Seems I Come to Tears at the Drop of a Hat Lately

 This is worth watching to the end.

 

I don't drink whisky but I just may buy a bottle of J&B

Gay Pride?

I met a delightful gentleman this afternoon while strolling the beach in Provincetown. I'll call him Luke.

We got to talking. The usual stuff: the tide, our dogs, what has changed since last season, our dogs, the piping plovers nesting on the beach, our dogs, stuff like that.

Luke told me that he bought a condo in town and moved here from New York.

"Culture shock," I said. "Especially in winter I should think."

"Nothing here in the winter. You're just left with the natives," he said.

"The townies," I said.

"Yes, and they're not very friendly, to any outsiders," he said.

"Especially since you haven't been here long. Two years. You're the new kid on the block. Even among the wash-a-shores," I said.

"I'm definitely a newbie," Luke said.

Did I mention that Luke is in his seventies? Somewhere in between talking about our dogs and the plovers and the early bird specials, he mentioned that he was seventy-something.

And that he remembers Stonewall and lots of the gay lib stuff that took place in New York back in the 60s and 70s and more recently. And being involved in gay rights, politics, marching bands, Gay Pride parades, Act-Up and all.

"I moved here hoping to be in a lively, artsy community. It's not," Luke said. "It's not as friendly as I'd hoped it would be."

Luke told me that his neighbor, a young gay man in an adjoining condo has been difficult to get along with. He didn't go into details. No specifics. Except that it had to do with the fact that he is older and his neighbor has no use for old people, gay or otherwise.

Then Luke told me something that nearly made me cry. Not the fact that his partner of many years passed away. No, not that. That is just ordinary sorrow.

Luke said that his neighbor's boyfriend, who he'd never met until this week had come to the condo for a few days. They crossed paths at some point during which the boyfriend, pointing to Luke, asked his  young friend, "Is this the guy you've been telling me about?"

The young man replied that it was. The boyfriend turned to Luke, stuck out his tongue and made a noise like "Yugk!"

Luke said he was so stunned he couldn't think of a response or a come-back. And for a New Yorker, that is pretty unusual.

I can't imagine a person treating another person like that. I can't imagine one gay person treating another gay person like that. I can't imagine a young gay person having so little respect for an older gay person, without whom he might not enjoy the freedom and privileges he takes for granted.

I can't imagine how Luke felt. But I know I felt for him. Not so much angry or humiliated, but sad. It nearly made me cry.

Gay. Pride. Not so much.

[So that is the caption for the tattered rainbow flag in a previous post a bit down the page.]

Gay. Pride. Not so much.

Even The Beach Boys Ain't Who They Used To Be

Thanks to our good friends Joyce and Robin who bought us tickets, we got to go to a Beach Boys concert today (Sunday August 18th) at a very nice outdoor venue - Indian Ranch in Webster Massachusetts.

The Ranch is actually a campground/resort (we didn't stay there) on "Lake (see photo for the name)" which, back in our school days we learned meant "Lake You Fish on Your Side - I Fish on My Side - and Nobody Fish in the Middle" which of course is an approximate translation of the Nipmuk words. You can google it if you are curious. Now they call it "Webster Lake" - it almost touches the Connecticut border.

The Name Was Too Long For My Camera
and I Couldn't Back Up For a Wider Angle

But back to the Beach Boys concert. One thing about the Beach Boys music is that it is fun and happy music. The Beach Boys were singing about girls, cars and surfing before the Beatles came to America, before Vietnam was a daily news story, before we noticed that the world was going to hell.

Unfortunately for us gay guys, they were/are very straight and their music was/is very straight. It is so obviously straight, and that they play to a straight audience; that being there at the concert one realizes the depth to which straight people dominate our social discourse and our culture. But I digress again.

We gay boys were coveting surfer boys while the Beach Boys were crooning over the Surfer Girl. But, at least for some of us, the music touched us even though it made us feel both sexy and a little confused at the same time. (I just googled various permutations of "gay fans of beach boys" and came up dry.)

There were other articles that popped up including those that talked about the Boys' politics and their split up and divergent tours.

We saw Mike Love (who has the license or legal right to use the trade name "Beach Boys") and Bruce Johnston who was an early, but not truly an "original" Beach Boy.

Of course they were good, had good backup singers and instrumentalists and they sounded "original" to my ears. At first, I almost thought they were lip-syncing to their old music.

They had just about everyone up and dancing, clapping, singing along. I must say I enjoyed it.

But when they sang "Don't Worry Baby" I got a little emotional. Under my sunglasses my eyes got a bit moist. Crazy, I know, but why?

I was 16 when that song came out. I bought the 45 and probably played it a thousand times. I have difficulty describing the emotions of a 16 year old who knew he was different and did not belong to the world that was occupied by the adolescents he knew - a boy who did not belong to the world of Beach Boys and Surfer Girls, but who felt a deep, empty longing to belong...for some reason those old emotions got a bit of a stir. Silly me.

Except for Mike Love, the Boys's Outfits
Were Not Very Beachy
(actually a few looked like they shopped at Wally Mart)

And now, at sixty-six, I am dealing with this age thing...seeing the Beach Old Guys singing and being all fun and nostalgic while trying to recognize some kind of continuity between youth and old age, between past and present, between the person that I used to be and who I am now...

The concert was a hoot, but I was seeing it all with a philosophical eye: aging bodies dancing and singing like we were sixteen again, like age was/is, at least for the moment, just a joke, a meaningless transformation, a jest of the gods, an illusion. The grey, the wrinkles, the flab, the waddle, the liver spots...just a disguise for 16 year olds, incognito.

I'd say the majority of those in attendance were over fifty, many in their sixties (like me) and seventies.

Mike Love is, what 73 years old now? Not a Beach "Boy" by any means.

We are all in this boat together. A boat that takes us on a voyage where we lose our youth, our hair or at least or hair color, our strength, our complexion, our posture, our hearing, and eventually our health and our breath.

We are all on this boat together.

For a few moments this afternoon, it was the "Sloop John B."

Surfin' USA

Depression, Teflon, Blogs, Sisyphus, and other Crap

I've been seeing a therapist since November. Not every week, but most weeks.

He's not a psychiatrist - I don't have high esteem for psychiatry since I my parents carted me off to an idiot shrink when I was 16 after I told them I was gay. He's probably a PhD or MSW, I never bothered to ask which. He's the only one at the local clinic that could take MediCare/Medicaide, so it's not like I had a choice.

He's a good guy. If he was a quack, I would have never scheduled appointment number two. Perhaps he's more of a counselor than a therapist. No one really does therapy nowadays - no insurance will pay for long term therapy, and really there is no other kind. I've done therapy and have seen more than one incompetent therapist in the past fifty years. A few OK ones and one excellent one. It's a crap shoot.

I sought out counseling this time because my life has become BLAH.

I walk the dog, grocery shop, blog and surf the web, cook, do laundry, watch TV, go to bed and get up and do the same thing. I thought about volunteering - I do help out with a few computer courses at the senior center - but I just can't seem to get my interest activated. Nothing interests me. Go to a movie, nah; go to a museum, ho-hum; go to the gym, ugh. Get a job - good luck.

So Bill, my counselor, said I was dealing with a life "adjustment" aka "retirement".

Until today. Today he said I was exhibiting signs of major depression, or "major depressive disorder".

He says I should think about psychopharmacology. Drugs.

I told him I've had no good experiences with chemical substances of any kind, including anti-depressants, sleep medications, anti-anxiety medications and pot. And I don't do alcohol well either.

I don't tolerate chemicals well. They usually have bad side effects or paradoxical effects. I avoid chemicals. I'm on no medications save an occasional aspirin or ibuprofen. So I think about going on meds and I feel more depressed. Like I should let some psychiatrist mess with my chemical imbalance by trial and error. I don't think so.

Yeah, I feel like shit. I don't enjoy my walks with the dog and Dottie and her dog. I don't enjoy cooking or baking, I don't feel like writing - I had nothing to offer in my writers' group, can't find anything that truly interests me. I feel used up, superfluous, invisible, dare I say useless, insignificant.

I said in the last post that I was whispering in a hurricane. And now I wonder why I even bother to do that. This blogging was supposed to be a way to do some original, creative writing. My blog has devolved into rehashing news that I find on the internet and reposting YouTube videos that are all over the place anyway. There are a multitude of blogs and news sites that report all the news, the gay and the anti-gay. No one need me to re-post stuff.

And being on here so much means I visit other sites and other bloggers.

A few weeks ago I read a blogger who posts commentary about Catholic/gay/theological issues. There was a reference to another site - a quasi-political/religion-related article written by some lawyer/theologian/journalist that I clicked on and read. Because it seemed it might be interesting. It left me cold.

The tone was, I felt, condescending, angry, disrespectful of the person it was written for, and reminded me of the tone reminiscent of the SDS (Students for a Democratic Society) back in the 70's or some other propagandizing rhetoric. I thought the tone "obfuscated" the real important issues that the author was trying to convey. I commented (on the blog that cited the linked article), choosing my words carefully (I thought) and respectfully, not attacking the author, but expressing my subjective reaction which was much, much milder than I've expressed here.

Well, the author of the article commented on the blog where I had made my comment and practically blasted me off the face of the earth: how dare I suggest he had "obfuscated" anything. He is a professional with umpteen plus years of experience who knows whereof he speaks. How dare I criticize his "tone" in view of the fact that he was addressing issues that mattered. Things of great import that paled in comparison to my subjective reaction.

I am not teflon. Never had that attribute. I don't know how politicians do it. Someone should study them and find the teflon gene. They most all have it - at least the ones who stick around. Maybe they can invent a pill that makes people like me grow a teflon skin.

No, I take things too seriously, too personally. People have told me such before. Slap me with a white glove - and I bleed to death. I don't have the chutzpah to come back at you. I lose my voice, I'm at a loss for words, I become nobody. I won't ever win a war of words - or a physical fight either. I am no Panti Bliss.

When I decided to comment to that article, I felt anxious. I knew that perhaps my reaction was one others might have had, but maybe felt intimidated to express. I hesitated, but then I said my two cents. And then I found myself out front - a target of this author's intimidation. And I guess I allowed myself to be intimidated rather than to carry on a war of words or ideas or principles. Judging from his response, the man is not worth my time or words or energy. I became nobody. Again.

That was the event that shut me down here at Reluctant Rebel. That got me off the internet, at least a bit. That made me question this whole thing about blogging, about opinions, about civility and justice and truth and how to sort it all out and to question the wisdom of BLAH BLAH BLAH.

That was the thing that moved me from a "life adjustment" issue to a "major depressive" episode.

I have been shit since then. I thought that getting away from the internet, distancing myself from the danger therein, would be my cure. But it hasn't happened. It's just gotten worse.

Meanwhile I walk the dog, do the grocery shopping and the laundry, cook and watch TV, go to bed and get up to the same thing all over.

Sisyphus. My patron saint. I feel like shit. I've been here before. I guess I can deal with it. Drugs scare me. I'll ride it out.

Oh, and just so you know, I've had it with winter and snow and cold and putting on layers of clothing and lacing up boots and putting on the ice cleats and shoveling and paying the oil and electricity and being cold and not seeing anything green. So I'm not alone on that. The winter crap. Got it. Stop whining. Got it. Count my fucking blessings. Got it.

While you're at it feel sorry for Leon. He's living with me and my shit.

I Need Subtitles for Life

I am not a stupid person. I went to college and even managed to get a Master's Degree.

Leon has dyslexia but is probably smarter than me in many ways.

He watches a lot of BBC TV and has no trouble understanding English. I have trouble with Downton Abbey on occasion and once even turned on the closed caption so I wouldn't miss anything.

Leon pointed out this Budweiser commercial and said "It's cute, watch it."

So I did. I said, "Yeah, it is cute. But I didn't get the story. The lady wants to adopt a puppy. The puppy went to say goodbye to the horse. Then the cute guy who had the puppies gives the puppy to the lady. The lady and the puppy drive off with the husband. Then the horses come and attack the car as they're driving off. And the puppy gets out and runs with the horses. I don't get it. The story doesn't make sense. And what are they advertising anyway?"

Leon: "You need subtitles for everything in your life."

Technology: You Can Bleed To Death If You're On The Cutting Edge - OR - The Rebel vs Technology - OR - This Is Not Walden Pond But We Do Grow Christmas Trees

I don't handle change well.

A few weeks back Leon and I decided to buy a new stove. He says because I like to cook that I should have a decent stove. I'd been putting it off for years because I was turned off by the electronics that are a part of almost all new ranges. My old gas stove was from the Sears Dent-and-Scratch Store.

It had dials. On, Off. Oven On, Set the temperature, Cook, turn Off. Simple. It had pilot lights. When the power was out for a week we were able to use the cooktop and the oven.

The new ones need 110AC to operate the oven.

I used the new stove to cook Thanksgiving Dinner for the family. It was OK. But I have a few observations.

The new stove is a Samsung. Now, don't they make computers? And Smart Phones? My question is why can't they make a smart stove?

The other day I turned on the oven to preheat. Several minutes later, I find the oven cold. Well, Samsung made it so when you push the "Oven" button and set the temperature, you then have to press "Start". Well Duh. If I turn on the oven, I guess I want it ON.

Then, if in the course of cooking you want to change the temperature, you have to turn the oven Off by pressing "Cancel" and then set the new temperature and then press "Start". Way too many steps for a simple task. Why is there no Up/Down button for the temperature? That would make too much sense. Maybe they are afraid someone would "accidentally" change the temp, so they made it fail safe????

Oh, and when you light the burners you have to make sure you stop the dial at the point where the electronic ignition will spark. Now I was used to turning the gas all the way up, waiting for the pilot to fire the burner and then usually start cooking on high anyway. The other day I went through the old motion out of habit, was surprised for a minute that the burner didn't light then remembered to turn the dial back to ignite. Whoosh boom the gas ignited. If I had waited any longer I could have been toast. Ugh!

But OK, I guess I'll get used to it.

Then we decided to got a bit further into the technological world.

My antique cell phone finally bit the dust. Reception had become sketchy, the battery would barely last long enough for one uninterrupted phone call and the window was so scratched up I couldn't make out the display.

So Leon and I went down to the AT&T Store last Saturday and I decided to enter the 21st Century and get an iPhone. The 5c in White plastic. We've been on a family plan or whatever forever and so the upgrade wasn't too outrageous. Especially as I did not opt for any texting and took the lowest data plan. I can use wifi hot spots for free. And we got a "good" 2-year (iks!) contract deal on U-Verse internet and TV -including $100 toward our cancelation of Direct TV, a faster internet connection than the AT&T DSL, a rebate in the amount of the $99 I paid for the phone, waived installation fee and a free phone case. OK, so AT&T is not feeling any pain in this deal but the bottom line for Leon and me is the new deal is less than we were paying for Direct and DSL.

I absolutely love the iPhone. It is a toy that I find fascinating and entertaining. I can speak to Siri and she will find out stuff and dial numbers and write my email and spell it correctly too. I don't have to carry a camera, and there are so many things it can do, I couldn't begin to tell you. I can do blog posts, listen to music, there is a calendar, notes, GPS, Flashlight, Swiss Army Knife. OK, so I'm kidding about the Swiss Army Knife.

So all was well with that.

Yesterday we had U-Verse installed. Let me just say that when the robo-voice at AT&T says, "Thank you for choosing AT&T" my response is always "Yes, most reluctantly". I didn't choose AT&T when they took over our local phone company and now, well I haven't been impressed with them in any respect.

I teach computer courses at the senior center and we use Yahoo mail. They, AT&T Yahoos, changed the interface so many times it is now about as anti-intuitive as you can get. The instructor teaching this round of classes is exasperated and he is a computer professional. The senior center also upgraded (?)  to Windows 7. My frustration with Yahoo is exacerbated by Windows 7 - what Yahoos designed this lame operating system?

Personally my experience with AT&T/Yahoo is just as frustrating when I occasionally go in to check my spam folders. Sign in on Yahoo, sign out and try to sign in again as a different user and each sign-on screen is different. I tried to disable a never used email address and was redirected to three different pages and had to sign in with my user name and password each time. I started at Yahoo and ended up at AT&T; U-Verse got into the act too at some point. AT&T has an identity problem: are they AT&T, Yahoo, U-Verse, or what.

Anyhow, U-Verse is installed; the internet connection is faster (6.0+) but not near the 12.0 ("up to" as AT&T promised).

The TV also does not allow for more than two TV's or one TV and one recording in HD at a time. AT&T NEVER tells you this. They don't exactly address the issue, so they don't directly mislead the consumer. Record up to 4 shows at once - but NOT all in HD. And, Oh it depends on your distance from whatever and the lines, and and and...

We got an error message on the TV that directed us to call AT&T support. We were on the phone for quite some time and she had me registering a new account on the AT&T website, a new user name and temporary password; I had to change password and the passwords I chose were rejected and she didn't know why as they all met the "criteria". Then there were "security questions". Like AT&T website is a Bank and someone might get into my account and withdraw 3 million dollars or something!!!!! What BS.

Well in my opinion, AT&T is good at leading consumers to believe they can deliver more than they are really capable of. "You can watch or record "UP TO" four separate shows" but not necessarily all in HD.  We can piss and moan about the remote, the guide, the way stations are listed, etc. etc.

We just don't do CHANGE well.

Last but not least, when they set up the U-verse, of course the printer couldn't connect wirelessly. I thought I knew how to reset it, but I got off track and deleted then reinstalled the drivers and software. I inadvertently missed one crucial software packet. I called Canon Tech Support.

The tech guy walked me through - actually we ran through at a good pace; once he identified the software that was missing I was a step ahead of him all the way. The printer was up and running in no time. The tech was knowledgeable, clear, logical, anticipated each step, and was above all HELPFUL.

AT&T could use a lesson from Canon on customer service.

*********************************

And just a little something for the season. We have a hillside full of small evergreen trees that I have planted over the years.

There was a pair of Siamese Twins - two trees fused into a single trunk as seedlings and I decided that one would be cut down to let the other develop fully; the one that I cut will be our Charlie Brown Tree this year.

This Year's Charlie Brown Tree

And today we got our first real snow of the season...not as bad as some places.

So that's my story of cutting edge technology. And Walden Pond looks better and better.  Nature is, when all is said and done, where I feel most at home and at peace.

So Leon and I took a walk in the woods with our dog Benni. It was so quiet with the new snow muffling any sound. It was peaceful and healing to get away from the technology and hassles of modern life... away from the stove, the U-Verse, the TV, the computer...but I did bring my iPhone. Never know when you might encounter a big hungry bear...hum.

A September Verse 2013

Existentialism Revisited

I never believed in the wisdom of living for today

because today always seems as much an illusion

as yesterday and tomorrow

Unless what they really meant was to live without self-consciousness

which only Zen monks and Zorbas

and Grandmothers do

My Grandmother was like that:

never needing to reflect on her purpose in life

or whether life had any meaning

the question itself just non-sense

like Red Skelton on the black and white

in her sparse living room

Her later years not so much golden

as coal black and bleak with loneliness

the only purpose left her

was lighting candles in front of the Virgin on Sundays

and frying chicken wings for Frankie

whenever he stopped in to say by his presence that he hadn’t forgotten

She was content to fry chicken then on the spur of the moment

and before you knew it she’d be shoving a plate in front of you

saying, “Mangia, mangia”

and feeding you stories along with Italian bread and cold eggplant

and instant coffee

stories about the meaning of her life

I’m not sure that chicken wings are the meaning of life

no matter how crispy and juicy and salty

and I’m equally uncertain about lighting candles

in front of stone cold Virgins

who would likely think it silly even if they

could really answer our prayers

Now, at sixty-five, I find fault with gardens

and pick off vegetables like I want to be done with it

and I curse libraries because they have too many books

and I get angry at beaches if the wind is too windy or the sun is not sunny

and I pick off friends and acquaintances and strangers alike

who disappoint or annoy me with their tedium

and I close more doors now than I open

(c) 2013 Frank DeFrancesco

Should Have Bought a Lottery TIcket

Yesterday was, like last night's dinner (See Dinner's Ready) simple and picture perfect.

Not only was I not bothered by those all too common aches and pains, but the weather was perfect. After our morning hike, Dottie and I went to pick blueberries at a beautiful blueberry farm in Goshen in Litchfield County - a picturesque corner of Connecticut.

On the way to Dottie's house I got within three inches of getting rear-ended by a truck. Talk about luck. I was stopped for traffic and this truck driver either wasn't paying attention or didn't realize traffic had stopped. I heard BRAKES screeching and heard a loud CRASH and saw break smoke behind me. The truck had stopped three inches from my rear bumper but the guy in back of him wasn't so lucky. He rear-ended the truck in what had to be a nasty crash.

Later I went over to the local office of Environmental Protection/Forestry Department to get my Charter Oak Pass - a FREE lifetime pass for Seniors for all our State Parks. I am determined to make my age work for me as the guy in the mirror will never be twenty-three again.

Anyhow, yesterday was a gem. I should have bought a lottery ticket, but no sense in that I guess.

There is an interesting old farm water tower on the property of the Environmental Office. The sky was quite spectacular too.

We are looking forward to spending some time at a new gay campground in New Hampshire soon. And then our yearly camping trip to Provincetown - my most favorite place ever - not so much the town as the natural beauty of the place - the ocean and beaches and trails and dunes - and the idyllic, but not quite bucolic, lifestyle of as little clothing as possible, barefooted in the sand and the warmth of the sun on the old bones.

Heaven. Who needs a lottery ticket?

Adventures in Health Care - My Liver

I hope that this topic does not become a regular feature here at RR.  At my age, anything is possible however.

Back in September of 2010, while vacationing in Provincetown, I had an annoying discomfort just below my right ribcage.   I had experienced this before and the discomfort always went away within a few days and wouldn't recur for months.  Out of sight out of mind, so to speak.  When it wasn't bothering me, I didn't give it a thought.

This was all pretty much according to my philosophy: if you wait a while, generally three months, the pain or ache or whatever goes away.   Like when I threw that rock out of the garden one day and my right shoulder kind of went "crunch".  I don't know if it was a sprain, or what, because I never got it looked at.  For a while I had to bring my left hand to the assistance of my right arm - just to hang my bathrobe on a hook.  I waited three months.  It got a little better, but not much.  I waited another three months.  It would get a bit better, then worse.  Well, it took about two years more and it's as good as new.  OK, so the three month rule doesn't always apply.

So with the pain in my side, I figured.

During my yearly physical back in November, 2011, the doc asked if there was anything that I was concerned about.  I started to say, "No, nothing."  But then I figured, what the hell, I'll tell her.  Well I mentioned three things.  One was an infection that started with a hangnail on my left middle finger;  the second was the discomfort under my rib cage and the third was a sinus problem.

Well, I guess the doc now had something to do.  She prescribed an anti-biotic for the finger and made referrals for the ache in my side and sinus problem.  So began my adventure in health care.  I  am fortunate that my complaints were minor in comparison to people with real health issues.

To make two long stories short, the hang nail was finally cured around July or August of this year 2012 after three courses of two different antibiotics and a surgical lancing which was not done by my primary care physician, but by a surgeon and which came with a hefty bill to the insurance company.  I could have done it myself with a new single edge razor.  So, even with medical care, my hang nail took about nine months to cure.  My fingernail still has scars from the infection.

The sinus problem was dealt with by an Ear-Nose-Throat Doc and Flo-nase.  Knowing that my insurance is crap, I had verified several times that the Doc accepted my insurance and even had the receptionist write that on my co-pay receipt.  Turned out, the receptionist called me at home later to say I could not come back for a follow-up visit because they did not, in fact, take my insurance at that office.  Good thing the sinus problem cleared up with the flo-nase.

The third story - the pain in my right side, began with blood work and a referral for ultrasound of my gall bladder.  The gall bladder was OK, and the blood tests were good except one showed an auto-immune antibody for smooth muscle - the liver - which might indicate that my body was attacking my liver, or so I understood.

So Primary Doc sends me for a MRI and to a rheumatologist because they deal with auto-immune diseases.  The MRI showed an enlarged liver.

It took a couple of months to get an appointment with the rheumatologist.  The rheumatologist said "I don't know why you were referred to me, you need to see a hepatologist - a liver specialist."  But I still had to pay my co-pay for the rheumatologist, of course.

That referral to the liver doctor took another three weeks.  I had more blood tests.  More co-pays and something called "co-insurance".  The hepatologist said, "Much ado about nothing, but I want to do some more blood tests."  By the time the blood tests came back, I was experiencing a discomfort lower in the right side of my abdomen and my checkbook.  I was thinking I'd developed a hernia because one day when I had bent over it felt like my innards had turned inside out.

About four weeks later the hepatologist said the blood test were normal, except for high triglycerides, which I've always had.  I was assured that I probably did not have a hernia, but that I should have a liver biopsy.

That took about another four weeks to schedule.  I had to have more blood tests and co-pays first.

So today, a year after I told my Doc that I had some discomfort in the area below my right ribcage, I had a liver biopsy.

I would not recommend having one, just for fun.

The hepatologist was very good, explained everything during the procedure and was very accurate and precise.  I tried to relax during the procedure by pretending to be One With The Universe.  After the somewhat painful local anesthesia, the actual needle insertion was instantaneous and hardly felt. But there was an immediate pain as soon as the needle had done its job, like being punched in the gut.

It made me think how painful it must be to be shot with a bullet or stabbed in the gut with a knife.  And how there is way too much violence on TV.  And how people should not do such things to others.  I was on a minimal dose of pain medication.

The recovery required two hours laying on my right side to prevent internal bleeding.  I had a good dose of  IV pain medication that was very nice, but I couldn't help wondering if the insurance would cover it.  I had peed at 8 AM.  The procedure and first two hours in recovery brought me to 12 noon.  They were dripping a quart of saline by IV into my vein during that time and if you don't think I had to pee by 10:30 AM, you'd be wrong.  The nurse brought in the "urinal".

Leon says that the moon and stars must align for me to pee in a public place.  There was no way my faucet would open while laying on my side, especially with all the hustle and bustle just beyond the curtain and the nurse waiting for a result.  I can't pee under duress, like if someone is waiting to use the urinal I'm trying to use at the Pennsylvania rest area after three hours on the road -  even with a bladder ready to burst.

I tried four different times between 10:30 and noon.  Finally at noon I was allowed to sit upright and I scooched off the bed, against orders, to pee standing up - the way nature intended.  Then I begged for a blueberry muffin and orange juice.  I was wondering if that would be added to the bill for charges the insurance would not cover: Blueberry muffin, $15.98, Orange juice, $9.47.

So now I must wait a week or two for the biopsy results.  And for the hospital bill for what the insurance didn't pay.  That will be a whole different adventure.

P.S. Leon took pictures of me in the recovery room on his phone, but it is an old phone, not at all smart, and we need to figure out how to download the photos to the computer.  So no pics on this post for  now.  Maybe tomorrow, if I don't look like a 64 year old who's just had a liver biopsy.

UPDATE: Results of the biopsy showed only a fatty liver - something like fois gras before being paté.
I should eat a low-fat, low-calorie diet and lose weight.  That was it.  I guess that means little or no cheese or dairy, not bacon or sausage, little or no pasta or bread and definitely no cookies (yeah, right) no occasional glass of wine or beer.  Una cena senza vino (pasta, pane, biscotti, gelato, formaggio) e come una giornata senza sole.