Valet Boy wishes to thank the many people who read the previous new improved “Confessions…” and wrote comments, or called me on the phone, or left burning bags of “stuff” on my door stoop to tell me how much they enjoyed it. I am truly inspired enough to continue plugging away…right after I finish napping.
Back at the Ranch
Okay, so VB’s Mother spent all night on the hospital’s P.I.E.D. (Portable Internal Expulsion Device).
If not for the fact that so many of you share membership with VB in the generation after “The Greatest Generation” —— (our’s was previously known as the “Useless as 3 Peckers on a Mule Generation” until the latest one came along, Thanks a bunch, guys!!!) — I really don’t think I could go any further with my poor Mom’s tale of woe…or rather Tail of Woe…But, somehow knowing that it’s a big boat and I’m not drifting solo, helps me over the humps.
VB’s Mom did indeed have her Colonoscopy (“I’ll take Things You Never Want Up Your Butt for $200, Alex!”) and while nothing life threatening was discovered, there were a couple of issues which could promote further future discomfort. (Because of Doctor/Patient Confidentiality I will only divulge the diagnosis to the first 10 people who send me $20.00.) Fiery, red, swollen and angry might be adjectives to describe the Planet Mars. But in this case, they’re not.
So, caring and big-hearted son that I am, VB tenderly inquired of his Mom, “Holy Crap, Ma! They give you any kind of ointment for that? …Or, something for the pain?”
Her pitiful voice cracked as she summoned the full ounce of her remaining strength to reply, “No. They just told me to sit on a donut pillow.”
Mom might have fared better if she’d been tossed into a writhing pit of testy vipers. At last, test results were in and they were…..Drum roll, please: “Except for the fact she’s had diarrhea for a month, she’s healthy as a horse.”
What kind of horse? I wondered. I’d been to the paddocks at Santa Anita. I know what happens to those poor animals who fail to cut it in a Claiming Race. And the ones that don’t end up as Kibble for Rex or Raspberry Jell-O….Well, I guess they get a second chance too…They can practice medicine in Monkeytown.
Now A Word From Our Sponsor “Memory-O’s”
This brings Valet Boy to an interesting diversion. (Interesting for me, not you) Several years ago my late friend Royce D. – (he was always tardy in those days, but now he’s permanently late) – and I took our moderately stuffed pockets to the Santa Anita Race Track (it always looks so pretty on TV— set against the blue, or rather dusty brown San Gabriel Mtn’s) Anyway…We had been diligently studying the Racing Form and making our picks.
Royce D. was really getting into it. His Racing Form resembled one of those Jumble Puzzlers from the newspaper: Horse & Jockey Names, Race Numbers & Stats were circled, boxed and linked to other horses and races as Royce D. conjured up his trifecta plays and something he called a Baseball, which I was never quite able to firmly grasp.
There was indeed a sense of magic possibilities in the air and the excitement followed us to the paddocks to view the horses pre-race. (Of course, all that magic possibility might have just been the stuff we smoked and snorted before getting into the car to head for the track in the first place.)
So, there we are and Valet Boy spots this horse named MAKEUP KIT. I said, “Hey, I’m in theatre. I’ll check him out.” And I swear to God, the Horse looks at me and winks! This beautiful beast communicated with me on some wierd intra-species psychic network and said to me (and I quote) “Bet on me, kid. I’m going to win.”
Exhilaration doesn’t quite do justice to the feeling that rushed through me (here again, quite possibly just the illegal substances ingested), as I turned to Royce D. and said, “That horse just winked at me and told me he was going to win. I want to put $20 on him to win.”
Royce D., patient soul that he was, smiled and reviewed the Form and said, “The horse is a 50 to 1 long shot. With a no name jockey. That’s a crazy bet. Only crazy people make bets like that. You don’t want to make a crazy bet. Do you?” Well, the peer pressure was just too much for poor unschooled Valet Boy. So, I checked Royce D.’s bet. It was probably Bemidji. Bemidji was running a lot of races in those days and he was Royce D.’s favorite nag to bet across the board.
VB acquiesced and followed Royce D.’s lead with the whole sensible bet deal. We took our seats, the bell went off. The horses bounded out of the gate and, of course, MAKEUP KIT blew the competition away – winning by several noses, a tail and a few hooves.
I was devastated. Crushed. I turned to Royce D. – he could sense my seething rage by the wild way my eyes were swirling – like something out of a 50’s horror flick — THE EYES OF DR. DIABLO —- “Look! Look! I told you….I told you! SEE!! That would’ve paid something like a thousand dollars!!!”
Royce D. shrugged, “It was still a crazy bet.”
I flung my Racing Form into the air and raced down the concrete steps toward the tiny winner’s circle. There was MAKEUP KIT. Having handily escaped taking up residency in the glue-pot in the LACC Scene Shop, he was now the proud subject of flashbulbs, wreaths, hugs and kisses.
I wailed, “I’m sorry, Makeup Kit. I should’ve believed…I should’ve trusted you. Please, forgive me!!!”
But, MAKEUP KIT paid me no heed. He was basking in his well deserved glory. He had no need of a Doubting Thomas.
My head drooped, I may have actually shed a tear (or a thousand) as I turned and walked away – Never to return to the Santa Anita Track again.
(Okay, maybe I went back to the track a few more times, but damn what a great ending, huh?)
Back to the Monkey Shines in Monkeytown
Still no answer for poor Mom on the digestive front, although they learned that she was suffering from low blood pressure, which was made so much worse by the high blood pressure medications she had been prescribed by Mr. Doctor Man. Hmmmm….
“Tell me, Mother Valet Boy…When I hold your hand over this butane flame does it hurt? It does? That’s it! Your mother is allergic to fire!!!”
We’ll just wipe the slate clean. Cut out all the meds she’s been taking and see what happens. Sounds plausible right? I mean so much of medicine operates under the principle of process of elimination (no, that’s not a diarrhea pun), so while The Ghosts of Louis Pasteur (Paul Muni) and Dr. Paul Ehrlich (Edward G. Robinson) watch with a sense of bemused detachment, the world waited for VB’s Mom to enjoy solid food again. After which, the world waited a little more.
Apparently, the plumbing issue was now resolved. Saints Be Praised!
Doctor Man said he’s sending her home. Cutting her loose. She’s cured, or at least on the Road to Recovery (not the buddy pic starring Bob Hope and Bing Crosby). Anyway, her insurance won’t pay for her to stay any longer.
So, cured or not – Hit the road, Jacqueline. VB and his Siblings, Nieces and Nephew were outraged….but also out voted.
Now, VB may have neglected to mention the fact that his dear Mother is as deaf as a two penny nail – which costs about a quarter today, I think – So, that being the case you have to imagine everyone yelling at the top of their range to be heard by VB’s dear dehydrated exasperated emaciated deaf Mother because her hearing aids were on the fritz too.
We Skip Ahead A Few Days And….
Valet Boy is with his dear Mom safely tucked at her home in Monkeytown, helping to shoulder some of the care – and I must say, for all she’s been through, the Ol’ Gal doesn’t look half bad. Of course, she’s not moving all that fast, because as you recall, she collapsed in the kitchen. After she woke up, she had to scoot on her already very tender rumpus area to the phone in her sun-room.
She hurt herself even more when she slammed into the doorway threshold and now suffers from a bruised tail-bone….I believe that’s actually the medical term for it.
We all Thank God that Mom is on the Road to Recovery (again sans Hope & Crosby) and that her issues seem to be resolving themselves. (Oh, and the by the way, BoBita and TacoBilly, Mom was thrilled by her Birthday card. She had no idea I had any friends…well, any whom could write. Thank you.)
The point of all of this being, Yes the good ol’ USA needs HealthCare reform. However, Valet Boy is not so sure that putting it under the thumb of a Government, which at best seems to function at a level residing below Sub Par, is the best solution.
Valet Boy lives in North Carolina in an area fortunate enough to have world class medical care. (Where else would a recovering Hypochondriac live?) But, travel down the road a little bit and you bump smack into incompetence of the same degrees as described herein. What’s the answer? Valet Boy doesn’t know. But, one thing is for sure. As long as we suffer fools with blind acceptance, we will get what we deserve.
I’m sure over the ensuing days, more and more will come out about VB’s Mother’s Visit to Little Haiti and believe me, if it’s worth exploiting, you’ll read about it.
Thank you, loyal readers, for sticking with Valet Boy and I hope the 10 year wait was worth it.
Until next time, remember, “Always Set Your Parking Brake”!