Across the Bay

Biscayne Bay, where the Cuban gentlemen sleep all day, and now where a very, very old Jewish lady is spending her final time... Ancient Mom was brought to Mt. Sinai Hospital 8 days ago, and is just today being discharged. The nurse practitioner at Miami Jewish Home noticed a hard belly, and wanted it checked out. So that too has passed, and now Sunny is heading back to the MJH, outfitted with a brand new inferior vena cava filter, which will prevent the blood clots in her no longer used legs from traveling to her lungs or brain. So the clots won't kill her -- something else will have to. The drive from Mt. Sinai back to Little Haiti traverses a gorgeous causeway, where the amazing Miami Skyline is on full display. There is truly no more striking view in Florida than the futuristic buildings set against the beautiful bay. Mom won't see it, of course, riding in the back of an ambulance, but I like to think she'll know its there. Of course, as always, there's humor. Mom's doctor is orthodox, and Mom thinks he's a rabbi. But, he also has been speaking to her about her choice for cremation as opposed to Jewish burial. I was wondering why all of a sudden Mom has been creepily asking me about "when I had my burning..." So I'll gently explain to the well meaning frum doc that Mom has made up her mind to go the way my father did...I'm sure the fellow means well, as my orthodox rabbi friend does when he reminds ME about all of those many mitzvot I ought to perform and don't. Who knows -- if the Canes get the death penalty and no longer play, I just MIGHT start observing the sabbath... Anyway, I'll go see Mom tomorrow -- back at MJH. She signed the most aggressive living will there is -- to be LEAST aggressive in keeping her artificially alive. I'll ask the MJH staff to honor it, so hopefully no more trips across the bay. Although, somehow that drive always renews me, somehow.

Lovely Evening; Unpleasant Encounter

So last night Wifey and the Ds and I headed over to a Bar Mitzvah of a delightful young man. It was held at our local and richest synagogue, and the Ds looked forward to it since the older siblings' friends were going, many of whom are lifelong friends of the wonderful family who hosted. There I was, on my second martini, when D1 pointed out a couple. These two, in their late 60s, are very well connected with national politics and local law. The husband, who I'll call Phil, since that's his name, has made a mint in the injury business, and his wife, who I'll call Ellen, since that's her name, has happily helped him spend it, often on political stuff that tends towards the ultra liberal, feminist side of things. A friend pointed out recently how she gets such a kick out of the radical feminists who use the money their husbands earn to be radical feminists. But that's another matter... Anyway, this couple had caused quite a stir months ago, when D1 was a hostess at a local restaurant. After the husband spent the amount of time one normally reserves picking out a condo in deciding on a table for an upcoming family dinner, the couple arrived and were MOST unhappy with said table. D1 told them she'd call the manager, and the wife literally grabbed her shoulder, spun D1 around, and made sure she knew how important these 2 were... When I heard what the wife had done, I was livid. But then, I let it pass, as D1 did, since we realized that people tend to act as they are, and Ellen is, how to say this politely, a pig. Well sure enough, there they were last night, standing in front of me in my 2 martini state. I leaned into the wife, and smiling, pleasantly asked if she knew who D1 was. (I'm pretty sure this couple have no idea who I am -- I lack any importance or relevance to them in life for them to even notice me). The wife smiled, and then I said, "Well, D1 was a hostess in a restaurant, who you literally spun around because you weren't happy with a table. But that's ok, my daughter is a very classy young lady, and she forgives you." The power couple looked baffled. When you go through life pissing on little people, I guess there's no way to recall all the piss-ees... D1 was flabbergasted and shocked. She had let it pass -- why would I bring this up. Even though I didn't really make a scene, or curse the pig as I wanted to, or even raise my voice beyone my evil, smiling cadence, I explained that NO ONE gets to mess with our family. What did I accomplish? Little, of course. I noticed the couple during the hour they deigned to stay, and their heads were on a swivel -- how else of importance might be there? Whatever. All I know is, if I give advice to women, it's avoid older men. We become crankier as we age, and more apt to call people out on their crap. We have more money, of course, so I guess there's a payoff. And whatever you do, DON'T disrespect my daughters...

New Doctor

So my sister, brother in law, and friend Steve the probate lawyer all showed up at Miami Jewish Home Wednesday, for the status conference about putting Mom into long term care. Steve did his work, and did all the necessary final planning -- Mom was happy and still noticing how "tall and handsome" Steve was. But then, a nice, gay nurse practitioner named Bruce told us that Mom was going to Mt. Sinai because of an intestinal blockage. They whisked her away across the causeway to the place Jewish businessmen and doctors founded in the 40s when they were made unwelcome at St. Francis Hospital. St. Francis is closed; Mt. Sinai is a leading medical center in Florida. Ha. So things were put on hold for awhile. But Mom is happy -- they put her on the 8th floor with the kind of bay view that costs nealry $1000 per night at a Beach hotel. The food is good, and she's liking it. They'll keep her a few days to get her blood levels and numbers in balance, to make things easier when she goes back to MJH. I spoke to her doctor last night, Dr. Levin. He's an orthodox Jew, originally from Israel. Mom thinks he's a rabbi, and keeps wondering why this clergyman touches and probes her. With Mom, there's ALWAYS a funny and endearing anecdote... As luck would have it, this is Urban Music Weekend, when hundreds of thousands of Urbans take over the Beach for 3 days of hip hop, setting off firecrackers to run out on restaurant bills, cruising the streets in rented pimped rides, and getting shot by local police and each other. The practical result is that local officials decided to really roll out the welcome mat this year for the Urbans -- by closing the local causeways to one lane, and checking everyone's license and tag. So getting to my peoples' hospital is rather untenable. Mom will have to wait a few days for a visit. Ah, Memorial Day. I was looking at my Dad's induction and discharge papers from the US Army. He went in when he was 22 and came out at 26. He was no warrior, but served and helped the effort. Then he re joined his family, worked 3 jobs, and supported Mom and his 3 kids. He retired at 60,and relaxed a total of 3 years before he checked out. He died 30 years ago this July. The money he earned and saved still supports his wife. With help, of course, from New Deal benefits, that pay for Orthodox docs at Mt. Sinai...

They Got a Name for the Winners in the World

Recently I spoke to an old friend, and asked after her son. He was always a great kid, who overcame a rough childhood, got through college, and started a business. My friend said that she was so worried about him -- he had many neuroses, and was "suffering greatly." So I called him up. He reported that while he had some issues, he had worked them out. He was doing fine. His life was terrific. Once again, one of the truest things I know proved to be the case: winners find a way to win; losers find a way to lose. This young man is, happily, a winner. He was going to live a great and productive life -- no excuses. Yes, he said, he deals with his demons, as we all do, but they didn't define him. I know so many others who live for the excuse. They're best typified by Marlon Brando in "On the Waterfront:" I coulda been a contender! Give a loser $1 million dollars, and it'll be blown in a short matter of time. Give a winner $10K, and she'll parlay it into $1 million. It's just the way of the world. So, it warmed me to hear from my young friend. As I grow older, I want to hang with the winners. They elevate you. Losers, although providing great tales of woe, suck the life away. I remember a great passage from John Irving's "World According to Garp." His mother Jennie Fields had begun keeping company with the Ellen Jamesians, a group of women who cut off their own tongues to protest the brutality against women. Garp finally decided to avoid the negativity, shouting "I don't want to hear any more of this shit, Mom!" And so it must be. They call Alabama the Crimson Tide...

Time Passages

Last night Wifey and I went to a party down in Palmetto Bay -- our friend Rob and his posslq Monica hosted some people. POSSLQ is one of those terms from the 70s no one uses any more --it stands for "person of opposite sex sharing living quarters." I guess it's sort of quaint. Anyway, we had some drinks, but then Wifey's back reared its head, and she left. Old friends Mike and Loni and Paul and Darriel kept the party going -- he headed off to Flanigans in Sunniland for a rare 11 pm dinner. I'm the newcomner in that group, and I joined them in 1983. Holy moley -- nearly 30 years ago. Darriel wondered if we'd be sitting around together 30 years into the future. She's older than we are --61, so that would bring her to my mother's range. I guess we'll find out. Still, we laughed a lot, as we always do, and planned our trip to Chicago in October to watch our beloved Canes play hated Notre Dame. The largest contingent of my friends are going this year. Hopefully Norman can settle some silly case he has, and join us for some steaks and football. I'm not sure there's much better. I slept late today, which made me so sleepy I took another nap from 2 to 4. D2 and her boyfriend Josh were here, and then left us to dog sit Josh's dog Roscoe. He and our sausage-like dog Vienna wrestled and rolled together for hours. Ancient Lab Honey looked on wistfully... It was great to have such a quiet weekend, but my juices are starting to flow for some travel. I think the events of last week, with ancient Mom, have prompted it. I love Key West this time of year -- the slow season -- and that place beckons. Wifey isn't up for the drive. I may just head down myself for a few nights. Wednesday we have the group meeting for Mom. I'm pretty sure she'll be a candidate for the nursing home. Once that happens, it'll be a time of relief. She'll be watched over and cared for, and we can visit her and bring her some peace and happiness in this final stage. Speaking of time -- she's had a lot of it. She's older than the original Yankee Stadium. She was born into a Bronx before that icon was there. She's outlived most of her family and most, if not all, of her friends. To her, the 30 years that seems so long to me, at 50, is a hiccup. 30 years hence, huh?

My Kind of Charity

Thinkgs have settled down after a rather unpleasant week. The move of ancient Mom was nearly a catastrophe to the very essence of who I am. D2 was with me, and we loaded her into the car. As I was driving about 70mph on I-95, my mother started talking gibberish, and then passed out. I started making my way to the side of the road, but thought that I would get the privilege of having my second parent die in my arms. And worse -- I would visit upon my beloved D2 the same trauma I experienced when I was 20. Luckily, Mom perked up, and we made it to Miami Jewish Home. Right now, she's still in the rehab stage, where they are attempting to get her as strong and mobile as possible. After that, it will be time for "long term care," the euphemism for "nursing home." But she's clean and safe and well fed, and I'm at peace regarding my duties towards her. Yesterday I took a day off from visiting her. D2's car needed service, so I left it and then took the Metrorail to my office. On my way home, D2 called -- she had been baby sitting for my friend and roommate Brian's three boys. She was headed to her friend Ben's brother Ethan's pre Bar Mitzvah project. Ethan got the local Sir Pizza to donate a portion of profits to an AIDS charity. To participate, one simply had to go there and eat. This is MY kind of charitable project. As I'm avoiding carbs, to I can regain my boyish figure in time for July 4th this year, I had a great anti pasto and some wings. I felt beneficent as I downed each wing... Ben and Ethan and their brother Josh and parents Julie and Steve are favorites of ours. Julie organizes a toy drive for the homeless each Christmas. A LOT of folks turned out last night -- a true testament to how popular this fine family is. I plan to take a small break from visiting Mom this weekend. Next Wednesday there's an ässesment meeting, where the staff will tell us the future rehab needs. The good news is that MJH is only about 35 minutes from my house, so I'll now be able to visit her often. Those 3 hour round trips to Delray were getting real, real old. Sort of like Mom...

The Other Shoe Dropped

Well,in August it'll be two years since our attempt to get ancient Mom to move to an ALF. She resisted, and somehow, eked out a mostly independent existence since then. Alas, the shoe dropped last week. Her caregiver Louise went over to see she was unable to get out of bed, and the bed and room were filled with crap. And not funny crap. After Mom protested that she was "fine," Louise called here and I told her to go ahead and call 911. "Four Giants," according to Mom came and got her and took her to Delray Hospital. I drove up, after calling Dr. Eric, and met her in the ER. She was weaker than ever. Eric ordered a transfusion, as her iron was low, and the tests showed her albumin was down -- a sign of starvation. As Wifey feared, Mom was eating little when we weren't there -- the effort to get to the kitchen and do so had grown too much for her. In the famous nursery rhyme, the doctor said "No more monkeys jumping on the bed." This time it was "No more 92 year olds living alone in their condos." Mom gave some token objections, but the time had come. Wifey called the Miami Jewish Home, where we wanted to move her before, and they had a bed. It would have been an ALF 2 years ago. Now Mom needs a full nursing home. D2 and I visited her yesterday at the hospital. D2 had sen her 2 weeks before, and was shocked at the swift decline. Still, Mom knew who D2 was, and asked about her boyfriend and life. But Mom is completely bedridden -- doesn't even have the strength to use the bathroom with assistance. I headed to the office, and got in a little work, and then headed to Trulucks for the most needed alcohol in a long while. While there, with friends Vince and Stuart, a call came from the hospital -- the nice social worker Ana completed the necessary work, and Mom was accepted and ready for transfer to Miami. Ah, Dr. Eric. He smoothed everything along, and saw to it that Mom had a private room at Delray, and all paperwork was done without her effort. He's keeping her admitted tomorrow, so I can spend some time with the Ds and Wifey, and steel myself for the coming event. Monday I'll head to Delray, pick up some of her things, and then fetch Mom. We'll then take the final drive south. I explained over and over that she's going to a place to care for her, but I think at some level she still thinks I'm taking her to her condo, and simply leaving her there and saying goodbye. I've asked D2 to come with me. She has 2 years of psychology study, and will need all of it -- to comfort Mom, and then me. David Letterman had a Top 10 List of things not to say to Mom on Mother's Day. Number 10 was "We're putting you in a home." How sad is this... Dr. Eric thinks she'll actually flourish at the home, as meals are brought to her, and she keeps her strength and most of her lucidity. Mom loves people, and there will be plenty to meet there. MJH is about a half hour drive from Villa Wifey, so I'll visit her a few times per week. D1 lives even closer, and plans to take my grand dog, a licensed therapy dog at that, over very often. D2 will see her lots while she's here as well, and as Wifey's bad back improves, she'll be a frequent visitor as well. My old secretaty Mirta plans to see her, as does Dr. Barry. MJH is close to his home route. I think we'll find a good Haitian restaurant and stop there once in awhile -- MJH is in Little Haiti. So the final stage is upon us. I look forward to dropping her at the home, though, like I looked forward to my prostate biopsy. Even less so; they gave me propophol for that experience. If you live long enought, you really get to see how much it can suck, especially when the shoe makes the thud.

Well Who are YOU

I met with an expert witness the other day, a psychologist who is seeing one of our clients for the emotional trauma following the death of her husband. The poor fellow was having a shed lowered onto his property, and doing his "momback" routine, when the crane hit an overhead power line and Sing-Singed the poor guy. Anyway, we had some extra time, and she asked me about myself. I guess I went on for about 10 minutes. And afterwards she said "Remarkable! You talked about your Ds, and your wife, and your elderly parent and in laws, and some friends, but said nothing about how you are." She's right, of course. Since I was almost 21 and my Dad dropped dead, I have become a caretaker. First for my mother, then for Wifey, then the Ds and her parents, and down the line. She asked me to consider who I was before that life change. I thought back -- as a 20 year old, I was about having fun with my friends and charming girls and partying (and studying as little as possible to keep up my grades). But life comes around, I guess, and if you're the kind of man my Dad was and I emulate, you DO become a caretaker. I guess it's just personaility. If you come to my house as a guest, Wifey is perfectly comfortable sitting on the couch talking to you. I feel a deep need to be the one getting up to fetch a drink, and asking if all is ok, and what I can to to, well, take care of you. I wonder what it's like to have the luxury of NOT having that compulsion. No I don't --I already know -- it's how I am after a few vodkas. Hence, my conclusion that more drinking is a better idea... So as a result of that short session, I'm going around reflecting about who I am. I'm nearing 51, and I don't want a red Porsche, so I have to do some more soul searching... How narcisistic! At least I won't do it on Facebook... Wifey asked me last night if I don't get bored of that social network. I truly don't --every time I log on, there's a laugh. The self important typed tell us about their creative processes -- and it makes me chuckle. My former high school mate, now a housewife in New Jersey, is always commenting about liberal stuff, and Zionist causes, and green living... I think I need to head down to Key West. Back in 1980, I was one bad exam from flunking out of Organic Chemistry. I somehow pulled out an A. I made believe I had failed when I returned to our apartment and encountered my close friend and roommate. He asked what I was going to do, and I replied "Head down to Key West fow awhile and sort myself out." Then I showed him my grade, and we laughed. But I was serious...

The Continuing Sandwich of our Generation

Well, Wifey felt up to joining the land of the living Saturday, and we headed over to Norman and Deb's house for some great food (Norman went outside of his "comfort zone" and made a truly delicious chicken dish) and even better company. We talked and laughed with Norman and his exotic, foreign born wife (she's Canadian) and enjoyed sharing tales of life. Alas, Norman and Deb have 3 aging parents, and somehow Norman and Deb are the primary caretakers... Then yesterday the D2 came over (D2 spent the night on Brickell with D1) and we loaded Wifey into the back of the SUV like a sack of potatoes, took 2/3 of the dogs, and headed up to my in law's house. It was VERY hot, and I soon discovered their ac wasn't working. They didn't even notice, even though their condo was nearly 80 degrees. We shared lunch, and then D1 and I drive up to Weston to drop D2 at her boyfriend's house, giving Wifey some quality time with her parents. Ha! As if! We got a call while we were chatting with Josh's parents, asking where the hell we were??? Wifey had had more than enough. So we fetched her, and headed back home, where D1 left for her place. Wifey was sad at her parents' state, particularly since her mother has become a full time nurse for her declining father. And, they're so stubborn, they refuse andy outside help. As if on cue, to increase the elderly angst, a phone call came in from MY mother's "I've fallen and I can't get up" company. Sure enough, Sunny had fallen and couldn't get up, and the service had called EMTs. In years past, I would have been in the car making my way to my least favorite place, Kings Point, but I simply waited a while and then called. Sure enough, she hadn't really fallen, she said, but had simply gone to the floor and lacked the strength to rise. Wifey likens it to a turtle that gets upended onto its shell. The EMTs were there within 10 minutes, and righted the old tortoise. She was fine, she insisted. She's surely getting more than her money's worth for the small Palm Beach County taxes she pays in these "golden years." Ha. "Golden years." More like fool's gold. So ancient Mom survived another incident. I'll visit her next week -- my co caregiver sister is away for a fortnight, so Mom will have to go without one week. I think all of us in this generation know things don't get easier. On the ride home, I pledged to the Ds that I will NOT become a burden to them. As I thought about it, my in laws, so naive about anything practical, were ALWAYS a burden on Wifey, and my mother, Edith Bunker-like, was a bit of a burden on me since I was 21 and my father died. So they just become more of who they are as they age... Pete Townshend was right...

After Three Days in the Hospital I Took a Turn for the Nurse

I'm meeting my old friend Mirta today. I wrote her a recommendation letter for her new course of study, and she wants to thank me by buying lunch. I agreed. I ALWAYS agree to work for food... I'm so proud of Mirta. She's had a tough life, mostly made tougher by marrying the wrong guy. She had two sons with him, but he was addicted to drugs and mentally ill. He killed himself, and, to use the great soul music line, all he left them was alone. But Mirta soldiered on, becoming her sons' mother AND father, working to support her family, and taking night classes to get a college degree. She started out as a shared receptionist for my firm and our sub tenant, and worked her way up to managing my shop. Her sons grew and now she has 3 grand kids. Mirta availed herself of state benefits, taking a hiatus from work for awhile, and raising those grandkids. But she always had a dream: she wanted to become a hospice nurse. When Mirta's mother was dying, a hospice nurse was there, and Mirta admired the woman greatly. It was typical Mirta -- somehow taking on the dirty jobs most people avoid. So now Mirta's in a nursing program, paid by the state. In another year and few months, she'll be an LPN. After that, she can become a RN. She'll be 50 by then, but still will have much to contribute. She and I are like brother and sister. We have a long standing mutual admiration society. And today we'll have a reunion. I have less and less patience, as I age, for the losers in life. It's a cliche I believe: winners find ways to win, no matter the odds, and losers find ways to lose. So much befell Mirta, it would have been understandable if she gave up, and ended up mired in misery. But she's such a winner, she's not let that happen. She deals with the alligators biting at her culo in the pit we all share, and somehow always pulls herself up and out of danger. Hell, maybe I'll pay for lunch after all...

Rising Junior

After a tad of back related domestic angst, Wifey drove me to MIA and the longest security line ever. I waited and waited --it took nearly an hour to get through, and that was on the "Special AA line." I finally made it to the Skytrain and my gate, and then boarded the small jet bound for GNV. Ah, I do love those small jets. I go into fantasy mode that I OWN the thing, and instead of a seat by the exit row I'm stretched out on a leather sofa, awaiting rock star treatment. The flight attendant came over. 60ish, like a near retired girls' gym coach, with short gray hair and a build that looked like she'd easily kick my ass. "Sir --do you realize you're sitting in an exit row?" I jumped out of my reverie, sized up that this was no hot groupie, and quickly said "Yes, ma'am, and I hereby agree to follow all instructions for the operation of the door if so called upon by you or any other authorized member of the flight crew." She smiled and said "You are ONE adorable man!" So at least I know I still do it for the older, dyke-ey looking set... We swooped, literally, into Gainesville, and there was a smiling D2 in a shiny red Volvo to take me to the AEPHi house. I schlepped (although I pledged not to be a schlepper in life, this is not so for my Ds) some plastic bins and duffels to the car, and then we said goodbye to a tearful Ali, her roommate. Ali is way cool, and headed to Italy and then Israel for Birthright (tm). She has a great summer ahead, but already missed D2...and was honest about her emotions. We parted, and agreed to meet on the Isle of Long later in the summer. Next it was the Turnpike, which around Orlando, is thankfully construction-free. We had originally planned to spend the night there, with good friend Elizabeth, but as D2 was so efficient in her packing, we left Gville at 2, so we decided to cruise right home. We stopped in Yeehaw Junction, a place that, after 33 years living in Florida, still brings me a smile when I see its name. I told D2 about one night I spent there, with my partner Paul. We were driving home from a road trip, and had dinner with Elizabeth, and thought we could make it back. Around Yeehaw, I got WAY tired, and we pulled off the road. The Bates--like motel was the only place to stay...we learned that next time, stay in Orlando... As we neared Delray, we decided to pay a surprise visit to my ancient Mom. It was around 7 pm, and we found her in bed, fully dressed. She was excited to see us. She told us, after rising, that she had gotten off little Susie to school, and decided to go back to sleep. Little Susie is my sister, about to turn 64. That hallucination was sweet, but then Mom, interspersed with reality based conversation about D2's boyfriend, and Wifey's parents, got serious and said "You know, Susan's dead, but I'm the only one who knows it. She and everyone else think she's alive, but I know the truth...but that's ok, I play along..." The temperature in the room seemed to drop. D2 pleaded with her grandma that her aunt was still quite alive. Mom just smiled, like she knew something we couldn't possibly understand. The great writer Isaac Singer used to say that as he grew old, he believed in ghosts. He didn';t fear them; rather, it was conforting to him to know he was between the two worlds. And so it is with Mom. She seems to enjoy these visions and dreams -- they get her through the long stretches of her self decided lonliness. D2 and I left and immediately called California. Alas, Aunt Susan was still alive, and mildly annoyed by our mother's hallucinations. "Why the hell didn't she kill off Trudy?" was her question, showing D2 that sibling rivalry lasts a lifetime... As we were on the Palmetto, amazingly traffic free, we called Anthony's Coal Fired for a welcome home pizza and salad. Wifey joined us in the breakfast "Knock," as my mother in law malapropped that space in our house, and we happily caught up on D2's sophomore year. If there's something better than having her home, I don't know what it is.