That does it!

A few days ago our phone-bill arrived, and it had exploded about $20.
That is, from $37 to $57.
“That does it!” I said. “I don’t know what is happening here, but I’d like to go back to our old plan,” which was just metered calls added to a minimal access fee.
Some time ago we switched to a whiz-bang bundled plan that was supposed to save us money, but it didn’t.
It increased our phone-bill about $8-$10 per month.
Now they want 20 bucks more.
For some time I’ve been tempted to dump the landline.
We have cellphones, and use them for just about everything.
We’ve only kept the landline for two reasons:
—1) I have a 93 year old mother-in-law who refused to call a cellphone — although by now she has.
—2) Cellphone service can be flaky. “Stand somewhere else, Bob; you’re cuttin’ out.”
Beyond that I wired a landline switchplate into every room when our house was built; maybe 15.
A move that soon became moot with wireless telephones.
Only four are connected, and two of those are wireless phones.
Okay, call phone company and switch back to metered calls.
That’s not how things work in this household.
I had a stroke, so my ability to parry a phonecall is severely compromised.
It’s the old waazoo; my wife makes the phonecalls, and I drive her around. —I can drive, but she’s automotively challenged. She could drive if she had to, but it would be messy.
I have to map out routes for her with no left-turns, or if she has to turn left, it’s an intersection with a left-turn arrow.
I can usually find someplace myself easy-as-pie. —Last year we found a veterinarian’s office in Orchard Park near Buffalo; slam-dunk, first try.
But my wife would get lost. No sense of direction.
She also holds up traffic at intersections; yes-or-no?
But this isn’t something the average person understands.
Nor do they understand stroke-compromised speech.
A sister-in-law, whose friendship I value, called yesterday (Tuesday, October 20, 2009), and I mentioned my difficulty doing phonecalls.
“You always say that,” she said; “yet I don’t hear anything.”
“Sure,” I said. “I sound quite normal, but today’s attempt to exchange running shoes was a wrestling-match.”
Long pauses to assemble words, silences, stuttering, and the wrong words spilling out.
It’s not the speech-center I used before the stroke. Another part of my brain, still alive, was roped into it. It wasn’t designed for speech.
My wife called the phone company. —It wasn’t Francine. (“One ringy-dingy; two ringy-dingies. Oh, come on Cher, pick up! I am a high-school grad-jew-ate.”)
They wanted to verify the last four digits of my Social Security number, before they would talk to her.
“Say again?” I said.
Long pregnant pause on my part.
“Lemme think,” I said.
I of course know what the four digits are, but I have to assemble them into a speech response.
“Do you want us to talk to your wife from now on?” the girl asked, obviously frustrated.
89 bazilyun whiz-bang plans got rattled by. “I also can reactivate your previous pricing. It expired.”
Around-and-around my wife went, while I quietly beavered away on this here rig.
And every time my wife deflected back to metered calls added to a minimal access charge.
“We can get you free long-distance.”
“For long-distance we use our cellphones; there’s no charge.”
A year ago I went alone to a bed-and-breakfast near Altoona, PA.
The bed-and-breakfast has a tiny parking-lot, that can only accommodate about 3-4 cars.
When I returned from eating supper, the parking-lot was filled, so I mentioned offhandedly I had parked nearby in the street.
Those in the parking-lot became defensive, and my halting, choppy speech was perceived as anger.
I’m sure if my wife had been along, all would have been smoothed over.
I have another friend who had a stroke; in fact, a couple.
He sounds quite normal, but I can discern the speech choppiness.
To me it’s obvious he’s had a stroke.
It’s the same speech as me.
I’ve decided from now on I should probably mention I had a stroke, and that as such:
It takes me —A) twice as long to accommodate what was said;
and —B) four-five times as long to respond.
I’ve told a lotta people I had a stroke; a YMCA exercise coach, a tour-guide, a financial advisor, my neighbor up-the-street.
All say they never woulda known.
Yet people get frustrated listening to me, my disinclination to say anything is perceived as anger, and I can’t do phonecalls.
Years ago when I worked at the mighty Mezz, I processed “Green Thumb” by Doc & Katy Abraham, for the “Garden Page.”
Sometimes there’d be something that merited a phonecall to Doc.
He’d get frustrated trying to talk to me.
I never had a chance to mention I’d had a stroke; he died first.

• “We” is my wife of almost 42 years, and I.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993, and it slightly compromised my speech. (Difficulty putting words together.)
• “Bob” is of course me.
• “This here rig” is my computer.
• The “bed-and-breakfast near Altoona, PA,” is Tunnel Inn in Gallitzin (“Guh-LIT-zin”) near Horseshoe Curve, by far the BEST railfan spot I have ever been to. Horseshoe Curve is a national historic site. It was a trick used by the Pennsylvania Railroad to get over the Allegheny mountains without steep grades. Horseshoe Curve was opened in 1854, and is still in use. (I am a railfan, and have been since I was a child.) —Tunnel Inn is right next to the railroad’s tunnels at the top of the first ridge of the Alleghenies. It used to be Gallitzin’s town offices and library; built by the railroad in 1905.
• The “mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired almost four years ago. Best job I ever had. They had a “Garden Page” that ran once every week. “Doc and Katy” lived nearby, and had a nationally syndicated radio-program. It gave gardening advice. “Green Thumb” was their syndicated newspaper column. “Doc” was much older than me. (He died in his 90s.)