. The other, her roommate at their property by Lake Erie, has kept the homestead intact. While being isolated is not easy for either of these stoic women, both are socially predisposed to navigating life with few companions on board.
I get telephone calls almost every day. My status as her link to reality is assured.
On a recent morning, I was up early after a night of restless sleep. Coffee helped to reset my internal clock. Though by the time I had emptied the carafe, it was still before noon. I sat at my desk in the home office, going through news websites for interesting stories. Then, the telephone rang.
My contrarian cohort sounded unusually chipper for having been out of circulation so long. I imagined her dressed perpetually in patient pajamas, and scooting around with a walker frame. They did not have individual hookups, so a public phone had to keep us in touch.
“What’re you doing, Rodbert? I just came inside, a group of us sat out in the courtyard for a few minutes. Some people were smoking. I really wanted to bum a cigarette!”
Her confession made my teeth chatter.
“Your doctor in Madison said that is probably how all of this started! Don’t backslide now, you’ve been on the wagon for months! Even a puff or two could send your blood pressure skyrocketing!”
She groaned and growled with disinterest in kicking her habit for good.
“Screw what she said! I need some nicotine!”
My head bowed while listening. Her mood was rowdy from waiting for lunch to arrive. I tried to speak as a counselor.
“Look, I get your vibe. My jones for Camel non-filters is still there, like a critter hiding in the brush. I quit in the 1980’s. But in dreams, I buy a pack sometimes. It’s weird, I usually snooze and snore and imagine going to a convenience market somewhere. It wouldn’t be hard to light up right now, and pour a shot of Jack Daniel’s to magnify the experience. I won’t do those things though, because both would drag me down. I don’t need the complications. And I don’t want to end up in a hospital bed.”
Janis snorted and laughed.
“Yeah, yeah! Maybe you’re right. I tried to get one of the other residents here to sneak off and buy me some cancer sticks. But she said no, dammit!”
I felt glad that her seedy escapade had been refused.
“Another stroke might peg the meter. Your body can only take so much...”
She cackled defiantly. I guessed that she must be standing outside of their activity room, in a corridor.
“I had to do an appointment with a special doctor yesterday. On the way back, I asked the driver if they would stop by Taco Bell. We could have pulled that off easy, it was right on the way! But the young bitch wouldn’t budge! She kept jamming gears until we got back to this ugly hole in the ground! One chalupa wouldn’t have hurt me! I needed a fix!”
My eyes closed and I began to wheeze.
“Never mind running for the border, what was the verdict on your health?”
My longtime friend whispered her reply.
“He said my kidney function is at 40 percent. Is that bad? I have no idea really. It sounds low, I think. Maybe, maybe, maybe? I pee a lot so they must be wrong. I think it’s all a scam!”
I had become short of breath. Her attitude made me twitch.
“You don’t want dialysis, it’s not a fun experience. A guy I know said he has to sit for hours, hooked up to a big machine...”
Her reaction was predictable.
“If I could smoke, it’d be okay! Better than sitting here with the wrinkled-up biddies playing bingo!”
I heard noise in the background, and an alarm going off. Frantic voices echoed over the intercom. I wondered if our line of communication might be cut.
“What’s going on over there? Do you have to evacuate? Hang up, and get yourself to a safe space! Don’t argue with the staff!”
Janis turned sarcastic.
“You’re such a snowflake! It was just a drill, they do it once every couple of weeks. Don’t get your boxers in a bunch! Anyway, I’ve been sitting here thinking about people we know. Do you remember the bald guy who stocked shelves with us at Giant Eagle? What was his last name? The one who had been in the Army, you gotta remember!”
This shift in subject matter left me speechless for a moment.
“Who? He worked with us where?”
She whistled and smacked the receiver with her hand.
“Hello! Hello! Do you hear me, Rodbert? I said the bald guy we knew in Geneva! What was his last name? I’ve been forgetting things, my mind is starting to slip. Don’t let them turn me into one of these crabby grannies! I don’t want to be stuck here forever!”
Her plea sounded earnest. Yet there was nothing I could do to speed up the pace of recovery.
“Behave yourself, and it’ll go quickly. Stay off the cigarettes. Eat your mush until everything has healed. Don’t steal food from the kitchen! Your body has survived a lot of abuse...”
My distant associate became irritated. She started to bang the wall-phone handset on her skull.
“WHAT WAS HIS NAME? MY HEAD IS NUMB, DUDE! THIS AIN’T A JOKE! I’M LOSING IT IN THIS HALFWAY HOUSE! MY EGGS ARE SCRAMBLED! WHAT WAS HIS NAME? WHAT WAS HIS NAME? WHAT WAS HIS NAME?”
My memory reacted with the clunky clattering of a vintage floppy disk being electronically read.
“Cloud! That was the guy, Raymond Cloud III. His grandfather was a fireman, in the city. Everybody seemed to know the family. He would frequently get recognized when we were on the sales floor. I think his mother worked at a bakery...”
Janis mumbled to herself with relief. I could hear carts of prepared meals being wheeled down the hallway. Cheers of gratitude resounded from the group.
“Cloud. Hee hee hee! That’s right, we called him Rain Cloud instead of Ray. He freaking hated that nickname! No hair on his head, and getting teased like a school kid. The poor loser! I attract that kind of people, they always hang around with me. What does that mean? Why are you my friend? Are you sorry we met?”
I heard an aide sternly directing her to the activity area, for their midday meal. There wasn’t time to ponder an answer to the impulsive query. A loud click of relays on the line made me flinch. Then, there was silence.
“No, I’m not sorry. If nothing else, you always keep me from getting bored!”
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