A Tale of the West

Ever have a neighbor you don’t get along with? In this one place, I was surrounded on all sides. A couple of them detested me from the get-go. The few who took to me, the feeling wasn’t mutual. Perhaps the whole street was thus. I don’t know, since the ones closest in proximity engendered misgivings, I wasn’t going to expand my acquaintance to the rest. This was Navy town. Possibly filled with humans I find objectionable.

I was an apartment manager. The work was sporadic. Prepare vacant units for rent, vet the applicants, repair & maintain appliances, fixtures, walls, etc. Two properties with only 6 units total, low turnover. Mostly it was officey stuff, filing monthly ‘paperwork’ online for the landlord. For the 4 yrs I was there, just 4 units changed hands. The rest was groundskeeping: mowing the gigantic lawn, planting trees, shrubs, & flowers. The kind of job which afforded me ample time for writing & painting. A cushy gig for creatives.

During these years, 3 of my creature companions passed away. The first, my dog Griffin, within just a few weeks of moving in. Tainted by grief, the place started out sad. Went downhill from there. Not only isolated from family & friends by distance, a pall of irreconcilable differences hung over my human relationship. Not like I’m issue-free, but my partner was revealed as surpassing my issues exponentially.

Navy town seemed ‘The Town Where People Suck’. Granted, I had little exposure. Being an introvert, those few in daily contact reinforced this moniker. Plus 2016 came & went, so maybe many Americans were feeling they lived in that same town, only with a different name. In theory, I’m all for community-building. In practice, some communities I’d rather move far away from.

My routine was simple: write in the a.m., light workout, walk Sydney, paint, do some yardwork, stream a movie or show, read, then bed. Occasionally I’d cook some more elaborate dish than my usual fare when there were no other job duties to perform. 

One day I noticed a slight pain at the top of my thigh when doing crunches. I’d had a left hip replacement a few yrs back. It had healed well, according to the surgeon. Had I more closely scrutinized the surgical consent forms, signed under duress of agony, I could’ve had a clue about certain risks.

Gradually over the next weeks my thigh grew an egg. A hard lump was forming, ovoid in shape. Though I’d stopped doing crunches, it was too late. The egg morphed from robin-size to chicken-size to duck/possibly goose-size. The day I lost feeling in my leg, I relented & went to the ER (because it was Saturday). It’s uncanny how infrequent illness/injuries occur during regular clinic hours. Some people might’ve visited a doctor sooner, but I’m not one of those people. Large, hard lump near the groin, unless it turns black (symptom of bubonic plague), there’s no reason to worry overmuch.

No trip to any ER is remotely rapid. You either check in & count the wrinkles & gray hairs sprouting on you in the waiting area, or you undress & lie on a bed until you’re sure the hospital was evacuated & someone neglected to inform you. As day turned into evening turned into the witching hour then ticked into Sunday, no one even popped in to see if I was still among the living. I finally pushed the call button & a staff member poked her head in to say “There was a shift change & the doctor’s just been informed that radiology is ready for you.”

For someone sunk deep into an existential ennui, this was excitement at last! To X-ray I was wheeled. My respite from waiting would be brief, alas. Back to bed I was shunted. Around 6am the doctor appeared & said I had ‘a bleed.’ She didn’t even bother to call it some fancy type of hemorrhage. A blood vessel was damaged at the top of my leg, a possibility any time with hip replacements. Muscles press a vein against the hard foreign object in the body, & causes it to rupture. The resulting swell of blood constricts circulation, hence numbness in the leg. It would need to be drained in the internal medicine clinic, which didn’t open for another hour.

I was relieved it was nothing more dire, thought ‘in a couple of hours this will all be over.’ Oh, ye of simple faith! Yes, I got into internal medicine promptly. Yes, my egg was punctured with a large needle. Then they attached a long tube with a bag on the end. & it began to drain. Next they taped the needle to my thigh, put some cloth ties on the bag to hold it against my hip, & said “OK– you’re ready to be discharged!” Then I was instructed to make an appointment in 3-5 days to have it removed. At the desk to make my appointment I was told that I’d have to first get a referral from my GP. Or my GP may be qualified to remove it.

I’m not squeamish about blood, yet not one to flaunt mine either. While exiting the hospital I discreetly held my jacket over the gory bag slung from my hip– it did not fit inside my trousers & required being secured to my beltloop as well as my leg. Once home, I found new constraints to my life: sleeping was to be done coffin-style, showers a no-go, being comfortably seated on any furniture was out, since the needle was sunk into my flesh where one bends to sit.

None of my pants were roomy enough to accommodate a 2-pint bag of fluid within. Though I wouldn’t mind upsetting these neighbors, there was no desire to brandish my ghoulish new accoutrement through the streets. While walking Sydney I was forced to wear a long coat in late spring, reminiscent of a gunslinger hiding their six-shooter under a duster. That, or look like a vampire toting a to-go bag.

After 4 days the draining ceased. But I had no current GP. Getting an appointment with a new doctor within 3-5 days is a statistical improbability. One finally fit me in, but was uncomfortable with removing the thing. I got the referral. Internal medicine said “No appointments available for 2 weeks. You can be on our cancellation list.”

With no end in sight for being divested of my haute couture sanguine purse, I mulled yanking it out myself. I refrained. The weekend rolled around again, so I returned to the ER. The doctor said “You sure you want it out? It might hurt,” but I was now desperate. Seconds later & minus any discomfort, I was free. I could’ve done that myself days ago!

There’s no love lost between that Navy town & I. Though it wasn’t all gloom, I feel like it tried its best to fling ill my way. Yet like an unwanted crimson appendage, it was painlessly sloughed off.