On my first visit to Radiation, I was ushered into a room with a GE radiation machine the size of a Cadillac.  Two techs, both female and in their mid-twenties,  were treating me with their obvious first-timer routine.

“Mr. Haspel, have you ever had radiation therapy before?”

“No”, I replied.

“We have to set you up according to the Radiologist’s exacting specifications, which means we will be giving you some tattoos that will help us direct the radiation.  Have you ever had a tattoo before?”

“No”, I replied.

As the two of them began drawing on my bare chest with markers, one of them, making small talk to keep me comfortable, said  ”How is it that you’ve never had a tattoo?”

“Identifying marks for police departments” I replied.

Total silence…

“I wasn’t always in Sales…”

Total laughter…

Since they were loosened up, I decided to continue…

“Since this is my first tattoo, I have a request.”

Total intrigue…

“I’d like a big W on both ass cheeks, so when  I bend over it says  WOW…”

Uncontrollable laughter!!!

I was happy to improve their boring day…

Major, The Chick Magnet

I’m taking a break from radiation and chemo-therapy until mid January since things are proceeding as planned and was wondering what to do with my spare time, when Wifey-Poo informed me that she could use my help with the dog, Major.

Major is a combination German Shepherd-Collie mix that should have his own Hollywood Agent.  He’s big (about 100 lbs.), smart, and has  a demeanor that lets everyone know if Wifey-Poo is upset about something, that’s an invitation to an ass-whuppin’.  He is so handsome that his nickname in our part of town is The Chick Magnet.  And he proves it every day.

It turns out Major had a severe skin rash that would not stop, so like any true Hollywood Dog, he was taken to a Hollywood Dog Dermatologist, who prescribed five different oral medications, but included 45 days of allergy injections as well.  So we had to learn how to inject Major with hypodermic needles.

The instructions decribed very carefully how to properly inject the dosage, but included;  during the first two hours after injection, please watch the dog for signs of depression.  After the injection, Wifey-Poo was off to work, and my instructions were quite clear.  Watch for signs of depression.

After the first hour, I reported in with the following:   Major caught smothering his dry food with Wild Turkey 101 Proof bourbon…

After the second hour, I reported in with the following:   Found a crack pipe under Major’s bed…

When Wifey-Poo called later in the afternoon to check on Major, I reluctantly informed her that he got busted pushing Crystal-Meth to the other dogs on the beach.  Intent to distribute carries a minimum 5 years in Virginia, so we’re looking for Counsel presently…

Please be careful with dog injections, they can suddenly turn.

Until next time,

Jeff-Bo-Bob

Our first order  of business was to meet with a nice young lady at Norfolk General,  a Patient Advocate,  to determine eligibility for Emergency Medicaid.   Unfortunately, in the state of Virgininia, she said there is a five-year waiting period for tax-paying U.S. citizens, even U.S. Veterans,  regardless of the circumstances or severity of your condition.  What she said next shocked us:

“Unfortunately, in Virginia, the only group allowed Immediate Emergency Medicaid is Illegal Aliens.”

Those Goddamned Democrats!

I have been paying taxes for 44 years.  I started out when I was 12 as a newsboy,  worked at a local country club after high school classes,and cleaned shopping mall parking lots from 5:00-10:00AM during college summers off until I could join my partner painting houses until dusk, supplementing  my summer income with college loans for tuition and room and board, which included 4 straight years of 25 cent Mac & Cheese culinary delights and a part time evening job.

I graduated Bachelor of Science in 4 years, completed U.S. Army Basic Training, U.S. Army Officer Candidate School, and was commissioned an Army Corps of Engineers Officer.  I served my country with the 39th Engineer Battalion including commando task force security for nuclear weapons storage depots.

Since 1981, I have worked for Texas Instruments, Johnson Controls, Honeywell, United American, AFLAC, National City Mortgage and a host of  other smaller self-concerns.  During lean & mean recessions, I worked nights & weekends helping homeownerswith various home improvement projects, from gutters to gazebos to pay my bills (and taxes).

I never once, no matter how bad things were, considered filing  for unemployment benefits, food stamps, free Taco Bell, Welfare, FEMA,  Free 7-11 Slush Puppies,  social services or any other government entitlement program designed by The Goddamned Democrats.

Someone please tell me:

WHAT DID I DO TO COME IN LAST PLACE?

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When I began this blog on my Dell Inspiron back in August 2011, I was typing at a pace of about 25 WPM.  It seemed that while typing, my thumbs would inadvertantly nick the DellTouchpad, which would immediately send the cursor to La-La Land. This completely tore up a previously finished paragraph, forcing me to find where I was typing, then hit backspace to erase it  and reset the cursor to where I wanted it. In most blogging sessions this would occur 10,000 times, and our dog, Major, learned several new curse words.

A visit to Dell’s website emphasized How for 26 Years, their Rich Heritage has Empowered Countries, Communities and Customers, Delivering  Technology Solutions Anywhere in Their World Except Disabling The Irritating Dell Touchpad.

My wife and I are in our fifties and for any technical issue, we automatically know to refer to anyone on Earth age 13-26 for resolution. However,  I actually – all by my 56-year-old self – went to the control panel and disabled the Dell Inspiron Touchpad. Which lasted two paragraphs. Then it magically reverted to How Dell Can Ruin Your Day Mode.

Over the next two weeks, we brought in two professional IT guys,  three friends and neighbors with superior IT skills, and every 13-26 year old in the Tri-State Area. Two hundred bucks down the toilet, all to no avail.

There are websites that instruct novices how to fight the Dell Snail-Pace Touchpad IT Group, but none of them work. Dell”s Touchpad Secret Service Protection Force has made sure of that.

THEN IT HIT ME!

Cost: $1.49 at your local hardware store. Dell can’t stop it, it works perfectly, and is further proof that I’m 56 goddamned years old.  Duct tape not included.

Laura

I’m 56 years old, 190 pounds, a home improvement industry guy born in Sharpsville, Pennsylvania, no kids, and married to a Tasmanian She-Devil named Laura, who for 29 years has been one of Tidewaters’s numero uno Mortgage Loan Officers.  If there is a way to find affordable residential housing to anyone, SHE WILL FIND IT.  Laura never stiffs clients with high rates or excessive charges, and for that reason her cell phone rings constantly with referrals, old clients, realtors, financial planners, and small Federal Credit Unions.  Wifey-Poo is, without a doubt, a very successful businesswoman.

Success can breed some unusual creativity.  It’s not uncommon to see Laura cruisin’ at 75 MPH, knee-steerin’ past the clueless, throwin’ on some early morning War Paint in the rear view mirror, pre-qualifying a first -time homebuyer on her cell and calculating principal and interest on her TI Business Analyst II Financial Calculator.
All while chowin’ down on a Hardee’s sausage, egg and cheese biscuit?

Don’t worry, her lit Marlboro Light was safe in the ashtray…
An enduring woman, Laura’s Hair-On Fire lifestyle translates into a highly energetic work-hard-play-hard agenda which folks tend to admire.  And why she’s known to her peers as “ Aunt Lolly”.  Everyone knows that Aunt Lolly can fix  ANYTHING.  Consequently, when anyone in our circle of friends encounters rough times, their first phone call is immediately( as in 4:oo AM) dispatched to Aunt Lolly.  No problem lies outside her circle of benevolence.

During the Holiday season, I change our home answering machine message to the Crisis Center Format. It goes like this:

“Thank you for calling Aunt Lolly’s Crisis Center Hotline.  Please choose your options carefully as our menu has changed:

—”If you’ve spent the rent on eBay and Home Shopping Network and recently been evicted, PRESS ONE NOW…”

—”If your recent mental meltdown drama has your boyfriend breaking all the furniture to avoid jail time and you’re camping out in your SUV in our driveway, PLEASE PRESS TWO…”

—”If you’re about to embark on a crowded Minivan trip to New Jersey with all your In-Laws and are low on Vicodin, PLEASE PRESS THREE…”

With only a few exceptions in my life, I’ve always had luck on my side. When the Federal and State Government Health Care roadblocks reared their ugly heads,  Wifey-Poo was about to turn into an attack pit bull, kickin’ ass and takin’ names.  For families with bad cancer news, I’ll do my best to help you down this pitfall-ridden road and maybe you can save some crucial time to get the care you need.  Until next time,

Jeff-Bo-Bob

The Rescue Squad’s blood sugar reading was 21 (which should make one floor level and incapacitated, since normal is 87), but with me effectively equates to the behavior one might expect from a volunteer in a 1951 U.S. Army nerve gas experiment.  Which explains the presence of VB’s Finest.  A quick ambulance ride to Virginia Beach General negated the need for stitches and precautionary cranium cat scan was ordered.  I was released at 5:00 AM.

With a cancerous brain tumor.  But let me get back to that.

My face, neck, arms and hands were swollen like water balloons and were turning a purple hew.

The good news was that I won the Hospital’s William Shatner Look-A-Like Contest, and I didn’t even know they were havin’ that today!