The Newtown Pentacle

Tuesday

– photo by Mitch Waxman

The Latin title above roughly translates to ‘crapping my pants,’ which is what I was doing while on my way to an eye doctor’s appointment.

Last time around with this particular doc, the conversation included him saying ‘well, you’re lucky that it’s not affecting your vision yet.’

Between the first appointment and this one which Pittsburgh’s Blue Line T light rail was carrying me towards, I had described the diagnosis to another doctor – a Cardiologist – during a checkup earlier in the month. A rather amiable and cheery guy, as far as heart specialists go, he said ‘oh, no problem, I’m just going to adjust your prescriptions’ so just let me know what happens.

A word of advice that I can offer any of you – lords and ladies – regarding the medical establishment, is that you need to transmit your tales to them in some excruciating detail. You are the only connective thread and there is no master file which they refer to. When you are sitting in the paper robe on the bench, the ‘must’ is to transmit the totality of everything you’ve got going on – from the Dentist to the Podiatrist – and you need to do it quick.

I’ve got a 5-7 minute sum up of everything that’s ever happened to me, going back to a tonsillectomy inflicted when I was a six year old, but already quite humble, narrator.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

As an aside, the tonsil thing still stays with me, in dreams.

Back in 1973 Brooklyn, it was still common for Doctors to operate out of a private house, and to maintain operating theaters therein for minor procedures. I cannot ever forget having my child head strapped down to a gurney on Farragut Road. A wire meshed mask, with a layer of cotton fitted onto it, was placed over my nose and mouth. Next, Ether was poured from a brown bottle into the cotton, and the world went away until I woke up in the back of the old man’s Plymouth.

I complained about my sore throat in the car on the way home. I was told to suck it up, and that it was stupid for me to think that surgery wouldn’t hurt, and that I should get used to pain because ‘you were put on this earth to suffer.’ Oh, that Mother of mine… so nurturing…

At Waxhaus, my grandmother soon arrived and mixed up some ‘banana mush’ for me – since she knew that’s what Magilla Gorilla would want in such circumstance, and that I kind of had a Magilla Gorilla ‘thing’ going on at the time. (…I later learned the ‘mush’ was milk, sugar, and a banana that she had squished up with a fork…)

The medical condition in question is something which I’m keeping the specifics of to myself, but the worst case scenario stemming from it involves the retina in my right eye being damaged – beyond repair – and blindness springing up in the organ.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

Speaking strictly as a visual artist – ARGGHHHHH. The only good news would be having a reason to wear an eye patch – which I could definitely pull off mind you – but I really enjoy binocular vision, and the eye I squish the camera against is the one in question, so… ARGGHHHHH.

I was early, as is my habit. Needing a place to sit down for a few minutes before crossing the breech, I spotted a park bench. It just so happened to be on the property of St. Thomas More RC church, but that’s just a coincidence, it was just directly across the street from the medical office building. I wasn’t praying or anything, as a note, just trespassing.

In the end, the Ophthalmologist told me that the condition had lessened in severity since our last meeting, thought to be in no doubt due to the intervening changes in medication which my Cardiologist had instituted. See what I mean about cogently reporting your story to the Docs? It helps in keeping people from sticking hypodermic needles in your eyes.

Back tomorrow, and back to the usual folderol.

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