Sunday, October 09, 2005
Halcyon Days
October can be a wonderful month is south Florida. This October of 1988 has been particularly great. We would turn off the air at night and open all the windows and let the smells of the flowers come in. There are always flowers in Florida!
The days were in the low 80s or upper 70s as I remember, so we took to sitting out on out patio for hours on end. The canula setup Bamps had would allow him to go all the way to the mailbox at the end of the driveway, so he had no problem moving about on the patio.
It was World Series time now. Athletics against Dodgers. In the end my grandfather decided to support the Dodgers for old times sake, and because he thought Orel Herschiser was the best pitcher he'd seen in awhile. So far they've won the first two games. Life stops during game time. It all focussed on the Game. There were chocolate brownies for Bamps and Oreos for me. His team is ahead so far and all is well.
There's a doctor's appointment about his Kaposi's on Friday, but he's already decided he's in enough discomfort and doesn't want any surgery or nasty medications. Besides, he was 31 different medications at this time. Just keeping track of the times and pills and dosages was a handful for both of us. When Juanita would come with monthly medication stock-up, she'd use two big shoeboxes to bring everything. Since his heart and lungs would probably only last about five months more, according his pulmonologist, said he'd rather not do anything unless it would really, really help.
Much of the medicine is geared at keeping symptoms under check, since they show no signs of going away. He doesn't have any pain, just some anxiety from dealing with his "not AIDS" as he's taken to calling it. No positive tests, but in the end of November he'll be taking a new test. Maybe that will tell us what we already know.
But his illness doesn't consume his life. For him each day is as great as the last, and he lives every moment as it comes, the same way he did before "not AIDS". Get up at 7-ish, have some Raisin Bran and an Ensure, read the paper: headlines, comics, local, sports. Save the most important for last, he always did.
Harness racing season at Pompano Park was starting and he was getting ready for that. He tried to be a good horse bettor, and sometimes he won. However, I was better. Boy did that irk him! We would both pick horses, I'd go to the track and place the bets, and more often than not, I'd have the winning picks. I don't know why that is, because he he taught me how to bet the way he did, I just have a "second horse sense" I guess. I'd have at the program, but then I'd have to watch the horse and jockey to see how well they were working together that day, then I'd check previous races and how the horse ran on the track conditions like today. Then I'd say a prayer and bet. My personal best night was about $870. He didn't like to be alone though, so I eventually stopped going to the track and we both played armchair bettors.
Juanita went back to Jamaica for a vacation and her replacement didn't quite measure up to my grandfather's standards. He called her a sourpuss after she left. He also asked me if she seemed afraid to touch him. Unfortunately, I had to say yes. She was thereby christened "the Sourpuss", and since there were only two more visits, Bamps figured he could tolerate her.
Besides, he had the World Series to distract him!
The days were in the low 80s or upper 70s as I remember, so we took to sitting out on out patio for hours on end. The canula setup Bamps had would allow him to go all the way to the mailbox at the end of the driveway, so he had no problem moving about on the patio.
It was World Series time now. Athletics against Dodgers. In the end my grandfather decided to support the Dodgers for old times sake, and because he thought Orel Herschiser was the best pitcher he'd seen in awhile. So far they've won the first two games. Life stops during game time. It all focussed on the Game. There were chocolate brownies for Bamps and Oreos for me. His team is ahead so far and all is well.
There's a doctor's appointment about his Kaposi's on Friday, but he's already decided he's in enough discomfort and doesn't want any surgery or nasty medications. Besides, he was 31 different medications at this time. Just keeping track of the times and pills and dosages was a handful for both of us. When Juanita would come with monthly medication stock-up, she'd use two big shoeboxes to bring everything. Since his heart and lungs would probably only last about five months more, according his pulmonologist, said he'd rather not do anything unless it would really, really help.
Much of the medicine is geared at keeping symptoms under check, since they show no signs of going away. He doesn't have any pain, just some anxiety from dealing with his "not AIDS" as he's taken to calling it. No positive tests, but in the end of November he'll be taking a new test. Maybe that will tell us what we already know.
But his illness doesn't consume his life. For him each day is as great as the last, and he lives every moment as it comes, the same way he did before "not AIDS". Get up at 7-ish, have some Raisin Bran and an Ensure, read the paper: headlines, comics, local, sports. Save the most important for last, he always did.
Harness racing season at Pompano Park was starting and he was getting ready for that. He tried to be a good horse bettor, and sometimes he won. However, I was better. Boy did that irk him! We would both pick horses, I'd go to the track and place the bets, and more often than not, I'd have the winning picks. I don't know why that is, because he he taught me how to bet the way he did, I just have a "second horse sense" I guess. I'd have at the program, but then I'd have to watch the horse and jockey to see how well they were working together that day, then I'd check previous races and how the horse ran on the track conditions like today. Then I'd say a prayer and bet. My personal best night was about $870. He didn't like to be alone though, so I eventually stopped going to the track and we both played armchair bettors.
Juanita went back to Jamaica for a vacation and her replacement didn't quite measure up to my grandfather's standards. He called her a sourpuss after she left. He also asked me if she seemed afraid to touch him. Unfortunately, I had to say yes. She was thereby christened "the Sourpuss", and since there were only two more visits, Bamps figured he could tolerate her.
Besides, he had the World Series to distract him!
