The Sacred Elders, III

A Short Story
By Hilding Lindquist
Copyright © 2004 by Hilding Lindquist

“I lied to you,” I told Fred. He was sitting across the small dining table from me as we sipped our cups of coffee in my apartment that Sunday evening in late October, 2004.

“Oh,” he replied, “how so?”

“Yesterday at Nick’s I said that it was either old age or the excitement of you coming here that made me forget my Lupron shot, and I then got depressed over forgetting it.”

Yesterday Fred and I had lingered over coffee mid-day at Nick’s Gourmet Deli in Times Square and talked, catching up on our lives. Fred was visiting me from Alaska.

“And?”

“I got depressed after getting a bill from the doctors that treated me for the heart thing. For $915. For some reason I couldn’t cope with that shit. That's when I forget the Lupron appointment. Part of it was true though, I did get more depressed after I realized I’d missed getting the Lupron shot.”

“But you have Medicare don’t you?”

“Yes, and it worked out. I called up the billing office a couple days later, day before yesterday, Friday. The bill was their mistake. They apologized and fixed it, but I don’t know, it was like getting hit in the gut when I got the thing. It took all the oomph out of me.”

“That’s kind of crappy, but you can’t let things like that get you down.”

“That’s easy enough to say. I tell myself that all the time. But when it happens, it’s like someone flipping a switch. I lose it. The energy drains right out of me. I think my PCP told me I have to watch for stuff like that because of my chronic kidney failure.”

I paused in thought and then continued, “You know I once incorrectly called it ‘acute kidney failure’—that’s what it was when I went into the hospital in Fairbanks, now it’s chronic kidney failure—anyway, some doctor was standing next to me and corrected me, that was kind of strange. Who gives a rat’s ass what you call it in casual conversation—except some damn doctor.”

“Sounds like you’re back to being feisty.”

“I am, damn it, I am.

“By the way, for us ignorant lay persons, what’s a PCD?

“Primary Care Doctor, but I said PCP, Primary Care Physician. Same thing.”

“As opposed to?”

“A urologist, or nephrologist, or cardiologist, a specialist.”

“And a nephrologist, what’s that?

“A kidney doctor. Aren’t you glad you asked?”

“Yah, well, I am, come to think about it. If you got one, I want to know about it. Don’t need to know all in one fell swoop though, but little by little I’d like to get the hang of what’s going on with you.”

“Now I have to call up the Urology Clinic and reschedule my Lupron shot.”

“You haven’t done that yet?”

“Nope.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t seem to be able to do it, to get the necessary motivation. It’s like there is something holding me back. It's kinda scarey. Things are going on with me like I have split personality or something. And I don’t seem to be able to talk to anyone about it.”

“You’re talking to me.”

“Yah, well, that’s different. I have to get it out somehow.”

“This sounds sort of serious.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s a phase, like women have menopause. Maybe this Lupron’s been doing more than I know about. It’s a female hormone, is what they tell me. I’ve just never asked any questions.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want to know. Maybe I want to go around not knowing what’s happening to me. Maybe by not knowing I can stay halfway sane. Maybe if I knew what’s happening, what I am in for, maybe I’d regret it. You know there’s a certain equanimity in not knowing.”

“Equa-what?”

“Equanimity, balance, non-stressful state of mind.”

“Sure it is. I knew that. And why should you be any different from the rest of us? Stress is as American as apple pie.” Fred paused as I gave him a funny look, then continued, “Just joking, just joking. You want me to be worried about you, Jack?

“I don’t know, I just don’t know what’s going on in my head or my body all the time and I don’t know whether I want to know. And once I know something, there’s no unknowing it. Ignorance is bliss. Do I want to give it up?”

“I am not so sure about ignorance being bliss. Seems like we’ve gone through this once before."

“You mean with Gene?”

“Right.”

“I don’t want to think about Gene right now.”

“Back then you were the one encouraging him to learn all he could about his lung cancer.”

“And he died. Maybe I was wrong.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Back then I was like you, healthy. It was pretty damn easy to give that kind of advice because I didn’t have any personal experience with facing up to dying.”

“You think you’re going to die?

“Hell yes, and so are you.”

“In that sense you got it nailed, but what I mean is, are you thinking about it now? Do you think about it like it’s going to happen soon?”

“Sometimes. But you know, that doesn’t seem to bother me, thinking about dying. I’ve been there, done that.”

“You didn’t die.”

“Came pretty damn close. Coulda done it. I was there drifting off into fuzzy soft la la land.”

“Yah, well you didn’t die.”

“No but I took nine units of blood over two days. It was touch and go. Some of them medical people, nurses and such, didn’t think I was going to make it.”

“Well, you did.”

“Yes, I did, so what’s it to you, buddy old friend of mine?”

“You tell me how you feel about it.”

“I ain’t afraid of dying. What gets me upset are these mood swings and shit like that.”

“Maybe you need to get your mental chemistry adjusted.”

“You think I’m nuts?”

“For chrissakes, give me a break. I’m carrying on a conversation here, dealing straight up with what you’re telling me.”

“You’re right. Sorry.

“You damn well better be.” Fred stood holding his coffee cup and reached out for mine. “Want more coffee?,” he asked.

“Yah, one more cup, then that’s going be it. I gotta sleep tonight,” I replied.

Fred went over to the Mr. Coffee machine on the counter, poured our cups of coffee, and came back to the table with them.

“What about the flu vaccine shortage? Doesn’t that depress you? It would me,” he said after sitting down.

“Of course it does. I’m over 65 with chronic illnesses. And I won’t know until Wednesday whether I can get one or not.”

“Wednesday you do what?”

“Go see my Primary Care Doctor, PCP.”

“Primary Care Physician.”

“Same thing.”

“I know. You told me.”

“Anyway, I go see her and I’ll find out if I get a flu shot.”

“Her?”

“Yup, and she’s a cutie. I wonder why I ever went to a male doctor. Course, I can’t say that about Dr. Sinclair in Fairbanks. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be here.”

“No shit, you go to a woman doctor?”

“Sure do. Wouldn’t have it any other way now. Not for primary care. I love it.”

“I thought the Lupron was dampening your libido?”

“It is, I think. The doctor doesn’t turn me on that way. I like her attitude. Now that turns me on. She’s smart, caring, not arrogant. She acts like she really is interested in me as a human being. She’s black. But I mean smart, really smart.”

“I guess you’d have to be to survive in medicine’s old boys club.”

“Yah, well, she’s a two-fer on that score, black and female. God, are we old farts, or what?. Some of that prejudice stuff rubbed off on us growing up no matter what. We were raised wallowing around in it, like fish in water. You know I went through the South in the 50’s when they still had segregated facilities, restrooms, lunch counters, that sort of thing. I became mostly prejudiced against southern whites.”

“You’ve told me. But what about your flu shot? I got mine before I left Alaska.”

“Thanks for getting around to telling me.”

“Thank Senator Stevens for taking good care of Alaska.”

“Amen to that. I like New Jersey’s two Senators, Corzine and Lautenberg, but they’re Democratic minnows in a sea run by Republican sharks there in Washington, DC. Alaska must be coming into a heyday, what with the missile defense system going in and the price of oil going up.”

“Not shabby, not shabby at all. Boom or bust, and for now its going to be boom time for a while, I would think. Doesn’t bother me either way. I own my place and I collect Social Security plus whatever I can eke out of my gold claim. There’s still gold in them thar hills, my boy. Gold, I tell you, gold.

We sat there sipping our coffee, letting the camaraderie of the moment sink in. I broke the pleasant silence.

“So how do you think the election is going to go?” The Bush/Cheney versus Kerry/Edwards national election was only days away.

“If Bush doesn’t win it," Fred replied, “I think you're right, Cheney will steal it. Simple as that. Unless there’s an obvious landslide for Kerry which the Republicans will do everything they can to prevent.”

I paused for a moment before responding. “Do you know what disturbs me, well, one thing that disturbs me?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“Yah, well, it really doesn’t affect me. Nothing is really going to change for me.”

“You can’t say that after you've convinced me otherwise. Cheney is hell-bent on fighting the Battle of Armageddon in his lifetime, which is the same as ours. He has no doubt that we will emerge victorious, God’s warriors astride the globe. He’s nuts.”

“OK, OK, there is that. But maybe I've exagerated how likely it is to happen.”

“Are you shitting me? Now you don’t think it’s likely? You got your head up your ass? These neocolonialist, Zionist-tinged, Manifest Destiny idiots are taking us right into a test by battle, ‘Let’s have a war and settle it.’ They think God is on our side so we’re going to win ... and we've got the biggest bombs. All we have to do is keep upping the ante until the other side caves. They don’t have a clue about what they’ve started. It might already be too far gone to change before it’s run its course.”

“OK, OK, maybe there's something to it.”

“No shit. Do you want to trust your future to a President that can’t even make sure there’s enough flu shots for all of us? Now that's depressing.”