BST21: Whaddaya mean I gotta get outa bed??

the 13th/14th of August, 3 years ago. Marked by one thing - the light at the end of the tunnel.

We could see the end of the road ahead, just had to get there. Through the occupational therapists, the physical therapists. The Neuro-psychs - who wanted to make sure I was not going to drool out of my left side and kill people with my right. The doctors had stated on several occasions that they had never seen a recovery quite like this one. Such a fast recovery, such a clean recovery. Such a nice boy....

Plans for my escape began. After all this time, my mother - father - and I really just wanted to get the hell out of there. I was eating like a pig, and sucking down grapes like there was no tomorrow. The shunt surgery had left me with gas pains like you would not believe, and for some reason - the grapes helped. Maybe something I could patent?

I was beginning to see more of the outside world. I had been to the mirror in the room a few times to get a good look at myself. Boy, was I a mess. And rather upset that I did not get the nice mohawk I wanted. I still was not sleeping much - and I still had not been to the bathroom for more than 2 minutes. But as I told them, its not easy to go on a bowl thats a good foot higher than the one you are used to. And it had handles like an easy chair. That was weird.

One of the therapists, don't remember which one, actually took me downstairs to the cafeteria. Now my parents had told me about the cafeteria, how big it was and how busy. I truly had no idea though exactly how insane the place was.

I took 2 bucks, and went down. Instantly I was inundated with the scenes and sounds of life. Lines snaking this way and that - but I saw my target. A cinnamon-rasin bagel with cream cheese, and a cup of coffee. Got it, paid for it, then I learned of the real task at hand. Not could I handle the cafeteria - Hell, I'd been on subways more crowded than that. Nope - getting back to the room with no help from the therapist.

Good one. In retrospect, it was a great idea. At the time, I was not happy. As I said - I probably could not tell you today where my room was, much less at the time. But he told me, 6th floor, and gave me the room number - then stood back as I went for the elevators. UVA only had about 5 different elevator banks, so I had to backtrack through the cafeteria to find the right ones, then up - then I got lost on the 6th floor.

Boy was I red when I found out that my room was basically right across from the elevators, around the corner.

Sheesh.

Otherwise, it was mainly monitoring - making sure everything was going well.

Tomorrow: BST22: Return of the Overly-Warm Boy.

PS - the updated Forgotten-Roanoke.com is nearly complete. I'm putting pages up as I have time, which is not much. But bear with me. It's all coming together.

BST20: Wow, I did not know it could multiply that fast.

Hi.

I've got a problem. Now no one knew I had this problem before the shunt surgery. They all figured that the fevers and whatnot were because of the pressure on my brain. Ask my mother, she will tell you like she told the doctors, "His brain can't handle any pressure."

S'true too.

The shunt valve was wide open. The widest setting they have for maximum flow. And yet the fevers did not end.

At this point I was on my 11th day in the hospital, and I had no infection.

Bloodwork, bloodwork, poking and prodding by the In.Fectio.us disease team. More on them in a few days, fun group. Hey, guess what - I was not discharging the Dilantin. It had just continued to build in my body till the levels were off the charts. And as if that was not enough, I was having an allergic-type reaction to it. Apparently my body had decided to go storing it for the winter. It was as if the first dose was all that was needed to keep my body going for the time I was there, and the rest was just being stored for later. But in quantity, I was having a problem with the stuff. One pill I probably would have been fine, its when its one pill a day for 11 days you get worry.

Oh - and my left side was still shot beyond belief. Like a whale missing one fin, I felt like I was constantly rolling over.

But wait - it would not last long, could not last long. The therapists were due any day now.

Although I did have one guilty pleasure. I had a massage therapist.

more later....

BST19: Whose room is this anyway?

Allright, sorry about that folks - just needed some more coffee.
To catch the story up, here are some plot points that will be condensed for the sake of brevity:

• The drain in my brain was making me insane: Well no not technically, the drain had to be kept level with my ears to work properly. Easy to do with me being in bed all the time, but then there comes those ineveitible times when I have to actually get out of the bed to use the restroom. Yep, my strength came back in my left side with a vengance, mostly. The feeling of the whole side was still of near non-existence, but the strength was there. Anyway, when I had to use the facilities - a nurse would come in, clamp off the valve on the drain, help me out with the whole getting in the bathroom thing, then unclamp the drain when I was back in bed. One nurse did not do this last crucial part. I remember sitting there listening to my parents talk and watching the tv, when suddenly - I felt like I was sinking backwards into my body. I was barely able to actually talk, but managed to tell my mother what I was feeling. She went and got a nurse, who checked the valve and opened it. That nurse went and found my neurosurgeon who was doing his rounds, and the next thing I know - I hear his voice booming out over the halls. I dont remember what he said (which is probably a good thing), but I do remember the sound of his doom-filled footsteps as he made his way to the nurses station, and found the nurse responsible. What followed was not pretty, but showed that the man gave a damn, loudly. He then came in an apologized, checked me out, and noted the event in his records. When the valve had been reopened, quite a bit of brainjuice came out. This was to be an important fact.

• I had began taking nightly walks. Well, once or twice anyway. Ripping out my IV's and wandering the halls with the brain drain in tow, knowing it had to be kept high. Like walking with a helium baloon. I remember the nurses finding me, and gently shoving me back into bed. Of course, it stopped when the words "one more time and they will have to restrain you to the bed" were heard.

• the room I was in, was not the room I was in. I woke up one night swearing and angry about being moved into the basement. Another night, another room entirely. Something was affecting me, but no one knew what yet.

• I was getting fevers. To the point where I had to be iced down a bit to cool off. Showing no signs of infection, but fevers none the less. This launched a Spanish Inquisition. Shaffrey had decided that I needed a shunt. The docs did not want to install said shunt due to fevers. Shunt being issue #1, fevers #2.

• Issue #1 won out. I had the shunt installed. Although not as nicely as I would have liked to remember it. When it comes to the surgery for the tumor, I do not remember even leaving the room. For the shunt - I was wide awake the whole ride down. I remember lying outside the OR, on my bed talking with the nurse who was accompanying me. I remember telling her that I once heard that shunts can gurgle. Yeah, you heard me. I was doing just fine. I can still sort of remember the conversation the docs were having as they were waiting for me to drop out in the OR itself. I was not happy, I wanted to be gone before I saw an elevator.
  

• SPVP Magnetically Programmable Shunt installed. $5k worth of titanium stuck into my skull, for my own well being. The brain started improving instantly. The Fevers? Well that was another story. Oh, and by the by - as a quick fix to get the fevers down enough so they could operate, I had a Motrin IB, suppository style. What fun.

So stay tuned tomorrow as we get to the bottom of these fevers in:

BST20: Attack of the Infectious Disease Team

BST update

will take place eventually tonight. Possibly early tomorrow morning. Im too tired and worn down to type much now.

But I'll finish this, I swear.

BST18a: Not Eddie Murphy in The Golden Child

Allright, yes I am tired.

I just wanted to add one more thing tonight.

Sometimes people get a brain drain. Theyre tired, can't think straight, basically braindead - and admitting it.

I literally had a brain drain. A long piece of tubing, which now leads to a kind of reverse iv bag. Capturing the wonderful thought fluid in my head. So it could be measured.

Now I really hope none of you have to go through this, but incase you do - after they have taken the measurements of how much fluid your kicking out - they dump it.

In the toilet.

Thus the sum total of your lifes thoughts, dreams, and spinal lubricants - it all equates to toilet water.

I found it amusing - but I find many things amusing.

I read somewhere the market value of a human body is roughly $80 bucks if broken down into its base parts. Well, for the next two days we are going to deal with my personal significant increase in bodily value.

And my best efforts to find the nurses station in a hospital built as a test to patients. I think there are still patients wandering around the floors, trying to find the elevators. Well, the right elevators anyway.

Tomorrow: Zen and the art of wandering hospital corridors with your brain drain in tow.

BST18: Why can't I wear my glasses properly?

What? It's an honest question.

I was just happy to have my damn glasses at this point. I could see with clarity again! What junk on TV.. sad.

Ok, lets see where I stand at this point. Having had the surgery, having spent 18-20 hours in NeuroICU (yeah, that really threw me for a loop.), having a pretty speedy time so far, at least the docs said so.

So round about this time is when I noticed I had no use for my left arm. Well, I should not put it that way, what I should say is my left arm was about 75% less effective than it was before the surgery. Come to think of it, my entire left side was pretty odd.

I slept funny, I had to hold onto the railing on the hospital bed while I slept. Right hand gripping left rail as Im sleeping. To try and keep from feeling like, boy - this one is a hard one to describe.

Ok - so they retracted the right side of my brain during surgery. And as we all know, the right and left sides of the brain cross paths in the body. Right controls the left, and vice versa.

Well it seemed as if my right side of the brain was taking a few days off, to recover from the trauma. Which left my left-side nearly useless.

Plus I'm a side-sleeper. Now they had come in the first morning in my room to check up on me, and remove something. Well, I could not see it as it was out my view, but I could feel it as the doctor cut it off of me.

Apparently I had a plastic tube running out of my head on the left side. And on the right. And no, I was not flossing my brain again.

These were to allow for overflow in the brain fluid as it equalized itself again.

So I had to let my glasses perch on my head, no where near the tubes. If I was not careful about which way I leaned in bed, I could feel the remaining tube on my right side pulling. Ever feel something being pulled from your head?

Eww.

Anyway, time for me to go get ready for work. I will finish this days story off later.

BST17c: Boy did I wrecktify that last title.

Yes, I admit it - I was shot tired when I wrote the last entry. And Im even worse now, so Im going to attempt to be clear and concise when I finish the story of my 3 days/ 24 hours in NeuroICU. Well, again - less than 24 hours.

I have to stress that point, because it leads to one of the most important facts about this whole journey. But that comes in a little while.

So where was I? Ahh yes, the catheter. Boy was that fun. Let me fade back a few days in history to set this whole thing up.

I was, ahem, backed up. The plumbing had stopped working. Had been out of service for at least a week if not longer. That had the docs worried. I can't blame them.

Aside from the fact that the toilet I had in the room was higher, thicker, wider, and more uncomfortable than any toilet I had ever seen, I had no idea why I could not go.
My nurse at the time found this very troubling, echoing what the doctors said.

But she had a solution. I was not for taking any kind of laxative when I was essentially bound to this hospital bed. I told her, a strong cup of coffee will get me going - as it had about twice a month in the past.

Well, she had other designs, unbeknownst to me. Now before I tell you this, understand that this was my favorite nurse. She was the nicest person, kindest soul. You could not want a better nurse than this one. Sad though, I do not remember her name. But I hope she recognizes herself, or at least her cup of "coffee."

Ok - so heres the recipie for (pardon) Whistling Intestines:
1 part apple juice
1 part prune juice
1 part milk of magnesia

Warm in microwave, mix thoroughly.

Well, she handed me a warm cup, full of mostly dark liquid. So what was I supposed to think? Coffee, here it comes! I chugged that cup and asked for another.

I never said I was in my right mind.

Well, you would have thought that would have worked or something, but no. 1 hour later, all I got was a whistle.

Well, more like a screetching howl, but you get the idea.

So I was still backed up. Amazing no?

So when I was in NeuroICU, yes I was confined to my bed. But they were still expecting some movement of some sort.

I fell asleep again, and woke up to bright lights, a new day. They told me I was being sent to my own room again! WOO HOO.. or something like it. My voice was shot, I could not speak. They brought me food. Well, something approximating food.

Apparently, according to the little menu sheet I was able to read, I was on a soft-warm diet. Warm jello, lukewarm tea, stuff like that. No solids. Well, a fascinating meal to say the least.

A large man came into view. He was a nurse, charged with removing the catheter. Poor guy, what a job to have. He jostled me out of bed, somehow had me standing. Did a little thing, talking to me the whole time. Then he says, "Hold on..."

In my memory, it was quick and painless, but odd. Somehow he stomped on the tube, and it popped out.

Enough detail - I know I know.

So back into bed to wait. Then these 2 pixies in nurses assitants clothing sparkled into view. They were going to transport me back to my room. WOO HOO..

They were chatty little sprites, yapping my ears off. Nice to hear after 3 days in the long dark.

They gave me a roll of toilet paper.
Interesting gift for one just out of surgery. Apparently every patient has certain items assigned them. A cup for water, box of tissues, roll of Tp. And what is not used goes with the patient to the next room.

So off with my roll of Tp. Back to the room, where they got me out of bed (again!) so they could change the sheets and all that stuff. I asked to be sat on the edge of the bed so I could look out the window. The pixies left, happily chattering as they went. It would be a few minutes before my mother got to the room to join me. I remember rising up just enough to see out the window and down those 6 stories. I could faintly make out the train tracks below.

I still did not have my glasses, and I was still pissed about it. But I could see, I was still alive. I survived major brain surgery. I cried a little, happy kind of tears. Glad to be alive.

Then my mother came in the room and I was laid back down in the bed. I was not totally sure why I needed all this assistance, as I did not feel much different. Aside from having almost no voice, and extremely clear sinus', there was no major change I could see, aside from the string of christmas lights attached to my arm. Well, that was what I called all the IV lines and monitor lines attached to me.

Little did I know what I looked like. Or what had been done to me.

Tomorrow: BST19: What spaghetti this way comes...

(yes, Im skipping 18, due to the size and complexity of 17. Deal with it - if its important, it will show up later.)

BST17b: Due to the graphic nature of this program, listener discretions has been advised.

Meanwhile... back in NeuroICU... things were beginning to get really strange.

Now I partially recognized the fact that I was in the middle of a full on fantasy. I figured this out when I saw members of my extended family line up out in the hallway, just past the room, and go in through a back door.

About 200 members of my extended family.

I knew something was afoot when I saw my aunt and uncle wave at me, and my grandmother admonish them for being seen. Then, for some reason I noticed for the first time the large curtain-covered wall about 20 feet from the end of my bed. I could hear feet shuffling and whispering from behind the curtain.

Then, suddenly the lights dimmed. The curtain rose. And the music started. A production number, my family was giving me a production number. One that wasn't all that different from the opening to the Muppet Show, a nice touch considering my love for all things Muppet.

Then there were 2 simple tableau, sort of one act plays with a core theme of "Congradulations, you made it through!"

Then there was yet another song - after which I thanked them profusely.

The next thing I knew I was awake, staring off into blurry space. Nothing new or different surrounding me, no vaudevillian routines. Apparently I had nodded off during the last act, and everyone had left. But now I can recall the room was dark again, dramatically lit. And I finally could see where my catheter led. Down across the floor, up a curtained wall, back down the other side and into a toilet.

Like Chutes and Ladders.

It was at this point I assumed I was in night 2 of my stay in NeuroICU.

Because this story spans 3 days in my head, and 1 day in reality - Im going to continue BST17 through tonight.

There will be one more update to it, and then we will move on.

Still so much left to talk about.

BST17a: The long dark night/day/night/day/night of the soul.

So as I was saying, I was not quite right. 1968? Yeah, and I had just found the best way to dodge the draft.

So I partially come to in NeuroICU, when I come to the sudden realization that Im not wearing my glasses. And not only am I not wearing them, they are no where to be found. I was nearly in a panic. Then I found out that my mother had my glasses, and I would not be getting them back till I was out of NeuroICU. Hey, guess what? I was not happy.

What good is it to be in a new place, with all this high tech equipment, a TV, and I can't see a thing? Besides the fact that I could not see too straight as it was, the blur was really annoying.

Then I passed back out again.

/begin weirdness
There was a nurse (of course there was) in the NeuroICU, charged with monitoring and caring for me. She was nice, from what I remember. I hold no grudge against her. But my mind devised a little special insanity for her, well - not directed at her, but she played a key role in it.

Heres what I thought happened: My bed had a little computer attached (it did), which she would occasionally come and check something on. I thought nothing of it. At one point, she came over and told me she was going to be doing something.. I have no idea what, but something. I think I mumbled, or grunted. Whatever. Then the bed began moving. And not as in "I was being taken somewhere" moving, I mean Craftmatic Adjustable bed moving. Then my legs started vibrating, churning. Like the magic moving bed was sucking them in and rolling them around in its mouth.

And the nurse was no where to be found, as far as my horrible vision could see.

This seemed to last roughly 2 hours, and I laid there in a strange kind of horror. Trying to make sense of all this. At some point it occured to me that I must have those leg-massaging sock thingys on, to keep the blood circulating properly. And the bed itself might move slightly to make sure the blood is moving around properly. This calmed me a bit, but then I got angry. Angry because what was happening to me had not been explained in the slightest. And because I could not see.

Fast forward a few hours, and I woke up - the room was dark with the exception of the monitoring equipment. The nurse was in there, or one of the nurses anyway. In my blurred vision I could see the computer they were working on, and to me - it looked like a mock-up of the LCARS system from Star Trek. Yes, you heard me - it looked like the computer screens on the Next Generation Enterprise.

Yes, I have always liked Star Trek, why do you ask?

I remember asking who had designed that system, and was it infact based on the LCARS.
Lets see, I think around this time I had also been told I was catheterized. As my mind searched for a meaning to such a word, it suddenly dawned on me that there was a reason why I did not need to get out of the bed to go to the bathroom. Umm, yeah - never again I tell you.

So the night continued, and I noticed there was a stack of what looked like DVD cases next to the computer, which lit in sequences. Each seemed to have a title. Which I could not read, of course - due to not having my glasses. (my anger has faded over the years, but not the memory)

It seemed at some point that the nurse on duty began playing some video game on the system, through those lit colored boxes. Yeah, I was sane...

So I must have passed out again, because when I woke up - it was the next day. The room was well lit, everyone seemed fairly perky. Must be morning right?

So in scanning my memory, I came to determine that it had been approximately 2 days since the surgery.

Remember now, my surgery only took 6 hours, and I was only in NeuroICU for about 18 hours.

But 2 days had passed, and I still had time to go.

BST17: A misguided attempt to convey the entirety of 24 hours in 3-4 parts.

Yes, that is possibly the most obtuse title I could come up with. And confusing!

What I was basically trying to say is that this is not going to be a one post story.

This is a multiple. One of several posts I will make in the next 24 hours to attempt to tell the story of my 20+ hours in NICU (Neuro-ICU for those playing along at home).

Yes, I know I said I would add more to the previous post, and I will - theres a repetitive theme to that days story which will reappear later.

So lets start from the beginning.

Today is August 7th. It is just past midnight. 3 years ago I was in a hospital room at the University of Virginia Medical Center waiting on my surgery, scheduled for 8am (I think). It is now 17 days post-birthday seizure blowout. In that time I had fallen, threw up, fallen again, went to a hospital where I had an x-ray taken of the space between my chin and my chest.

Pause.

Got on a train, rode 398 miles from NYC to LYH, got in a car, went to WalMart, fell down, went home to my parents, had a haircut, ate chinese, threw up.

Pause.

Went to the Good Doctor, went for a CT, went home, went to UVA, went to admissions, went to my room. Blur.....

And now this moment. The waiting, the watching the clock. It all boiled down to this moment. And I don't remember any of it.

For a moment here the dates will seem skewed. Understand please, I had massive surgery, 6 hours worth. They retracted the right lobe of my brain so they could get at the tumor. Which as we came to find out - was stuck right down the middle. Septum Pellucidum if I recall correctly. It was big, about the size of a bab's fist. And we are not talking newborn either. Combine that with the massive amounts of anesthetics I must have been under, and the dilantin effect - and you have one massive time warp.

They used a Dremel on my head!

Easily one of my favorite tools, and they used it on my head! Gave me whats known in the industry as a "burr hole," or as we commoners call it - a dent.

From what I've been told, it was a high-tech affair. Computers, 3D models, lazer sighting line ups with the lifesavers they had previously stuck to my head.

There was me, on the table. Above me was a MRI image on a screen that aligned with my head. That image was 3D, which enabled them to figure out where they needed to be to eradicate the damned thing.

There was very little drama. Just the Good Surgeons careful manuvering around these tiny filaments that connect the left and right side of the brain, for to sever one could lead to something unwanted. What or how bad I do not know, but not good from what I understand.

There is a breif glimmer of rememberance from the time when I left the OR, when the doctors all crowded around me to stir me back to life. They meant well, they really did - but you don't ask a wiseass like me "Do you know where you are?"

I responded, "I should hope so, you have UVA written on EVERYTHING!"

According to my mother, I was not so lucid when they asked me the year. I was born in 1975, in July. For some reason - I told them it was 1968.

Peace, love and brain surgery I guess.

Anyway - theres a ton more to come. Most of it complete fantasy, all of it real.

At least it seemed to be.

More to come, stay tuned...

BST16: well, not really - but close enough

Things are a bit muddled in my memory about the timeline of events today and tomorrow. For some reason they are melded into one in my head.

I know there were issues with my calling my wife at midnight one night, and 5am one morning. I know that the midnight call and the 5am call were the same night.

TO run down what I am positive of: This was the day before surgery. I was wired, tired, and on edge. I had developed a headache (more of the brain pain thing), and found out that the list of pain meds I could recieve was virtually no holds barred. I went the safe route and chose vicodan, which I knew how I reacted to having had them when my teeth were pulled. They did the trick.

Today I had no choice in meals, as they restricted me for the surgery in the morning. It was a lockdown kind of day. Docs in and out, constant monitoring of my vitals.

I was somewhat calm, or so I thought. But I did know that I was going to have a very hard time getting some sleep that night. I asked for some sort of sleep aid. Like Tylenol PM.

My likey Tylenol PM

I got one of those ones you see on TV. The ones the docs have to prescribe. I don't remember the name of it, or wether or not it worked. But lord, it did not mix well with the vicodan and the dilantin in my system. It was not a good night at all.

If Im right about this, then this was the night my room started changing on me. It no longer seemed like the stable, sanitary room that it was by day. At night, the shadows and lightpools seemed to define the room more than the walls. Almost as if the very shape of the room itself twisted at night. I had alot of rooms while I was at the hospital. Or at least I thought I did. My mother had a cot put in the room so she could stay the night rather than try and get back to the hospital before sunrise when I went into surgery.

As I said, the whole night is kinda fuzzy. I will have a clearer picture later when I have questioned my wife about what went on. But from my end - it was not a good night to be me. Or my nurses. Or one the phone with me.

To all you Health Care people out there who are reading this:

And I know your reading it, you folks at Carilion. The folks over at the VDH, and Trigon Blue Cross....

Read it, and take it to heart. This is more insight into a patient than most doctors ever receive, especially a patient going through something like this.

I was at CRMH today, having my PPD test checked. I get a funny feeling when I go into a hospital now. I get the feeling that Im sure hundreds of doctors get, thousands of nurses, millions of support staff: when they first walk through the doors in the morning. I can do some good here.

And thats kinda why Im writing this, as much for you as for me. I am writing it to illustrate the POV of a patient, what we go through. And how you help us. Well, all except the Vampire Squad.

This is as much of a thank you to the fine people at UVA, as it is a recounting of my life 3 years ago.

Many times patients don't get a chance to thank those who do so much for them, even rarer the nursing staff, after the fact. When they are healthy and as back to normal as possible, they never get a chance to thank the ones who dealt with them hour after hour. Who sat with them, listened and talked. Brought them a cup of what appeared to be coffee. (more on that later)

It's rare to ever see those faces again.

This is for them, this is for me, and most of all - this is for you.

BST15a: And Tom Waits

"I'm leavin' my fam'ly
Leavin' all my friends
My body's at home
But my heart's in the wind
Where the clouds are like headlines
On a new front page sky
My tears are salt water
And the moon's full and high

And I know Martin Eden's
Gonna be proud of me
And many before me
Who've been called by the sea
To be up in the crow's nest
Singin' my say
Shiver me Timbers
'Cause I'm a-sailin' away

And the fog's liftin'
And the sand's shiftin'
I'm driftin' on out
Ol' Captain Ahab
He ain't got nothin' on me, now.
So swallow me, don't follow me
I'm trav'lin' alone
Blue water's my daughter
'n I'm gonna skip like a stone

So please call my missus
Gotta tell her not to cry
'Cause my goodbye is written
By the moon in the sky
Hey and nobody knows me
I can't fathom my stayin'
Shiver me timbers
'Cause I'm a-sailin' away

And the fog's liftin'
And the sand's shiftin'
I'm driftin' on out
Ol' Captain Ahab
He ain't got nothin' on me
So come and swallow me, follow me
I'm trav'lin' alone
Blue water's my daughter
'n I'm gonna skip like a stone

And I'm leavin' my family
Leavin' all my friends
My body's at home
But my heart's in the wind
Where the clouds are like headlines
Upon a new front page sky
And shiver me timbers
'Cause I'm a-sailin' away"
Tom Waits - Shiver Me Timbers (Heart of Saturday Night 1974)

Its a metaphorical thing you see. We all have moments in life where we leave. We don't want to, but we leave. And wether we physically leave, or emotionally leave for a time - we are still not where we want to be. I had both. I was physically away from my girlfriend and assorted family, and I was emotionally gone from everywhere.

I existed only in this room, with the one big window I could not see out of. I could hear the long coal trains rumbling by down below, I could hear the Pegasus LifeFlight taking off and landing. But I couldn't see any of it. The window was like a tv with light but no picture. It was dry and hot these days in the hospital, no storms to light the window up with lightning. And except for the constant stream of medical staff and my parents, the outside world had ceased to exist.

The docs were always asking me the date and such - and I told them, if I havent read the paper, I dont know the date. And no, USA Today does not count.

I had never been to Charlottesville, I had no idea the layout of the city, or what might be 6 floors below me. My whole world consisted of that room, a few hallways, the MRI lab, and the bathroom.

And every evening, the outside world faded as far as the light in the window told me. Faded and went to black.

As this day closed, I was about 24 hours away from surgery. Which then led to the longest 3 days of my life, or the shortest stay in NeuroICU anyone has seen in a long time.

For those of you just joining us..

The story starts here: BST:the beginning

Feel free to skim if you like, or just pick up where you feel most comfortable.

BST15: Pleased to meet you, Hope you fix my brain

Have you noticed yet, none of the Tomorrow: BST**: whatevers actually appear as the next days title?

I swear when this is done, Im going to sit down and figure out the theme behind the titles.

Anyway, 15 days since my birthday. 15 days since I slammed my head into the change machine at Trump Taj Mahal. 15 days since the seizure-o-matic drive on my brain finally kicked over. And what am I doing?

Sitting in a hospital, being interviewed. Today was Monday, which meant all the staff and sundry were present and accounted for. Today was going to be a long day.

Now the poor nurses had to check my vitals every 2 hours or so through the night, so as much as I wanted to be asleep, I did not want them to have to wake me up - or worry about waking me up. I was getting real good at greeting them as they came through the door.

A quick word about my room. It was big, had a big single square window with the blinds between the panes. Had a bathroom to rival the ones in a penthouse suite. It also was directly attached to a nurses station. Not one that was monitored 24/7, but one of the satilite ones - where a nurse could gather more supplies as he/she needed.

I think it was up on the 6th floor. Wonderful view (for the 2 minutes I remember seeing it before I was confined to the bed.) The nursing staff could not have been more wonderful. If you know UVA Medical Center, you know the floors are laid out in triangles, precisely to confuse patients. I, to this day - could not tell you what room I was in if I was staring right at it. (and I think I was, during the Gamma Knife episode)

But anyway, there were two doors to my room. One into the nurses station, and a 2nd into my room. The doors had matching big square windows - but with no blinds. Not a big deal normally, as they dimmed the lights on the floor at the appropriate time. Except - the nurses station light was never turned off. It had no dimmer. Just that big square glass window straight into my room.

Not sleeping was very easy, especially when you would see a shadow or hear a noise in the hallway at night. I had no clock I could see easily when the lights were off in the room, I had no radio to lull me to sleep. I never thought of it till I was home allready.

So, as I would soon discover, like clockwork - the Vampire Squad came in at 5:00am to steal my blood. Then it was a wait, at 6am (or there abouts) the nurse came in to check my vitals and administer my meds. At 7:30ish am, it was time for breakfast. And at 8am, my parents were back in right on time to spend the day again. I give them much credit - they spent more time sitting there than I would want to.

Well, being the busy kind of day it was shaping up to be, I was totally in my right mind. Obviously.

Perfect time to send in the interviewers. First was Social Services, asking about my job and such. Somehow in my mangled description of my mangled job at Home Depot, I gave them the impression that I was a security guard. I believe I also said something about moving a 550lb cast iron tub by myself. Which actually was true. So on my SS forms I was classified as a Security Guard.

Then in came the man of my dreams. Tall, serious looking - but with a smile on his face a mile wide. A calm, easy going manner - but an intensity for getting things done right. Meet Dr. Shaffrey. My Neurosurgeon. The man inspires confidence, and heaven forbid anything similar happen to your loved ones, this is the man you want.

Well he gave my parents the run down, because lord knows I was barely keeping up counting my fingers. After he left, my mother went and called her cousin who is a bigshot nurse. Sure enough, after 2 seconds of checking around at her hospital, Shaffery was the MAN.

Next up on my hidden agenda, the Neuropsychologist. Why? Baseline testing of my brain functions and whatnot. Sure, I could make a ton of jokes here - but why bother. Several months after getting out of the hospital, on the occasion of one of my follow up MRI's, I had another run of neuro-functional/cognitive testing. Just an update kind of thing. The Doctor who ran me through the gauntlet then was the same one who put me through my paces before the surgery. Dr. Janie Irons. And I, feeling the fool - had no idea. Dr. Irons was the associate of the big muckety-muck Neuropsychologist, Dr. Farace. Both women have my undying gratitude for what they did for me. Dr. Farace would have done the test herself, but was tied up with another patient.

For some reason, in my head - I still envision the testing as follows: I was taken out of my room (not true) and brought to this big old library (not true). In this library I was seated in a window, on one of those nice window seats - where I could look out(not true). Dr. Irons sat with me on the windowseat (not true) and asked me questions, had me do puzzles, and talked with me about various things(true). The only thing I clearly remember is having a discussion about Star Trek (maybe true). Then when it was all over, I was back in my bed.

So theres the delusional "I HAVE NO BRAIN" moment for today.

I will have further updates later in the day.

BST14: Sunday Bloody Sunday

Allright, so maybe this title is a tad overdramatic.

Just a tad tho. Not much.

Sundays in the hospital were different, quieter. Time was spent watching TV, staring into space, watching some more tv. Managed to locate the NASCAR race, Watkins Glen at that. So bad enough I was slightly out of my head enough to think they (I HAVE NO BRAIN MOMENT) changed the body styling for the race (something chunkier and stockier than they normally run - for unknown reasons I was seeing the cars that way), they were also making both left and right turns.

Any wonder why my head was all screwy? Well, there was another factor.

Dilantin.

(Q & A Time) "What are the possible side effects of Dilantin?
- an allergic reaction (difficulty breathing; closing of the throat; swelling of the lips, tongue, or face; or hives);
· hallucinations;
· slurred speech or staggering walk;
· a rash;
· changes in vision;
· agitation;
· low blood pressure;
· slow or irregular heartbeats;" (drugs.com)

So lets examine shall we? I was allready in the hospital for a tumor which causes gait issues, I allready had a rather calm blood pressure. My speech was slightly slurred due to the tumor. Agitation? No comment...

So really all the Dilantin did was add a rash and hallucinations.

Well, why the hell not?

When asked about it - the doctors called it "kinda like useful heroin - the benifits outweigh the drawbacks in most cases."

This is also around the time I stopped sleeping at night. Resting fitfully during the day, and as my mother put it "at all the wrong times." I'd be asleep every time the nurses and docs came in to check me, but awake when nothing was going on.

I was beginning to learn that the food at UVA was more than decent, it was actually good hospital food. Everything but the Turkey Tetrazinni. God what sludge, not to be rude. Im sure there are people out there who enjoy it - but Im not one of them.

And those days I would get something from the cafeteria downstairs. I had not seen it, but I was told it was huge - they had everything a person could want (including coffee.. and boy did I need it), all for low prices.

I was attempting to keep a journal while in the hospital - but only succeeded in making one entry. Todays: "Disoriented, delusional, and detatched. Dilantin. Welcome to lockdown."

For what its worth anyway...

Tomorrow: BST15: Stealing the baselines.

BST13: Good Morning, mind if I take your blood?

So I'm beginning to see a pattern developing here.

the 5am Vampire Squad wakeup call. Around 5am every day, the Vampire Squad comes rolling through, stealing blood as they go. They are awfully polite about it, and very gentle when they do it. But its 5am.

I was previously asleep.

And you want me to take a needle? Hmmm.. can we reschedule?

I do have to admit, this day was fairly easy. Basically testing, testing, and more testing. MRI's - I got these cheerio's for my head - helps the images to line up I understand.

Oh - and I was up to my 5th or 6th bag of saline. Little tip for all you age-obsessed women out there - want younger skin? Get hyper-hydrated with saline. I had the stuff in spades, to the point where my skin and nails looked as if I was just born.

That pink that only babies can get.

I was so full of saline I could taste and smell it. My skin felt damp all the time, it was seeping out of my pores. That was the nightmare of the day.... the saline. I kept asking if they could turn it off for a while. Oh wait, there was another nightmare - the blood-oxygen sensor cuff on my finger. Apparently when your finger is not perfectly level - the machine goes off annoyingly - to the point where even the nurses couldn't stand the noise of it.

They knew I was fine, as they had just checked me about 5 minutes prior, but the cuff was not level - so the machine got noisy.

They threated to tape my hand to my chest if I could not hold it. And lord know I tried. But it would not stay. So they made good on the threat. They taped my hand to my chest while I slept, it was probably the best sleep I had gotten since getting the stupid cuff put on.

All were happy.

Other than than - it was just more testing, more saline, more bad tv, and more meds.

Tomorrow: BST14:Dilantin iz teh SuX0r

BST12b: Just a little WHAT?

Allright, I'll admit it - I hate needles. I even broke out in a mini-cold sweat upon getting my PPD test today. (Got it for the new job, not for the WSLS Outbreak)

No, you don't understand - I really hate needles. It once took 3 nurses to calm me down just to get an immunization shot. One I had walked to, walked in, and walked out of 3 times prior.

Well, lets see.. Im being admitted to the hospital, and not for an overnight stay. Nope - Im being admitted for a stretch.

The docs want me hydrated. Apparently I was De-. The docs want me tested, bloodwise. The docs want alot of things, but most of all - they want in my veins apparently.

So I have to be outrigged with a gate-valve IV line. You know, those nifty things that you get so you don't have to continuously take new needles? Well, I was not thrilled with the thought of getting even the one to insert the darn thing.

But I was also out of my mind, remember? So somehow I changed the zoning regulations on my veins from a No Needle Zone, to Open for Needles.

I wish I had informed myself..

So I got the line-in. And they started me on the saline IV drip. Well, no, not drip - I had a push. If I recall correctly, the first day I went through 3 bags if saline.

Ugh.

But in nother news, I got to watch some interesting new shows. Like the West Virginia State Lottery show... Wow, was that a barn burner. God I'd love to see that again.

Of course, it might not have been as bizzare as I remember.

Thats a big might.

So tomorrow: Meet the Vampire Squad.

BST12: Welcome, won't you join us for a while?

It was a long drive to UVA. Long.. dull... drive. Plus, I was not looking forward to what they had to say. Still thinking it was nothing major, delusional as I always am.

We get there, park, go into the Neurosurgery offices and wait.

We are the only ones there. Kinda creepy. Fill out paperwork, hand over the films.

Now at this point, I don't remember anymore if it was Dr. Kassell or Dr. Jane Sr. that called us back into the office. I just remember there being a mood of expectant tension. He told us how he reviewed the films, then uttered the words no one was expecting.

Its a tumor.

A shockwave of stunned silence exploded into the room. The good Dr. broke it by mentioning that it was a particularly rare one, but by all indications - if it is the type he thought it was, it would be benign.

Central Neurocytoma. One of the rarest, and dangerous types.

From my studies on this little brainbastard, it is a slow growing tumor. Most likely I had it since birth, but until it hits a size where it causes problems, there is no knowing its there. It blocks the flow of Cerebro-Spinal Fluid causing the brain to crush under the pressure buildup. It is operable, due to location, and has a very good outcome for returning to normal life. Usually.

However, when you hear the doctor say (in terms of him admitting me for surgery and stablilzation) "You can either stay with us for the weekend, or you can go home and die suddenly," things have gotten a little out of hand.

We would know more after I had an MRI.

I HAVE NO BRAIN MOMENT: (another fine example of my dimwittedness) We go out to the car after figuring out the admissions thing. Im sitting there, smoking my brains out, and I call my wife (girlfriend at the time). Mind you Im sitting in the backseat of my parents car, they are sitting in the front.

I tell her that we found out what is going on with my head, and that I had "the Big C." To this day, echoing somewhere above C-Ville is my mothers voice yelling "It's not cancer, Its a tumor!" See, No brain..

I handed the phone to my mother who properly explained things. Thankfully.

So off to admitting we went.

And on that note, I must be off - more to come later today - I have things to accomplish.

It's done.

Testcast #1 is finished and ready to ship. Drop me a line @ forgotten.roanoke@gmail.com
and I'll pass it on. I've come up with a better way to ship than sending it as a file.

BST11: "So, uh, you watch the races?"

Well this is a big day. So Im not too sure of how to set out describing it.

If memory serves me....

I'm pretty sure my appointment was first thing in the morning. It was a Thursday, and we were headed from 616 in Moneta, to 122 - all the way to Rocky Mount. Carilion Franklin memorial or whatever. Nice looking place, although I was a tad bit concerned about the life-flight helicopter landing pad in the parking lot. Not so much for myself, but for the unwitting person who parked their larger sized car in the spaces surrounding.

I think we left before dawn, but things were pretty dark for me anyway at that time, so Im not sure. I remember seeing Rocky Mount and thinking what a nice small town it was. Then next thing I know, Im in the hospital, awaiting my first ever CT scan.

And waiting. Not long, but the wait was interminable. So this guy calls out my name, and leads me back to the CT area. Heres what I remember:

Sitting next to this massive computer, as he typed in my answers to the usual questions. Any allergies, history of blah-blah.. I guess I was looking visibly nervous, because suddenly he changed tack - "So, uh, you watch the races?"

Well there went another 20 minutes of prep, speeding by as we talked about NASCAR and all related things. I don't remember anything except how cool the guy was. Then it was time to lay down and take it. I was amused that they had to use lazers to target my head, make sure it was properly aligned. The usual admonisions about not moving, no sneezing - that stuff. Then he told me the plan - 15 mins of pics normal, 15 with contrast.

Ok - Ive owned many a camera and a tv or 2, I know contrast is something you twiddle with when your picture is not quite right. Right?

Right?

Boy was I wrong - after the first 15 mins he slides me out, and proceeds to play "Let's pick a vein." Again, I am non-plussed as I can visibly SEE this whole thing going on. He slides up a tray, and pulls out what I would think to be a sterilized, wrapped can of WD-40. Well it was big enough, but no - this was the contrast. Then he tells me he has 2 of them for me, I'll be taking 100cc's of contrast.

Lovely, had you told me this sooner I could have made alternate arrangements for someone to come stand in for me.

Slips the needle in, unlocks the hypo-side, locks in the contrast keg #1. He says it could burn a bit, tingle if you will. Nope, not me - nooo. I get immediate and total ice flowing through my veins. If you stabbed me with a penguin, I still wouldnt have this chill this deep inside me.

By the time he empties #2, Im tracing the path of ice water through my body. We wait, he has headed back to the monolith computer to time the progress - and then he announces that we are going back in.

Re-lined up, and I can hear the machine spinning inside the big donut. I can track it by the sound. Reminds me of a NIN concert, which was a good thing. It had a beat, it had a lead track. I could close my eyes and envision some electro-heavy band banging this out in the studio. I was happy - well, happy enough considering my arm had been brutally invaded by steel.

And yet to this day I have a dream of cybernetic implants. Tell me that makes sense.

Allright, this fun was over. I bid goodbye to the dude, and we headed back home. If I recall correctly - my appointment was for 9am, so we were back on the road. I think we stopped somewhere, maybe the Kroger in Rocky Mount for something - I dont know, I stayed in the car. Im pretty sure we stopped at DQ (the one infront of Lewis' office) before heading home.

So if you figure we hit the road home about 10:15, stopped twice, we probably got in around noon.

There was a message waiting. Dr. Lewis had the breakdown from the tech on what was on the CT films.

I was headed for UVA the following day. I had a meeting with the head (HEAD!) of the Neurosurgery Department. One Dr. Kassell (I believe).

Now, Rocky Mount was maybe an hour drive, UVA would be nearly 3 hours. There was no definitive answer as to why, but something on the CT had them concerned - although they wanted a specialist's opinion.

So my parents had to drive back to Rocky Mount and get the films, and prepare for a drive in the morning.

I packed my backpack again, tapes/cds/batteries/walkman.

What the hell was going on, I had no idea. But what was currently going on was ugly. The pain was beginning to ramp up to the same levels I had back in NY.

Not fully there yet, but getting there.

And this is where it begins to get really good. This is the part that you should keep your eye on. Welcome to the beginning of everything.

We're taking a short break today

Another day of waiting 3 years ago. Meh - even less to talk about with each day of waiting. But the wait wont be long - come tomorrow, everything kicks into overdrive.

So anyway, Welcome to October people! 69 degrees, overcast, drizzly nasty stuff. Yep - halloween must be right around the corner. Of course, I'd take this over the 90+ heat we were having. Then again, anything over 80 and I start getting cranky.

I just wanted to show you all something.

If anyone can tell me what this photo is of, I'll give you a brass filligree with bronze leaf.

And one more photo.

You know, maybe having the sign down is not the worst idea. It would be a hell of a conversation piece. If you could find a blank wall somewhere in town, or even maybe stick it in Elmwood Park, at ground level - and let it be lit. Be a novelty anyway.

So welcome to my day off from the BST, I'll be back with more later.

BST9: The really good Doctor

So here I am. New haircut, slightly new wardrobe (remember, I brought nothing - all I had down there was whatever I had left/bought on my previous visits), and a pain in my neck worse than death. So where does a swinging, handsome guy with a pain go? The Doctor of course.

A nice trip to see Dr. Lewis, the doc of the lake. A Doc so cool, he rides his motorcycle to work. This dude is one cool doc. He has a knack for spotting things before anyone else does - and being right. However, directly outside his office is Dairy Queen.

Hard choice, huh?

Well, Doc was first - check in, wait, fill out forms. Stating I had no medical insurance, but payment was assured. Then I got called back, check the vitals.

Now I occasionally weighed myself when I was living in NY, nothing official mind you - just an occasional inquiry. I knew at one point I was racking up about 300lbs on my frame. Hey, its a wonderful life.

Well when I was weighed at Lewis, well - I had dropped nearly 100lbs in nearly 6 months. Well, I was on no weight loss plan - no diet. I was not working especially hard. I was just existing day to day, and somehow lost nearly 100lbs.

Of course, Lewis - not having seen me before, nor having any kind of chart to base things on - might not have realized how fast I had lost weight, or how much. I had not been to a doctor prior in roughly.. well, lets just say most Catholics make confession more often than I go to doctors.

So we sit in the exam room for a bit. Dr. Lewis themes his rooms, theres a fish room, a lake room.. yadda yadda.

In walks the good Doctor. Hello says I, hello says he. But the differences could not be more vast. Dr. Lewis grew up a military brat, living for a time in a town not all that far from where I grew up. But years and time have erased the NY from his voice, he is the very definition of calm. His voice exudes a warmth and confidence, a concern yet command of the situation. He sounds (at least) nearly unflappable.

My parents and I give him a run-down of the situation as far as we see it. I do not remember if he took an x-ray, or if he just went based on feelings. But he ordered a CT scan. The very next day in Rocky Mount at Carilion Franklin I had an appointment for a CT.

What a wonderful week this was going to be. I had the vaguest idea what a CT scan was, much less a decent understanding of what they would be looking for.

In retrospect, Im probably glad I did not know.

Tomorrow: BST10:How far? How long?

BST8: Of head chopping and salty soups...

I was getting sick and tired of being sick and tired. I was smelly, nasty, grungy - my parents, who wisely after my performance in the shower in NY, had banned me from the shower down here. I had not showered in roughly 5 days at this point. I was able to con them into allowing me a quick shower, with the provision that I left the door open. Which was not a big deal considering my mother has the thickest, darkest shower curtain on record.

Also one of the most spacious bathrooms.

So I showered, only getting dizzy a number of times, not blacking out, just dizzy. (As in, I was really probably very close to passing out, but somehow fought it off.) I learned one thing after I got out of the shower. I was sick of my hair.

I've struggled all my life with my hair. I have thick, thick hair. Thick like peanut butter. Half the time I want it long, the other half I am trying to tame it short.

My hair has a natural part, thoroughly enforced by 6 years of catholic school, uniforms, and neatness as a requirement.

In my 30 years, I haven't lost that part no matter what I do. So as I was saying, I was once again - sick of my hair. It was long, but long in that not long enough way. Best descriptive word: unkempt.

So off to the hair cutting place we go. Just up 616 by Dollar General, nice lady - good cut. I was happy - plus the whole process felt really good for some reason - very calming.

We go out to eat to celebrate my newfound hair, to a chinese food place down at Bridgewater. We sit, order - and get a round of wanton soup for all. Now finding chinese food that matches the quality and quantity of NYC chinese is no easy task. In trying this 'wanton soup' I discovered, to my personal tastes anyway - that it was salty. Extremely so. Upon asking my fellow diners if I was correct in my assesment - I was met with puzzled stares, and a round of "no."

Ooohkkkaaayy - so its just me. Well, I had a bit more soup. Then, there was a splishin and a splashin, a rolling and a heavin, a moovin and a groovin, no dealin with the feelin - I got up, ran to the bathroom - were I proceeded to purge every ounce of anything I had eaten in the past 4-5 years. Painful, violent - and ulitmately embarassing. I felt awful for the restaurant, I did not want them to think it was their food.

When I finally emerged from the bathroom, I went back to the table - gulped copious amounts of water, fought off the pukey feeling I was getting just being in there - and shot out the door to wait in the car till they were done.

I half sat, half laid in the back seat of the car with the door open - smoking and lolling my head about like a ragdoll while the minutes passed. I did not have my walkman, I did not turn on the radio.

I heard the call of the nice lady who was acting as matre'd came to the door to ask me if there was anything she could do. I reassured her it was not the food, just me. And yes, I would be fine. I felt awful for putting a place through that kind of worry.

Of course, I haven't been back to determine if the soup really was that salty.

So it was back home, to rest or whatever - which meant an intermineable amount of smoking on the front porch - and probably drinking a gallon of coffee.

Or sleep - Im not sure which. All I know is it was my last shower as a man whose brain was 1/4" larger than his skull.

The next few days would change the course of humanity as we know it. Or at least my life. Well, it changed something anyhow.

Tomorrow: Oh Hi Doc. Yeah - you want me to what? CT? Does that involve needles?

BST8: Whole lotta nothin goin on...

I had a few days between my arrival at my folks home, and my doctors appointment. So I took it easy, in an enforced and limited kind of way.

There was little leaving of the house, about the farthest I really went was the front porch, where I spent most of my mornings and evenings. I sat out in a wooden rocking chair, drinking my coffee - reading some, talking on the phone, and smoking.

Momma don't allow no smoking in da house. A rule I freely flaunted as a teen, behind the door of my own room, but was more than happy to abide by now. Something about cool mornings, the stand of trees across the road from my parents house, a deep dark cup of java, and a smoke made it worthwhile to sit outside.

I did some photo-taking, some conversating on the phone, some readin of the Roanoke Times (yes, I havent forgotten you... noooo.. my preciousss). If it got too hot, I wandered back inside and upstairs to watch some TV. Or take a nap. Well, I did quite alot of sleeping during those few days - So much so that I don't quite remember every minute detail of my day.

I just know I did not do much, I was still in a tremendous amount of pain. But I got into that pattern of waking up, grabbing coffee and sitting outside - because after my time in the hospital was over, I went back to doing it.

My conversations with my wife were limited in details. I did not have many to offer, and she was only concerned with my well being. But we would still yap about nothing.

I had taken her mothers cell phone (pre-pay, barely used) for the train trip, but the cell itself stopped working around Alexandria, VA. I had no cell of my own. I also had the charger for it, and had not used much in the way of minutes while travelling - mostly checking in, passing on my location at the time and how I was doing.

However, when I got to my parents and unpacked my bag, I took the charger out, and lost it promptly. I don't remember if I ever found it again. I do know that I still experienced some of the tingling of lips & tongue as I had before - but the IV I recieved at Jamaica Hospital back in NY seemed to reset the clock when it came to the passing out thing. I have a feeling that the incident at WalMart in Bedford was due to the exhaustion of the trip itself combining with my allready weakened state.

Did I mention I had lost weight? Well, you'll find out how much in about a day or so.

(By the by, my coffee of choice at the time was Millstone's Foglifter - although I've found that both Kroger and FoodLion make perfectly good 100% Columbian coffee - take that for what it is worth.)

I could fill pages with the minutae of differences in my habits, then and now - but I fear I might be revealing too much ahead of time. We are just inches from the really dark, juicy parts now.

There will be more, oh yes - there will. I haven't even seen a doctor yet.

BST7: Ahh the retired life

Well, theres actually not too much to say about today. If anything of major significance happened, I don't remember it.

Basically, I slept fitfully at night. Woke early and ate little, sat at the computer for a good while.

There is one thing I remember, the smell. For weeks if not months, there was a smell. And my mother keeps an ultra-kleen house. I guess between that and the fresh moutain/lake air - I was really noticing this smell. Slightly bitter, slightly offensive, but not at all recognizeable. It was persistent, and much like a subtle undercurrent. I could smell garlic, but beneath the garlic smell would be this smell.

There never was a clear answer given, if it was my way off kilter bodychemistry, an olfactory hallucination, or just a funk in my nose. I actually felt bad, knowing my mother keeps such a clean house, to have to ask her if there was something in the house that smelled. Occasionally it would get overpowering, and give me a sinus headache - but that could have been purely brain-based.

I never had any strange taste, or sounds. No visual stuff. Just this smell.


No, I did not get it. I still don't quite get it. I've learned to accept it and move on. But boy, did it stink. Thankfully, now 3 years down the road I can report the smell has never resurfaced. Thats both a good thing and a bad thing. I'd love to find something that approximates that smell, so I can stop being vague about it. I'd love to say it was a funk "not unlike hot auto-exhaust ripened limburger cheese."

I guess then I may be asking too much.

Note: PodTest1 is nearly complete. Aiming for a 20 minute cast, or a tad less. Im only releasing this one by e-mail due to the music industry being lawsuit happy. Again, this one is for sound quality, and all the finicky crud. Again, leave a message if you want in.

Yes #1 - I know you want in. Calm... soon.

BST6: And so begins the big ugly

Big ugly wait that is.

The day of the 26th, my folks decided I should rest like crazy while they arranged an appointment with the Astounding Dr. Lewis. I've heard of doctors with a knack for finding things, but Lewis is the first one I've heard of who dead-eyes the problem with accuracy.

So while we waited for the appointment, my parents tried all sorts of things to help me cope with the pain. Even one of those vibrating-heating-neck-massagy things. Only this one also made chirping bird noises. Well, it claimed they were chirpy bird noises. I think the wiring was a bit off.

I guess due to where the silly thing sat on my neck, it did not help matters much. I remember unpacking my backpack and coming across the camera I had put in it to take photos from the train. I remember taking photos. I just don't remember of what, and now when I sit down and go through all my pics - the only ones I can assume were from that first trip down are the ones that are blurry, or badly shot. There might be one good picture out of the whole roll. But I don't remember what I took pictures of.

Just another mystery. More to come...

BST5A: In another hour or so...

I was arriving at Lynchburg. Dazed, confused, but seeing my parents for the first time in a while.

Into the car and back to 460, to link up with 122 to head down to the lake.

Hey, thats right - I didn't pack anything. Lets stop at Walmart! WOO HOO! 24 hour Walmart!!!!

Stay in the car? I dont think so...

Well in retrospect, I probably should have.

Not 100 feet into the store, as I was perusing the produce; as my mother went off in search of clean socks and such, as my father stood by watching me, I went down.

Like a sack of wet potatoes, I hit the floor.

Or would have, had the reflexes of a former NYPD lieutenant not put themselves between my head and the floor. Somehow, he got his arms under mine, and was able to keep me afloat. The steely nerves of a cop while his family crumbles around him. Well, me anyway. His son.

The manager on duty brought me a chair to sit in, though of course I insisted I was fine.

We were out of there as fast as possible, and home faster than that.

That night I don't recall much of - except for seeing my grandmother, who was not so happy to see me in my current state.

It was not the best conditions for a homecoming.

More tomorrow

BST:5 - Leavin' on a big train...

Its amazing how your least in the mood to travel when you most have to.

The morning was spent getting together a backpack full of crap so I wouldn't have to leave my seat during the ride. Tapes, batteries, notebook, camera, snacks, the useful stuff. I was packing nothing, no clothes, no supplies. This was an end-run for the final yard. Had to travel light.

Escorted to the Long Island RailRoad station, into Penn Station, and onto the train itself by my Da. A dizzying experience to say the least. I was seated immediately on the Amtrak train, Crescent Southbound out of NYP to LYH, Train 19. The crew could not have been nicer, having been informed as to my situation upon arrival. They kept a close eye on me during the trip. The attendant even allowed me to jump off for a smoke at every opportunity, knowing I probably couldn't make the trip to the smoking lounge.

The doors closed, and I said goodbye to NY and everything and everyone I knew and loved. The first lurch of the train, then a barely perceptible transition to acceleration. We were off.. Through the tunnel under the Hudson, and blasting out into the light of what I remember to be a grey, dreary day.

This was my first long-haul trip on Amtrak in years. The time prior was a trip to Disney in Orlando, via Amtrak. I remember that trip mainly because I was up all night, staring out into the blackness. I learned the sound of the horn keening into the night, the staccato blasts that meant we were coming upon a crossing.

Its a nearly 8 hour trek south, which I found out much later that if it only takes 8 hours you should consider yourself lucky. But hell, I was on a train. Happy at that. I found a position which was somewhat comfortable, and dug in for the ride.

The nice thing was that most of the trip was made by daylight, which meant I had a view. Newark and Trenton went fairly quickly, as I spent endless amounts of good eyesight on staring out at the passing world. Philly was the first big stop with a layover. Granted, unlike in the airline industry where 'layover' usually means next time you are in a plane you'll be collecting social security; this layover was only about 20 mins while they futzed with the engines or something. For someone who was in bad shape, I was having a pretty good time. Just me and my walkman, a few pieces of literature. Some gum.

I've always liked traveling by myself, even if it was just on the subway. No need for small talk, or trying to shout above the sound of the train. Just syncing the music in my head with the scenes in my eyes. Deep in thought about anything, but still making progress in the world.

Wilmington, Baltimore, and then DC. The NE Corridor is a busy busy place. Multiple rail lines use it, from commuter rail like MARTA, to freight ops like NS and (whatever is left of) Conrail. There are even points nearing DC where suddenly the DC Metro system is a sneeze away from heavy rail.

I remember my one time on the DC Metro - I thought the stations were huge, but the old lady playing with her dentures on the train made me a wee bit nervous. That's DC for ya.

The longest layover is at DC, which can easily be a half hour to fourty five minutes, if all goes smoothly. Its where they swap engines from the silly catanery overhead electric engines to the big, ballsy diesel engines that are limited in speed.

Wait, what? Ok- sidenote rant here. Acela is a electric engine. Runs off overhead power. Top speed on the overhead electric is roughly 150mph. Where they can run that fast that is. Thats the speed limit enforced on the overhead electric side of the rails. Once you swap down to straight diesel, or even diesel/electric - your limited to 85mph.

Why? Those trains can blow 85mph without sweating. Given a good run, a diesel can pull a 100mph run with ease. Anyway - politics of train engines. Bah.

So what stands out in my head from this half the trip? Well, I would have to say the big neon sign on the bridge in Trenton which reads: "Trenton Makes, The World Takes."

The sudden crush of city as you pull into Philly. You were just in a fairly rural part of Jersey, now you have the highway about arms length from the train.

The Baltimore skyline, the bridges - big and small, The Baltimore Zoo from the back end.

What really impressed me the most however was probably the most unexpected. Wilmington, DE. A city not unlike Roanoke. Large businesses, fairly large buildings - Amtrak East HQ, a downtown area being revitalized. Centrally located train station. Just like Roanoke, only with more water.

I think we hit DC around 7pm or so, I still have the schedule from that trip somewhere. We were due in Lynchburg around 11p, so there was still more to see.

Oh - coolest thing, pulling out of DC you go through a century old tunnel - one can pratically see the old steam engines pushing through, considering the soot is still on the walls.

I will post the rest of this journey later on today. Maybe have it up by 11pm - try and stick to the actual timeline of the train.

But the journey was the easy part, it was the stop at WalMart that was hard.

A note for my regular readers.

Allright, listen up. I know this is not what you have come to expect from Forgotten-Roanoke/RoanokeFound.

Radically changing the focus of my blog from the world-at-large to the world inside is a leap. No doubt about that. But keep reading, theres more to this story than meets the eye.

I am going to use my story to springboard some new ideas for RoanokeFound. Some mini-projects I've been wasting my time with. For example:

At some point this week, Im hoping to launch the first RoanokeFound blogcast. You will hear the voice of Forgotten-Roanoke broadcast for the first time in nearly 10 years.

Im thinking of making it invitation only at first, to gain feedback on the quality of the cast. I want this to be as true to my memories of radio-days as possible.

Granted I dont have a cart machine, spots, psa's and all that fun stuff. Well, I dont have them yet anyway.

But this is just the tip of the iceberg, as they say.

Im going to build a list of those who want to hear the podcast - so leave a comment if you want in. But be warned - it deals with the BST. This is my test run, checking for sound quality, timing, content, and vocal levels.

So I need feedback, serious feedback from those who listen. You can leave a comment if you want to hear more about the BST, or if you want to assist me in pinning down any flaws in the cast.

I appreciate your continued reading, and even though you don't leave a comment usually, I know your there. I have Wundercounter.

BST:4, or "Im not flying! Your nuts!"

So after the IV drip, I was actually feeling a slight bit better, but we all knew it wasn't the cure. Even I was lucid enough to realize that a saline drip was not my saviour. Appropriate phone calls were made between concerned parties, and it was decided that no way in hell would I be going to another NY Hospital.

My parents had been living here for a good couple of years at this point, and they had a doctor who they said was pretty good. Now my wife and I had plans to come visit anyway about a week or so later, so I agreed when it was offered to come early and see my parents doctor.

They wanted me to fly down.

A person who is generally down with a cold should not fly, the pressure causes pain in the ears. A person with an unknown problem, which causes vomiting, dizzyness, et. al... Nope - shouldnt be flying either. Actually, let me put it this way:

Hell-no I aint flyin. On previous trips I have flown down to Roanoke, its a nice trip as long as you can accept the fact that you are on a flying toothpick most of the flight, and a flying lawnmower if you have to change planes anywhere. Acceptance leads to peace of mind. Greyhound was out of the question too, especially after my Atlantic City fiasco.

That left Amtrak. Does Amtrak run to Roanoke? Noooo. Did they? Yesss. Will they again? Maybeee..

But theres always Lynchburg. Ticket was booked as of 5pm 7/24/02. Train leaves Penn Station, NYC at 2pm 7/25/02. I had one night to spend before I was off again, one last night to get through before I began the biggest journey of my life. I remember I slept well that evening, and was up all night making preparations for my trip. Talking to friends online, telling them what the story was so far.

Saying goodbye to my wife by phone was not fun however. But it was still with the expectation that she would be following me down at the time we had originally planned to come down, about a week later.

Amazing how plans change.

The Process and the Pain

This is becoming a tad more intense than I originally expected.

The memories of the BST flow back so easily, especially the feelings of sadness and lost time.

The year I worked down the ass-end of Wall St. temping for a company, I was working there around christmas, and there were days it was all I could do to keep my emotions in check.

I still dont know why, if it was the effects of the BST, or if its just my nature to have these random moments of complete emotional turmoil.

There is always a trigger though, and some of the songs (which you will all find out about later on, soon I hope) are that very trigger.

And this goes on till the 18th of August?? Sheesh!

You'll be able to send letters and cookies to me, care of the local sanitarium by the time this is done.

For more humorous postings by me, go check the WikiRoanoke. I'll be using that like crazy to balance this.

BST3: You call this a hospital???

So as it goes, I am in Queens, NY - at my home - either up in my room or not. I’m not sure. I’m waiting for daybreak to go see my dads doctor. But things are not waiting. Still with the vomiting (side note - my wife tells me yesterday that when my dad came to take me back to Queens - I had to jump out of the car before we even left and go throw up. Lovely memory she has…) and the pain. Never-ending pain at this point. And to top it off - I actually had to call into work, let them know I would not be in because I was going insane.

Did I mention how caring they were at work? No? Good - I don’t want to give the wrong impression.

Well things were not looking so good for me making it to a doctors office, and the doctor even recommended I go to the ER. Ahh yes, a NYC ER room.

Ever see one of those nature films where ants scurry about in a fight - walking over the ‘corpses’ of their fallen comrades. Well a NYC ER is close to that, but nothing I could show you short of actually bringing there with a severe injury could bring you close to understanding the conditions. Patients lining the hallways, on the hospital beds (when they could find them). We entered into the maelstrom, went through the check in and waited for a doctor.

Well, I was doing my impersonation of the “Native American Bring My Ass A Doctor” dance. I would try and sit, my legs violently shaking from the pain. Clutching the back of my head in agony.

That would last about 2-3 minutes. Then I was up, stomping around attempting to distract myself from the pain. Well, roughly 2 hours later (after being stuck in a loop of this dance) a doctor finally came down from upon high to see me. The prognosis: Dehydration.

Yes you heard me, Dehydration. Solution: 1 IV drip saline. Yes, just one. Hooked me up, drained the bag, kicked me out the door.

That’s probably the only thing that kept me alive for the next 2-3 days. The lack of proper care which gave me the ability to move on to my next destination. But more on that later.

Had I stayed in NY, and they actually discovered the tumor - I would have probably either died at some point, or possibly been horribly paralyzed for life. Too many stories have come out of this particular hospital for me to have any faith in it. Not to mention I probably would have been mugged at some point.

It would have either been that, or I would have been sent to a proper hospital - and still not come out as clean as I have.

Misdiagnosis of dehydration, it’s a good thing.

Oh - and incase your wondering - misdiagnosing is not solely the fault of the doctor in NY. They are simply overwhelmed by the amount of cases they have to see on a daily basis. Heck, even hourly can be disheartening. Ask any doctor who has done rounds in a NYC hospital, and they will tell you what war is like.

So lets review: Intense pain, vomiting, slight numbness in certain areas - a highly visible pain-dance and feral growling.

Oh yes, must be dehydration..

Now remember, IV bag drained and out the door.

Ok, good. We are all on point for tomorrows chapter.

BST2: Down days and lost nigts

Sorry for the delay in posting this - you'll live I suspect.

Day 2...

I went back home, with a promise from my dad to go to talk to his doctor that day, determining the best course of action. Everything pending on how things progressed over the next 24 hours.

I don't really remember much of those 24 hours, if I stayed in my room on the 2nd floor - if I went between the first and 2nd floors. I dont think I ate much, But if I slept the whole time, or sat infront of the computer or tv and zoned out - I have no idea.

There is not much to say about day 2. It was a down day. Im pretty sure the pain in my neck/head was overwhelming at this point.

So not much to report today, tomorrow however. Heh. You all get to learn the differences between NY hospitals and Hospitals anywhere else.

Oh what a trip that is.

BST: Appendix 1A

I know, not even 24 hours and allready Im adding crap.

I suppose I should add in a bit of backstory to the whole shebang.

First off, about early january 2001 I had a bad bout of backed-upedness. I was working my first desk job for a temp agency, it was pretty long term. I played it off as sitting on my ass all day. Probably was though.

It becomes very easy to attempt to attribute everything to the tumor, but sometimes you have to pull back.

So that was january. Come long about march or april 2002, I developed serious problems with my teeth. I have not had the best of experiences with my teeth, once cracking a tooth clear off the root while eating a Wendy's hamburger. Yeah, strange.

Finally my wife was able to talk me into seeing a dentist. Wonderful guy, Dr. Stigliano in Franklin Square, NY. Very caring, very funny - but always considerate.

He sent me to the uber-oral surgeon, Dr. Menzel - again, really nice guy. This dude was out to kick some rotten-tooth ass. I got the wonderful wrap-around x-ray, showing... oh - lets say 13 teeth that were so bad they all had little Hitler Moustaches.

Removal was manditory, and rather than spread out the panic over a few weeks - the good Dr. and my wife conspired to get them all out in a day. Well, I dont know that she conspired, but she thought it was a great idea. So I think it was about early june that I went in with a mouth full of death, and an hour and a half later - came out 13 teeth lighter.

But thats not all. The pain in my neck/head from what eventually was found to be the tumor was raging that day. I was given a general calming anesthetic, it was a nice office. Looked out onto traffic, lots of traffic to distract me from the procedure.

I got all those wonderful needles to the mouth, numbed up real well. He realizes that the teeth are holding on for dear life when he attempts to remove the first few. My roots apparently hook into the bone. yay.

So it made it a tad more difficult. But what really set the tone for the whole thing was the fact that my legs would not stop moving. I had no control over them it seemed, and they kept bouncing around - this way and that during the whole procedure. Now that, as we found out later - was because of the tumor. Essentially the stuff that was supposed to put me into 'twilight', only worked in sections. My midsection was calm, my mind somewhat relaxed considering. My lower half however, it was not with the program. Not in the slightest.

Then when it was over, as if it could not get stranger - I felt great. I felt like running a marathon. I healed without issue, quickly too.

Then it was back to Stigliano for the reconstruction phase, which involved saving as many of the remaining teeth as possible, taking casts for possible bridgework. Those type things.

All the while I was working at Home Depot, living in Queens. Walking the 2 blocks to work mid-day and home again mid-nite. Typical shifts were atypical - I could work 3-11pm. 4-10pm. It was varied. But I never enjoyed anything more than that walk home at night. Especially on a sunday night - with the sky clear and the air off the bay fresh (as fresh as air can be coming off of a polluted bay like that). Perhaps 2-3 times a shift, I had to take an informal break. I would be working my aisle (which is a whole other story in itself) when I would begin to feel dizzy. Or the tips of my nose, lips, and tongue would go numb. So I would run outside to catch some fresh air, sit for a moment. I would go online when I got home and check the symptoms as best as I could - mostly coming up with nothing more than hyperglycemia. Not once did anything brain related, or even seizure related come up.

When I was at home, generally alone - I would often sit on the computer doing not much of anything. Or I was off shopping at the local stores - buying some interesting produce to muck about with in the kitchen. I would cook massive meals, long laborous dishes. And on my days off - I was out where my wife was living, with her mother and aunt.

I took the train back and forth. I have always loved trains. Roanoke is not helping that. Not at all.

At some point just prior to the teeth removal, sometime in the winter - I had a big bad bout with food poisioning. Taco Bell style. And yet still I cant get enough, go figure. Laid up for 2 days, I went to a doctor who pronounced it food poisioning from the lettuce or tomatos - as they would normally be the only thing not cooked.

I was well acquainted with severe discomfort from that fun, so everything after it seemed to pale, for a while at least.

Poor Dr. Stigliano - when he heard about my brain issue, he was horrified. He told my wife he wished all the x-rays he took were tilted just a bit differently, then he would have seen. I felt awful.

But Im going to end this appendix for now, lest it should burst. Im sure I will have more later - but be on the lookout for the next entry, sometime around midnight.

BST1

I am pretty sure we were on the bus as the sun rose. My Aunt, Uncle, and Grandmother used to take the same bus to Atlantic City every now and then. Im pretty sure it was around sunrise they left, as did my girlfriend (now wife, and shall be referred to as such hereafter) and I.

It was a nice day, no storms to hassle us as we left NY headed south on the NJT. We were on a bus headed for the Showboat Hotel and Casino. Chosen because it was a friendly place, with a large bowling alley should we tire of losing. It all started out ok, I still had the pain in my neck/head - but that was nothing new. Besides - it was my birthday. Screw the pain, I was going to have fun dammit!

As we leave the bus, I feel a wee bit woozy, but brush it off as it was nothing new. I remember playing some various TV themed slot machines. Getting up, wandering around, playing some video poker. Always on the cheap. Nickel slots, quarter at the most.

We had the coupon from the bus company for the buffet lunch. I was not hungry, as usual at that time. I poked some bread and other food, I vaguely remember the buffet being huge. Tables everywhere - A long line of brass railing at the buffet counter. I dont remember any of the infamous Atlantic City Prime Rib Special.

I think this is where things begin to get hinky. The plan was eat, play a few more games - get back on the bus. Somehow we found a shortcut entrance to the Trump Taj Mahal next door.

I have a feeling that the lights, noise, the whole feel of the place unleashed something inside me. Deep inside that had been waiting to make its public debut. I remember putting one coin in a slot machine there at Trump. Losing of course, and the next minutes would land me a slice of history I never asked for.

There was time before the bus left. Maybe 60 minutes or so. After a few minutes in Trump we decided to head back to the Showboat to finish up there, so we were not far from the bus loading area. On the way back, I began my decent into hell.

From what my wife has told me, she looked back at me because I was a step or two behind, and I had said something. Probably something like "hold on..."

The next thing she saw was my upper body still in full stride, with my legs firmly planted on the floor. The 2 halves had disconnected. I fell backwards, and slammed my head into a $100 change machine. Of course, I did not win there either.

I remember vaguely seeing a security guard rushing up to me, telling me to stay put - a wheelchair was on the way. I attempted insisting I was allright, and was actively involved in trying to stand - but could not.

Puzzled, pissed, and petrified - in that order. Lesser attention paid to the last part. I remember getting in the wheelchair, and next thing I remember was talking to the on-site nurse at Trump. I think the nurse (sorry but I do not remember much about you, nurse) had allready taken my blood pressure, inquired about my drinking that day, and covered all the usual bases.

I was urged, by the nurse, to allow myself to be taken to the local hospital. I insisted that I could not miss my bus home, I signed a waiver freeing Trump from any legal ramifications due to whatever it was that happened, and I was wheeled back towards the bus.

As we still had a few minutes to wait (somehow), We waited at the bar. I had a glass of orange juice, still in my delusionary state thinking it must have been hypoglycemia. Wether this was a good move or not is still debateable.

Back on the bus home, headed northbound on the NJT back to Long Island. I think maybe an hour had passed, all I remember was that it was dark. They had begun showing the movie, as they do on these 4 hour trips. According to my wife, source of most of my memories of this trip, I was basically nodding in and out of conciousness during the ride. She was hoping that it was nothing more than a bout of food poisioning like the one I had suffered the year previous, and sleeping my way back to NY was for the best.

Some time later, maybe an hour and a half from home, I began to vomit. The lovely people sitting infront of us thankfully had a plastic bag, and a can of ginger ale. My wife was allready burning the cell phone trying to get a clue as to how to handle this.

To this day she still wonders if she should have had the bus driver stop in Manhattan and let us off there.

Needless to say we made it home without much delay - although it was pouring now. I had ruined her cardigan sweater, having grabbed it early on to catch my 'forthcomings'.

We arrived, her mother there to pick us up. After the sweater was disposed of in a nearby dumpster, we were off for the 5 minute drive back home.

I managed to make it home ok, clearing my head a bit with the talk in the car of the trip. Into the house, it's decided that I go clean up and take a shower.

Brains that I am, I get in the bathroom, disrobe, and turn the water on. I got in the shower, and promptly fell out. Seriously. Taking down the shower curtain rod (vintage one piece construction), the curtain, and nearly bringing down the sink as well. It was one of those sort-of pedistals, with the 2 metal legs at the corners - back attached to the wall. Well one leg was bent.

No, not my head - my head landed somehow nicely between the toilet and the sink, missing both. I think my legs followed me out of the shower a short time later.

My wife, her mother, and her aunt (and the dog) all rushed to my aid. They got me back in the tub, sitting up - and checked out injury free. Somehow.

Everyone took a moment to consider what next. I once again cleared my head, and decided on finshing my shower. Sitting, safely on the floor of the tub.

My wife was allready on the phone with my mother. Smart woman I married.
What transcribed between the two on the phone I still dont have a clear idea of, although I can imagine the panic and angst.

Finally, somehow they got me to bed. And I slept nearly endlessly.

But there was still tomorrow.

BST begins

Or, the story of this



and this

Google Moon - Lunar Landing Sites

Google Moon - Lunar Landing Sites

Apparently Im not the only one feeling wacky today. Go ahead - zoom in reeeeeeeeeaaaalll close

The great downtown rocket

The story behind the great downtown rocket.


Im calling shenanigans. This whole story is a misleading lie. There is only one fact in that whole article that is true.
It is a ballistic missle.

Cute cover story about the monkey thing though. People like monkeys. Associate something people like with the rocket:
suddenly people feel safe driving by a missle daily.

Lie A) Sent a monkey into space... No, monkeys got together and overwhelmed the guards around a rocket installation one day,
hell bent on getting a single monkey back to the monkey-planet where he would reveal the secrets of the human race.
Ripe for domination, or so they thought. The monkeys launched. But the Greys, Betazeds, and those Scientology aliens who are all on the government payroll - they fried his monkey butt. Thus no monkey invasion.

But watch them when they see the Space Shuttle... theres drool on their lips, and malice in their hearts.

Monkey = evil.

Remember that.

Lie B) Its just a museum piece. Hell no, it's too close to the Roanoke Times buildings to be "just a museum piece." I have long held that the missle is actually part of the Times defensive mechanisim, lest anyone try and become a threat to their news monopoly. Why do you think Roanoke does not have another newspaper?

The Missile.

Its the sword of damocles hanging over the Roanoke Valley. Anytime someone gets the inkling of an idea to start up a new newspaper, a rep from the Times calls them, and reminds them of the big missle.

But theres a group, armed with tinfoil hats to prevent the Times from usurping ViPir Radar technology to read the thoughts of those who would start a 2nd Roanoke newspaper. I will have more on them later.


Oh yes, and its T-24 hours and counting. Are you ready?

roanoke.com - Extra stories - Art museum presents Impressionist work

You know, I was going to blog this. I was going to post one of the artists pictures, and talk about how they, while nice, were not great.

How they reminded me of old watercolor greeting cards.

But they're not bad, and thats not a bad thing. I don't know that I would find them fascinating, but they are nice enough. Remind me of the various postcards and clippings my grandmother used to save as inspiration for when she painted.

It's cool, and if thats what they want to display - fine by me. It's not my money.

But - if you scroll down the page a bit, you come across the Mill Mountain Theatre report.

Sounds like a good season coming up, although I have to admit 2 of the offerings scare me.

"Elvis People" about people who love Elvis. I see Elvis people. scary


And - the really scary one, "Mrs. Bob Crachit's Wild Christmas Binge."
Victorian Girls Gone Wild?
Yet somehow I am intrigued, might be a good year for a trip to the theatre.

2 days to go

I feel the weight of the 3-year train bearing down on me. Im running out of time.

2 days till the past takes over, and this blog goes BST.

HP & the 1/2 blood prince update

wife done with book. tears, but no idea why yet.

more later.

Allright, I know you are all waiting for it..

But Im not going to say anything about the Dr. Pepper sign/ H&C Coffee sign article today except to applaud Dr. Pepper/Pepsi Bottling for the want to repair the sign. They could have just let it continue rotting away, but decided that it meant something to the town with a Dr. Pepper jones. Nice of them to raise funds to repair it.

All part of the betterment of Downtown, and by extenstion, all of Roanoke.

But its going to be a hot, nasty, hazy next few days, so I dont want to add to the tension that will undoubtably build during this lovely weather. Besides, I still have my story to tell.

dramatic, no? (7:30pm 7/17) 

yep, its coming. (7:26pm 7/17) 

Rehabilitation Tax Credits

Rehabilitation Tax Credits

Being that its kind of a no-news day, I thought I'd point out some of the great programs the city offers to those who want to live there.

How about no, or low property-tax for 10 years?

Not only does Roanoke offer breaks for those rehabilitating older houses, it offers breaks for those who are converting multiple-family houses (or apartments) back into single family dwellings.

But wait.. theres more:

Mortgage assistance program
(its a pdf)
For a first time homebuyer, the city will give you a 10-year interest free loan. Yes, I said the city.
All you have to do is add a small amount, ($400 under $60k loan, or $600 on over $60k loans) and of course there are earnings limits (although not unreasonable), and you get a home.

There are, as always, rules and regulations - as with any federally funded program. But hell, its nothing really.

And you get a home.

Can't beat that huh? A home, tax breaks, and on top of that - the city will also loan you money for the repair of the home. I'll have to do some more searching, but its on the Roanokegov.com website somewhere.

All in the form of loans with little or no interest.

Hell, can't beat that with a stick - now can ya?