TRIALS AT ST TIMMY'S 47 ================================================================= THE TRIALS AT ST TIMMY'S -- The Continued Saga of Paul Ess's Rehabilitation ================================================================= Welcome to episode 47. I guess my favorite gurl in Clackamas doesn't really believe I got my leg whacked off cuz it got infected. She says-- You could use some line about having to gnaw your leg off one morning upon waking up next to a REALLY ugly guy whom you wanted to keep asleep. Demon made the mistake of asking me if I was having a bad day: 1. Some bitch came in here with enough perfume on to stink up the room. She's been gone five minutes and the place still reeks of Georgio. This was to bring in George's washing. I swear, they let anybody into Macy*s these days and let them buy whatever they please! Even laundry maids. In my not-humble opinion they should ban Giorgio. I think the "designer" of this "fragrance" is probably single-handedly responsible for the no-scented-products movement. 2. Buzzard has been yelling all morning since they sat him in a gerry chair about nine o'clock. He hates this because he can't turn and get off his sore back. I finally went to the DoN and bitched. She cringes when she sees me. I said, It seems like every time I come to see you it's about something unpleasant... But she had somebody put him back to bed. Too bad if they can't keep him up all day to keep him from getting pneumonia. He and we can only stand so much. His roomie hacks and coughs constantly and they don't bother to suction him though they have a sucking machine sitting right there. More rent money to fuck MediCare for is all. Avaricious bastards. 3. We had pretty decent roasted hamburger last night parading itself as Pepper Steak. I sent it back to have the THREE FUCKING TABLESPOONS of grease removed from the plate and the solidified "gravy" rubbed off it. I am not going to eat this fucking grease. Yesterday at noon they had that awful Asian Pork mess which is as greasy as a Texas oil well. I ate it because I was hungry but I left the saturated mushrooms and vegetables and poured ketchup on the meat to kill the wierd taste. My BG was 160 and should have been 130 tops for the conditions. So much for their damned pork. After a small, grease-free lunch today I was only 91. No matter what evidence I give them of my sensitivity to fats, they pay no attention. Their day is coming the end of this month when the state board shows up for TWO WEEKS! Hallelujah! Boy, are they gonna get an earful from me. 4. Nurseypoo just stuck her head in to ask if she could do the "treatment" on my toe. There has been nothing wrong with my toe for two weeks. _I_ am the one watching my sole remaining foot now. "Health professionals" are the reason I had trouble with it to begin with! They don't follow orders and they don't quit with orders which are outdated. Nobody talks to the so-called doctor and the doctor doesn't talk to me. :::::sigh::::: WHAT THE MOTHER _FUCK_ AM I SUPPOSED TO DO, ANYWAY? 5. I have a place on my stump which was weeping yesterday. The moisture comes out of a tuck made sewing me up from the last surgery over a year ago. The schmutz coming out of it is clear and pink and the tuck smells like a slightly funky pussy. (Yes, I know what one smells like -- which is why I prefer anuses.) At the least it is an irritated skin thing. At worst it means pus is draining again after months of being healed. Yesterday they smeared antibiotic cream on it and taped gauze over. Today nobody said a thing about it. I will look at it myself tonight when I go to bed. I'll poke my little finger in and run it under my nose and think of all of you. 6. Some shit CNA goes around turning on teevee sets in rooms with people who have teevee sets but no real inclination to watch them as they are either past it or asleep all the time. These sets serve only as noise pollution and to encourage the demented ones to babble all the more all the louder. I routinely go and turn such sets off. Mary Mary Quite Contrary across the hall leaves both her radio and her teevee on blasting when she is out whining in the day room. Maybe I can make myself so unpopular here they will find me a tardhive to go live in . Miss Ralph came by today to tell me his cousin borrowed his car and didn't return it til after midnight and so he couldn't go downtown to his playground parking lot and cruise. Consequently, Miss Thang didn't get any dick and I think even _I_ was starting to look good to him. Pleez. All we could do is crash cunts. Suffice it to say, Cuz ain't gettin' the car tonight cuz Miss R is gonna be on the prowl to find whom he may, ah, devour... He showed me the handouts from a seminar he went to last week at UC San Francisco Medical Center where they talked about what to do with problem patients like screamers and bitchers (like me?) In giving the material a quick look, I was amazed to see that the class of drugs called beta blockers have another use than treating heart disease. Such drugs are useful in combatting anxiety. It seems some concert musicians use them to allay stage fright! This sort of drug must be just the thing to give Aunt Hilda to keep her from wringing her hands and worrying over what they'll do for Uncle Jed who's been dead three years. The consulting quack at The ERR prescribed a beta blocker for me though I never took any of the pills. When I found them among the meds they sent over here with me, I thought they assumed my blood pressure might go up. Maybe this prescription was a just-in-case I began to exhibit the horrible screaming bitch-you-out temper some diabetics have when you act like an asshole around them. All they have to do is keep up the stupidity and it could happen. One of the office ladies brought a letter addressed to me at the tardfarm. It's from The ERR, another bill for the amount they couldn't squeeze out of Cruel Cross or scrape up from MediCal. I note they typed on it and highlighted in yellow, WE NOW ACCEPT VISA AND MASTERCARD. How nice. Put grandma in the tardfarm on the cuff. Pay it off later with 20 percent interest when you sell her house and the antiques. But for right now you can keep the old girl alive with every modern medical horror necessary until the lawyers can straighten out the will. Oops. If it's going to take everything grandma has to keep her alive and then you're gonna hafta pay off the bank with interest, why bother? Snuff the raving old puss. You're not supposed to have anything to hand on in modern AmeriKKKa anyway. Oooooh! New fish on the block! The new duffer is the closest thing you could wish for to a cyborg whose joint and brain grease froze up. He sits in his wheelchair staring blankly ahead until Mamacita comes along to take his blood pressure. She wanted Rochelle to stand by in case he started slapping her. You never trust these old farts their first night out. Here it is October and business is picking up, just like they told me it would. I need to observe this one for awhile. I think he may have the seed of a new dance craze in his tight, slow movements. Remember the German dude on SNL [Mike Myers] who was always saying Touch My Monkey? The dance could be like that except it would be slower and more resolute. Cyborg says, ERRRRRRRRRRRRR, yes Daddy ..... NNNNNNNNNNN, yes Norman ..... EHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, fuck yerself, Harry ..... ENHHHHHHHHH, yes Blanche ..... UHHHHHHHHH, yes Ma'am! We have here, ladies and gentlemen, 162 pounds of honest-to-Glub tard. I know cuz Gretchen just got finished weighing him. When they had a nurz on each arm putting him on the weighing chair is when he told Norman what to do... You could dance a little, stop and strike a pose and say one of the Cyborg soundbites, dance some more, stop and say a soundbite, and so on -- sort of free form. Shall we call our new dance The Cyborg or The Tard? Ah, 'tis morning and the sun is out. All of us on this wing have been wantonly entertained all fucking night by Cyborg. He didn't sleep a wink and neither did we. Cyborg says, ERRRRRRRRRRRRR, yes Daddy ..... NNNNNNNNNNN, yes Norman ..... EHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, fuck yerself, Harry ..... ENHHHHHHHHH, yes Blanche ..... UHHHHHHHHH, yes Ma'am! Cyborg say these things All! Night! Long! I finally fell to sleep about four a.m. I dreampt about a speeding long, thin, red snake which was pursuing me. I trapped it inside a bed sheet and a canvas sack. I hope this isn't Freudian... The only difference between yesterday and today is that he is somewhat hoarse. I thought he would stop when he lessened his raving about one a.m., but it was not to be. He appears not to be running out of steam any time soon. Nurseypoo came to see me about the hole in my stump. It's bright red in there and coated with bright red blood but no longer oozing or fragrant. She blotted up the blood and redressed it. It doesn't hurt. Maybe it will even heal sometime. =================================================================