1/24/24
Newsletter #551
The Crack of Dawn
I don’t like discussing my ailments, but I’ve never felt crappy like this before. Crappy enough so that I’m leaving Amsterdam tomorrow, the day after I got here. [I wrote that last night after I’d changed my flight to 3:00 PM today, then went to bed. I woke up 17 hours later having missed my flight. Now I’m leaving tomorrow].
I haven’t been feeling very good for a while now, and several recent events have built up on me. Three people I know well have contracted cancer. My elder sister Ricki has lung cancer that has spread everywhere. She hasn’t got much time left. There’s nothing I can do about that, or any of the others, either. My friend John has throat cancer, and my friend Mike has Chordoma, which is cancer of the tailbone or spine. He just came over and told me all about that the day before yesterday.
I’ve got a neurological ailment called Tardive Dyskinesia. You may have seen a commercial for one of the two medications for it called Ingrezza. TD causes involuntary lip movements. My lips twitch and rub against each other, then start to burn after a while. Plus, I have a fucked up Tempro Mandibular joint in my jaw. The constant rubbing of my lips in turn aggravates my TMJ. That all is what it is, and it didn’t just start, so I deal with it.
But wait, there’s more. I have an affliction with my throat that causes me to choke. I’ve had my throat roto-rootered three times so far. At least, for the time being, I’m not choking on every bite of food.
On top of that, I managed to wipe out on my ebike a few days ago, royally fucking up my right knee and my left shin. My knee swelled up to the size of a grapefruit, while the back of my leg became all black and blue, as did both of my feet. After the flight, when I got to this hotel room, I went to take a shower and found that my leg from my knee to my now swollen foot is black and blue. I chose the perfect time to take a walking trip.
So I now have a concierge doctor. Her job is to diagnose all the maladies my other doctors find and put them in concert with each other. She also makes sure that my medications are not interacting improperly. I’ll call her as soon as I get home.
She had prescribed that I take a stress test (including a chest x-ray) and a new EKG because my first one showed something abnormal. Oh, there’s something abnormal about my EKG and you need another one? So what did I do? I came here to Amsterdam instead, and now I’m turning right around and going home. I should have just taken the goddam tests (but I suspected there would be negative results, so naturally, I fled).
As I was massively drinking there for a decade, I suspected that I might possibly be causing myself other problems. Well, I guess I was, but I certainly wasn’t dealing with them at the time. Now I clearly must.
Amsterdam, meanwhile, is wonderful. It may be too hectic for me now at my advanced age. Bikes, ebikes, scooters and cars are constantly whizzing by in all directions, and you really must pay attention. Walking in the city isn’t a casual affair, but it’s exciting and it’s why I came here.
I did make it to my favorite coffeeshop, the Bulldog in the Leidseplein (spell check didn’t like Leidseplein and suggested “lend lease”). It’s still the same as it always was – swell – and I bought two pre-roll joints, a cup of coffee and sat outside. The sun was out, and it was lovely. I promptly got into a conversation with a white couple in their mid-30s from Liverpool. I smiled and did my best Beatle/Liverpudlian impression, saying, “All right, John,” which could make me any of the other three. The couple both laughed, then said – sounding exactly like The Beatles – “We don’t talk that way anymore.” Oh, really? They were both very nice and were curious about America. The girl asked, “Do people just walk around holding weapons?” I said, “No, just on special occasions.”
[I’m writing mainly because it keeps my mind off how I’m feeling, so excuse me if it’s bullshit].
Instead of getting a $200 room at a big hotel, I found a small hotel right in the city. The rooms are $100-140, but the “Presidential Suite” was $200, with a terrace, so I took it. The “terrace” is a door leading out to a roofless courtyard that is the front of several other businesses, all of which are closed. You can smoke anywhere in the courtyard, but the area set aside for smoking, with a table and chairs, has several “No Smoking” signs posted that are to be ignored.
After I checked in, I was shown a shortcut to my room across the courtyard. All I have to do is go through a door marked, “Do Not Use This Door.”
Nobody gives a shit about smoking here – not pot or cigarettes. Quite a few people still smoke cigarettes, and they do it shamelessly. I heard John Cleese recently say that though he doesn’t smoke, and never has, he was shocked at how “beastly” Americans treat smokers. You’re not allowed to be a racist or fat shame, or belittle anyone for anything, but you can be as mean as you want to smokers. Given my present circumstances, I may not be smoking for all that much longer. La!
This is getting long. I should either delete it or post it. Seriously, I’m not looking for any sympathy; I don’t want it; I just felt like writing about it because it’s what’s happening to me. But I do enjoy writing this newsletter and it gives me an outlet for my thoughts. Right now, these are my thoughts.
I laugh when I talk to you.
Hey Josh, sorry to hear you’re not feeling well and especially sorry to hear about your sister. Stay positive, proactive, and most importantly laugh as much as possible!