Tempus Fugit

Star Date 20092016

I love Latin. So much of it makes complete sense in the compilation of the English language. My medical background is also brimming with Latin prefixes and suffixes. If only I could speak it or understand it. Perhaps after Charlie goes permanently missing:

Charlie the Tumour

Tempus fugit. Time is, indeed, flying. Why the Bond pic? Well…I did not finish the movie whilst aboard the treadmill, yesterday. So, I picked up where I left off. Still no good? The music running in the background at the moment of the scene above, is called, Tempus Fugit. Still not following? You know what I like about Bond movies? Same as I do in regards to Star Wars, Mission Impossible movies, Bourne movies…all good action movies have horns. These:

Not these:

Although, these are quite spectacuhler (reference to Larry Crowne movie), horns of the brass persuasion make fight/action scenes that much more thrilling. Always. I find…especially on the treadmill, that they provide about a 3.5 – 3.7 mph pace, given the timing and cadence. That’s a good pace for an overweight, maturing gent, with a plethora of medical afflictions to get his heart rate up at a fat burning level. Hopefully. It was commented on by browniesis, that I apparently seemed to have had a better day, yesterday. One word. Music. Brass gets the heart rate up and changes where one’s head can be. I agree. Yesterday, although laden with phone calls and emails (another useless pluralization), was decent. Jess came home in a good mood…or perhaps it was our car chase prior to getting home. Jess oft takes the ‘shame train.’ …public transportation, for those unaware of my translation. I hate public transportation for everything but the people-watching and listening to conversations that have zero to do with me. Hate is a strong word though, isn’t it? Yep. Hate. Why do I hate it? Germs. Seats and floors that have been uncleaned for years. bars, grips, buttons, nooks, and crannies. Filled with disease of apocalyptic proportions. Filth and muck (reference to the movie Fletch):

Everything’s going to ball bearings, son.

Anyways, Jess was on the bus, and I got to fetch her from the bus stop. We had a plan to meet at a certain drop off point, and were keeping in constant communicado via the text. I love a good plan. I especially love when a plan comes together (reference TV show, the A-Team):

However, skipping the plan meant I could rescue Jess from the shame train prior to the aforementioned designation. I was behind a bus and presumed it to be hers. Funny thing. I am describing the color of the bus to her via text and she did not know the color of her accordion, monster bus. She did know the number. Figures. No really…figures. She remembers figures…numbers. The bus stops but she didn’t debus (yep…just like deplane…not this de plane (reference to TV show Fantasy Island):

I had already made the turn on to a side street for safety purposes. No Jess. Frantic texting. Donuts in lawn…screeching tires. Back on McKnightmare. I do not know where the next stop is, nor does Jess…this is not her normal bus. Bus stops and I see it stop from a half mile back. I text her to debus. She does. Timing ….No upcoming traffic. I speed to get through light…pull to shoulder…she jumps through window like this:

(reference TV show Dukes of Hazzard). Okay…not quite like this, as my doors open. It is a Subaru, after all. We speed home to get changed for a night with friends. A restaurant called The Willow. Good food. Good company. Not many places can or even try to pull off the deviled egg as an appy. The Willow did so quite triumphantly. Service kinda sucked…perhaps due to our jittery, perhaps detoxing waiter. More time smoking than serving. Good night to sit out. And we did. A very special eve, as we were celebrating the birth of a good friend prior to his departure to my favorite place in the U.S.

Spotlight friend. Rob S initially comes to me by way of my employment. As I have gotten on in years, I find that is where the majority and or all my friends have come from. Not a bad thing, just a thing. Rob is a good man in all that implies. He reminds me of my adopted grandfather. Rob is intelligent in a myriad of things. He is a man of his word. A man that would likely prefer the lost days of the handshake commitment. Life was easier then. Look a person in the eyes and shake their hand. My word is my bond. I knew this from my first meeting with him. When I say Rob reminds me of my grandfather, it is not in reference to his age. He is far from old enough to be my grandfather. However, he dresses similarly to how my grandfather did. His work ethic and style are similar. His yearning to learn and be educated is also similar. Rob is tough but fair (another reference to Larry Crowne). When Rob is at work, he is all work. Stern. No nonsense. The day I met Rob, he stood from his chair, where most might just swivel and shake hands from a sitting position. He looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Maybe you’ll show up more than the last guy did.” I noticed his shoes. Clean…not scuffed. S/s button down shirt, tucked precisely. This is a man who is put together…and potentially has a stick up his ass. I like him. Rob seldom smiles at work. …at least that was the case before we became friends. Mention the name Tory, and watch this solid man get giddy as a school girl. He cannot say enough good about her. He literally changes his entire demeanor and posture. Smitten. He smiles now. It is a good smile. Rob is a man that believes in earned respect. I do not believe I earned Rob’s respect until I came back to his office a month or so in this area. He made a point of telling my boss, who was with me, that he hadn’t seen me since. I opened my notebook from our first meeting, where I had diligently taken notes on this man. In it I had written Rob’s words: “Don’t bother coming in here unless you have something. I don’t have time to just chat.” When I read that back to him, he just looked at me and queried, “Did I really say that?” Since that time, we have worked out pretty well together on the work front. On the personal side…the friendship side, Rob is also tough. Always observant. Listening. Engaged. Jess and I have had the honor of spending some time with them. An outing here and there, a meal, drinks…good conversations. The past, the present. Rob at Tory’s side is exactly what draws a smile on to his face. The stick in the ass comment? Yeah. It carries over for about ten minutes when we first get together to start an eve. I bust his balls about it and reach to unbutton one of the buttons on his polo, reminding him we aren’t at work. He shoos me away like a giant gnat. Tory laughs. Rob loosens up. The conversation can go any number of directions. Regardless of what the topic, Rob is on it. Direct. Rob is Pittsburgh…or at least how it was described to me prior to moving here. History, music…The Dead…many other genres. Life. In a battle of wits, I want on his team. This is a man that can linguistically kick your a**. And in an instant, he can light up a room with his smile and laugh. I am just finding some things out, as tends to happen with friends. Rob can sing. He used to play the trumpet. I can see both in my head…or Charlie’s. Rob is a good man. A great man in my eyes. To many more years, my friend. So much more to learn from you. About you.

Fast forward. Sensing a theme today? Trumpets and music. My music has stopped for a moment. I am in tears. I am done with unpleasant news. My mood is changing despite my attempt to keep control. What control? I have no fucking control. I am a kite in a hurricane…a line from Spectre befitting this moment in my life. Another test result showed up on my chart. The CT results from last week. As you might have guessed, it is not a miracle. It is verbiage. Words. My poison currently is that I know just enough to know wrong. Words like thinning carotid wall. Foramen spinosum displaced posteriorly. Extends through right foramen ovale, which is markedly expanded. In my conversation with Marie (Dr. Yu’s nurse and administrative right hand…or left if you prefer…I can feel Jess’s disapproving glance…she’s a lefty) yesterday, she eluded to Dr. Yu calling me about the CT results, but I clearly misunderstood. Not today. Today, the results showed up on my chart, prompting my call to Marie, asking about all the words you just read…okay, not all….just the pertinent medical jargon. I see thinning wall and carotid and I think aneurysm. Foramen = hole. Not worried…terribly about a larger hole in my head. Can’t hurt at this point. I’m over it. All the music and light of the day cannot penetrate the darkness that is overwhelming me…and likely Jess. We are, both of us, done. Let’s move on, shall we.

Today’s wake up in Charlie’s head song was by Pat Monahan of Train fame. Also fitting. Currently. Great Escape.

Thought I could but I just can’t wait Started plannin’ for my great escape Where I’d live and what I’d leave behind

Made a list of things I’d have to take The things that make me feel like shit, for heavens sake Who I’d love and who would tow the line

And I need you Everybody needs someone like you If you need me to You would be the only thing that I’d take On my great escape

I float through this town like a cosmonaut Remindin’ me of all the things I haven’t got Like time and space, a smile on my face and you

And I need you Everybody needs someone like you If you need me to You would be the only thing that I’d take with me

Maybe I’ll find that my destination Is somewhere I already know And you were as far as I ever had to go

And I need you (Thought I could but I just can’t wait) Everybody needs someone like you (Started plannin’ for my great escape)

If you need me to (Who I’d love and who I’d leave behind) You would be the only thing that I’d take with me (Who I’d leave behind)

I need you (Who I’d leave behind) Everybody needs someone like you

If you need me to You would be the only thing that I’d take On my great escape

Fast Forward. Another MRI. No, not the one scheduled for the very wee hours of 7 October, prior to surgery. This newest will apparently be aimed at my carotid area on the right side. The carotid does not seem to involve Charlie but may be rooster blocking the best access for getting Charlie out…and now …as if we didn’t know this before, Charlie’s middle name is Foxtrot (Thank you, Jon Z). 17 Days. Just breathe for 17 more days. Piece of cake. I like cake. I’m thinking I can get Doc Yu to prescribe the red velvet in it’s best form. Orally. Although I suspect that the icing could be used as a salve, cream, or ointment. Healing power of icing. Just sayin.

I got nothin left for today. Final thought. Safe travels to Rob S. I suspect Tory may be able to talk you in to a full body tan. Go gettum. Don’t let my peeps ignore you, as they are prone to do to the white man.