TRIALS AT ST TIMMY'S 47
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THE TRIALS AT ST TIMMY'S --
The Continued Saga of Paul Ess's Rehabilitation
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Welcome to episode 47. I guess my favorite gurl in Clackamas
doesn't really believe I got my leg whacked off cuz it got
infected. She says--
You could use some line about having to gnaw your leg off
one morning upon waking up next to a REALLY ugly guy whom
you wanted to keep asleep.
Demon made the mistake of asking me if I was having a bad day:
1. Some bitch came in here with enough perfume on to stink up
the room. She's been gone five minutes and the place still reeks
of Georgio. This was to bring in George's washing. I swear,
they let anybody into Macy*s these days and let them buy whatever
they please! Even laundry maids. In my not-humble opinion they
should ban Giorgio. I think the "designer" of this
"fragrance" is probably single-handedly
responsible for the no-scented-products movement.
2. Buzzard has been yelling all morning since they sat him in a
gerry chair about nine o'clock. He hates this because he can't
turn and get off his sore back. I finally went to the DoN and
bitched. She cringes when she sees me. I said, It seems like
every time I come to see you it's about something unpleasant...
But she had somebody put him back to bed. Too bad if they can't
keep him up all day to keep him from getting pneumonia. He and
we can only stand so much. His roomie hacks and coughs
constantly and they don't bother to suction him though they have
a sucking machine sitting right there. More rent money to fuck
MediCare for is all. Avaricious bastards.
3. We had pretty decent roasted hamburger last night parading
itself as Pepper Steak. I sent it back to have the THREE FUCKING
TABLESPOONS of grease removed from the plate and the solidified
"gravy" rubbed off it. I am not going to eat this fucking
grease. Yesterday at noon they had that awful Asian Pork mess
which is as greasy as a Texas oil well. I ate it because I was
hungry but I left the saturated mushrooms and vegetables and
poured ketchup on the meat to kill the wierd taste. My BG was
160 and should have been 130 tops for the conditions. So much
for their damned pork. After a small, grease-free lunch today I
was only 91. No matter what evidence I give them of my
sensitivity to fats, they pay no attention. Their day is coming
the end of this month when the state board shows up for TWO
WEEKS! Hallelujah! Boy, are they gonna get an earful from me.
4. Nurseypoo just stuck her head in to ask if she could do the
"treatment" on my toe. There has been nothing wrong with my toe
for two weeks. _I_ am the one watching my sole remaining foot
now. "Health professionals" are the reason I had trouble with it
to begin with! They don't follow orders and they don't quit with
orders which are outdated. Nobody talks to the so-called doctor
and the doctor doesn't talk to me. :::::sigh::::: WHAT THE
MOTHER _FUCK_ AM I SUPPOSED TO DO, ANYWAY?
5. I have a place on my stump which was weeping yesterday. The
moisture comes out of a tuck made sewing me up from the last
surgery over a year ago. The schmutz coming out of it is clear
and pink and the tuck smells like a slightly funky pussy. (Yes,
I know what one smells like -- which is why I prefer anuses.) At
the least it is an irritated skin thing. At worst it means pus
is draining again after months of being healed. Yesterday they
smeared antibiotic cream on it and taped gauze over. Today
nobody said a thing about it. I will look at it myself tonight
when I go to bed. I'll poke my little finger in and run it under
my nose and think of all of you.
6. Some shit CNA goes around turning on teevee sets in rooms
with people who have teevee sets but no real inclination to watch
them as they are either past it or asleep all the time. These
sets serve only as noise pollution and to encourage the demented
ones to babble all the more all the louder. I routinely go and
turn such sets off. Mary Mary Quite Contrary across the hall
leaves both her radio and her teevee on blasting when she is out
whining in the day room. Maybe I can make myself so unpopular
here they will find me a tardhive to go live in .
Miss Ralph came by today to tell me his cousin borrowed his car
and didn't return it til after midnight and so he couldn't go
downtown to his playground parking lot and cruise. Consequently,
Miss Thang didn't get any dick and I think even _I_ was starting
to look good to him. Pleez. All we could do is crash cunts.
Suffice it to say, Cuz ain't gettin' the car tonight cuz Miss R
is gonna be on the prowl to find whom he may, ah, devour...
He showed me the handouts from a seminar he went to last week at
UC San Francisco Medical Center where they talked about what to
do with problem patients like screamers and bitchers (like me?)
In giving the material a quick look, I was amazed to see that the
class of drugs called beta blockers have another use than
treating heart disease.
Such drugs are useful in combatting anxiety. It seems some
concert musicians use them to allay stage fright! This sort of
drug must be just the thing to give Aunt Hilda to keep her from
wringing her hands and worrying over what they'll do for Uncle
Jed who's been dead three years. The consulting quack at The ERR
prescribed a beta blocker for me though I never took any of the
pills. When I found them among the meds they sent over here with
me, I thought they assumed my blood pressure might go up. Maybe
this prescription was a just-in-case I began to exhibit the
horrible screaming bitch-you-out temper some diabetics have when
you act like an asshole around them. All they have to do is keep
up the stupidity and it could happen.
One of the office ladies brought a letter addressed to me at the
tardfarm. It's from The ERR, another bill for the amount they
couldn't squeeze out of Cruel Cross or scrape up from MediCal. I
note they typed on it and highlighted in yellow, WE NOW ACCEPT
VISA AND MASTERCARD. How nice. Put grandma in the tardfarm on
the cuff. Pay it off later with 20 percent interest when you
sell her house and the antiques. But for right now you can keep
the old girl alive with every modern medical horror necessary
until the lawyers can straighten out the will. Oops. If it's
going to take everything grandma has to keep her alive and then
you're gonna hafta pay off the bank with interest, why bother?
Snuff the raving old puss. You're not supposed to have anything
to hand on in modern AmeriKKKa anyway.
Oooooh! New fish on the block! The new duffer is the closest
thing you could wish for to a cyborg whose joint and brain grease
froze up. He sits in his wheelchair staring blankly ahead until
Mamacita comes along to take his blood pressure. She wanted
Rochelle to stand by in case he started slapping her. You never
trust these old farts their first night out. Here it is October
and business is picking up, just like they told me it would.
I need to observe this one for awhile. I think he may have the
seed of a new dance craze in his tight, slow movements. Remember
the German dude on SNL [Mike Myers] who was always saying Touch
My Monkey? The dance could be like that except it would be
slower and more resolute. Cyborg says, ERRRRRRRRRRRRR, yes Daddy
..... NNNNNNNNNNN, yes Norman ..... EHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, fuck
yerself, Harry ..... ENHHHHHHHHH, yes Blanche ..... UHHHHHHHHH,
yes Ma'am!
We have here, ladies and gentlemen, 162 pounds of honest-to-Glub
tard. I know cuz Gretchen just got finished weighing him. When
they had a nurz on each arm putting him on the weighing chair is
when he told Norman what to do... You could dance a little, stop
and strike a pose and say one of the Cyborg soundbites, dance
some more, stop and say a soundbite, and so on -- sort of free
form. Shall we call our new dance The Cyborg or The Tard?
Ah, 'tis morning and the sun is out. All of us on this wing have
been wantonly entertained all fucking night by Cyborg. He didn't
sleep a wink and neither did we. Cyborg says, ERRRRRRRRRRRRR,
yes Daddy ..... NNNNNNNNNNN, yes Norman ..... EHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH,
fuck yerself, Harry ..... ENHHHHHHHHH, yes Blanche .....
UHHHHHHHHH, yes Ma'am! Cyborg say these things All! Night! Long!
I finally fell to sleep about four a.m. I dreampt about a
speeding long, thin, red snake which was pursuing me. I trapped
it inside a bed sheet and a canvas sack. I hope this isn't
Freudian...
The only difference between yesterday and today is that he is
somewhat hoarse. I thought he would stop when he lessened his
raving about one a.m., but it was not to be. He appears not to
be running out of steam any time soon. Nurseypoo came to see me
about the hole in my stump. It's bright red in there and coated
with bright red blood but no longer oozing or fragrant. She
blotted up the blood and redressed it. It doesn't hurt. Maybe
it will even heal sometime.
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