Life at 29
1987-88 seems in retrospect to be the swiftest of all my early years. I have relatively few memories of the times and the ones I have are less than pleasant. But I committed to full disclosure, so I will soldier through. Now that the Stelle Group/Adelphi Org was in our rear-view, we started making plans for a future not centered upon the end of the civilized world as we knew it. Curiously absent in these talks were any thoughts of children. We were both reluctant, each for our own reasons as time would show. She had grown increasingly distant, and in response I became more internal, so with our afore-mentioned opposing schedules we both spent a good deal of time by ourselves.
I kept my job at Northeast Hospital for all of 1987 and the first five months of '88, which in itself was sadly a record feat of career stability. The female temptation did not abate, nor did my resolve to remain monogamous and true to my marital vows. In looking back, given the arc of events which would transpire with Denise, perhaps I should have taken up these offers. No, I definitely should have.
One event had earlier echoes that came from the previous year. Denise was taking a nap on a Sunday afternoon and woke with what most would term sleep paralysis, except she believed the source was more malign – she felt as though she was being spiritually attacked. Having had that experience at 18, I took her claims seriously, comforted her and prayed for her for most of an hour when she felt that the assault had ended. We both were shaken but as with all things paranormal the human mind tends to seal off these memories to deal with everyday life.
In this September of 87, I received a call from one of Denise's co-workers, Dawn, whom I had met several times before. She was in a panic, saying that Denise was scaring her and other employees, not with specific acts, but with the vibration of the place becoming thick and dark. Bewildered, all I knew to do was to get into the car and race there. Even I was shocked at what I found. Denise's eyes were murderous, and she immediately attacked me for making this impromptu-to-her visit. The others had huddled in the break room, two of them crying. I tried to play it cool, but even I was unnerved. The room seemed unnaturally dark and cold even though it was an 80+ day with no clouds. I tried levity, but this just angered her further as she stomped around performing all the tests by herself. I was finally able to get out of her that the lab had failed a preliminary inspection that morning, and that had triggered her anger. But this was more than being mad – I was not acquainted with the person I found that day, this was anger personified. After 20 minutes of soft-pedaling and being as supportive as I could be, something switched and the atmosphere changed to the relief of all. Many weeks later when I next talked candidly to Dawn she told me that physical objects had actually began moving as though my wife's anger was telekinetically moving them. I suspected a darker reason tied to the earlier event but did not spill this to her or anyone. Maybe in retrospect I should have. I could have used the emotional support for what my marriage was about to become.
My hospital was a training center for interns graduating from the Fort Worth osteopathic medical college. I became very interested in this set of alternative medical techniques after I hurt my back playing basketball. I was doing my work one night in a semi-hunched position when a friendly and quite attractive female intern saw me and offered to do an osteopathic manipulation when I had the free time. Later during those early morning hours I got on a table in the ER and she went to work. 10 minutes later, all of the pain and stiffness was abated. I was amazed and intrigued. After several discussions, she encouraged me to apply for admission in the following year's entry class. This motivated me and within several months I had all my ducks in a row and was given an interview date. It was the typical cattle call, culminating with me appearing before a committee of instructors and administrators to make my case. I can still remember being on cloud 9 after I walked out, because I was certain that I had crushed the interview. One of those querying me, herself a doctor, told me when I was shaking hands at the end of the 30 minute conversation that I had given the strongest interview she had ever been part of.
So it was a happy Christmas as I awaited the assumed-to-be good news from TCOM, a holiday that we spent in Panama City. We had bought a new car, a Pontiac 6000 STE that was the first vehicle I ever saw much less owned that had a colorful all digital dashboard, which of course is the norm today. Liz and Lem met us there, having relocated to Lakeland by this time with Lem finally turning himself in and accepting the fines and weekend jail time necessary to get his drivers license back. Liz was three months pregnant and was genuinely the happiest I had ever seen her. Unfortunately she would suffer a miscarriage the next month. I felt her pain from long-distance and in response I wrote on of my first songs “Sister and Brother” as a message of sympathy.
I received what was to me shocking news in February – I was rejected by the med school. Apparently even nailing the interview and scoring strong on the MCAT was not enough to overcome my checkered academic past and, to be completely frank, my complexion. If ya know what I mean.
With not even a year at her new job, Denise was recruited to join the Texas Department of Health as an inspector, and the money was enough of a difference to make her say yes. Little did I know that this decision was to drive many dramatic future events in the next few years. The job was 80% travel which meant that if her travel week overlapped my off-week, I would go 10-14 days barely seeing her. This enforced separation increased my sense of alienation from her, and for the first time I began to regret marriage not only with her but in general as a limiting constraint on human freedom.
After two years in an apartment, we got the house bug and by April had found a residence in SW Arlington that fit our space needs and as a bonus had an in-ground pool. By late March we were moved in. We weren't prepared for the neighborly onslaught that followed. It was a street mostly full of families with couples our ages or a bit older and people were either good acquaintances or close friends. The social whirl was fun for me, less so for Denise who was a far more private person. The get-togethers were frequent, alcohol-fueled and there was significant flirtation which made me wonder just how close everyone was. One day, my neighbor from across the way showed up, drunk. His wife, who was significant tiers above him in looks had been having an affair and was leaving him. I became an ad hoc therapist unable to turn him away so I had a built-in friend for awhile, until he found a new love and his ship was righted.
A needed comic episode happened at work. I had begun having casual conversations with a new security guard who would pass through the lab every hour on his rounds. He seemed a bit too conspiracy-minded for me (oh how my children will laugh when they read THIS!) but I was polite and would have some banter with him. Now for background, one of the tests we perform in labs is on stool samples, termed “occult blood” which meant hidden not able to be seen with the naked eyes. We had a dry erase board for communication between shifts, and as I had opened the last pack of these test cards I had written “NEED MORE OCCULT BLOOD” on it for the day shift to order them. This last night I was to see him, he came in carrying a cup of coffee with a smile. Both left him instantly – his jaw dropped along with the coffee cup that smashed on the ground spilling everywhere. He turned abruptly tore out through the door and I never saw him again. Two days later, my boss asked me while trying to suppress her laughter “what did you do to the security guard?” Apparently the story went, he had quit the following morning, telling his boss that the lab was a nest of Satanists who were sacrificing people! Not my first encounter with the outworking of religious-induced paranoia, and certainly not the last, but by far the most hilarious.
A few months later I quit my job after having one too many bad nights, one too many asshole doctors demanding I do the impossible, and feeling that I had too few days left in my life to be miserable. Denise was of course not happy about my impulsiveness but there was another event on the horizon that was occupying both our attention. Billy had reached the end stage of renal dialysis and needed a kidney. Just as in 1982, I submitted my blood for testing along with everyone else in the family, and I received the lucky ticket as the closest match. The surgery was set for July 21st the day after my birthday, and this would prove to be a life-altering event for both of us.
I kept my job at Northeast Hospital for all of 1987 and the first five months of '88, which in itself was sadly a record feat of career stability. The female temptation did not abate, nor did my resolve to remain monogamous and true to my marital vows. In looking back, given the arc of events which would transpire with Denise, perhaps I should have taken up these offers. No, I definitely should have.
One event had earlier echoes that came from the previous year. Denise was taking a nap on a Sunday afternoon and woke with what most would term sleep paralysis, except she believed the source was more malign – she felt as though she was being spiritually attacked. Having had that experience at 18, I took her claims seriously, comforted her and prayed for her for most of an hour when she felt that the assault had ended. We both were shaken but as with all things paranormal the human mind tends to seal off these memories to deal with everyday life.
In this September of 87, I received a call from one of Denise's co-workers, Dawn, whom I had met several times before. She was in a panic, saying that Denise was scaring her and other employees, not with specific acts, but with the vibration of the place becoming thick and dark. Bewildered, all I knew to do was to get into the car and race there. Even I was shocked at what I found. Denise's eyes were murderous, and she immediately attacked me for making this impromptu-to-her visit. The others had huddled in the break room, two of them crying. I tried to play it cool, but even I was unnerved. The room seemed unnaturally dark and cold even though it was an 80+ day with no clouds. I tried levity, but this just angered her further as she stomped around performing all the tests by herself. I was finally able to get out of her that the lab had failed a preliminary inspection that morning, and that had triggered her anger. But this was more than being mad – I was not acquainted with the person I found that day, this was anger personified. After 20 minutes of soft-pedaling and being as supportive as I could be, something switched and the atmosphere changed to the relief of all. Many weeks later when I next talked candidly to Dawn she told me that physical objects had actually began moving as though my wife's anger was telekinetically moving them. I suspected a darker reason tied to the earlier event but did not spill this to her or anyone. Maybe in retrospect I should have. I could have used the emotional support for what my marriage was about to become.
My hospital was a training center for interns graduating from the Fort Worth osteopathic medical college. I became very interested in this set of alternative medical techniques after I hurt my back playing basketball. I was doing my work one night in a semi-hunched position when a friendly and quite attractive female intern saw me and offered to do an osteopathic manipulation when I had the free time. Later during those early morning hours I got on a table in the ER and she went to work. 10 minutes later, all of the pain and stiffness was abated. I was amazed and intrigued. After several discussions, she encouraged me to apply for admission in the following year's entry class. This motivated me and within several months I had all my ducks in a row and was given an interview date. It was the typical cattle call, culminating with me appearing before a committee of instructors and administrators to make my case. I can still remember being on cloud 9 after I walked out, because I was certain that I had crushed the interview. One of those querying me, herself a doctor, told me when I was shaking hands at the end of the 30 minute conversation that I had given the strongest interview she had ever been part of.
So it was a happy Christmas as I awaited the assumed-to-be good news from TCOM, a holiday that we spent in Panama City. We had bought a new car, a Pontiac 6000 STE that was the first vehicle I ever saw much less owned that had a colorful all digital dashboard, which of course is the norm today. Liz and Lem met us there, having relocated to Lakeland by this time with Lem finally turning himself in and accepting the fines and weekend jail time necessary to get his drivers license back. Liz was three months pregnant and was genuinely the happiest I had ever seen her. Unfortunately she would suffer a miscarriage the next month. I felt her pain from long-distance and in response I wrote on of my first songs “Sister and Brother” as a message of sympathy.
I received what was to me shocking news in February – I was rejected by the med school. Apparently even nailing the interview and scoring strong on the MCAT was not enough to overcome my checkered academic past and, to be completely frank, my complexion. If ya know what I mean.
With not even a year at her new job, Denise was recruited to join the Texas Department of Health as an inspector, and the money was enough of a difference to make her say yes. Little did I know that this decision was to drive many dramatic future events in the next few years. The job was 80% travel which meant that if her travel week overlapped my off-week, I would go 10-14 days barely seeing her. This enforced separation increased my sense of alienation from her, and for the first time I began to regret marriage not only with her but in general as a limiting constraint on human freedom.
After two years in an apartment, we got the house bug and by April had found a residence in SW Arlington that fit our space needs and as a bonus had an in-ground pool. By late March we were moved in. We weren't prepared for the neighborly onslaught that followed. It was a street mostly full of families with couples our ages or a bit older and people were either good acquaintances or close friends. The social whirl was fun for me, less so for Denise who was a far more private person. The get-togethers were frequent, alcohol-fueled and there was significant flirtation which made me wonder just how close everyone was. One day, my neighbor from across the way showed up, drunk. His wife, who was significant tiers above him in looks had been having an affair and was leaving him. I became an ad hoc therapist unable to turn him away so I had a built-in friend for awhile, until he found a new love and his ship was righted.
A needed comic episode happened at work. I had begun having casual conversations with a new security guard who would pass through the lab every hour on his rounds. He seemed a bit too conspiracy-minded for me (oh how my children will laugh when they read THIS!) but I was polite and would have some banter with him. Now for background, one of the tests we perform in labs is on stool samples, termed “occult blood” which meant hidden not able to be seen with the naked eyes. We had a dry erase board for communication between shifts, and as I had opened the last pack of these test cards I had written “NEED MORE OCCULT BLOOD” on it for the day shift to order them. This last night I was to see him, he came in carrying a cup of coffee with a smile. Both left him instantly – his jaw dropped along with the coffee cup that smashed on the ground spilling everywhere. He turned abruptly tore out through the door and I never saw him again. Two days later, my boss asked me while trying to suppress her laughter “what did you do to the security guard?” Apparently the story went, he had quit the following morning, telling his boss that the lab was a nest of Satanists who were sacrificing people! Not my first encounter with the outworking of religious-induced paranoia, and certainly not the last, but by far the most hilarious.
A few months later I quit my job after having one too many bad nights, one too many asshole doctors demanding I do the impossible, and feeling that I had too few days left in my life to be miserable. Denise was of course not happy about my impulsiveness but there was another event on the horizon that was occupying both our attention. Billy had reached the end stage of renal dialysis and needed a kidney. Just as in 1982, I submitted my blood for testing along with everyone else in the family, and I received the lucky ticket as the closest match. The surgery was set for July 21st the day after my birthday, and this would prove to be a life-altering event for both of us.
Comments
Post a Comment