Benny's Journey (or I'll Live Until I Die)

I have been sidelines by an acute attack of Meniere's disease. That is a nasty inner ear problem that makes you feels like you've been chugging beer and slugging down shots of whiskey while you are being twirled around in NASA's vomit comet and there's a balloon in your ear that's going to explode any minute. It ain't fun folks.

But it's almost over.

See you next week.

Bamps was already bored beyond belief by day four. Aside from the fact he was in isolation, the TV wasn't turned on until almost 4 pm, which means he missed his favorite sports games over the weekend. In order of preference, his favorite games were baseball, golf, bowling and anything that involved a horse running across a finish line. He never participated in any of them, but he loved to watch them.

I could always understand the baseball. And his favorite team was "the Yankees and whoever played the Mets". The World Series just wasn't another game around our house - especially if the Yankees were playing - but if they were in the World Series it became an event which surpassed Christmas and New Years! Only it was spread out over a few days, kind of like Hanukkah but with Cracker Jacks and beer.

The golf was really boring, or so I thought, but he and Nany would watch it all the time. They'd have loved Tiger Woods! With all the golf courses in Florida you'd think he would have taken it up. I asked him why he didn't and he said when they air conditioned golf courses he'd think about it...besides, the hitting a little white ball might make a person late for the 19th hole!

The bowling was understandable. He and my grandmother bowled when they were younger, I bowled, my parents bowled. The whole family bowled. I even had a cousin who liked it so much he kept trying to go pro for at least 20 years. But watching it on television was another matter. Still, it was a sport and it was televised.

He never got the hang of football though, so he rarely watched it for game, preferring to watch it for the cheerleaders instead.

My grandmother had slightly different tastes in television sports; Nany watched curling, bullfights and wrestling. Which isn't a combination most people would think of anyone's grandmother watching, but Nany was definitely not your average granny!

She used to curl when she when she was younger, until she fell on the stone when she was about 16. If you want to learn more about curling, click here. It seems to be a sport anyone can do, and although it's played on ice you don't have to know how to ice skate because you wear shoes. Go figure!

Bullfighting was actually televised on one of the UHF channels in South Florida for many years. It was on late at night, after the Joe Pyne Show, which she and I faithfully watched. For those of you who don't know, Joe Pyne was a talk show host and after he died the show changed slightly and some guy named Bob Grant took over. Him you might have heard of. Anyway, Nany loved bullfights; she felt the Spanish fights had more drama, but the Portuguese ones were less gross. After all, in the Portuguese ones, nobody kills the bull. At times the Joe Pyne Show and bullfights could be quite similar. And the cameras on both didn't show too much blood.

As for the wrestling, well...she loved a good fight, she loved costumes...it just made sense that she loved wrestling. Did I mention she also liked the roller derby?

Word from the doctors is that Bamps' fever was down, his lungs sounded about the same, and he had to stay in isolation because of his depressed t-cell count. He was now on several medications to help all his problems. And Dr. R thinks that, unfortunately, it's time to join hospice because his heart and lungs are failing. He is testing my grandfather for HIV, but the results will not be available right away. So we have to wait to some more.

There had been lots of stories in the news about how AIDS patients are discriminated against and even threatened with violence or worse. One thing Dr. R wants to makes clear is that if my grandfather's tests are positive, there's no evidence, as far as anyone can tell, that any caregiver would be at risk and since my husband and I will be taking care of we need to know the facts. He's very adamant about it.

The reason he'd been so concerned - well actually there were three reasons: Ricky, Robert and Randy Ray, of Arcadia, Florida. Living in South Florida we were practically watching their lives from ringside. These three brothers, all hemophiliacs, were at the center of a firestorm of ignorance simply because they had HIV and wanted to live their lives like every normal boy wanted to. Unfortunately, hysteria about AIDS was making that difficult. When the boys mother told school officials about her sons they banned the boys from attending. Lawsuits followed, and the Rayses home was gutted by an arsonist. Eventually, the family moved to Sarasota and the boys were able to attend school.

There's no question that home is where Bamps wants to remain, so Hank (my husband) and I move from our apartment back into the two bedroom mobile home where I was raised. It's a tight fit, but our two cats seemed to like it. I told Dr. R that I understand his concern and that I have no intention of falling prey to ignorance. He said let's all hope for the best and we'll deal with the results from the tests later. In the meantime, he's heard rumors about the thermos of Manhattans. When my grandfather said, he wouldn't do it again. Dr. R. said it's really not hospital approved, but he'd look the other way as long as it was a nightcap. And only a single.

While Manhattans went out of vogue for a bit, with martinis back I've seen a comeback on bar menus. Here's Bamps' Manhattan recipe:

1 1/2 ounce Johnny Walker Black whisky (or whichever brand you like)
3/4 ounce Sweet Vermouth
Dash of Bitters (or more depending of your taste)
1 Maraschino Cherry

Shake with ice, serve with or without ice. I'm not sure how
traditional the cherry is. I've seen it mostly with a lemon twist.

This blog details my grandfather's journey to his passing. It begins on Bastille Day, 1988, when he was he was hospitalized with pneumonia. A few days later, the pneumonia was discovered to pneumocystis carinii pneumonia, or PCP.

My grandfather was not a religious man but he was both very spiritual and practical. While raised in the Episcopal church, he eventually drifted away from organized religion. He and my grandmother both shared the same view on religion: nice idea in theory, but it limits ones relationship with God. In my grandmother's case, her views were shaped in large part by her Lenape grandmother.

You'll get to know Benny and Esther in the upcoming entries. If you come away with just one impression of them, let it be this: through all the hardships and joys they faced in life, they always knew they would face it together, with perservance and dedication and love for one another.

I have no doubt their love continues.

It wasn't until Saturday morning that the doctor came to see my grandfather. Dr. S was waiting for test results. My grandfather's fever had gone down but the thrush had become much worse so now he had that odd tasting medicine to swish around in his mouth. I don't remember all the test results obvious but two stood out. Bamps' t-cell counts were extemely low and the pneumonia appeared to be something called PC. Dr. S gave us the full name but PC was just easier to remember, not to mention say. Dr. S didn't have a great bedside manor, so after he left he asked one of the nurses to explain what he said. She said it looked as if he had immune problems, but more tests would be needed. Later that afternoon a pulmonologist came in. After 60 years of smoking, my grandfather's lungs had been severely damaged. The PC was damaging them even more. Dr. R said that right now, the best thing was to get the pneumonia cleared up and to begin respiratory therapy. Dr. R had seen my grandfather before, when he was operated on in 1985 for the aneurysm. He explained he was afraid that my grandfather had been received tainted blood and been exposed to AIDS. It would certainly explain his symptoms and the test results. So now, more tests and waiting, until at least Monday. In the meantime, my grandfather asked me to smuggle in some good chocolate ice cream and a Snicker's bar. The stuff the hospital called ice cream just wasn't chocolate enough. (I tried some and it obviously was from some previously unknown species of chocolate plant that tasted like milk of magnesia and chalk mixed with frozen Ovaltine. Well, more chalk...) A day didn't go by without him having his ice cream and Snickers! He was even called the "ice cream man" by kids in the neighborhood who knew if they came by at about 4 pm, he'd share the ice cream with them! By now all his friends knew he was in the hospital and were coming to visit. The most common complaints I heard though ran something like "gee, you can't see what the girls look like in this getup!" and "what run-over animal did they try to feed you today?" One of them even smuggled in a double Manhattan in a thermos for him that night, which definitely did not go to waste!

Links and other things are down at the lower left hand side of the page - I'll correct that tonight... The dated entries are a diary of my grandfather's illness. His journey began in 1985 after having eleven pints of blood transfused over a three day period, following surgery for an aortic aneurysm. He symptoms (fatigue, weight loss, sores that wouldn't heal) began in 1987, but were very subtle and were dismissed as part of aging. On Bastille Day of 1988, my husband and I took my grandfather to the hospital. He had recently lost a few pounds, which I thought not unusual for him during the summer since he was outside in the garden or riding his bike to the store. He was very short of breath though and had a fever of 102. Even without a stethoscope it was obvious his lungs were raspy sounding. We waited in the emergency room for only a few minutes because the triage nurse thought my grandfather (who I called Bamps) looked very pale and ill. About 20 minutes after waiting for word from a nurse saying my husband and I could come back to the examining room, a nurse did come out and said my grandfather was being admitted to the progressive care unit, into an isolation room. He appeared to have pneumonia, and possibly some sort of bacterial infection of the lungs as well. He would have more tests, the results of which could take a couple of days. When my husband and I went to his room, before we could go in we had to put on a gown and mask as a precaution. The doctors weren't sure what he had yet. Bamps' spirits were still good, although he was very fatigued, and really just wanted to sleep. He was also adamant that we not hover around him in the hospital. Since visiting hours were limited, our hovering ability was greatly reduced. It was early evening by the time he settled in and the doctors said all they could tell for sure is he had pneumonia (what type they weren't sure yet), some odd skin lesions, and thrush. Dr. S, my grandfather's primary physician, said that by the next afternoon they would have some answers. In the meantime, my grandfather would be in isolation, receiving IV antibiotics and fluids, along with a host of other medicines. Hank and I went home and I called my mother to give her the news. At this point all we could do is wait.