Today in Trivia.

Wednesday. May 29. 2024.? Provo Utah.

Doctors. X Rays. Blood tests. Post nasal drip.?

Old age should be spent sitting on a porch, sipping lemonade and watching grandchildren tumbling on the lawn. Or bundled up in a fluffy quilt by the fire on a cold winter evening, enjoying hot chocolate with marshmallows. Anyway – it should be spent in pleasant surroundings, at home.

But Amy and I are in for a long haul of doctors and clinics, pharmacies and MRIs, as villainous old age reveals its true character – something out of a Stephen King novel, ready to pounce on our simple quiet lives like a werewolf.

And yes, this journal entry, this daily diary scribble, will be all about our health, and the lack thereof. This is what old people experience; what they talk about; and what they write about. It is what interests me the most right now. Not the war in the Ukraine or Israel vs Hamas or the continuing inroads of inflation.? Both Amy and I are weary, but game.? We will soldier on, hoping for the return of elan vital and appetite, stamina and curiosity and interest and freedom from want, wasps, and ingrown toenails..? So prepare yourself for a clinical diagnosis of today and yesterday and the prognosis for tomorrow.? If you don’t want to read about gall bladders and skin rashes you’d better delete this post right now. It’s not for those with weak stomachs or short attention spans.?

We will start with my most recent head cold. It was a doozy. It came on me last Sunday as a queer sort of sore throat. A restriction that made breathing difficult. I was on the point of getting a DIY Covid kit, since every time you get ill nowadays you have to assume it’s the damn Covid, but the memory of the course of medications I had to take the last time I had Covid sent chills down my lumbago-prone spine. I decided to give the bug, whatever it was, a few more days to declare itself. And it did. Thankfully (I guess) it became your common garden-variety head cold. I chewed Sudafed tablets with mini Hershey bars (since I can’t swallow a whole pill.)? I blew through boxes of kleenex like a drunken sailor. And, worst of all, my hearty appetite retreated into an insatiable lust for nothing but plain ramen noodles and beef tea. Even pickled herring couldn’t tempt me.

But before I continue this doleful topic I want to interrupt myself with today’s haiku:

peony blossoms shattered by the thunderstorm litter the wet streets.

Since being banned from the kolache bakery I’ve started up an email list of journalists and fans of my poetry, and send them something each day.? I’ve got around a hundred people on the list. One of them responded to my haiku today thus:

“This is Ramon Somoza, good to hear from you.

Are you well versed on Abraham Lincoln? If so, I would like to meet with you to discuss a long term project that involves writing a lot of short poems about Abraham Lincoln, I can explain when we meet.

Let me know, thanks.”

I don’t know how I will respond to him yet.? Any thoughts from the Peanut Gallery?

Okay, back to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune . . .?

My head cold has finally cleared up, for the most part.? I’m still suffering from some vexing post nasal drip – I’m hawking and spitting like an old Chinese peasant. (Is that racist? When my posts are all finally collated, compiled, and published, will this one sentence be the thing that brings my sterling reputation tumbling down to the dust? Oh well . . . so be it.)

Amy remains magnificent in her afflictions. Uncomplaining and active, after a restless and nearly sleepless night she is off to her HotWorx session at 6:45 this morning – where she will stretch and bend and wiggle inside an electric sauna for 20 minutes.? If I don’t ask her very specifically how she is doing, probing her with questions like a district attorney, I never know what’s wrong with her. She just had an x-ray done for back pain, and she never even told me she had any back pain! (Or, more likely, she told me and I wasn’t listening . . . )

My prostate continues to crowd my innards to the point where I’m peeing every hour on the hour.? It makes travel difficult if there are no bathroom facilities close at hand at all times.? And most public restrooms are a horror. Obscenities scribbled everywhere. Clumps of wet toilet paper on the floor. Unflushed toilets that reek worse than Gehenna. No hand soap in the dispensers. No paper towels. I’m very picky about what public restrooms I’ll patronize. No gas stations. No supermarkets. Not even the public library. Provo city hall has an excellent public restroom. And so does Pioneer Book.

I went to see a specialist about this a while ago. He had his nurse insert a garden hose up my you-know-what to get a picture of my prostate. And all he could tell me is “Boy, that’s a big one!”? He didn't recommend surgery or anything else. Just said I’d have to live with it. The momser. ‘Ve been considering starting a course of saw palmetto pills, but WebMD says the results are inconclusive and more research needs to be done.

Excuse me while I sip on my beef tea.? I make it with hot water, Knorr’s beef bouillon, worchestershire sauce, tabasco sauce, and key lime juice.

And, of course, there are my arthritic knees. Ever since my initial diagnosis ten years ago I have ignored them. They hurt, so they hurt. But now I’m unable to climb any stairs and I need a cane if I’m walking more than half a block anywhere. So i’ll see the doctor tomorrow to find out if there are any non-invasive procedures to help me get my mobility back.? Whenever I start to complain to Amy about the pain and lack of mobility she always says “Well, you’ll have to lose a hundred pounds and even then the surgery probably won’t do you any good . . . all the people I know who’ve had it done are still hobbling around with crutches and canes . . . “

Not the comforting words I want.? My brother Billy had both knees replaced, as well as his hip, and he’s 80 years old, and last I heard he still goes out to ice fish in the winter and plays golf all summer long.? Amy had my knees wrapped in poultices soaked in castor oil for a while, but somehow in the hurly-burly of power naps and planting nasturtiums on the patio we’ve stopped doing that.? I think it’s superstition myself, but even superstitious placebos can be comforting.?

Today Amy is going back to the doctors, and I can’t even remember what for. And if I ask her she’ll give me the fish eye and say “I told you already.”? So I’ll just pretend I know all about it and wish her bon voyage.

Well, I was going to beat the sun and get out with my POET FOR HIRE sign at the intersection of Hwy 89 and Center Street for an hour. But then I got caught up in writing this drek. So now I’ll have to smear myself with sunscreen and endure the solar torture.

The things I suffer for my art . . .?