Side Effects
Life imitates movies, headline from nypost.com: “Gunmen on jet skis open fire at Cancun resort as shootings in region surge.” Sidebar headline: “Murder milestone: A dozen cities set annual records for homicide with numbers not seen in decades.”
NYP headline: “Politicians won’t rest until everyone but the rich has to go on Medicaid.” This has been obvious for decades.
Headline from foxnews.com: “DEADLY DOSE OF REALITY: State seizes enough fentanyl at the border to kill 200 million people.” It sure looks like someone is plotting to kill Americans.
I got the booster two-and-a-half hours ago. So far so good.
Here’s the first page or so of the short story I’m working on. I changed the title from Pin Cushion to Side Effects:
Blue gown in place, Eddie sat gripping the sides of the bench, eager to get the round of appointments out of the way. On Tuesday it was the eye doctor, who found no change in his vision, no threat of glaucoma. On Wednesday he received his Covid boost. Yesterday at the dentist it was Novocain. Today it was the second and final pneumonia and annual flu shot, and the drawing of blood. He likened himself to a pin cushion. Dr. Stein assured him so many shots in so short a time was not a danger. Eddie had heard of a couple of people dying of blood clots after the booster, so he’d done even more moving around than usual since yesterday, even walking the two miles to the office today. He’d read that people on long flights were advised to rise periodically and pace to prevent clotting.
He hadn’t mentioned the buzzing in his right ear, which began a week ago. It was as if a bee had set up shop in there. The last thing he wanted was to see another doctor. He was surprised nobody, not even his wife, heard it. He wanted to learn to tune it out as he had his eye floaters.
The nurse rolled in the EKG machine and hooked it up to him in several places. Last year he was told his heart skipped a beat. He was stunned, as he didn’t feel it. At times in bed he listened to his heartbeat and wasn’t sure he detected the flaw. It certainly wasn’t every other beat, or even every third, fourth or fifth. He suffered no shortage of breath or chest pain, so he assumed he was fine.
When the test was completed, Dr. Stein, yarmulke in place, looked at the printout.
“No change,” he said. “Nothing to worry about, but you should come see me more than once a year. You’re seventy-one now.”
“I’ll think about it,” said Eddie, certain he wouldn’t change his method until it was absolutely necessary.
He dialed his cell phone as soon as he stepped into the crisp, bright, late autumn morning.
“How’d it go?” said his wife, Phyllis.
“So far so good. We’ll see what the blood work says.” He was taking cholesterol medication, which he didn’t mind, as it allowed him to eat what he wanted. His BP was borderline. “Need anything?”
“No, but we should be thinking about Christmas. It’s already the tenth. We always have everything up by the first.”
There were a lot less displays in the neighborhood these days, as many homes were occupied by people from the eastern world. He missed it. His family was the last Italian-American on his street.
Since he wasn’t a bit tired as he reached the block, he followed the intoxicating scent of the Christmas tree stand near the post office. He wondered if they were using a spray to entice customers. He picked out a big one.
“Need a hand with that, pop?” said the young male worker.
How he hated being called that. He bit back a retort, poised the tree against his right shoulder and lifted it easily. He felt he could do curls with it. He was reminded of his training for the fire department.
I spent most of today’s session of the floating book shop in the car, as the thin clouds diminished the sun’s heat. My thanks to two of my mainstays, Wolf, who bought a CD and novel in Russian; and to the Latino gentleman who purchased four DVDs and a CD.
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