THE TRIALS AT ST TIMMY'S 27
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THE TRIALS AT ST TIMMY'S --
The Continued Saga of Paul Ess's Rehabilitation
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This is episode 27. This might be as good a time as any to
restate what I thought was obvious, the medical history I've had
which led to my being in a tardfarm and writing about it. I made
this reply to email a few days ago, and, as is my mewly repentant
practice, I do not identify the writer or his or her
characteristics:
From: Paul Frederick Schnellbecher
To:
Subject: Re: TRIALS OF ST TIMMY'S 26
On Sun, 14 Jul 1996, wrote:
> In article <31e839dd.235188@hustle.rahul.net>,
pauless@rahul.net (Paul
> Frederick Schnellbecher) wrote:
> with what I'm writing...>
>
> Paul,
>
> Just a curiosity question: how long does it take to deal with
> an amputated leg?
Let me give you the time table, because this process hasn't been
as simple at it might appear. I went into the really hospital
late Feb 95. From reading some stuff out of my chart I got hold
of later, I must have been a lot more fucked up that I ever
thought. For one thing, and we don't know which came first, the
leg problem or the diabetes, I had a blood glucose reading of 812
on admittance. Some people are in a coma or dead at that high a
concentration. I was mildly pissed off that I had to go to the
hospital because I couldn't walk!!!
It was a lucky hunch, I guess, that someone saw vesicles on my
calf and quick-quick called for a culture. It was necrotizing
fascista, a staph, and had been at work inside my leg for quite a
while, I guess. They did three debridements to clear out the
dead stuff, but it got into my knee and screwed that totally. I
was left with no practical option but above the knee whack.
I had a terrible time healing. I had indwelling infections I was
not completely clear of until about October last. I had so many
IVs of so many antibiotics that I no longer have any fear of
needles and probably will not survive if I get a serious
infection again because they have used everything on me except
the ones that will take out kidneys. I had an additional surgery
in July 95 just to clean out more dead shit. My stump was pretty
cool until that happened. Now it's a fucking mess, misshapen and
it seems to be rearranging its dimensions. I've had my fake leg
revamped twice to better accomodate what I have left and I am
still not happy with the way it fits. Because the appliance is
so extensive, it is like having a great dead thing attached to
me, cupping my hip and partly hanging from a waist strap. If I
crash my "foot" into anything, the shock gets transmitted right
up to my nuts. Also it's a matter of leverage. I have so little
stump there that I have a difficult time "throwing" the leg
assembly forward to actually "step". I don't like the situation
because the cup for my stump fits almost on top of my scrotum.
This is not comfortable and the proximity makes using a urinal or
even sitting on a pot without making a mess a moot point.
So far as physical therapy goes, I wasn't able to fully
participate until August 95. I am surprised at the enhancement
of upper body strength I have now. I can slideboard in and out
of bed now that we have a bed that will work for the purpose. My
remaining leg is fairly strong. I need to work on it to
ocassionally stand, but I am fearful of trying to pivot. I have
a terrible dread of falling which was heavily reinforced by my
wheelchair tipping me over backwards unexpectedly once.
> I'm not busting on you, but it seems that it wouldn't take
> this long to be able to get around and deal with the world
> with one leg. Having never been an amputee (although I have a
> cousin who lost her arm [her left one, and she was
> left-handed] in a corn elevator), I guess I really don't
> understand.
Not to come on like an old bitch, but, no, you don't. I'd trade
an arm for my leg any day. This has all been more difficult
because I wasn't in such hot shape physically before the crisis
happened. I had enough strength to get around and do normal
stuff, but no reserve. What me exercise?!
> I guess maybe a little explanation of the whole process of
> being an amputee might be what I'm asking for. I did, for
> what it's worth, teach myself to write with my left hand after
> the incident with the corn elevator...
Now you know. And learning another way to accomplish a task is a
good education. My grandfather was left-handed and was compelled
to learn to write with his right hand. He could write gorgeous
Spencerian with either hand. I can write acceptably with both
hands as well, but I am only a penman (Chancery) with my natural
right. I remember he sent me a postal money order for Christmas
when I was seven. His writing on it was so "copperplate" fucking
beautiful I didn't want to cash it!
> BTW, I am also one of the many straight guys who will let you
> know that for some reason, I get totally turned on by your
> "Bastards who fucked me (over)" series. I have no idea why,
> considering that I've never been attracted or even interested
> in dick, ever. Not even my own, which doesn't quite fit the
> "normal" bill.
Now you gone and done it: You know I'm going to be tasteless and
ask what you think is wrong with your dick. Rest assured I've
seen enough of 'em up real close to know if yours is weird or
not. I think the turn-on value in these stories is not so much
that they're fag fodder as they are stories of what very human
people did.
> In other words, great job. Keep it up. I'm not sure that it
> sticks with the real charter of the group, except that anal
> sex in and of itself is slightly tasteless, but fuck
> that--they're great stories.
Yeah, I've had a little trouble reconciling getting into all of
this using a.t. as a venue. But there is nothing in the charter
that says we can't be socially conscious, I guess. I have
heartburn with the Bastards series being seen only as wank
material in alt.sex.stories.fag because I didn't set out to
breathe into anyone's crotch. I'm just telling what happened.
When I tie it all together, you'll see why. But there are more
tales to be told...
For such interest and compliment to come from someone associated
with the University of , well, aw,
shucks!
Paul Ess
* * * * *
"SUSIE CHAAAAAN! ..... SUSIE CHAAAAAN! ..... I WAN SOM
COCACOLA! ..... SUSIE CHAAAAAN! ..... COCACOLA ..... SUSIE
CHAAAAAN I LOVE YOU! ..... BRING ME SOM PEPSI! ..... PEPSI
COLAAAAA! ..... SUSIE CHAAAAAN I LOVE YOU! ..... SUSIE
CHAAAAAN! ....."
That goddam Chink next door has gone off between four and five in
the morning, three days running. He's loud enough to wake George
up -- nevermind me because I am a light sleeper. George says,
JesusChrist JesusChrist. I say, I wonder if there are enough
drugs in this place to shut that old bastard up. George says,
Ditto. I say, Why don't they put him in with Salazar so they can
yell at each other. George says it all, ST TIMOTHY'S SUCKS!
Now, for George, that's a goddam long sentence. And I never
heard anything more heartfelt said, and I never agreed with
anything more.
The only bad thing about sliding in and out of bed on a board is
that I am having to train the CNAs in what NOT to do. DON'T HELP
ME! The only thing you are to do -- and you MUST do it -- is
observe the board and warn me if it begins to come along with me.
Don't turn my chair around; don't release or set the brakes;
don't fool with the moveable arms. Let ME take care of all that.
I have to get the order of the steps down pat or I can get myself
into trouble later when I do this alone -- so I might as well
pretend to be alone now. You're here primarily for immoral
support, so get the fuck out of my way!
This week I have Magdalena from Peru for my morning CNA. She is
afraid to wash me too thoroughly Down There. Other CNAs have
said that I am remarkably free of funk, so I let it slide. I
remember one case from The ERR where this old guy would get so
ripe that when they carted him off to the shower you thought 500
pounds of cheese was passing through. I may not get funky but I
kept stretching the front of my sweats --er, tardpants (I don't
think anyone with any brains except me ought to wear these
things) -- and sniffing my ,,tesorito'' wondering if my pet fish
died. This morning I made her wash my balls right. Damn. It
felt so good I nearly got a woodie.
Here I am in mid-boardslide and in comes Danny the smarmy
maintenance man. He says, Hi, How are you this morning. I say
with unmistakeable queenly venom, I'm busy right now. He
absconds. There is nothing in the world quite like having your
ass between heaven and earth and then some dickwad wants to
distract you with useless pleasantries. Go off to your toolroom
and have a wank over a Hustler. Just leave me alone. No sooner
do I get rid of his uselss ass than here comes nurseypoo with my
goddam vitamin pill, the one with no full minimum RDAs, the real
Why Bother of Medicine. Call Guiness: I am the only person to
swallow a nasty pill while sitting on a maple board between a
tardbed and a tardchair.
I have letters to mail, so, since George is in here running water
for a half hour in drought country while he languorously shaves,
I make a quick trip to the business office to put them in the
hopper. On my way, ever disgustingly cheerful Activities Lady
announces, Don't you want to join us for activities today? (No.)
Don't you even want to know what we're going to be doing? (Okay.
Surprise me.) We're going to make Otis Spunkmeyer cookies! (I
can hardly wait. Does Otis himself toss spunk into the dough for
that extra flavor?) No, sweetheart, I tell her, I'm not leaving
my room unattended, but I'll come out and play if you hire a
rent-a-fuzz to watch my shit. I get no reply.
Mr Cheez sent me email saying, Toots, it's time you got your ass
outta that room and into my sidecar so's we can go see some of
the town cuz you ain't been out of the tardfarm on pleasure for
over a year. Miss Ralph came by this morning just bustin' at the
seams. The girl cain't he'p it cuz she went and hung out at GAY
BARS all weekend. I knew the chile would Come Out; it would just
take a little more time. And we didn't even need to use forceps!
Some crazed queen she knows from San Francisco said, How can you
be gay and live in Haywierd? I am sooooo looking forward to
moving to the City so I, too, can snoot the burbians. Anyway,
Miss Ralph will make it official so's I can go ride in Mr Cheez's
big fancy put-put and see real peopleses for a change.
Mr Cheez, you's been stickin' wif me through a lot (even if I
can't getcha ta stick it -to- me, and I just want you and the
whole damn world to know that I loves ya--
<-----------------------------this much------------------------->
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