I Despise "420"

 Yesterday was April 20th, which is celebrated by a lot of people as "420 Day". The distribution, purchase and use of marijuana is legal in New York state. The state treats smoking a joint in public no differently than it treats regular cigarettes. Because of that, the Binghamton YMCA also allows its residents to enter and walk about the building while under the influence.

This, people, is where I just want to sigh a very deep sigh. For several reasons.

1- The smell of marijuana makes me very nauseous.

2- My fellow residents can walk in reeking of it, and high as the proverbial kite, as well. But God forbid I should have a beer with my hamburger at lunch. To enter the building after doing so is still against regulations. If I want to drink, which I do every now and then, I have to wait until the alcohol is out of my system before I set foot inside the building.

3- It's no fun for me to have to put up with that smell when riding a bus or sitting in a restaurant (I've walked out of a few places without ordering food and have not hesitated to tell an employee why). Restaurant owners and managers can legally refuse service to anyone, as long as the reason or reasons don't involve any sort of illegal discrimination. If I owned a diner or cafe, I'd put a sign right in the door telling everyone that being under the influence of any non-medically related substance gets you banned from the premises. 

4- And that damned "420 day"...for the second year in a row, a 1/2 block of Hawley Street was blocked off for those gathered to "partake" (a word I despise, let's say "get high" because that's what it is). This is right around the corner from Isbell Street, which is the side I exit on when leaving the building. This year, just as last year, I could smell the smoke and hear the obnoxiously loud rap music from several hundred feet away. Said "music" included the repeated use of profanity.  As it did last year.

I get it, honestly, I do. A lot of people in this country waited a long time to be able to do what they've done all along but without breaking any laws. But the way they just shove it in the faces of the rest of us sticks in my craw every single day.

To quote George Costanza:

"We live in a society."

Also, for the second year in a row, several adults and teenagers decided that they just had to use spray paint to deface one side of the Broome County Office Building. This isn't street art or a mural. It's graffiti and it's ugly.

Look. If you're doing something that really sets me off, but it's legal, I have to find a way to deal with it. I just do. But when it includes behavior that is in poor taste, or actions that are, strictly speaking, against the law, then you've crossed a line I can't and won't ignore.

This year, just as I did last year, I will be calling the mayor's office to register my displeasure with all of this.

This is where you might ask, and reasonably do so, why I continued to walk through the "festival".

One, it's my city as much as it is theirs. And it's my neighborhood, while for most of those in attendance, it's not.

Two, same as last year. I really wanted a burger and fries from a small bodega on Court Street and walking where I did is the only way to get there without detouring by several blocks.

So, there you have it. I'm upset and I've said why.

Am I Back? We'll See.

 Look who's back.

I have no idea if this is going to be a one-time thing or if I'll begin posting on a regular basis again. I just know that I have things I want to say, things I want to share. 

Where were you on Thanksgiving Day 2022? Which, as a reminder, I'll tell you, was on November 24th of that year. 

I was in the hospital, having been admitted the night before. More specifically, I was in Binghamton General Hospital in Binghamton, New York. I went to the emergency room there at a little after eight o'clock at night. 

I had been feeling ill for two days, with cold chills, fatigue, and nausea. And my left foot was badly swollen. From the time I walked into the E.R. until the time someone initially examined me was about twenty minutes. From the time that doctor asked me what was wrong till the time the podiatrist on call came in to see me was five minutes. 

Which is a good thing, because the foot was so severely infected that she drew a line on it. A line that as she told me when I asked, meant we would have a problem if the infection progressed past that line. I was started on intravenous anti-biotics just a few minutes later. 

The infection never got past the line. But it did require surgery. There were two incisions made to drain the pus (sorry, folks, but that's the only word that's right for me to use). 

I was discharged from the hospital on December 5th. In all that time, I had just one nurse who was unpleasant and unprofessional. Every other staff member I dealt with was professional and polite, and some of them were friendly, as well.

Dealing with things after I got home was extremely difficult. I had to go every day to the hospital in Johnson City to get my infusion pack serviced, because I was still on anti-biotics around the clock. Every single Saturday and Sunday was a nightmare because my Medicab rides were cancelled. So, every day on those days I either took a cab or rode the bus to the hospital. There were two days I couldn't go at all. Christmas Day, when there was no bus service and December 27th, when the temperature was three degrees below zero. I simply could not go out in that weather.

Also, getting someone to come out to change the dressing on my foot was a real nightmare, as well. It took having my podiatrist make several calls to get things set up.

On January 7, 2023, I had the initial symptoms return. First the cold chills, then the nausea and then the fatigue.  By the time I had enough strength to get out of bed, it was almost 10 p.m. that night. I packed a bag and tried to call a cab. 

None of the local cab companies even had anyone answer the phone when I called, and after a half hour of trying, I gave up. I walked to the hospital in sub-zero temperatures (a bank sign I passed read -5). By the time I got there, my hands were so cold I had to wait a few minutes before I could even hold a stylus to sign the admission form on a computer.

(Just a thought here- if there's even the slightest chance you're going to be admitted to the hospital, bring your laptop or tablet or something. I didn't do it the first time, but I sure made certain to do so the second time).

I needed a second surgery, which involved the amputation of the middle toe on my left foot. Again, every person but one that I dealt with was very good to deal with. I was discharged on the 12th of January. 

My foot was pronounced fully healed on March 1st. 

Those fourteen weeks were, by far, the most difficult fourteen weeks of my life, because I had next to no help from anyone. No one to drive me to appointments. No one to do my grocery shopping for me (although a member of my mother's church did give me a ride to the store and home again one time).

I spent so much money on cabs I had to ask my mother for help with my bills in December. Which was the first time I'd done that in over four years. She came through for me, of course.

But what was worst of all? The fact that no one other than my mother and my cousin called me while I was in the hospital, both times. I did ask several people to call me, and those people made a conscious decision to ignore me.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Being alone is not easy.