Dear Mom,Though I've been wanting to write for quite some time now the arthritis in my hands has, once again, prevented me (until now) from doing so. However, since the adverse symptoms appear to have "taken a holiday," I wanted to take this opportunity to spend some "quality time" here with you and, while I'm at it, express my (bias) opinion on 9th Grade safety monitors, the Canadian Mounted Police, cops, FBI agents, grammar school crossing guards, the judicial system, prison guards and, of course, authority figures in general, "a worthless lot of individuals to say the least!"
Now, having gotten that off my mind ...
Seems like, with each quickly passing year, yet, another (karma/poetic justice related?) ailment decides to invade Harper's Body-Temple of Mystical Guidance, Pure Thought and Divine Wisdom in retaliation, perhaps, for past dastardly deeds committed against the innocent and downtrodden. Karma and/or Poetic Justice? Who knows? In either case, the bottom line's the same: with each passing year comes another new medical problem to haunt my waking hours.
Don't misunderstand me, I'm NOT complaining about the onset of ailments. after all, considering the fact that I've been associating with gangsters, black mailers, union goons, New Jersey Hit Men, extortionists, multiple ax murderers and all sorts of other unsavory characters my entire life, I now look upon such ailments as rheumatoid arthritis; along with an enlarged prostate, angina, poor eyesight, diffuse skeletal hyperostosis, premature graying and (GADZOOKS!) bad hair days, as nothing more than "minor nuisances."
POINT OF SIGNIFICANT REFERENCE: diffuse skeletal hyperostosis is a chronic inflammatory disease of the joints of the axial skeletal, manifested clinically by pain and progressive stiffening of the spine. The incidence is greater in males than females, and symptoms are more prominent in men, and ascending involvement of the spine is more likely to occur. But, fear not, I have all adverse health problems firmly under control.
How so, you ask? Y'see, my dear, aside from the consumption of selective herbal medications (ginseng root, Joshua tree bark and seaweed extract), coupled with a proper diet of raw beaver meat and daily strenuous exercise (eyebrow waggling: 3 sets of 25, and gluteus maximus flexes: 3 sets of 10), I receive a lot of emotional support from an isolated village of mud hut people located northeast of Calcuta on the white sandy banks of the Hooghly River.
An extremely perceptive tribe of pygmy-squat savages who, by-the-way, consider me somewhat of a perfect specimen (Adonis-like, if you wish). Unfortunatly, however, and unbeknownst to my loyal, trusted and devoted mud hut fans, there's been some adverse repercussions to my body that can directly be attibuted to the consumption of the herbs, beaver meat, strenuous exercise and, of course, the corrosive effects of time: One, my left arm is four inches shorter than my right. Two, sadly, I've lost the ability to play the banjo. And three, regrettably, I can no longer break dance!
Odd, but I'm beginning to devote a lot of time (perhaps more than I should) to the thought of what it's going to be like at 70 or even 80 years of age. Having already reached the 60 mark, I know what that's about. And, I gotta tell you, 60's NOTHING like I envisioned it when I was 21.
Quite frankly, it kind of feels like playing Russian Roulette with 5 bullets in a 6-shot .38 Colt Python instead of only 1. Additionally, along with hitting the 60 mark comes a surreal, insightful "awakening" about aging that I'm beginning to believe practically all "elderly" people can, in some way relate to. And that's: even though the body and all its aches and pains shouts, "Old geezer!" the mind (somehow) refuses to accept that.
Strange but, somewhere in the dark, hidden chambers of my mind lurks an 18 year-old that'll never get any older. Yet, within those very same chambers lives an "old geezer" who's VERY much aware of just how precious each and every year, month, week, day, hour, minute and second is. Even though the Old Geezer is (someday) destined to fall prey to the ultimate predator (Death), the 18 year old, I feel, will linger on for eternity. Thus, the Old Geezer defiantly and stubbonly voices his opinion to himself, "Until indisputable proof emerges (proving beyond reasonable doubt) that the alternative (death) is better, I'll remain content 'battling wits' with the 18 year-old. Maybe, just maybe, someday I'll win.
(Darn kids! Ya can't tell them nothing!)
As you know, the ability to adequately transpose feelings, emotions, ideas and daily activities from thoughts to "written words" is, for most people (including myself), a difficult undertaking. Over the years, however, through trial and error) (as that appears to be the only way I know how to learn), I've been fortunate to have acquired enough literary skills to where most (but not all) of my correspondence fall somewhere (on the Chart of Comprehensible Ramblings) between semi-coherent and marginally coherent. A measure of achievement, I assure you, that affords me NO self-satisfaction whatsoever. And, unfortunately, only goes to bolster society's general opinion of yours truly. Which is, "Until now, we only 'thought' there was something wrong with him."
Perhaps, by now, you're lingering under the assumption that, quite possibly, there could very well be some literary "translation difficulties" with accurately deciphering these written words. And thus, find yourself searching for some sort of clandestine message or "meaningful point" within them. Should that be the case, rest assure, the answer you seek lies in the following ...
HARPER'S LITERARY GUIDE TO ACCURATE TRANSLATION: Be assured, there is NO point! None whatsoever! I'm just rambling. Trying to fill the many vast voids of time from the everyday boredom of "doing time."
To prove my point, see the following example: First, SICK CALL SLIP (an inner departmental document used to outline an existing medical problem and request diagnoses and treatment): "Doctor, whether or not this is directly related to my current problems, I don't know. Nevertheless, I want to bring it to your attention.
On 12/29/04, I began a second round of treatment for Hepatitis C (geno type 2). On 6/13/05, said treatment was competed. Shortly thereafter, approximately seven (7) days, I developed arthritis-like symptoms in both hands, wrists, knuckles and finger joints.
A few days later, I felt an intensely, sharp, jabbing pain in the inside of my left upper arm. The pain shot down my left arm to my finger tips, creating a cold, numbing, tingling sensation in my hand."
RESULT: Last Monday, after being summoned over to the medical department, I managed to drag myself (without enthusiasm) over to the "hospital" and spoke with a physician assistant (an individual who isn't actually a physician, just a physician's helper). I explained the problems I'm having with my hands.
As anticipated, he wasn't of any help, so I requested to speak with a real physician.
On Tuesday, I spoke with a physician, Doctor Long. Though he appeared to be somewhat irritated about being interrupted (from doing nothing), he listened (impatiently) as I explained the arthritis-like symptoms in both hands and the added cold, numbing, tingling sensation in the left arm.
Afterwards, without exhibiting any of the "friendly country doctor" bedside mannerisms that I so fondly remember from my days of adolescence, the good Doctor scribbled something down in the medical file he was holding, peeked over his gold-trimmed, five-hundred dollar Succi bifocals then, without expressing any visible signs of concern, said, "I'll order some x-rays."
On Wednesday, the x-rays were taken. Not surprisingly, even though I distinctly remember explaining to Doctor Long that the problems I'm having are with my hands, the x-ray technician (a short, thin, arrogant little geek-boy nerd whom I took an instant disliking to), x-rayed my neck!
Before leaving the x-ray room, I politely inquired, "have any idea when I'll get the results?"
(BIG mistake!) Geek-boy whipped around, puffed out his chest (I swear I heard bones snapping), prance over within a few of inches of me and made a pitiful attempt at trying to appear taller than his actual height of 5 foot, 2 inches. Then, staring up at the bottom of my chin with small, piercing, beady, brown, bloodshot-eyes, he barked indigently. "Holy Moses and bloody-blue-blazes! What do I look like? An information booth! Try Friday!"
(Boy-oh-boy! the things you see when you don't have a ba11-peen hammer, huh?)
Walking down the medical department's long, dark hallway (with pleasant images of Geek-boy bound, gagged, strapped firmly to a chair and whimpering for his life) and out of the hospital's main vestibule doors, I thought, "Oh well, the best course of action to take in this particular case is to stay focused on the bright-side.
Yeah, that's it! Stay focused on the bright-side! What's the bright-side, again, Harper? Oh yeah, I remember! That I wasn't carrying, standing near, or could have gotten my hands on a ball-peen hammer when I next cross paths with Geek-boy!"
SECOND SICK CALL SLIP: "Doctor, as of this inquiry, I've not yet been informed of the x-ray results. And, presently, I'm still experiencing the same symptoms: arthritis-like symptoms in both hands and cold, numbing, tingling sensations in the left hand, Additionally, there's been a significant loss of feeling in the left hand.
"Though I've described the symptoms as 'arthritis-like,' onset of arthritis is, from my limited understanding, a slow, dual process that develops overtime. In my case, however, it was instantaneous. I woke up one morning and BANG! Whatever it is, there was nothing slow or gradual about it!
"The purpose of this inquiry is, hopefully, to obtain the results from the x-rays. Additionally, if the x-rays reveal some sort of nerve damage or disorder (in the left hand), I wish to follow-up the examination process by being scheduled to consult with a specialist, a neurologist, y'know, someone possessing the skills to adequately diagnose my problem!
"Furthermore, even if the x-rays fail to reveal anything, I still wish to consult with a neurologist. Why? Because, obviously, there is. some sort of a problem, and the problem sti11 exists."
RESULT: When I arrived at the hospital the next Friday, I inquired about the results of my x-rays. Then expressed my disappointment and thoughts as to why I felt nobody there seemed to know what they were doing, or had the slightest idea about what I was talking about.
Shortly thereafter, VERY shortly thereafter, I was hastily escorted from the medical building by two double-ugly, low-brow, no-neck, knuckle-draggin, overweight "correctional officers." If memory serves, I believe their parting words were something to the effect of, "Da next time, SMART ASS! Yuz says somethin' like dat 'bout our sisters, we gonna stomp ya into a wet spot! Now, GET! And, get QUICK!"
Needless to say, considering the double-ugly's unreasonable attitudes and conduct, I'm not anticipating a warm welcome or much in the way of quality medical care or treatment upon my next trip over there. In fact, I've decided the only way I'll ever show-up there again is if I receive word that Geek-boy has actually been bound, gagged and strapped to a chair. (Watch, with my luck, I'll forget to bring my ba11-peen hammer!)
MEDICAL UPDATE: Having to buckle under (due to extreme pain and discomfort), I managed to dodge the two Neanderthals, slip back into the hospital and "corner" the Doctor. As it turned out (aside from the rheumatoid arthritis, enlarged prostate, angina, poor eyesjght, diffuse skeletal hyperostosis, premature graying and bad hair days), the cold, numbing tingling sensations in my left hand is caused by a pinched nerve in my neck.
The Doctor put me on steroids (Prednisone). And, I gotta tell you, right now I feel like I could whip a gang of hatchet wielding Mexican bandits! I've never felt better! The steroids have even eliminated all of the arthritis and back pain!
Honest, I can't believe how good I feel!
Do yourself a BIG favor, have your Doctor prescribe some Prednisone for you. Give it a try; a week or so, that's all. But, trust me, you won't need a week to feel the results. Within 3 days you'll feel like a 19 year old and doing triple back flips off the chandeliers!
Now, on to something else.
MY "GOOD" NEIGHBOR: Omar, is a BIG, 6-foot, 9-inch, 300-plus pound, tattooed motorcycle dude who lives a few doors down from me. I don't know what drives me to keep on pestering and teasing him like I do. My friends tell me he's dangerous and I'd better back-off. Oh, sure, there's times when Omar will snarl, hiss and growl a little but, as of yet, he hasn't shown the slightest bit of hostility toward me. I wonder? Could it be, like the ill fate that has befallen so many others, that Omar has, perhaps, become attracted to my sparkling wit personality? (What do ya think?)
AN EPIPHANY (of sorts): Though I certainly wouldn't want to repeat the trials and tribulations of a life-of-crime, or its adverse repercussions (decades of incarceration), I've gotta admit, it's been a unique and invaluable experience.
Yes, it's an extremely hard and difficult way to learn but, sometimes, the hard ways are the best ways to learn. Unfortunately, for some of us, the hard ways (through trial and error) are the only ways to learn.
Ironically, the paths (of right or wrong, good or evil) we sometimes find ourselves on during life's wondrous journey, aren't always paths that were "voluntarily" chosen. Voluntary or not, given a choice between learning the hard way, or never learning, each and every time, I've choose the former.
A hard-learned lesson remaing burned into the mind for eternity.
As you know, few, very few relationships (whether mother/son, sister/brother, father/daughter, good friends or what have you) contain the (for lack of better words) "magic ingredients" that enables such unions to endure the harsh ravages of time and circumstances.
Thankfully, ours did. Which moves me to say, in all sincerity, "I consider myself extremely lucky to have not only shared the past with you, but the present as well. Most certainly, it's been entirely my pleasure (to say nothing of pure dumb luck) to have been fortunate enough to have shared with you, over these many years, this amazing adventure called life. THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH!
One other thing along those lines, though some of my friends and associates may well be considered unsavory, shady and, perhaps, individuals of "questionable character" by society's conventional standards, when I mention your name up in conversation among them I can't help feeling a heightened sense of pride and personal achievement.
Why? Well, it's simple elementary deduction: "I consider the unwavering love, loyalty, honor and mutual respect we share such pinnacles of achievement in my a life that, in my opinion, they have no equal. That's why!
From day-one, it's been my extreme pleasure and great honor to be able to point in your direction, and proudly say to associates and fiends of "questionable character," see that beautiful lady over there, she's my mother."
POINT OF INFORMATION: an honor, dear Mother, that I'll carry to the grave.
THE BOTTOM LINE: After all is said and done, there's no need (or use) to whine, gripe or complain about all the ifs, ands maybes, buts, should-haves and could-haves of life. All things considered, I'm confident in the knowledge that (for reasons beyond my understanding) "this" is how it was suppose to be. And nothing, absolutely nothing could have altered the course I chose to take. No complaints! Life dealt the hand l-o-n-g ago. There's nothing left to do, except play it out to the end.
A VISIT FROM MY "GOOD" NEIGHBOR: Strange fella, that Omar. Even though he knows not to disturb me when I'm typing, while I've been here trying to focus on composing this letter, he lumbered up to my door and inquired, with a kind of joyful anticipation, "Yuz be a'pesterin' and a'teasin' me today?"
"Depends," I responded, "on whether or not I feel like it." After a moment of suspicious hesitation, I further inquired, "why?"
Grinning widely, bearing enough large, black, rotten, chipped and decaying teeth to tile a good size bathroom, Omar replied, "I be just- a'wonderin.' That's all, just. a'wonderin.'"
Poor guy. Omar's not dangerous! Like so many lost, pitiful and pathetic souls in here, he's just lonely. That's all. Omar just needs a friend.
(You wanna be Omar's friend?)
Though I'm beginning to seriously have my doubts, I continue to hold firmly to the hope that, someday, I'll be able to be of some practical help to you. For now, however (and I'm sure this won't be of much-if any-conciliation), about all I can offer is a promise: if I ever do get Geek-boy bound, gagged and strapped to a chair, I promise (cross my heart!), after a couple of light taps with the ball-peen, I won't be too hard on him.
That's it for now. I'm plumb tuckered-out! Stay safe, be careful, and don't do anything I wouldn't do. (Which, by-the-way, leaves a L-O-T of leeway.)
As Ever, Love,
Your Son,
a.k.a. Snake Oil
A HUMANITARIAN GESTURE OF BENEVOLENCE AND GOODWILL:
Wanna donate a couple pesos to a worthy cause? Honest, it'll make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, consider The International Foundation For the Relocation of the Calcuta Mud Hut People.
DONATING INFORMATION: As acting director of the said foundation, be assured, generous bequester, all donations (small, medium, large or humongous) are tax deductible. Such subsidies should be addressed as follows and AIR MAILED OVERNIGHT to:
The Calcuta Mud Hut People Relocation Foundation,
C/O Wesley "Snake Oil" Harper, Acting Director,
White Sandy Banks of the Hooghly River
Calcuta, India
FOOTNOTE/DISCLAIMER: Should you elect to follow through with a generous donation to the Mud Hut People, keep in mind, the United States government, and the acting director, will categorically deny receipt of any, and all, monies received, any knowledge of their participation, association, activities and involvement (including, but not limited to, their own existence) regarding this matter.
P.S. Now, you be the Judge, nonsensical ramblings, clandestine message, or meaningful point? In any case, the definitive question should be, "Does it really matter?"
Answer: "No, I think not."
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