I Will Survive

Tomorrow's the big day: I have to be at the hospital at 5 a.m. for 7 a.m. surgery. Part of me is relieved that it's finally here, and part of me is scared to death. I'm happy that I might soon be able to live without the pain, but I'm afraid of how I'll be able to take care of myself.

I'll probably be on crutches for a while, and I don't know how one carries anything on crutches. How will I get food out of the oven or microwave? How will I water the plants? How will I feed the cats?

When I woke up this morning, it all hit me, and I freaked out. All of the unknowns came crashing down on me. I've been trying to plan and take care of things in advance, but I suddenly realized how many things I hadn't anticipated and had no plans to deal with. I didn't think I could even possibly get them done.

I took care of work once I calmed down some. I think it's taken care of well enough. I have my rides to and from the hospital confirmed, and a baby sitter, as well. I have food stockpiled and medications refilled. Laundry's done. Rent is paid.

Now all I have to do is show up. I don't really know what I'm worrying about, but I've had an impending sense of doom for a while. I guess I know all the things that could go wrong.

My greatest fear is that the surgery will not provide any tangible relief from on-going pain. I can't say for a fact that it will help me in any way. It could hurt me.

I have faith in my physician, though. It may be misplaced, but I don't think so. He's been practicing since I was a kid. And he left surgery as a last resort. It was me that told him that it was time. That I was so tired of living in pain that I'd gladly face that option.

I'm scared. I'll admit that readily. I haven't had surgery since my tonsils came out when I was 5. 40 years ago. This is new, uncharted territory for me.

I'll push through it, though. I see a physical therapist in my future. And I already know his name.

In the end, I'll be okay. I won't let nerves get the better part of me. I will survive.

There Is Nothing Like a Dame: the Other ET

Dame Elizabeth Rosemond Taylor-Hilton-Wilding-Todd-Fisher-Burton-Burton-Warner-Fortensky: the name says it all. She earned to title of Dame even though she was a notorious serial bride who once said in an interview that, while some people might take her many marriages to mean she was a slut, she was, in fact, quite virtuous: she only had sex with men she was married to. I don’t know if that covered before and/or after the fact, but that’s not really any of my business.

While her many marriages are a large part of the fabric of her legend, her true legacy will lie in her films, her courage in being one of the earliest voices for AIDS suffers and her devotion to causes she cared deeply about.

As for films, she made a number of dogs, but the ones that were good were very good. They showcased her extraordinary range of acting talents. From a comedy like “Father of the Bride” to Maggie, the sexpot fighting to save her marriage to a sexually confused husband in “Cat on Hot Tin Roof”, to the demented and tormented Martha in “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”, she made me believe her every time.

And that’s not to mention “Giant”, "A Place in the Sun", “Suddenly Last Summer”, “Night of the Iguana”, “The Last Time I Saw Paris”, “Raintree County”, “Butterfield 8” or “Taming of the Shrew”. Some were met with better critical reception than others, but they’re all great. They will exist as standards to meet as long as movies exist.

But her greater legacy will be her work on behalf of AIDS organizations. I remember that, in the dark, early days of the disease when no one really knew much about it and the right wing was talking about quarantining people diagnosed with the disease, she was among the first celebrities to lend her voice, stand up and say “This talk is just stupid.” She stood up, took center stage and spoke out for a disenfranchised group of people in the midst of an almost hysterical reaction to the disease.

She lent her ability to draw cameras, reporters, crowds and A-list celebrities to the causes of both education and research. She took the strength of her convictions public and demanded attention. And she got it. She used her powers for good.

Her very public stance was a turning point in the larger public’s awareness about the disease. It’s probably the greatest thing she ever did.

Homosexuality was becoming more accepted in the 80’s, but AIDS drove that progress to a screeching halt. The growing acceptance turned to fear. And it’s taken the better part of 30 years to regain that footing. Ms. Taylor was a tireless voice to help us regain it.

She was blunt and frank and honest and open-minded. She never wasted a chance to speak her mind. She never hesitated to call what was stupid, irrational or ridiculous what it was: stupid, irrational and ridiculous.

She had bigger balls than I have. And mine ain’t too shabby. (Or so I’ve been told.)

Thanks to her work, people know more about AIDS, and they’re not so frightened. Thanks partly to her, I can live openly and not have to lie about my life any more. She was one of the first to put a human face on the disease and, by doing so, she helped put a human face on gay people in general. She helped put a human face on me.

I will always love her films. I can’t make through any of them without laughing or crying or cringing in horror at how cruel and manipulative people can be, or doing all three by spells.

But I will love more what she did with her fame. She leveraged it for what was not a popular cause when she started. She stood up. She spoke her mind. And she defied anyone to contradict her.

I guess when you’re Elizabeth Taylor, you can do and say what you want.

I will also always love her for both her passion for men and her "Passion for Men". It was Shannon’s favorite scent, and smelling it reminds me of him. I sometimes spray a little of his last bottle into the air and walk through the mist. I can see him more clearly and hear his voice more distinctly.

She never knew me or even of me, but she gave me gifts that I can’t place a value on. I’m sure I’m not alone in being able to say that. Collectively, her gifts to people like me are immeasurable.

Rest in peace, Ms. Taylor. The good work you so tirelessly devoted your life to will continue, and now it’s your turn to rest.

Thank you for everything.

I’m miss you much.

Survival Skills

I had a letter from my orthopedic surgeon’s office waiting for me Friday when I got home from work: my final instructions for surgery. It reiterated the ban on any food or drink after the midnight before the procedure, told me to call the evening before to get an exact arrival time and told me to quit taking any blooding-thinning medication. Those include just about every over-the-counter pain reliever available.

A couple of months ago, the surgeon asked me if I needed narcotics. I told him that whether or not I needed was immaterial. I didn’t want them. That I needed to function, and I’d like to explore other options first. That option was huge doses of naproxin and aceteminophen. It didn’t totally get rid of the pain, but it was better than nothing.

I don’t have even that any more. The irony is that I didn’t know the pills I was taking were doing anything. Now that I don’t have them, I hurt all over. I would kill for a Tylenol or a Motrin or a naproxin right now, but I can’t take any. Doing so would jeopardize the surgery.

The only good side of this whole experience has been that I’ve found out who is really my friend. The real ones are reaching out and trying to help me in any way they can. Some times, simply being able to tell someone that I’m scared is enough.

And I am scared. I haven’t had surgery since my tonsils and adenoids came out when I was 5. I have no idea what to expect or how I’m going to take care of myself afterward. I know I’m going to be incapacitated, but I don’t know to what degree.

By the same token, I don’t want too many people interfering with my life. Anyone fussing over me too much will drive me up the wall. My mother will almost certainly approach that boundary. That’s how she is.

She wants to be here, and I’m starting to think that she might have the right idea. But that’s not possible. So I’ll work around it.

I’m not used to asking for help, and I’m even worse about accepting it. I’m a typical man who thinks he can conquer the world and get by on his own. But I can’t this time.

Storms scare me, always. I’ve known since I was a teenager to go the bed before one hits. Otherwise, I’ll be up until it passes. The wind and rain and thunder and lightning turn me into a child needing reassurance that the world isn’t ending.

This is a different storm, but it scares me in the same ways. Once they put me under, I have no control of anything. I don’t like that. That alone scares me.

I’m putting on a brave face for most people, but that’s all it is: a face. It’s a mask that tries to hide my fear. It works better at some times than others.

But I will man-up and face my fear. Head on. Take no prisoners. Do what I need to and go on with my life.

Somewhere, Donna Summer is either singing for me or should be. Because I’ll survive. I will survive. I’ve got all my life to live and all my love to give, and I’ll survive. I will survive.

I’ll either survive or wallow in self-pity, and I have no inention of doing the latter. I’m surviving.