12,685. RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,010

RUDIMENTS, pt. 1010

(no one told me a thing)

Back in this hospital time I'm

speaking of, 1958, the Perth

Amboy Hospital was just one

building, 5 or 6 stories. It had

the usual lobby thing, guest

passes for visiting hours, all

that. I think there was also a

little place to eat, get lunch

or whatever, while you waited.

And there was a bank of two

or three elevators. But it was

all small, square or rectangular

spaces, made for utility. That

same place now is all different.

It's been rebuilt and expanded

three times that I know of; and

the entries and lobbies now (all

plural) aren't even in the same

places, and everything is oriented

differently. I think I can still find

the window/corner I used to look

out of, based on the view that I

can remember, but of that I'm

not even sure. It's not even called

by its local name now  - with the

advent today of all those medical

centers and group hospitals and all,

this is now called something so

completely different and foreign,

and no longer local at all, that it

may as well be called 'Paris France

Hospital Group,' or, perhaps, 'The

Caribbean Medical Center.' There's

nothing local about it. Not that

you necessarily want a local feel

to your hospital stay, but it was

sure more human. All around it,

like little medieval secondary huts,

used to be numerous doctor offices,

clinics for rehab and follow-up.

That too is all gone now, and I don't

even know if the doctors in the

hospital still even have any local

medical sites, as these huts were.

Dr. Breslau; Dr. Slobodien; etc.

I had a bunch. I don't know what

any of it cost either, but it must

have all been a nasty penny, even

back then. My parents tried to sue,

but lost the case. Fortunately for

me, it wasn't really a 'loss' since the

settlement called for payment of

expenses by the Reading Railroad,

and I myself was awarded 1900,

(yes, that's nineteen hundred) dollars,

to be administered as a trust for me

not available until I was age 21. It

wasn't much more than maybe 200

additional dollars by then, when I

did redeem it, but that was how I

had money to put down on the

farmhouse and Pennsylvania

hideaway that I later got (and even

written here about, lots, in previous

chapters). My body kind of healed

up and fixed itself, everything still

worked, with a few glitches. By the

time I got rolling again, on crutches

for a good while, I was pretty swift

on them and could run a mean crutch

race. Problem was, for a 'race' you

need two, at least. I had only me.

-

All the time in the hospital gave me

plenty to reflect. I tried reliving what

had happened to me, but couldn't.

It was as if I'd lost the string of 

anything that had to do with before

that moment. A closed book was

settled around me, and I'd now been

given a new one to get started on. A

new, complete me, in fact. I felt that

and I knew that. My old eight was

now my new one, as far as years went;

it's only now that this begins haunting,

because at 70 beyond it doesn't seem

much sense to still seeing that as an

advantage  -  having basically run

down ALL time to these last, far

fewer, personal moments. Hoping 

they last. (It's funny, for just today

one of my neighbor guys from down

the street, stopped out front near where

I was and yelled out, 'Hey, personal

space. Six feet!' and laughed. I said

back, 'That's OK. I'll stay back; I was

never that close to you anyway.' (That

was a joke). He laughed and said,

'We're all gonna' die, so what's it

matter? I just hope, before I die, to

have a few beers.' I said 'Call me 

over when it happens; I'll have a few

with you.' Such levity in the face of

a plague makes all things vivid.

Anyway, I'd escaped death once;

now I had to figure how to do 

it again?...

-

It's very difficult, especially as a

youngster, to get people to relate

to you, especially after, when they

ask what you've been up to, you

say, 'Oh, I got hit by a train, and 

was dead awhile, and now I'm back!'

They either figured I'd invented

The Twilight Zone or was some

mad, raving, very young, lunatic.

Friends got hard to come by. None

of that ever much mattered to me.

I was able to get by. One thing that

kept troubling me, and as I think of'

it I'm still troubled, not by 'it' any

longer, but by the presence of it

then. I can't to this day tell what 

was going on. Apparently I'd

become some walking sack of 

or bundle of parts, hitched back

together, maybe, somehow. Fact

of the matter is that I've never

felt right; I've never correctly

meshed, as it were, with earthly

humanoids since. A lot to delve 

there, but we'll leave it. I kept

getting dragged back to the

hospital and to various clinics 

and labs, for 'Brain Wave' tests.

That's what they called them.

Not once, not thrice, but maybe

five times. No one ever told me

a thing about why, nor what any

results were that kept puzzling 

them and which kept me having

to go back for more. The doctors

were all lab-coat weird and 

secretive about the whole thing.

I was just a kid without a dog,

didn't really care about what

they said or did, and mostly

remained in a half-fog of

re-entry for a long time. (I did

finally get rid of the crutches, 

and stopped chewing gum too).

Anyway, what they said was that

there was spinal fluid leaking out

my ears. Or coming out. I had

no idea how they knew this,

nor had I myself noticed any

of this supposed 'leakage.' I

tuned out, fearing they'd drill a

plug trough my ears or something,

if they even meant BOTH ears

or not. These brain wave tests

were a nuisance because each time

they'd shave these little bare spots

in my hair, for the suction-cup-like

tiny rubber things, maybe 8 or 10,

connected to wires and a console

That they all stood around. I hated

those bare spots on my head. Nor

did I ever know what in the world

they were doing. Sending a current

through me? Putting x-rays into my

brain? I never felt anything, I don't

think, but it took about 15 minutes,

each time, and they'd all read results

and write in this metal folder clipboard

thing that was, I guess, my file. I

used to think the 'metal' was Kryptonite,

or whatever that Superman stuff was,

and they were setting out to kill me

all over again.

-

All this went on, for probably a year.

I never knew what came of it, not a

word, and then it was all just dropped

and forgotten. No more leakage, I guess.

They really ought not to do that stuff

to a kid, not without at least having the

decency to say what was up, and what

the prognosis was. My parents were no

help either. No one told me a thing.
So I just sat around, trying to
get to living the rest of my life. My
own life. Not theirs. I never got too 
keen on that Science stuff when it
starts sneaking around to humans.
Like me.