My Recovery

Hey everyone, I hope your Summer is starting well. Here's another update on my recovery. The news is all good.

1. My body is getting steadily stronger. I no longer need a walker. I used a cane for a few days but don't need that either. I now walk normally. Still bump into fire hydrants but that's due to the vision thing.

My legs can now also climb stairs so nobody is safe from a visit. :)

2. During the first two months of my hospital stay I had -- in addition to an autoimmune condition (myasthenia gravis) -- something called "ICU delirium." Extremely potent drugs used to sedate me led my brain to create an alternate reality, a world as real to me as this one is for you. Unfortunately  that world was not pleasant: I interpreted ICU medical treatments (I had 9 tubes inserted) as TORTURE by an evil group trying to harm me. I reacted to that baleful threat by ripping IVs out (causing a blood clot in my arm) and fighting male attendants. Ultimately doctors put me in physical restraint and assigned a PCA to watch me 24/7. During one quasi-lucid moment I told Robin I'd forgive her if she let chthonic people kill me.

I mention this ugly episode today to happily report the delusions are gone. I perceive our shared reality the same as you and am back to being the piquant badass I was before. My cognitive ability was tested repeatedly in the hospital; one neurologist said she'd never had anyone score as high (a perfect 100) on their key diagnostic test. Thus, all future expressions coming from me are authentic and not the by-product of hallucinogenic drugs.

3. For the first three months of my hospital stay I had a feeding tube inserted into my belly. It was awful: all nutrition and medicine were delivered through it. (Myasthenia gravis affects swallowing so I couldn't accept anything orally.) I wasn't allowed to eat food during those three months which sucked enormously. You have no idea how important eating is to our emotional health. I watched meal trays get delivered to fellow patients with deep envy. For solace I made lists of ambrosia I wanted to eat in the future. That reminded me of when I was a teenager: I frequently starved myself to qualify for wrestling weight-limit classes. (Everyone wrestled at 10-20 lbs. under their normal weight.)

On May 5th I finally passed the "swallow test" during which you're X-ray-ed swallowing to make sure food goes down the right pipe. Myasthenia gravis was causing me to "aspirate" food into my lungs, a dangerous thing. Yesterday I had the feed-tube removed. Shockingly, during that process I saw the tube is over two feet long. Imagine a tube being pulled out of your belly that's two feet long. A rubber snake was inside me for five months. Geez...

4. Last note: Doctors tried two common medicines on me for myasthenia gravis but both had terrible side-effects. One accelerated my heart so fast it became life-threatening; another caused unstoppable secretions that choked me and prevented sleep. Doctors finally found a treatment that works (Solaris) which is vital because I need treatment for the rest of my life. That third treatment is delivered every two weeks by IV, which can be painful. (I once had five unsuccessful attempts to insert an IV in one hour.) 

Good news: There is a new replacement drug for Solaris called Ultomiris. Ultomiris needs to be injected only once every eight weeks. I just qualified for it by taking six vaccines to prevent deadly side-effects.

Ultomiris is advertised on TV dozens of times every day. You see those ads even if you aren't paying attention. Similarly there are ads for other myasthenia gravis meds so, if you listen, you'll hear those words spoken too. Often we don't see/hear things unless we relate to them, like when you buy a Mazda Miata and suddenly see dozens of them on the road.

A big lesson I learned from the first half of this year is the intensity of pain and discomfort people can experience from serious illness. Sympathize with those poor folks -- whom you may join someday -- because their struggle is our struggle. Nobody is immune from disease and none of us should ignore the suffering of others. Appreciate your good health; don't take it for granted; and open your heart to the less fortunate.

Aloha.

Big Ralph

I visited my dad today on his 95th birthday (National Cemetery, Farmingdale). The experience felt atavistic. I couldn't help but ponder past paths taken by my ancestors.

My dad was born and raised in a war-zone (Germany during WWII). He survived aerial bombing and immigrated to the U.S. in 1952. Immediately joining the U.S. Army he fought in Korea and was naturalized a citizen in exchange for that service. Then he spent 30 years working as a police officer in Lloyd Harbor. He retired as Chief of Police with a generous civil service pension. Four decades of blithe ease in Florida followed. 

The only things that marred my father's life were premature deaths of my mother Barbara Jo (54) and brother Richard (33) in the early 1990s. Those dolorous events shook both of us to the bone. I was so crushed I nearly had heart attacks at the funerals.

I hope all of you have fortunate long lives and avoid tragedy.

P.S., Since returning home from the hospital my body is getting stronger. Daily exercise and out-patient physical therapy are re-building my muscles and endurance. Yay!

Recovery

 After four months in the hospital I finally returned home yesterday. It was a lengthy stay -- the last time I washed my hair Joe Biden was still President.

To celebrate my return I'm adopting "Stayin' Alive" as my new theme song. Sung by the Bee Gees, this hit opened "Saturday Night Fever," a brilliant film that launched John Travolta's career. Check it out.

I still have a lot of rehabilitation work to do. I'm agog to meet the challenge and effloresce. My leg muscles enervated lying in bed and need quotidian exercise. To assist the effort I bought "the Rolls Royce of Walkers" which strengthens your body while also brewing delicious espresso. :)

Do you remember me?

New York

Reading Jimmy Breslin reminds me of the New York of my youth. Back then the city wasn't only dirty and dangerous, it was corrupt. Bribery and patronage were pervasive. In fact public corruption was so entrenched that politicians openly joked about it.

My favorite line is from powerful Brooklyn boss Meade Esposito. Responding to a reporter's question about one patronage scandal Esposito said, "Hey, I didn't go into politics to become a poor man."

Abraham Lincoln

Today is Abraham Lincoln's birthday (1809). He was, of course, our 16th President until assassinated in office in 1865.

I'm not normally a jingoistic man but admit feeling intense pride when visiting the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C. The size of the structure, its humanity strike a deep chord in me. If you've never been there, go. It's viscerally moving.

Eight-score and two years ago Lincoln delivered his famous Gettysburg Address. Its occasion was the dedication of the Gettysburg National Cemetery. The Cemetery is located on the site of a Civil War battleground where many soldiers, from both sides, fought and died.

Written on the back of an envelope during the train ride there, Lincoln's words echo through the ages. Anyone unconvinced of the power of language should read these words. Here's an excerpt from the Address:

"The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated [this ground], far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us — that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion — that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain — that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom — and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the Earth."

Jimmy Breslin

Jimmy Breslin was the best newspaperman of the 20th Century. He achieved fame through trenchant writing and uninvited circumstance. Breslin's prose plumbed and found the emotional truth of events. Despite using simple words his newspaper columns were poetic in the best sense: he presented facts, facts, facts, carefully selecting those which described the heart of a story.

Breslin viewed life from the perspective of the common man. One characteristic column -- which became so famous it's now taught in journalism school -- was Jimmy's report from President John F. Kennedy's funeral. Hundreds of reporters from around the world covered the story conventionally. Not Jimmy. He went to the laborer who made $3 an hour digging the hole for Kennedy's grave. Breslin interviewed the gravedigger and wrote about his perspective. It was genius.

Jimmy Breslin was born in Queens in 1928. He devoted six decades to chronicling New York's power brokers, mobsters, cops, thieves and ordinary citizens. After starting at the Long Island Press (a newspaper I read in my youth) Breslin wrote for the New York Herald Tribune where he met fellow-journalist Tom Wolfe. Tom and Jimmy were as opposite as possible but earned the other's deep respect. Wolfe, a sharp-dressed boulevardier with genteel education and effulgent vocabulary, was a vivid contrast to Jimmy's slovenly appearance. Breslin came from, wrote for and lived among New York's working class. Wolfe saw authenticity in that. After the Herald Tribune folded, Tom and Jimmy joined and wrote for New York magazine. Jimmy later went off to the New York Daily News and after that, to Long Island's newspaper, Newsday.

What attracted Tom and Jimmy to each other was how hard they worked. Both hit the streets, conducted multiple interviews and did the labor necessary to "get the story right." Both prized detail and truth. Both revered journalism as a consecrated mission. Despite coming from radically different backgrounds, both united and walked in the same professional direction. This explains why my appreciation for Tom Wolfe spills over into respect for Jimmy Breslin.

Fifty years ago New York City was dominated by the "Son of Sam" murders. At the time the City was dirty, derelict and dangerous. I remember walking in Times Square during the 1970s sensing palpable peril. New York's atmosphere was accurately captured by Martin Scorsese in his classic film, "Taxi Driver."

David Berkowitz, who called himself "Son of Sam", was a serial killer. He murdered for no reason. His victims were women with long brown hair (and sometimes their boyfriends, if present). "Sam" was intelligent but insane. For two years everyone in New York was arrantly fixated and afraid of Sam. The randomness of his killing left everyone feeling vulnerable. Thousands of women cut their hair short or dyed it bright colors, desperately trying to avoid being shot. Wig stores reported selling out their entire inventories.

Breslin's paper, the New York Daily News, covered the story extensively and relentlessly. Since Jimmy was their best reporter everyone turned to his daily column for updates on the police investigation.

After the killings started Sam sent a handwritten letter to the police. He then sent another letter directly to Breslin in which offered admiration for Jimmy's coverage of the story. The Daily News gave that letter to the police who verified its authenticity from a fingerprint. The paper published the murderer's letter along with a reply to him from Breslin. 

Experts believed Sam wanted public recognition for his crimes and that's why he contacted Jimmy. Breslin's response was to tell the killer that the only safe option was to turn himself in, either to Jimmy personally or to the police. Breslin told Sam he could call Jimmy at the newspaper since "[t]he only people I don’t answer are bill collectors."

This issue of the Daily News sold the most copies in the newspaper's history.

The killings continued. After a lucky break (discovery of an incriminating parking ticket) police solved the case and arrested Sam. He pled guilty to numerous murders and spent every day since then in prison. (He's still alive.) Breslin died in 2017 at age 88.

Jimmy Breslin wrote literally thousands of newspaper columns. Some have been collected in books. Breslin just received his first biography which I highly recommend ("Jimmy Breslin: The Man Who Told the Truth," by Richard Esposito). He was also the subject of an Emmy-winning documentary ("Breslin and Hamill: Deadline Artists" [HBO/MAX, 2018]).

Few of us leave marks as indelible as this writer. Looking back at his work is inspiring.

Capybara Fever

Humans are weird. They ignore most nature but fetishize some cuddly animals. Like the capybara, a giant rodent.

The capybara is both a rodent and a mammal. They are gentle creatures despite their large size and odd shape. They can grow to over 200 lbs. They are also semi-aquatic which is why they have webs on their furry paws.

Capybaras have huge fan-bases on (human) social media. The New Yorker just printed an amusing paean to the capybara by a famous writer. He describes visiting zoos to see some and a long trek to South America to see more. In Japan there are "capybara cafes" where, for money, you can drink coffee with a capybara while it chews on carrots. The cafes have lines out the door.

The magazine author describes another odd thing. In Florida -- of course -- an animal sanctuary has capybaras. For $35, they will write any message on edible paper ("Happy Birthday, Gunther!") and feed it to the animals. Patrons get to watch their message being eaten on video. The sanctuary calls these "Capygrams."

Weird.