I was going to call this post an Annual Report. I've done several Annual or Semi-Annual Reports in this medium and they have been very successful if I do say so myself. And I say so myself because no-one else has bothered to comment.
Except for Judith B. - who is a good and loyal friend of the writer. And Lucinda, also a good and loyal friend who I've mentioned before, specifically, in my article about Volcanoes and Anarchists, or whatever it was called; which seems by the way, to have laid a big egg, since only two people have bothered to look at it in the past year or however long it's been up. What is it that is not fascinating about that article? Or, why am I the only one so fascinated? Will someone please tell me? I mean, OK, it's going to hurt my feelings. BFD.
Anyway it looks at this point, (note the time), [Started this in mid-Jan., dropped it until now, end of Feb.] as if this is going to be more of a 'midnight ramble", not that it's now midnight, but I will probably go on rambling into the 'off' hours, as they say.
Martha aka Mickey and I have been successful in avoiding Covid, so far. ...I, however, have picked up a real nasty disease. No, it's not something sexually transmitted; not transmitted by anyone, expect those people responsible for giving me my own particular crap-shoot of genetic miracle glue, which would be the race of mankind.
It happened like this: Several years ago, as a result of some nervous tension caused by two simultaneous stressors, one being that a good friend died; which left me sad and finding that feeling difficult to process; and the other being that I had committed myself to going to a book fair, to promote my book, The White Fence. I came down with Hives. Just on one arm, the right. Which I scratched, ...and scratched ...and next thing you know I had a staph infection, doncha know.* So I went to the V.A. Hospital*
That was the first time I saw snappy-dresser Dr. Last. He had with him a very attractive female resident. They both seemed nice enough. He prescribed an antibiotic, which didn't do much good. I then, several weeks later, called for another 'Derm' appointment and got a nurse who over the phone prescribed me some salve, which did nothing, and then further down the line I applied again, it was during Covid, and I had a Zoom appointment, (video over the computer), with Dr. Last, who prescribed a stronger salve, and over the next year he prescribed a growing number of ointments, creams and emollients, which I never used with the religiosity necessary for the effect, which was supposed to be to ease the itch until the disease went away of its own accord. At one point, I saw another Derm Dr., a woman, a Trinidadian, who biopsied me and got a report that I had something called "Grover's" disease. She gave me a new ointment, salve, or cream, call it what you will. ....Again, I didn't use it as suggested, instead went days not putting it on; all of it is greasy; all of it dries and then just adds to the itch. Finally, now we're in year four, back with Dr. Last, and he says I have Arthritic Psoriasis. There is no cure; we can only hope that it goes away of it's own accord, which it should do in no more than a year. ...The year went by.
It was getting worse. I Googled the hell out of it; and decided, to me it was obvious, that I had Generalized Pustular Psoriasis. My back had a big patch of Erythema, and my entire body was covered with pustules; something between a pimple and a boil. I was feverish and was having chills. I called Last and told him I was desperate; and he gave me an appointment the next day.
TO HERE! (To here signifies a pause of days, weeks, months, etc.)
Emailed Dr. Last with photos of my body. ...[Cute👨....] ...I was told to stop the Otezla, [We are fast-forwarding past where the good Dr. decided I was ready for the expensive stuff and first put me on Humira, which seemed like it wasn't working after a couple of months, and then Otezla, which is where we are as I speak, here..] and to come in that day. I was seen by Resident Henehan and Dr. Last. Last still insisted it was Arthritic Psoriasis. ...at his office I had no temperature and the chills had gone away..., but in my desperation I was snarky, and began to be argumentative with the good doctor and his intern, (young Dr. Kildare). They could see that I had been "picking" at the pustules, and both agreed that that was why I wasn't getting better.
I decided they were frauds. I fantasized that they had met in a penitentiary and cooked up the idea of pretending to be doctors. (I was getting a little nutsy). When I told Dr. Last that "if I have to live with this for the forseeable future, I might just take “the pill.” he considered that sufficient for a diagnosis of "Suicidal Ideation", and he called for the VA Police. In no time at all, (their office is just downstairs), two fully armed policemen were there. I was informed I was being "Baker Acted". Baker Acting is a Florida thing, where anyone can have anyone committed for a variety of reasons, ...in this case it meant I would spend the night in the psych ward. But first, they took me to the ER for blood tests to make sure I wasn’t "on something.”
I was fortunate to meet Dr Nisenbaum who was very sympathetic to my condition. He gave me a shot of steroid and sent me home with a prescription for 7 days of Cortisone, 20mg 3 times a day. The steroids eased the itch and for the first time in a long time I was able to sleep through the night; except that, after a few nights I began to have insomnia, every other night. Weird. . And, after I ran out of the Cortisone, the itch resumed its unbearable level of intensity.
Another day:
It's now February 26, 2023, and I've been eighty years old for two months. (Emotionally 17yr. and six months.) I'm seeing a VA psychiatrist. A nice old guy from NYC. He says my skin-picking disorder is the most serious thing I have, that it'll kill me; some psoriasis gunk will get into my gall bladder and I'll get sepsis. He seems serious; is treating me for the disorder, all of which is too upsetting; I can't go on telling you about this.
.....My sister is coming next week to observe my misery, and take us out for some 'Foody' food, which will cure our Socio-Economic short-comings.
....I've talked to God; He says I must "Be Strong!" Easy for him to say! (OK, I suppose I'm off with the pronouns.... ...I'm eighty. What do you expect!)
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*Doncha know is a 'Millerism", as in Henry Miller. I love that guy.
* My health plan of choice; details on request.
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