August 2023 - Page 5 of 7 - Ramblin' with Roger

My brain, ears, skin, innards

The Wordle word for Sunday, August 6, 2023 was POLYP

I was going to write a comprehensive report on my health. But it became complicated and lengthy, so I’ll break it up. Today, I’ll concentrate on my brain, ears, skin, and another part.

BRAIN: When I attended a Juneteenth event, one of the tabling organizations was doing research into the brain. Specifically, they were checking people for mental acuity and cognitive decline.

I went to their office a few weeks later and took paper and pencil tests. Also, they swabbed the inside of my cheeks. Two weeks later, I got the results. The apolipoprotein E (APOE) genes from my parents are 3,3. This means I have an average chance of developing Alzheimer’s. APOE 2,2 is the best, which only 8% of people have, and people with 4,4 are most at risk.

It’s too hard to explain, so read this article about tau. For me, this is fascinating stuff.

EARS: My wife complained that I did not hear well. I found this odd because I would be in a room during conversations and pick up information she missed.

Still, I went to the ENT place. I had wax buildup. I did not know some information: you shouldn’t use Q-Tips or the like in your ears, not so much because they’ll hurt the eardrum as much as they’ll help the wax to become impacted.

About an hour later, I had a hearing test. I am missing higher-pitched sounds in my left ear. I blame Pete Townshend! At some point, I’ll get some treatment.

Vitiligo

SKIN: Back in January, my dermatologist gave me a prescription for Ruxolitinib (Opzelura™), which is “the only medication approved by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) to restore lost skin color in people who have vitiligo.”

Unfortunately, when I took it to the CVS, I was told it would cost me several hundred dollars. I’m still trying to negotiate this issue months later. It’s not just vanity. I’m more prone to skin cancer now than I was in the past.

Inside look

COLON: Both my wife and I had colonoscopies in the past two weeks. The last time I even MENTIONED having one, I was told it was TMI. I disagreed then and now. I’m a fan of regular testing with colon cancer on the rise, particularly among those under 50.

Initially, she was going to have hers eight days before mine, but for reasons, I ended up having mine five days before hers.

This time, the prep wasn’t a big deal for me. Pro tip: JELL-O and other gelatin products are considered liquid. On that day before the procedure, when you can’t eat anything, JELL-O is a superb approximation.

Another thing: when you mix seven capfuls of Miralax into 28 oz. of Gatorade, you will need a larger container for the mixture.

After my procedure, my wife said I wasn’t myself. I wasn’t smiling. She asked if I could make it up the stairs. Her questions made me grumpier. This passed.

But my right nostril itched, probably from the oxygen tube in there. As a result, I sneezed uncontrollably for three days. That was new.

I got a document from my doctor’s portal, which was incomprehensible. Then a day later, I received something in English. “The biopsies from the ulcer in your colon did not show any sign of cancer or malignancy, which is good news.” I need to make a follow-up appointment, but happy, happy, joy, joy.

I’ll do another report reasonably soon.

Unanswerable questions to my dad

flights of fancy

Les Green.tree sweater I want to ask my dad, Les Green, some things. Of course, they are unanswerable questions since he died 23 years ago today.

I want to know if he knew the name of his biological father, Raymond Cone? What, if anything, did he know about him? And how was it growing up without a father? He WAS living in the abode of his grandfather, Samuel Walker.

What was his relationship with McKinley Green, the person I knew pretty early on – from my mother, not my father – was not my biological grandfather? Mac, or Pop, married Agatha Walker in 1931, but they were estranged by 1936. Yet Mac adopted Dad in 1944, three weeks before Les turned 18.

Where did my father serve in the military at the end of World War II? I know he was in the European Theater of Operations, but I don’t know specifically where. Does his picture appear in the October 1946 issue of Ebony magazine, and if so, which pic? Is there any truth to those apocryphal tales of living in Belgium for a time?

Why was he seemingly at arm’s length from the Walker family, most of whom lived in Binghamton blocks from our house? I saw my mother’s cousins and aunt Charlotte, who lived in Queens, NYC more often than most of his local cousins, aunts, and uncles. Specifically, why did he have a poorly veiled disdain for Aunt Jessie, his mother’s sister?

Could we have asked?

There was a point in the few years before his death that my sister Leslie thought to ask him some of these questions, though other parts we learned well after he died.

I was never comfortable telling him that his wife and, occasionally, his mother-in-law were telling his children stories about him that he himself never managed to share with us.

Thus, the frustration. Maybe he had some papers we haven’t encountered in nearly a half-century. I’m not holding my breath.

I believe that our work on genealogy has partially been the thing that has rekindled these musings. Did he know what his grandfather Walker did for a living? Did he know Samuel Walker’s parents’ names? Might they have been enslaved people?

What was his relationship with his grandmother Walker, Mary Eugenia, who died in 1944, long before I was born?

I suppose the musing is an idle exercise. But on the 23rd anniversary of Les Green’s death, I’m allowing myself a bit of permission to indulge in these flights of fancy.

Lost items in the house

shoes

I find the fact that we have lost several items in the house, and despite serious effort, annoyingly weird.

Back in March during her college spring break, our daughter slept in my wife’s office for reasons described on May 26.

I took out the landline phone, including the base, from the office so that it would not disturb my daughter’s sleep. As I realized later, I didn’t really need to move the base; the receiver would do the trick. Still, I figure I’d keep them together in a pile at the top of the stairs. Later when I wanted to put the phone back, I found the receiver but not the base until late July; it was in my wife’s office, on the floor, under a table.

Incidentally, one of the reasons we still have a landline is so that I can find my phone in the house about twice a month, not counting when it falls between the sofa sections, which is always the first place to look.

We have a coffee tin, filled with brown sugar because we don’t drink coffee. The lid has been MIA for months, and the canister is and is now covered by a piece of aluminum foil.

Most mysterious, though, is a box of shoes that we can’t find. In anticipation of my annual hearts party in early March, I gathered all of the extra shoes and put them in box -or a bag? – and stored them… somewhere.

Stop looking

Not that it’s been a fruitless search. My high school yearbook, which my sister wanted to borrow before her October 2022 high school reunion, was on a shelf in my office that I hadn’t looked at before.

Also, I came across some things I wasn’t even looking for. A couple of rarely used credit cards that had fallen down below the computer reemerged.

The reason I’m writing this, though, is strategic. I’ve discovered that when I have stopped looking for things is the very time they inexplicably show up. My working theory is that if I write about it, I can let them go. Somehow, they’ll just show up. We’ll see if the plan works.

Movie review: Asteroid City

Wes Anderson

I liked the premise of the movie Asteroid City. The narrator (Bryan Cranston) tells the story, in black-and-white, of the world-famous fictional play. It’s partly about a grieving father (Jason Schwartzman as Augie Steenbeck) taking his tech-obsessed teenage son (Jake Ryan as Woodrow) to a science competition in the middle of nowhere. Woodrow’s three curious (in every sense of the word) younger sisters are also there.

Then Something Happens to upend everyone’s worldview.

The look of Asteroid City’s bland pastel color desert setting was very effective. But the film left me confounded. I understand that it evokes Area 51 paranoia, Sputnik fear, and the meta-stress of actors forgetting their lines.

Yet I didn’t care enough. Rex Reed wrote: “Like all Wes Anderson movies, it is enigmatic, artificial, infuriatingly self-indulgent, and irrevocably pointless.” Rex Reed is wrong.

I’ve been a big fan of the works of the writer/director. The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014), Fantastic Mr. Fox (2009), Moonrise Kingdom (2012), and Isle of Dogs (2018), even 2/3s of The French Dispatch (2021) I enjoyed.

Adam Graham of the Detroit News suggested: “It’s all very cute but not much else, as the story remains locked inside Anderson’s dollhouse and is inaccessible to all but his most ardent fans.” That’s possibly true.

Too much

The review that nailed it for me was by Prabhjot Bains of the Hollywood Handle. He wrote: “It feels like two different movies forcefully amalgamated into one incongruous whole, rendering its existential meditation on grief emotionally inert and hollow… It’s very much Anderson’s weakest entry to date.” That’s probably it.

There are a lot of concepts stuffed into the film, with scads of performers, many of whom have been in previous Anderson films, plus Tom Hanks, as the cranky grandfather, who I’d not seen in an Anderson film before.

Even the positive review by Mick LaSalle in the San Francisco Chronicle notes: “Anderson’s lone indulgence is to cast famous faces in extremely minor roles… Jeff Goldblum has one line… Matt Dillon has a single small scene and spends the rest of the movie standing around. This is distracting, and Anderson certainly does it as another distancing device, reminding audiences that this is all artifice, that it’s only a movie. But… it’s hard not to see their casting as the director’s ego trip, his showing off how many big-name actors are willing to take any role in one of his movies.”

I so wanted to like this film, but alas, alas, it was more effort than enlightenment.

Day in the life: July 30, 2023

complicated

Sunday, July 30, 2023, didn’t track the way either my wife or I expected. She had awakened with a chill. More problematic: a red spot on the back of her leg near her ankle had expanded around her leg. Moreover, it was warm to the touch.

It sounded like the return of the cellulitis she experienced in October 2022, which became so problematic that she was hospitalized for four days as complications ensued.

She asked me to contact the local urgent care place. Alas, there were NO slots open in Albany or Troy. So she decided to drive to the Emergency Department at St. Peter’s Hospital, which seemed sage.

I noted that she was scheduled to count the offering at church. The task involves training, and only about a dozen people were equipped to do so; I’m not one of them.

I sent an email at 7:55 a.m., but the only people who replied were those who could not take on the task; I thought recent knee surgery was a perfect excuse for staying home.

Breaking bread

Meanwhile, I needed to get to church early to help set up for communion before the 9:30 service. This meant catching the 8:48 bus, which only runs every 30 minutes. It takes me three or four minutes to get to the stop. Sometimes it’s running early, so I want to leave about ten minutes early.

The phone rings at 8:39. I’m going out the door. My wife needs the name of the antibiotic she’d been taking for another ailment. I needed to find and spell the container name twice because it had 14 letters.

I walked very fast to the corner. Fortunately, the bus was one minute late, and I just caught it, getting to church by 9:03.

Besides communion prep, I needed to find someone to sub for my wife, which fortunately worked out. A couple of other snags were addressed.

Seems like old times

After communion cleanup, some folks were putting the library back together. The shelves had been removed from the walls and painted. Though there were dropcloths, flakes of dried paint still got onto the carpet.

I vacuumed once I was told where the recessed cord was hiding. It reminded me twice when I was a custodian, in 1974 at a department store in a New Paltz, NY strip mall, and in 1975, at Binghamton (NY) City Hall.

I stopped at the local pizzeria to bring home slices for my daughter and me and took the bus home.

There’s a particular bond among bus patrons. A patron pulled the cord to get out at the downtown SUNY campus. As the driver blew past the stop, the guy told the driver he wanted to debark. The driver said one had to pull the cord, but I saw that he had; I heard the sound and could see the red STOP REQUESTED sign. The driver insisted he hadn’t heard the signal, possibly over the air conditioning. From my seat near the front, I insisted the rider was correct.

The driver then looks at his console and sees that the signal had been initiated. The driver tells the patron, “You were right, and I was wrong.” Twice. The customer said, “It’s cool,” as the driver again restated his mantra. The patron says, “It’s OK. It’s OK. I didn’t want to walk two extra blocks.”

To the hospital

After my weekly ZOOM talk with my sisters, I took a bus to St. Peter’s. My wife had said she was still in the ER area, but by the time I arrived, she had been taken to a room.

It occurred to me that I’ve mastered how to get to several hospital areas because of my wife’s time there last fall. I brought her a change of clothes, toiletries, and reading material.

Having missed the last bus home, I walked, first to Junior’s for takeout, then home. I very seldom have takeout twice in one day. But it was a weird day.

My wife spent two nights at the hospital, getting IV antibiotics, and she’s much better.