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 By Argile Stox July 1, 2006 It really came as no surprise to me that I had some sort of leukemia. I have been feeling very tired, my energy levels are presently at an all time low, and I had this feeling being of really out of sorts lately. Besides the constant pain in my back and blown herniated discs, the degenerative bone disease, and bone spurs, combined with arthritis – I kept noticing that my body was not responding well to stimuli in its normal fashion when I would perform ordinary, usual tasks. I knew something was wrong when I became exhausted at about 9:00 PM in the evening. Usually, I look forward to watching Futurama and Family Guy on [adultswim] every evening from 11:30 PM to 1:00 AM. Then, I would switch over and watch Crossing Jordan on the A&E channel. However, lately I have not been able to keep my eyes open past Futurama. During my last visit to the VA hospital a few days ago, I had a conversation with my primary care Physician. He could just not figure out why my white blood cells was so high and my red blood cells was so low. He could not figure out what was eating up my red blood cells. So, he came to the conclusion that I have chronic leukemia. The entire American medical community will be holding theircollective breath until the results of my bone marrow test comeback. Then, all doubt will be removed. Let’s talk about dying for a moment. Sometimes when death comes, it is instantaneous and the person is shocked as hell to discover that he or she is dead. In other circumstances, death is a slow, time consuming ordeal that completely drains the entire families of emotions. In some situations, it is a relief that the person has finally died. My situation is a little bit unusual. I may have three to five months to live or ten to fifteen years to live. The medical, community is waiting with bated breath for the results of my bone marrow test. The test will determine if I have the fatal Acute or less passive Chronic Leukemic Disease. From what I hear tell, the test hurts like hell. The doctors have to drill through my skin and into the bone of my hip to get an adequate amount of bone marrow to provide for the test. I have taken my heart attack like a man, I have had a Stent placed in my heart like a man, and I have had tubes stuck up my rectum twice, and took it like a man. However, this procedure of drilling through my skin and into my hip bone, frightens that hell out of me. I have requested a family friend to accompany me to the VA hospital as moral support. Under normal circumstances, individuals buries their thoughts about how they really feel about another person –in the deep recessesses of their brain . If an individual was to, in the heat of the moment, tell another person off –specially a “Dear” family member, there would be a lot of hurt feelings and a war within a family would begin. If an individual decides that they have had enough of biting their tongue regarding a friend, relation, family member, and decides to tell that person off –there would be a massive amount of explaining to do, and hurt feelings will abound. A family war would erupt and there would immediately be a ffamily fracus. However, when an individual is given a death sentence and is going to die –regardless whether it is two or five months / ten to fifteen years, it gives that individual the freedom to finally speak their mind and not be politically correct. I can actually tell a person to go to hell –and get away with it, because I am dying. I no longer have to be politically correct, walk on egg shells, or watch my words. I can say whateverit is rattling around my mind to the person to which these thoughts need to be directed too. There would be no penalty for this. After all, I’m dying. Let’s look at this way, an individual really can’t argue with a walking dead man. It would be ridiculous to try and even reason with a walking dead man. There would be absolutely no point in doing so. That is one of the beauties of a slow lingering death. The ability to be honest, forthright and not to mince words. Just last week, I was completely disgusted with the manner in which I was treated when I entered a certain person’s household. I continuously bit my tongue and said not one word each time I visited that individuals home. I was completely ignored by him when I was in his house. I did not say a word and took the "snub" like a man. This was done in order to keep peace within the family. For the past year and one half - I have tried “conversation starters” with this man - However, that was to no avail. The moment I was informed that I may have only a few months or a few decades to live,it was time to open my mouth and tell that SOB what I really thought of him, and the way he was treating me. Then, I could die a very happy man. I did not understand why he treated me like last week’s un-refrigerated moldy tuna fish sandwich, with mayonnaise. He did state that, ‘since we did not have hunting, fishing or camping in common - we had nothing to converse about. However, we did have one thing in common - a very important thing: His Daughter - Tracy Lynne Sutterer. It was now time to set the record straight! I was going to give him both barrels and then some!. I did not care if I found myself homeless, again; I did not care if I hurt this person’s feelings; I just had to tell him off. Well, as soon as the children and teenagers were escorted from the house I began my well thought out diatribe concerning how this individual had been treating me for the past year and ½. I gave it to him verbally with both barrels and had an opportunity to reload at least five times. The thing that surprised me the most, was the fact that this individual reacted to my words as if he had heard them many times before. Once I realized this, I changed tactics and mentioned a few items that really caught his attention. When that occurred, he was all ears. The remainder of the conversation lasted about eight minutes longer, as the children and teenagers began to drift back into that house. What I accomplished during my twenty minute diatribe was two fold. One, I made it clear to him, that, under no uncertain terms, I was wise to his games. Two, I made it clear to him, that I will, from this day forward, I would not step foot in his house again. I have no problem with him visiting the place I live to celebrate our family member’s birthdays. I will treat him with all the honor and respect that is due for a man of his age. However, I will ignore him and block him out of my field of vision until he leaves the premises. I simply do not have any patients for individuals who do not respect me or enjoy being in my company. To drive my point: home – having this man’s presence in my home in which I live, was like having a 700lb. elephant sitting in my living room. I did not need that stress, I do not need to have my blood pressure shoot up, and I certainly do not need to shorten my lifespan by trying to interact with this individual who despises the ground I walk on. We have absolutely nothing in common, and we have absolutely nothing to talk about. This was made abundantly clear during our meeting the previous day. I will be 52 years old in the month of July. If I was living in the eleventh or twelfth century, I would be considered a very old man. The average lifespan of a male individual in his forties or fifties during those centuries was on the average of between 35 and 45 years of age. Due to advances in the medical profession, an average male can live between 65 and 90 years old. From what I hear tell, 70 years of age is the new 50 years of age. Figure that one out. Returning to the aspect of my death, I am quite comfortable with it. I can cross out the desire to get dentures. It would be a complete waste of money. I may only use them for only three to five months or ten to fifteen years. I can also cross out the desire to finally have my back repaired. It would be a complete waste of the doctor’s time and it would be a absolute complete waste of money to fix a back that may only serve me for five months or ten to fifteen years. It all depends on the results of the bone marrow sample taken from my hip. When the tests are concluded and interpreted, I will know exactly what I am facing. At the time of this writing, everything is up in the air and speculation abounds. However, it was damn good to tell that individual off, looking deep in his eyes and telling him accordingly how I felt about him. It was a glorious day. Every complaint, all the anxiety and other issues that were packed up in my mind –were exponentially released. It felt damn good to finally give that man a verbal one-two verbal punch to the chin, and launch a sneak attack, that completely knocked the wind out of him - while he was a live a and breathing! As far as I’m concerned, the last two years have been the happiest years of my life. I have been in the company of a wonderful, loving, generous, loyal, and beautiful woman. Tracy Sutterer has filled a gapeing hole in my heart and brain. The best part of our relationship is that she actually laughs at my jokes. Tracy has brought new life into my otherwise dull existence, and has rekindled the spark of creativity which I thought had been long since extinguished. Is a damn shame that I may not be able to grow old with her. There are many books that we could have written together. There are many places that we could have gone to and explored. For the remainder of time that I have left on this earth, trying to pack a lifetime of memories with her - so that she can to reach back and smile when remembering them, is going to be a difficult task. It is my hope that when the grim reaper calls my name, and carts me off to “DEADLAND,” Tracy will find another man - who will be healthier than I was, and give her a better life that I could have ever given her, if I had lived. My father died at age 30 from a ruptured stomach ulcer. He worried himself to death. My great uncle Sydney died at the early age of 66. He burned himself out chasing the almighty dollar. He did indeed make a ton of money; however, he could not take it with him. As for me, I am an author of a 325 page memoir and the book is out of print.” Yet, I do not have 3¢ to rub together to make a nickel. So, I guess my time is up and for my soul to be released from this mortal coil. However, I have made some tremendous strides in my life. Number one, they said that it could not be done – but I found my sister. Number two, I wrote a memoir about my yearlong experience with homelessness. Number three, I met and fell in love with the woman of my dreams – Tracy Sutterer. What more can a man ask for? ------------ Email Argile Stox: argilestox@gmail.com Comment on this article here! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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