Monday, September 25.
I’ve been to Nevada to visit my brother, Denny, one of the most bad-ass wounded Vietnam Marines the U.S.A. ever produced. I think this man’s spirit animal might be a horse. Denny has always had a bond with horses. He misses his horses from years back, especially Harry. The internet says that having a horse for a spirit animal means he should tap into one’s own strength and abilities to fight whatever he faces.
They got that right, and so has Denny. He’s mustered up the force and capacity to fight Agent Orange and kidney disease for some fifty-five years now. All the while, the Veterans Administration only this year afforded him 100% disability. The VA is a necessary piece of our government, but it’s slow and cumbersome, hard to understand, and extremely difficult to navigate. This is the arm of the Federal Government supposed to take care of our ex-military, each man or woman having pledged their lives on behalf of you and me and every other American.
Every veteran needs an advocate to get what they deserve from the Veteran’s Administration.
I have a hard time talking about the VA without falling into a rant. And yet, I do know the VA has served my brother many times. Now that he’s 100%, he gets a new converted van, changes to the house to make it more accessible, and more financial support.
Denny and I texted each other at the same time today, expressing our joy over our time together. He said, “I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed your visit.” I said, “It was so good to see you.” I am resolved to be on Facetime with Denny at least once a week.
On Tuesday, we took Denny to his long-term care facility in Fallon from Renown Regional Hospital in Reno. He’d dodged yet another bullet, or several, including two GI bleeds, a blood clot in his leg, and procedures to insert mesh in his arteries to prevent blood clots from reaching his brain and chest. He has seen death’s door so many times it’s tempting to call him the cat with nine lives, except that would be an understatement as Denny was way past nine many years ago.
On the way “home” to Fallon, we had to “stop by” the Apple Store in Reno. It seems a nurse at the rehab facility dropped Denny’s iPad on its corner, and it shattered. There was no time to waste–he had to have a new one that very day. We were with Apple for several hours. Most of the associates were preparing for a new iPhone release the next day, and since we had no appointment, we had to wait until the last scheduled client had been served. The lone late/afternoon agent started our conversation well after closing time. When we left, eight or ten people were still getting the store ready for the latest iPhone launch.
I think Denny and Bev got the old one traded in on a purchase, but the store would have to order the new one, which means somebody has to go to the store again. Maybe making an appointment this time will help. The next day, Bev couldn’t find the old tablet to take to the store, but she said her receipt reflected the trade-in. I thought I saw the old one on one of the store’s desks, so I semi-convinced her that the store must have kept the broken iPad. She looked all through the van, and it wasn’t there. She said she would call the store today. (Update: She found it!)
Speaking of losing things. For days, we looked for Denny’s black satchel that he calls his dialysis bag. It contains a blanket, his phone, his diary, and another notebook containing all his passwords and phone numbers. He and Bev both said it was not in his room at Renown. In fact, we talked about that just before leaving for Fallon.
“I can’t do anything without that black bag,” Denny said.
“We’ll find it,” I said.
Bev and I started the search. Now, he went to the Fallon Hospital ER from his dialysis location and was transferred to Renown Regional, also by ambulance. So, did he leave the bag at the dialysis site? No. Might it be at the Fallon ER? They treated me as if they thought me a bit strange but finally said that the bag would have probably traveled to Renown on the gurney with Denny.
“So, what ambulance service do you use?” I asked. I thought the bag might be in the ambulance.
“Uh, we use our own vehicles. It’s not in our ambulance.”
Okay, so I called the Renown ER. They didn’t have it but connected me with Security, where a kind young woman asked, “And you’re sure it didn’t make it to the room?”
I answered, “Yes, I’m sure.”
Bev was telling Jena, Denny’s daughter, about the missing black bag.
“Mom,” Jena said, “it was on that gurney when they took him to his room. I saw it. Call the nurses’ station.”
Bev called the nurses’ station for the first floor and asked if they were sure it wasn’t in the room.
They called her back within minutes. “It was in the room in the closet.”
It wasn’t possible to see Denny every day. On the dialysis days, he is just about wiped out by the time he returns to his facility room. Beverly planned runarounds for the two of us–her and me–and on Wednesday, I got the best massage I’ve ever experienced at The Electric Sun from Mikey. It didn’t hurt that Mikey is about six foot two and looks like he could be on the cover of some romance novel or maybe a bodybuilder’s magazine. But the massage…If he’d looked like a purple ogre, I would still call his body-kneading the BOAT, the Best of All Time.
While Beverly drove Denny and me in his converted van, he and I sang together. We harmonized on Make the World Go Away, How Great Thou Art, Crazy, and I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry. We both imagined Mom and Dad singing together. I hope Dad has sung Red River Valley to Mom. I wonder if he has a guitar.
When I told Denny I would open the last quart of Mom’s tomatoes when I got home, he smiled.
“Do you have any of her blackberry jam?” he asked.
I told him I used to have one, but a woman helping us move from The Compound to The Cottage dropped it, and the jar shattered. I enjoyed the scent while we cleaned up the glass-infused sweetness.
I imagined that there were only big pieces of broken jar, and I would… you know. I didn’t.
John and Vicky ferried me from the airport late afternoon yesterday. I flopped on my chair with a weak margarita and held Dixie until I got ready for bed, unpacking only chargers and my CPAP machine.
After sleeping for twelve hours, Dixie and my chair called to me again. I made coffee, and my little dog shifted from one side of me to the other, lying closer and closer with each move. There were several kisses, too. After The Price Is Right came on TV, I told her I had to make a list of things to do today and actually wrote it down on a page in my notebook:
Put smothered pork chops in the slow cooker for dinner. Unpack two suitcases. Wash clothes. Give Dixie a bath. Cut up a watermelon that has lingered in the refrigerator for two weeks. Write about the Nevada visit in my blog.
I’m currently working on one, finished two, and will get busy on the other three.
I poured the jar of Mom’s tomatoes over browned pork chops, but not before I stuck a spoon in the jar and ate four pieces, lingering on each bite. Dad liked Mom’s tomatoes even better than the blackberry jam. Happy Birthday, Dad. I miss you.
Mom, I’d love to go to the Farmer’s Market again with you. Dad would ask what took us so long down there. You’d huff a little and say, “We had a lot to do.” We’d bring home lima beans, tomatoes, white peaches, and blackberries. We would freeze limas, can tomatoes in wide-mouth quart jars, and eat peaches. Then we’d make blackberry jam and bake Dad some biscuits which he’d layer with cold butter melting into the hot bread. For supper, he’d eat tomatoes and cornbread.
If I had some of Mama’s blackberry jam, I might not share it. I’d bake some frozen biscuits and eat my delight. Denny wouldn’t get enough to put on a biscuit. The whole thing would be gone before the next trip to Nevada.
Hate it for you, Denny.
On the Ravine 