gamble
Today (Saturday, 3/4) we (I) took an incredible gamble.
I had an appointment at the dreaded hairman, and I drove there myself.
Haven’t driven myself in about a month — not since the last “episode,” 2/6.
For those not cognizant, an “episode” is a dizzy-spell (if I have to grab things to be able to stand up, it’s a dizzy-spell); wherein it seems my heart stops for a second-or-two, and all the blood drains out of my head. The last “episode” was not at the mighty Mezz — it was at the Rite-Aid pharmacy in Honeoye Falls, looking for valentine-cards (particularly a valentine-birthday card for Linda’s mother).
There have been five separate “episodes” since September; three at the mighty Mezz, one at home, and #5. #5 seemed to be precipitated by my winter-coat being excessively warm, and my knit cap.
I have learned to take the cap off to avoid “episodes.”
Of course, the dizzy-spell freaked out Linda, and we were concerned about one occurring while I drive. So we began driving together: I drive, she monitors. Nothing happens.
So, since both of us going to the hairman seemed a humungous waste, I decided to try it myself.
Last time (five weeks ago) I warned the hairman he might have to call 9-1-1. This time I didn’t say anything.
Whatever; nothing happened, neither driving or at the hairman. And the hairman involves sitting for some time, including under a dryer.
It was the usual Saturday madness. People came and went requiring hairman to say hello. His wife is not working at school (her second job), so is in the shop entertaining all-and-sundry, and snapping at hairman.
(Last time I went there on a Thursday morning — hairman had the place to himself. Much different. I was his only customer. His wife was at the school. And has parrot kept singing snippits of “I left my heart in San Francisco.” The parrot only sings when hairman has the shop to himself.)
There was an ongoing discussion about the cost of weddings. A renter at the shop had his son and wife-to-be there, plus their 3-year-old kid. HMMMMMMMMNNNNNN......
Wife-to-be was bewailing her fiancé’s getting the wedding-consultant all upset. “Well, the whole idea was to tell her what we wanted in a wedding. And what she did was tell us what she was gonna do. So I told her off. ‘It’s our wedding; not yours.’”
Wife-to-be was upset the wedding-consultant dove. “I can’t talk to this guy. He scares me.”
Apparently there was a dust-up over the free beer at the open bar. The reception-place would only serve Genny-Lite. “Well, what if I want Budweiser?” (Budweiser is at a premium.)
“Nobody’s gonna know the difference.”
“Will too. Big difference.”
“I can’t talk to this guy. He scares me.”
There also was noisy discussion over the cost of wedding-cakes. “2,400+ smackaroos? That’s ridiculous! There’s probably $5 worth of ingredients, and they want $2,400.”
“So try to get one cheaper than that. All the wedding-cake bakers have to have certification and insurance-coverage; in case they get sued.”
“So have your Aunt Mary bake it. So what if it falls, or leans?”
“I’ve always wanted a dream wedding.” “CINDERELLA ALERT,” hairman’s wife cried.
I was tempted to say, but didn’t: “My wedding cost me (us) nothing; and we been married 38+ years. We didn’t have no bakery-shop wedding-cake, nor tuxes or rehearsal-dinners or showers or anything.”
There also is the issue of why such a glitzy wedding when you already have a kid? Oh well, better late than never.
As a diversion, an older lady was complaining that her car had lost a hubcap. Apparently it was errant hubcap #2. A hubcap had strayed from the same wheel earlier, and she picked up another for $5. But it was a poor fit. So it too has gone astray.
“So go up to Shorty’s on Empire Blvd. — down to the bay, up the hill, and just past HillHaven Nursing Home on the right. It’ll only take you five minutes.”
“What?” I cried. “Five minutes from Pittsford? What are ya doin’? Flyin’? It’s more like 25. You try it in five minutes and I guarantee the Troopers set up a blockade.”
What I was tempted to say, and didn’t was: “So you’re missing one hubcap. What do you need hubcaps for? Take the rest off and all the wheels match.”
The ongoing low level of slight loopiness continues; but no worse than it was before, when I often took road-trips alone.
Monday, 3/6, is another doctor’s appointment; this one a neurologist. I have printed out a detailed recap of all my symptoms, plus another of all my meds.
This appointment should detail the results of my last test; where they had 89 bazilyun sensors glued to my head, and I guess they were looking for seizure-signals.
My friends at the mighty Mezz suggest I should be getting a full-body MRI. Another test is the tilt-board; to see if your inner-ear (balance) is triggering the “episodes.” I feel less steady on my feet. Haven’t fallen yet.
I had an appointment at the dreaded hairman, and I drove there myself.
Haven’t driven myself in about a month — not since the last “episode,” 2/6.
For those not cognizant, an “episode” is a dizzy-spell (if I have to grab things to be able to stand up, it’s a dizzy-spell); wherein it seems my heart stops for a second-or-two, and all the blood drains out of my head. The last “episode” was not at the mighty Mezz — it was at the Rite-Aid pharmacy in Honeoye Falls, looking for valentine-cards (particularly a valentine-birthday card for Linda’s mother).
There have been five separate “episodes” since September; three at the mighty Mezz, one at home, and #5. #5 seemed to be precipitated by my winter-coat being excessively warm, and my knit cap.
I have learned to take the cap off to avoid “episodes.”
Of course, the dizzy-spell freaked out Linda, and we were concerned about one occurring while I drive. So we began driving together: I drive, she monitors. Nothing happens.
So, since both of us going to the hairman seemed a humungous waste, I decided to try it myself.
Last time (five weeks ago) I warned the hairman he might have to call 9-1-1. This time I didn’t say anything.
Whatever; nothing happened, neither driving or at the hairman. And the hairman involves sitting for some time, including under a dryer.
It was the usual Saturday madness. People came and went requiring hairman to say hello. His wife is not working at school (her second job), so is in the shop entertaining all-and-sundry, and snapping at hairman.
(Last time I went there on a Thursday morning — hairman had the place to himself. Much different. I was his only customer. His wife was at the school. And has parrot kept singing snippits of “I left my heart in San Francisco.” The parrot only sings when hairman has the shop to himself.)
There was an ongoing discussion about the cost of weddings. A renter at the shop had his son and wife-to-be there, plus their 3-year-old kid. HMMMMMMMMNNNNNN......
Wife-to-be was bewailing her fiancé’s getting the wedding-consultant all upset. “Well, the whole idea was to tell her what we wanted in a wedding. And what she did was tell us what she was gonna do. So I told her off. ‘It’s our wedding; not yours.’”
Wife-to-be was upset the wedding-consultant dove. “I can’t talk to this guy. He scares me.”
Apparently there was a dust-up over the free beer at the open bar. The reception-place would only serve Genny-Lite. “Well, what if I want Budweiser?” (Budweiser is at a premium.)
“Nobody’s gonna know the difference.”
“Will too. Big difference.”
“I can’t talk to this guy. He scares me.”
There also was noisy discussion over the cost of wedding-cakes. “2,400+ smackaroos? That’s ridiculous! There’s probably $5 worth of ingredients, and they want $2,400.”
“So try to get one cheaper than that. All the wedding-cake bakers have to have certification and insurance-coverage; in case they get sued.”
“So have your Aunt Mary bake it. So what if it falls, or leans?”
“I’ve always wanted a dream wedding.” “CINDERELLA ALERT,” hairman’s wife cried.
I was tempted to say, but didn’t: “My wedding cost me (us) nothing; and we been married 38+ years. We didn’t have no bakery-shop wedding-cake, nor tuxes or rehearsal-dinners or showers or anything.”
There also is the issue of why such a glitzy wedding when you already have a kid? Oh well, better late than never.
As a diversion, an older lady was complaining that her car had lost a hubcap. Apparently it was errant hubcap #2. A hubcap had strayed from the same wheel earlier, and she picked up another for $5. But it was a poor fit. So it too has gone astray.
“So go up to Shorty’s on Empire Blvd. — down to the bay, up the hill, and just past HillHaven Nursing Home on the right. It’ll only take you five minutes.”
“What?” I cried. “Five minutes from Pittsford? What are ya doin’? Flyin’? It’s more like 25. You try it in five minutes and I guarantee the Troopers set up a blockade.”
What I was tempted to say, and didn’t was: “So you’re missing one hubcap. What do you need hubcaps for? Take the rest off and all the wheels match.”
The ongoing low level of slight loopiness continues; but no worse than it was before, when I often took road-trips alone.
Monday, 3/6, is another doctor’s appointment; this one a neurologist. I have printed out a detailed recap of all my symptoms, plus another of all my meds.
This appointment should detail the results of my last test; where they had 89 bazilyun sensors glued to my head, and I guess they were looking for seizure-signals.
My friends at the mighty Mezz suggest I should be getting a full-body MRI. Another test is the tilt-board; to see if your inner-ear (balance) is triggering the “episodes.” I feel less steady on my feet. Haven’t fallen yet.
posted by BobbaLew at 6:20 PM
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