In the Danger Zone

I woke up this morning in the danger zone. I feel better.

I feel a little better, that is.

You know that time when ill that you know the fever broke, the hills crested and wellness is just around the corner.

In other words, the Danger Zone.

I'm still blowing my nose and hacking now and again. My legs are merely trembly rather than wobbly when I stand. I feel much better in comparison to yesterday, which means I am on the cusp of deceiving myself leading to disasters results such as a resurrection of my symptoms.


I felt the forward scouts of this germ invasion last Friday evening. My wife was suffering for what seems most of the month with her own battleground of coughs and sneezes. I arrogantly believed I would escape notice by the enemy, foolish man that I am. But her throes of agony awoke me late Friday evening and I left the bedroom to her, both of us hoping the NiteQuil would soon dope her to snooze land. I retreat to the computer across the hall.

Immediately I detected this slight roughness in my throat. It wasn't sore, just as they say, scratchy. Was something up? Oh, I hoped not. I did not want to be sick. That is a silly statement, I supposed. Who wants to be sick?

Besides it was inconvenient. I had commitments, I had responsibilities and I had expectations. It was only a few days until Christmas. I wanted to enjoy Christmas. I looked forward to the first Christmas Eve Service at my new church (literally new, new to me and new to itself having only begun last August).

When my eyes popped open at 4:00 AM Saturday morning I could feel that threat in my throat, a bit more insistent I thought, but perhaps once up it would fade away. Sometimes it does. I didn't have time to worry or fret about it. My daughter and I were heading out the door at 5 AM to head north to Toms River, New Jersey to aid in hurricane relief. It was to be only a half day this week.

It was cold and windy. We worked until just after 1:00. I forgot about my throat, but I did run out of steam quicker that day. I couldn't sustain much push as I tried to loose stubborn floor tiles that had to come up and off a floor. I kept wanting to stop, to gulp some water, anything but push that scraper bar into those stubborn, resistant squares beneath my feet.

My wife and I went out to dinner Saturday evening. It was a very chill evening, but I wore a light jacket, figuring I would only be running between the car and the restaurant with minimal exposure to the elements. Unfortunately, on the way home my wife asked to stop at a supermarket because she needed some additional ingredients for Christmas dinner. She had originally planned to go on Sunday, but decided as long as we were out...well you know. It was only a few things, she said, she would hurry.

My wife and I live in some kind of parallel universe of time. If I go to the supermarket for a few things in my particular universe it means ten-fifteen minutes in and out. If my wife says she just wants to get one thing, let's say some ice cream, then time becomes a 78 rpm record played on a 331/3 turntable. If it is a half-hour its fast, but count on at least 45 minutes. She says a few things, then watch an hour pass. And so I waited in the car, huddled in the car, for nearly an hour in my too light jacket.

Surprisingly, Sunday morning I didn't feel so bad. I did sleep much longer than usual. I chalked that up to the work up in Seaside Heights.  My throat still had that scratch, but it seemed no worse. I was confident I was going to escape the war - until about noon.

I had agreed to video the sermon and I guess I was so focused on keeping my camera on the pastor's face and not his feet, that I took no notice of my deteriorating body. But after I came home I sure took note. By Sunday night I was miserable.

It did not improve overnight. I was a mess on Monday. I did not feel like moving. I was coughing until my lungs felt more outside my chest than inside. I couldn't swallow, I couldn't breathe.

My wife, meanwhile, was not really over her own bout, but she was busy preparing her dishes for Christmas. By afternoon she was tired and stressed. She certainly didn't want to make dinner. She didn't  even want to pick up something. She wanted to get out of the house and be waited on and relax. So we went out to dinner and not to the Christmas Eve Service.

It snowed fiercely as we drove to our favorite restaurant just over the Pennsylvania border a few miles. Surprise, surprise, when we arrived we discovered they were closing at 6:00 that night, Christmas Eve you know. They gave us menus, but we declined because I didn't want them held up because of us when they were ready to go home for the Holiday. We left and found a Lone Star that was open. But I was on the verge of collapse by the time we ate. I went home, chugged a NiteQuil and went to bed. I would not have been fit company at our Christmas Eve Service.

Thus I was ill over Christmas. I got no succor that day either. I got up and cleaned the whole house top to bottom to spare my wife any additional stress or bother. And now today, Thursday I do believe, two days past, I feel better. It puts me in the danger zone. As stated, I feel better; I don't feel great. But I have to fight my tendency not to wait the disease out. I am always too quick to try and take back my normalcy, to rush into the morning cleaning and scrubbing of the kitchen as is my daily habit, a chore followed by a four or five mile walk in the park.

No, I am forcing myself to do as little physical activity as possible today and let the cure take place. The enemy is on the run, I know. Give it a day or two of retreat and I will once again be fit and firm, that is if I keep my head, and body, down in the danger zone.

I am waiting for...Wait! I've Been Waiting So Long I Forget What I was Waiting For

I'm a patient man. I've raised children, have a wife and had a dog. If you don't learn patience then your kids hate you, your wife divorces you and your dog bites you. I have spent much of my life waiting in parking lots and doctor's offices, so I am a patient man.

This past week seemed designed to test the patience of Job.

First was the highly hyped anticipation of Irene.You think of all the jokes about waiting for a woman to get ready for a date, it seemed Irene was taking forever to get made up for her grand entrance.

Then we were waiting anxiously to get rid of the big windbag.

When she finally went off in a huff, we found ourselves waiting for the lights to come back on as she took our electric power with her. We were more fortunate than some, our power was out but 12 hours, and much of those overnight doing sleep time.

And when the power did pop back, we had to wait another day to have our cable services, so another 24 hours of no TV, no internet and no telephones. This came back on sometime while I was taking my morning walk, then went off again in the afternoon and came back hopefully for good after we returned from dinner Monday evening.

So speaking of my morning walk, this was also part of the waiting game. I usually walk in one or another of our wonderful nearby state parks. However, they had closed the state parks last Thursday for the convenience of Hurricane Irene to spend time there alone. Apparently one of her favorite pastimes is knocking trees over and overfilling creeks and rivers. I wondered on Monday if any were now open. I decided to try Bellevue, which is the closest, just a short spin down I-95, where I can often see if the gate is open or not from the highway.

This morning I couldn't see the gate at all, so I went off the exit and around toward the park entrance. It was fifteen minutes past their opening time. I was behind another vehicle who turned into the park drive and then immediately did a U-turn. Ah, so the gate must be down.

I didn't want to turn in behind the guy making the U-turn. I went straight down the road and went right into the lane of some corporate mall. I did my own U-turn around the little island with the mall sign ready to go left back the way I had come, except... Except four million cars were suddenly on this road from both directions. What is this? This road seldom is very busy, why now?

Why indeed, it must have been opening time in the Corporate Mall for all four million cars were turning in. Finally one lane cleared and something slow came in the other and I zipped out and went on my search for some walking room. Talley, I thought, Talley Day Park was probably open. This is a county park with about a two mile walking track that does a figure-8 around the grounds. It wasn't far, I would zip over there.

Did I say zip?

Not so zippy.

I went up Marsh Road and now I had a nut behind me. This was not a patient driver. She was right on my bumper, which I hate. Then she was kind of trawling side-to-side and I realized she was going to try and pass me on the right, on the shoulder of the road. Oh, no, no, no, I wasn't having any of that. I edged over enough she couldn't. I slowed a bit as well.

We were coming to the intersection where I would turn left and I wondered if she was going straight. I was tempted, if she was, to go straight and further impede her progress up the road. See, that's how angry I get at tailgaters. But I went into the left turn lane after all, just as the light turned red against us. This woman went to the right as if to go straight, but instead she turned into the Pizza Hut parking lot on the corner, crossed its lot, exited the far exit, made a left on the cross street, then a right on Marsh, all so she didn't have to wait for the red light to change green. Say, babe, set your alarm for a little earlier next time!

Now I haven't far to the park. I was driving west (or is it south) on Wilson.  I will soon come to a road called Shipley, make a right, go a short distance, make another right on Faulk and then quickly be at the park. I am just beginning my ease into the right turn lane for Shipley when a traffic report comes on the radio.

"Shipley Road is closed this morning between Wilson and Foulk due to a downed tree."

Now I have to go a longer way, but still not too bad. I go straight and eventually Wilson crosses Foulk, where I make a right and head back a couple miles to the park. Won't be long now...if it hadn't been for that sign, "Road Work Ahead" and the flagman on the corner and the closed right lane and all the backed up traffic.

After my walk I planned to avoid the construction on Foulk by turning left and going home the way I had come. No road work on that side. I pulled up in the left lane of the exit drive from the park at the light awaiting the green signal...which never came. I sat there and the traffic on Foulk sat where they were because they also had a red light and then they got a green light and moved and I sat there.

So I made a right turn on red from the left lane. I know, I know, but believe me, there was no traffic coming behind me.

Of course, now I am in the backup for the roadwork with the closed right lane. I use the word roadwork loosely. Yes, the whole right lane and right shoulder were behind the ornate barrier of orange cones, but the work was being done to THE SIDEWALK!

Things off the road were no speedier for me lately. I found my blood pressure elevated two weekends ago. I was in a drugstore dropping off a prescription for my wife and spotted one of those "Take Your Own Blood Pressure" chairs, so I took it. I shoved my left arm through the cuff and pressed the button. The cuff began its squeeze. A little sign said you will have your results in less than a minute. The cuff continued its squeeze. The result windows stayed at zero, unmoving. The cuff continued to squeeze. Time ticked by to the beat of my heart in my pinched arm, definitely longer than a minute. It came to mind I might be in a malfunctioning machine. It would never give me results and the cuff would never release my arm. Perhaps it was a possessed machine in a Stephen King world, one that would soon rip my arm off and beat me with it.

And just as I was considering yelling for help, my results popped up and the cuff released. My heart rate was 66, toward the lower end of the normal scale of 60 to a 100 at rest. But my blood pressure was a tad high. Okay, more than a tad. More like giraffe height. When I got home I called my doctor because my high blood pressure medication was used up and so was the renewal date. The receptionist-phone-answerer-nurse-whatever said she would call them in to my pharmacy. (I take two different pills for high blood pressure.)

This was on a Monday a week ago. On Friday afternoon, after I got home from work,  I went to the drugstore to pick them up. I am a bit of a procrastinator I admit. On the way I glanced at my gas gauge. I was below a quarter. Oh rats, I should have got gas last night or this morning on my way to work. I better fill the tank now.

Easier said than done. At the next intersection was my regular service station. Cars were lined up at one bay of pumps. It would be hard to squeeze in that side. The other bay was blocked off by my familiar friends, orange cones. Those tanks must have already been drained. The gas station on the other corner was no less crowded. I drove on.

This is good, I am driving in search of a gas station less crowded. Perhaps I will run out of gas looking for gas.  Just to keep my mind alert the radio picked that moment to announce places were running out of gas. I came toward another station, but the traffic was backed up for a red-light and I could not see if the station had lines or not. Closer I came and then stopped, again by traffic and the light. Again closer and stop. Eventually I reached the lot and it wasn't bad. I pulled in with only one car before me at a bay of pumps.

I got my gas and went out on the other road because of all the traffic. I had to go around Robin Hood's barn to get back to my drugstore. On the way I passed the supermarket I often picked up at and pulled in the lot. I wanted to get some soda and perhaps some batteries. As I parked I saw the Wilmington Trust Bank Branch was now striped of any identifiers. This was the great conversion weekend. No more Wilmington Trust Bank. Next week this would be M&T Bank.

I went in one door of the supermarket and right out the other. I wasn't dealing with that madhouse. Why was there so much traffic on the roads because certainly everyone in the county had piled into this supermarket. Besides I could see the battery display and it was empty. I got in my car and drove down the street to my drugstore.


I come in and there is a long line. I guessed everyone was not it the supermarket after all. The rest were here getting his or her prescription refilled before the Hurricane arrives tomorrow. I had never experienced long lines here before. So, I waited and I waited, and I waited some more. The woman before me asked if she could step out of line to sit in a nearby chair. Certainly, I'll hold your place. No sense having people passing out before me, that would only slow things up. Why was it so hot in the place? I could see into the pharmacist's workroom and they had fans set up in there. We were wilting out in line. No fans here. So by all means, dear lady, please take a seat.

Finally I reached the counter and gave my name. The clerk shuffled off to sort through the hanging plastic bags. He went over and spoke to one of the pharmacists, he came back and began searching the computer.

"Did you drop them off today?" he asks.

"No, my doctor called them in three or four days ago."

He shuffled back to the pharmacist, then conferred with another pharmacist, then rechecked his computer.

"We have no record of a call in," he says. "I could call your doctor now if you wish, if he is still open."

I look at the line behind me. "No, that's okay. I'll call her when I get home."

But I couldn't. It was now too late in the afternoon and I wasn't certain the doctor's office was still open. I would have to wait until Monday, after the weekend and after the passing of Irene.

More waiting and more to come...

On Monday, once we had phones again, I called the Doctor's office. The receptionist-phone-answerer-nurse-whatever said she thought she had called it in, she would check.

I waited on hold.

She came back and told me the Doctor had disallowed my prescription renewal because I had not been in for a visit since April of last year. I would have to make an appointment to see the Doctor before she would renew my prescriptions. I made the appointment for the coming Wednesday (which is the day I am writing this). The lady then told me she would call in enough prescription to see me through until I saw the doctor, five pills of each medicine.

The Little Woman and I always go out to dinner on Monday. We usually leave at 5:00. At 4:30 I announce I am going to run over to the drugstore and pick up my ten pills, oh foolish ever-optomistic me, I actually believe I can do this and be back home all within a half-hour.

Traffic was heavy, but this really didn't slow me up greatly. I arrived at the drugstore with still twenty minutes until five. I went back to the pharmacy and what is this a Disney World ride? Today's line was even longer than the pre-Hurricane Friday line. And there were several people sitting in nearby chairs. And it was still darn hot in the place.

So I parked myself behind a lady and I waited, and I waited, and I waited some more. Then do you know what I did? Why, I waited. On Friday two clerks were processing the crowd, but today only one fellow had that joyless job. I admire his good spirits about it though, because there seemed to be mass confusion reigning in the wait area. People seated would get up and come to the line or go around it and call through the window for "Private Conferences with a Pharmacist" to berate someone, anyone to speed it up.

Then occasionally someone behind the pharmacy counters would yell, "Doris, you may get in line now." Wait a cotton-picking moment here, who is this Doris and why is she being paged into line ahead of others? The only thing I can figure is she dropped off a prescription and said she would wait for it.

Now this doesn't seem right. When I drop off prescriptions I always tell them I will come back later, usually meaning in a day or two, to pick it up. I figure I am doing them a favor, giving them time. They usually thank me for this. But if I dropped my prescription off at some earlier time (or in this case, my doctor called it in that morning) why should I have to wait because some Johnny or Jill come-lately said they would wait for theirs. That's like having made a reservation at a restaurant and having them give your table to a walk-in.

And thus I waited. Finally my lottery number comes up and I am at the window. "Name," asks the clerk.

I give it and he shuffles off behind a rack of plastic hanging bags. He then says, just a minute and goes and confers with a Pharmacist. He returns to me.

"We have one hanging," he says, "and the Pharmacist is working on the other. Do you wish to wait or come back later?"

I wish to ring someone's neck, but I say, "I'll wait." No way I am coming back later now.

So I step aside and I wait, and I wait, and I wait some more. He said the Pharmacist was working on my second prescription, did he not? How long does it take to slide 5 pills into a plastic tube? Then at last, someone yells, "Larry, you may get in line."

I step forward, but oh no, this did not mean, "Now we have your pills just come get them." No this meant exactly what was said. Larry could get in line.

Eventually I got my ten little pills in the two plastic vials and was on my way home. Needless to say I didn't make it by 5:00, but no matter, we were on our way to dinner, apparently with the rest of Delaware. Bumper to bumper traffic down the roads. Now it was rush hour and these roads do get crowded at this time of day, but they were more so this night, thus we waited a bit longer for dinner.

But we didn't wait long for service at the restaurant. Lauren was our wait person and had our drinks ordered before we sat down. She knows us well and has extra cherries put in mine. Quickly, my cup of soup was before me. Waiting seemed to be at an end, but there was still the matter of some banking business to contend with and we will get to that next time...if you can wait.

Eight days a week/Is not enough to...do all I care to do.

Eight days, it has been eight days since I last posted here. That's eight days I virtually disappeared online. I barely Tweeted, seldom Status Stated, didn't Blog.  I owe all my fellow writers I follow an apology because I even fell way behind on keeping up my reading.

I did continue to take my wife out to dinner several times a week and say hello to my kids occasional and call my mother so I wasn't a complete hermit.

In fact, we even got out this Saturday for a little jaunt now that all the snow has melted and the rain stayed away a bit (it came back in torrents Sunday and Monday -- the rain, not the snow).

Our jaunt does make a bit of a sad commentary on the times, though. We have always been big journers to Philadelphia often to just walk around. It isn't all that far away, a half hour to 45 minutes depending on the curse of I-95 and the traffic terror. Of course, I worked in Philly for 20 years in my early careers and we lived there during the Hippie era. My wife was born in the city and lived in it as a child. It is hardly a strange place to us. Maybe it is now.

When my wife awoke I asked if she wanted to go up to philly, and usually she jumps at any chance, but she hesitated. Why?  Because of these flash mobs that have infested it like some rampant, rabid, random swarm of locust recently. I  never feared the city, but I have to agree with her now. They are unpredictable, can sweep in anywhere at anytime and can be nasty.

Yes, some of it is simply the ways of the young, a kind of rush, a kick, a giggle. Some appear just as a pack looking for a connection and a laugh and cause little harm. But too many come pushing and shoving and knocking down others or with vandalism and theft in mind.  I don't know where it will go. It is an invitation to violence and mayhem and it may spread.

So we skipped the city (and I find we are not alone in this. I spoke with others on Sunday who have also stopped going to the City of Brotherly Love because it is becoming the City of Unbrotherly Shove.

It was a nice day, so what to do, where to go. The first place to go is the Internet. If technology can bring trouble, it can also solve quandaries.

We discovered a delightful, interesting museum that day called the Bigg's Museum of American Art. It is located in a historic section of our state capital, Dover, about an hour drive away down Route 1. I nor my wife had ever heard of it, which is a shame on us. It has about 14 Galleries each representing a period in United States History. In these galleries are paintings and some statuary, but mostly furniture and other everyday objects from each of these periods. It is very interesting to see these style changes this way and to learn what some of the terms mean.

The place was not crowded on that late Saturday afternoon, in fact, we seemed to be the only ones there. The curators were very friendly. If you are in that area stop in and spend an hour or so. And one of the best features is it is free.

We were out of the place just after 4:00 a bit too early for dinner and since my wife's leg was bothering her, we didn't take a long walk about the buildings in the area to kill an hour. Instead we headed north until we came to what is know here-abouts as the 13-40 split. There we made a U-turn down Route 40 to McGwynn's Irish Pub for some good comfort food. They have my favorite assorted cheese and fruit appetizer plate there.

Anyway, a bit of a getting away from my getting dug in to accomplish something last week.

As I have noted elsewhere, in older Blogs and on Facebook, a year ago I made a pledge to myself to do my own harmony of the Gospels. It was to be more than the usual harmony. I would weave the four Gospels into a single narrative and then comment on the passages as I went, so it became a harmonized Commentary on the Gospels.

I did it for myself, for my own spiritual enlightenment and my own better knowledge of whom I believe in, Jesus Christ, his life and his teachings. Thus I called it "Nitewrit's Own Harmony". I decided to do it as a Blog, however. Putting it in front of others makes it a commitment with accountability.  I have begun too many things in my life where I started well out of the blocks only to sit down on the sideline far from the finish line. Having someone else seeing it, reading it, even if only one other, would keep me focused on the goal.

It has been slow but steady going. There is no rush. I want to study as a go, not just go.

Then I realized a mistake at the beginning. I had chosen to use for the Scripture texts of the NIV Bible. Even though I am not quoting that text straight out, but interweaving the verses together, it is still too close to be considered permissible under their copyright. I knew I could not continue using it. I decided to change the Scripture text to that from the King James Bible, which is in the Public Domain.

I had to go back and replace all the NIV with the KJV. And as I did I began to correct any typos or misspellings I found. Then I found myself adding new material to my commentary. That is where I have been these last eight days, absorbed in the Word of God my every spare moment. Not that there is anything wrong with that!

Last night I finally finished converting all I had done so far. Now I can get back to Blogging, to reading other people, to communicating with friends. I can also now continue to add to the Harmony from where I last stopped, which was where John the Baptist was imprisoned by Herod the Great.  In other words, I still have a long way to go having only reached the third or fourth chapters in the Four Gospels.

That much of the Bible text might typically take 32 pages. My Harmony-Commentary has reached 168 pages and 40,000 words at this point. I'm am very serious about my studying.

Although this is an act of love I started for myself, I hope some of you will occasionally visit www.nitewrit.info and read it. Perhaps there will be something new, perhaps it will lead you to your own deeper study. I believe even someone who is not a Christian could learn from it and get a better understanding of why we believe what we believe and some insight into the history and times of Christ.

Anyway, that is what happened to me the last eight days and frankly, I could almost use eight day weeks I seem so busy anymore. I though these were retirement years where we just sat about mouldering?















Illustration: "Juggler at the Pennsylvania Renaissance faire" by nitewrit, 2004