What a difference a day makes! An update on the postal situation from yesterday. I placed calls to his landlord, psychologist and the VA. The VA was helpful. No calls from the others by 4 p.m. so I call K back. He’s very cryptic and said the situation has been settled for $400. He doesn’t sound right. “Are you on drugs?” “Of course.” I finally am able to get his cousin’s name and phone number out of him. Bombshell. K has checked himself out of facility and told them and cousin that he is coming to live with me. This is not possible on so many levels. He appears to grasp this and states his intent is to check into one of the cheap, tawdry motels on Montauk or Sunrise. In fact, there is one within walking distance of my house that I call the Pedophile Motel as a year or so before we moved in there were legal issues as it appeared the town and county were housing all the pedophiles there. Alright, I tell him we’ll deal and get him situated. I tell him that I have called the landlord and will call him again. My husband is livid over the situation and thinks the landlord has K’s belongings. He wants to drive over, get everything before it’s tossed then drop the dime on the illegal rental. K says don’t call him again. He’s spoken to him today and landlord was very cold. He also tells me to say nothing of his plan to his cousin. Now whilst I am having this conversation with K on my landline, I hear other calls coming in and my cell is ringing too. I see one call on the cell is my neurologist so husband picks that one up.
I hang up and see the landlord has called me. I ring back. Wow. K has played us all. I worked for years on a phone so I am really good with voices and lies. Landlord is a straight up guy. After I saw K just before Labor Day weekend, he rapidly deteriorated and was falling several times a day. It culminated, ironically, enough on September 11, when landlord S’s children heard yelling. K had fallen facedown for 10 hours. K was refusing help. S told him paramedics or police. He was hospitalized for 5 or 6 days. During his episode, he had crystallization of his blood. K was released to an assisted living/rehab facility. Ironically, my husband and I drive by there all the time. He was there until the end of September when the insurance ran out. The cousin P was called. The facility told him that K could walk 160 feet with a walker. However, he had degenerated so much during this period that he was not allowed to use the bathroom on his own. S had looked into the apartment with a view to making it handicapped accessible. K had lived there almost 11 years. Apparently, he has not had control of his urine or bowel for sometime. The apartment/room needed fumigation and a new floor. S also determined that he could not assume the responsibility nor have his children exposed to the consequences of falling, S drove him to the cousin P in Maryland. He had to help him in the bathroom on the way down.
The first night at the cousin’s he fell repeatedly. The cousin called an ambulance.
I have a call into the cousin. The cousin takes care of his nephew who as far as I can ascertain on the phone has at minimum a significant speech impediment. I call twice leaving messages.
In the meantime, the psychologist has left a message for me on my cell. All three of these men know of me as an old girlfriend, not my name, just an old girlfriend. The psychologist, B, and I have quite the conversation. He has treated K for years. In fact, he has retired and is very old. He sounds ancient on the phone.
B never knew that I knew K at the time of the original postal incident. I had to go into therapy because of it. I couldn’t handle it and left K for someone else. K stalked me and threatened me when he found out. I know, atrocious taste in men. At that time in the late 80’s, there wasn’t the awareness or sensitivity to domestic violence there is now. The police told me there was nothing they could do until he actually hurt me. Their suggestion was for me to move. In Suffolk county at that time there was a rash of domestic killings in a few months. I know because my girl friends, their mothers and my parents all cut out the clippings for me. And yes, I went back into therapy once his meds were stabilized and I started interacting and seeing him again.
I give B the cousin, the landlord and the facility numbers as I explain he will have more weight than I do.
P calls back. “Thank G-d you called. I have been trying to get K to give me your name, number and address!” He told K that he wanted to talk to me before he dropped him here today. K has even told him I have been married twice. P questions whether my husband will accept him. K refuses to give up my address but instead tells P how to get my house from his room.
We have a most illuminating conversation. P also knew of me as the old girlfriend, no name. But he knew of my diagnosis, my two marriages and that I went to Hopkins. Unless people tick me off, I don’t usually tell them I went to Hopkins but say I went to college in Baltimore. I did the same yesterday and all three men said “Yeah, I knew you went to Hopkins.” P found out from me the truth of the postal incident. No, he didn’t hit 3 -4 guys. They did try to provoke him to do so but instead his blood pressure rose so high he nearly stroked out and was taken out by ambulance. I thought K’s father and mother were both evil and I do not use that term lightly. K is older than me and his teachers reported the father for child abuse. In that era you could just about kill your kids. There were 6 brothers. At least two are dead and one has been institutionalized for years. Despite this K kept in touch with his father who ended up living in an SRO. When he died, his mother refused to have anything to do with the burial. Only one brother came. That’s one of my gripes against the mother. She was a lay minister in the Catholic church and would not separate or divorce the father. She sacrificed her sons. I do not believe in that kind of G-d. P told me as soon as they were old enough each son beat the father up. K broke his jaw. He also shared my opinion of the mother and told me more stories about her.
All three men and I shared stories of K’s increasing paranoia and remoteness. I bought a computer for K once when I had a huge bonus. Good fortune is meant to be shared. A few years later he returned it to me saying it was broken, Maybe, but apparently was truly paranoid about it. He wouldn’t use one at the library either. He only recently had a cellphone and I believe it was through a program. Caller ID displayed LI Spinal Foundation.
P can’t fight him any more and told K he will take him anywhere he wants to go. He will leave him at a motel, wait an hour and call 911. I beg him to let me know and I will call if necessary.
Oh, and the call my husband answered on my cell? It’s my doctor’s office asking me to come in today. I have been approved for the Rituxan. I don’t even register this or remember it till after 8 p.m. This is huge. This drug could literally change my life. I can’t even process this. I keep on forgetting!
My husband wakes in a rage this morning. How could anyone dump K? I repeat our 911 plan. Smack forehead. Of course, the police will come before ambulance. We anticipate his resistance and see jail in his future or else due to late father’s influence (top police lieutenant) K being able to stay in motel to die. He was able to get out of a traffic incident this summer dropping names.
I call the VA again this morning. They suggest the cousin drive him directly there. He is technically homeless and they have a shelter on the property.
The Catholic hospital nearest me said if there were mental health issues, they couldn’t take him.
I call the psychologist. He has had no luck with the cousin. He said P was adamant K was going to New York. He and his wife also had the same serious reservations about the 911 plan. B then revealed that K was so paranoid that for five years he would only meet B at diners or restaurants away from where they both lived. His opinion was that K cannot survive in a group situation. Also, none of us must have any guilt as we all have done much more than could be expected. We are all good people.
At ten of two this afternoon, the phone rang. It was P. He went to get K at 8 and asked where are we going? K said I’ll let you know in 4 hours. P refused. They went to 7 -11 for an hour and a half. For now sanity has prevailed and K has agreed to stay and sign on a contract to live there. He says he doesn’t want to die in Maryland. The cousin says who wants to die?
We all agree that this is very sad. It is. I agree we all tried to do the best we could. But I am looking at it another way. We have all known K for decades. We knew of each other – the old girlfriend, the cousin, the shrink, the landlord. He reduced us all to the role he wanted us to have in his life. We all do that. K is just more extreme about it due to his emotional issues.
Ok, not guilt but I am so questioning myself. How did I let myself so eagerly be a part of this. K and I never officially lived together. I have been married twice, lived with someone and had numerous affairs. Through all this we have been constants in each other’s lives. We have been “in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer.” I need to process what it means. I sense that somewhere along the way, we all failed him. And I, I failed myself. Why can’t I let go? Why have I maintained a relationship with a man capable of hurting me physically? All relationships involve hurt.
If this crisis had not occurred, we all would still be in our roles. How do we as a society perpetuate these situations? We are all so close and yet so distant.
2 thoughts on “Old Girlfriends, Postal and Rituxan”
[…] as to Kevin, he is in a nursing home in another state and has paranoia and Parkinson’s.Postal Old Girlfriends, Postal and RituxanI am trying to ring him every Thursday. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Kev.” “You […]
[…] I have written before of my postal worker. He is extremely Irish so my husband reminded me this morning to make sure I ring him this weekend. Another thing about me – I remember lots and lots but lack a certain feminine snetimentality. I rarely remember the dates I met some of the important men in my life. For example, I know I met my college boyfriend at the PhiGam TG but not a clue as to date. He used to send me anniversary cards. I never remember my anniversaries for either of my weddings. Well, I realized after my husband said to call, that I actually met K St. Patrick’s Day 1984. 35 years! I only went out that night because a girlfriend was depressed and begged me. It was at a club across from Salisbury Park, so very close. We were fairly inseparable until 1988 when I left him briefly for RC, direct from Ireland. We stumbled back together until 1991. I married in 1992. We have never, ever not been in contact with each other. As I have said before, in many ways, we have had a marriage. We have stuck by each other in sickness and health; through our relations with others; richer or poorer. Postal, Old Girlfriends, Postal and Rituxan […]