Things fall apart

I return to camp and go to check in with Mike, the Bike Guy.

MtBG: Well, your handlebars were mangled and I pushed them back into place and replaced the bar tape. The derailleur was crumpled so that too I shoved back into a semblance of functionality. Tires, shredded, replaced. The frame looks okay, but you know there’s no guarantee with carbon fiber.

Me: Good enough. Can you put the new saddle on?

MtBG: Sure. Oh, and the derailleur hanger, I don’t like the looks of it. But there are so many different kinds that I don’t have a replacement – try to ask another bike repair place during the week. Soon. Hopefully soon.

This qualifies as a “good enough” in my book.

The next morning

The first day of RAGBRAI! It’s pouring out. Team Sloth sloths around for a while, but eventually, we need to get moving. My bike seems….okay? Knock on wood and all that.

Now. We know about the leg/hip/back problems. I’ve been riding all summer and those have been constant once I’m OFF the bike, but on the bike? Fine. Until today. Because as soon as I start riding, I have horrible pain in my:

-       Left shoulder blade

-       Left shoulder

-       Left arm

-       all of the above

 

Yes folks, ALL OF THE FUCKING ABOVE. I swear I am not making this up. Out of absolutely nowhere, I am in serious pain, with that pain radiating down my entire arm. What fresh hell is this??

I honestly think to myself, I’m going to have to SAG all week. This is horrible. Maybe it’ll go away. Why am I cursed? WHO WAS I IN A FORMER LIFE?????

These are my thoughts as I toodle along the countryside, in the rain. I am going to cry. I hate my life. Later in the day, I’m attempting to message with neighbor Stephanie to see what’s going on with UHA. Though in a sense I know that shit is going down, because he keeps calling me. And leaving ramblings messages and text messages, all along the same lines – that is, after his first couple of texts where he told me how crazy Stephanie and I are. Then, he apparently thinks of himself as the so-called adult in the room.

UHA: Let’s discuss this like adults.
UHA: I’m going to keep calling so you need to call me back.

UHA: Call me now. This isn’t working for me.

I block him, and then call the Keystone Cops in Silverton to report someone on my property who won’t vacate it. Whereupon I discover that in Oregon, if someone has been anywhere on your property for more than 15 days, they’re considered a resident. No, seriously. I have no words.

Monday

I’m in a lovely small town in Iowa when I get a text from Stephanie.

Stephanie: I don’t think you were getting rid of these, were you? UHA put them against the fence with notes that they were “free.”

There’s a picture that I can’t see (see: no connectivity), but I can tell this isn’t good. I try to call Stephanie to see what’s going on, with no luck. In the meantime, I’m taking oxy to see if that’ll help with the new shoulder/arm problem, along with the 800mg ibuprofen horsepill. I bike to the next town, hasn’t helped, take another oxy. They’re only 5mg, so what the hell, right? It does occur to me to take notes on my phone, in case I pass out in a ditch somewhere. #mesosmart

Finally, I can see the pic that Stephanie sent, and UHA has propped up some antique doors that I had behind the garage against the fence, indicating that they’re free for the taking. What. The. Fuck. Time to call the police! Surely now they can do something, since this asshole has actually stolen things, right?

Me: Blah blah, so he can be charge for theft, right? This is outright theft.

Keystone Cop: What’s that again?

Me, shouting on a crap connection: THEFT! HE’S A THIEF.

KC: What’s his name again?

Me: UHA. He has a record, so you have him in your files.

KC: He put something against a fence?

Me: He STOLE items that do NOT belong to him. Giving them away is the same thing as STEALING.

KC: He put a door against a fence?

Me: OMG HOW FUCKING STUPID ARE YOU??

I didn’t say that last part, but I was certainly thinking it. I was informed that they’d go by my house “if we have time, we’re very busy” and when I asked if he’d be charged with theft, “I can’t tell you anything about what may or may not happen.”

Tuesday

More oxy and ibuprofen. I’m biking with Mary Beth and Michelle, when I see a sign for Bloody Marys.

Me: Oh look, Bloody Marys! I’m in, who’s with me?

Mary Beth: Great idea, nothing like washing the oxycontin down with a couple of Bloody Marys!

This is, objectively, hilarious. We stop for a cocktail. In this town, as in many others, there’s a tent set up with local medical people, in case anyone has a minor ailment.

Me: So…….if someone is having severe shoulder pain, for example, how much oxy can they take? In addition to the 800mg ibuprofen.

Nurse: What strength?

Me: 5mg.

Nurse: One. MAYBE two after a little while, but that’s it.

I don’t bother telling her I’ve already taken 3. That seems incidental, no?

I’m also trying to check in with Stephanie to see what’s happening with UHA. Is he gone? Packing up?

Stephanie:  UHA seems to have a lot of respect for Sarah, so I’ve talked to her and she’s trying to call him, but he's obviously avoiding her.

Me: Why doesn’t she go to the house?

Stephanie: I don’t know.

I try messaging and calling Sarah as well. She ignores me.

That night

The girls and I head into town to get some dinner. My leg problem is getting worse. We’re standing around looking at our food choices, and I just can’t – standing makes my leg/hip worse.

Me: I don’t care where we go; I can’t stand anymore.

Michelle: Let’s walk down to the next block and see what the Mexican restaurant looks like.

Me: I. Can’t. Walk. I can’t. Down the block is too far. You guys go check it out, I’ll wait here.

This is what it’s come to, and I decide, enough. I’m going to call my oncologist the next day, and hope that maybe SHE’LL get me in for some kind of scan. This is insane.

And oh look, a text from Stephanie.

Stephanie: UHA got arrested.

Me: …….

Apparently the Keystone Cops were driving by the Manor, saw UHA, and only then decided to look him up. And saw that he had a warrant for his arrest.  So the police force of Silverton showed up to take him in, he resisted arrest, and poof, off he went to the clink. Great. And the sad story that Sarah passed off about him “down on his luck” and having “made some bad choices a long time ago”? Yeah, those bad choices would include BEATING SOMEONE UP the month before at the local mini-mart.

Then we find out that the guy he beat up? Was BRIAN, THE OWNER OF MY FAVORITE LOCAL COFFEE HUT.

I message Sarah about this.

Sarah: I didn’t know it was Brian.

Oh, but the fact that he beat someone up just a month ago was fine? Thanks, Sarah. You and your “sheltering services” can just go fuck yourself.

Today Michelle and I are wandering around Some Small Town when we see a sign for “Popesicles.” Hmm. I’m intrigued. Not only do they have aforementioned popesicles, but they also have “holy water” beer kozies. Well. If these are blessed, I might be in business. Not that I’m especially religious, but hell, I’ll take all the blessings I can get at this point.

Me to woman: So, have the beer kozies been blessed?

Nice woman dealing with us lunatics all day: Hmm, I don’t think so.

Me: Can we get them blessed? I need all the help I can get these days.

Nice woman: I don’t see why not. Father! Father! Do you have the holy water?

Priest from Ghana: I’ll go get it!

He goes inside the church, and who am I to argue with this, the Anointing of the Beer Kozies? He blesses the kozies, I get one and buy a couple of popesicles for Michelle and myself (frozen grapes dipped in jello powder  = weird sounding but delicious) and shove money at these lovely church people, certain in the knowledge that I’ve just bought myself some holy good luck. Okay, probably not, but it can’t hurt.

Wednesday

I’m now trying to make an appointment with my oncologist, again trying to make calls from lovely middle-of-nowhere Iowa. No really, it IS lovely….but there’s crap cell phone reception. Finally I get through.

Me: Blah blah blah.

Office: An appointment, okay. Umm. So it looks like you haven’t seen Dr. Conlin in 3 years. You need a new referral.

Me: A…what? She’s my oncologist. I’m not a new patient.

Office: If it’s been 3 years you need a referral.

Me: But….I’ve had my mammograms, I just haven’t seen her because they’ve been fine. My insurance doesn’t need a referral.

Office: it’s a requirement of our office.

I call Betsy’s office, tell them I need a referral and I need one fast. They get snippy with me. Oh, DO NOT EVEN give me any bullshit. DO NOT.

Thursday

I call Betsy’s office. She’s not in today. They’re still snippy. Fuck off.

UHA apparently vacated the premises overnight, and stole a bunch of shit. I call the police again.

Me: Blah blah blah, stole a bunch of shit.

KC: Do you have it on video?

Me: Umm, no. You’re saying you only investigate if there’s video evidence?

KC: Yes.

Me: So people can do anything they want, and it’s fine as long as it’s not recorded? Credible testimony is ignored?

KC: Did you see him steal the Shopvac?

Me: No. But it was in the shed last night, he got his stuff this morning, now the Shopvac is gone.

KC: Well, that doesn’t mean anything.

Me: ……..

I forge ahead.

Me: Now that he’s gone, he can’t step foot on my property, right?

KC: Did you trespass him?

Me: What the hell does THAT mean? I can just declare him a trespasser?

KC: No, it’s something we do.

Me: So you do this, and then he can’t come on my property?

KC: Right.

Me: And if he does I can….

KC: Call 911 and wait for us to show up.

Me: Oh. Right. Of course I would do absolutely that. No question.

Friday

I call Betsy’s office, and talk to Snippy Woman. I still don’t have this damn referral. I’ve also made an appointment with my former PA, who left this office to start her own practice with a couple of doctors. Then, I have a message from Betsy on the patient portal.

Betsy: Why do you want a referral? Do you think this is bone mets? Do you have night sweats, fatigue, overall systemic symptoms?

Me: Really?? I saw you a year ago for the leg pain i was having, which at the time you said was "probably just a joint thing." Now it's that leg, hip and back as well, and it is debilitating and constant. I cannot walk at all without pain, sometimes severe pain. I went to the chiropractor as you suggested, and that was a waste of time and money.

She sends the referral. But then I find out that the referral won’t go through because I have new health insurance. At least though Betsy is now saying she’ll order some x-rays, so that’s a start, even as I suspect it’s not a bone issue but something else that’s somehow nerve-related.

(When I get back and see Betsy, she mentions that she had spoken to the doctor at the practice about my case, and his response? “She has a cancer history and has had unexplained pain for a while? Of course we should be doing some scans.”)

Back at the actual Ragbrai, I had stopped taking the oxy and ibuprofen after 2 days, because it wasn’t doing jack shit. I'm biking along and see a repair tent from Trek, and since my bike is a Trek Madone, I figure I’ll ask them about that derailleur hanger to see if they have the right kind.

Me: So, my bike fell off our car driving out to Ragbrai, and our bike mechanic thought I should look into replacing the derailleur hanger.

Trek guy: Oh, we probably have that kind, but you know, we can replace it and give you your old one to keep with you, or you can hang on to a new one and replace it if you need to, because I’m sure it’s fi……okay so we’re going to replace this right now.

Me: You think it needs it?

Trek guy: It’s cracked. If it had broken while you were riding, let’s just say, it would have been ugly.

I guess that’s what passes for my kind of luck these days. Thanks, holy beer kozy?

And on the bright side, my ramping up has actually, finally worked. I’m passing people left and right, even guys who – no lie – speed up after I pass them and make asinine comments like “well NOW I’m awake!” I’ve discovered that the shoulder/arm pain is slightly less excruciating if I dip that shoulder down and tilt my head all the way to the right. I’m looking like a complete idiot as I’m riding, so there’s that. Life is so awesome I almost can’t stand it.

Friday night

All week I’ve been wearing my “Any Functioning Adult 2020” button, which the people of Iowa have just loved. Older women in candy shoppes in small towns wondering why no one has taken him out yet, the person working the table of geodes at Iowa’s National Geode State Park proclaiming that a geode would be a vast improvement, etc. But all this time I’ve also had the Fat Baby Trump balloon that I haven’t been able to have blown up, because I haven’t seen a helium emporium. Finally, Friday night, after margarita night at our charter camp, I’m determined. Fat Baby Trump will fly again! I make some calls. Dollar Tree has helium. Victory is within reach.

I hop on my bike and drunkenly toodle off to the Dollar Tree a mile down the road. When I walk in and ask, the first store clerk isn’t sure they can fill it up. She calls over the manager. Uh oh.

Manager: A balloon? Sure, we can fill that.

Me: Great!

Manager, as she’s trying to get the nozzle on, and turning it over: What is it…..omg, hahahahaha, this is awesome!

I admit, I stereotypically thought she wouldn’t like FBT, but no, she’s dying laughing, and calls over the other clerk, who also starts laughing. These people are my new best friends. I proudly tie FBT to the back of my bike and go back to camp. Much incredulous laughter ensues, even though at night, the specter of FBT looming above in the dark is a bit frightening. These are the sacrifices we make for our art.

Saturday

FBT is a smashing success. Mostly it’s the Iowans who love the balloon and take pictures – in one case for a grandfather who’s a fervent trump hater and rails against him to anyone who’ll listen. These are my people. I’m careful to keep my bike with me as opposed to propping it up against lamp posts and such as usual; no sense taking any chances that a derelict neanderthal trump supporter (but I repeat myself) will decide to abscond with FBT, or just destroy him.

For the drive back, I insist on putting my bike IN the truck, and there's silent agreement on this. Over the next couple of days, before I leave Illinois for Oregon, I go for one last ride on my beloved country roads. My shoulder and arm are still killing me, of course. I want to cry. I can't help but think, my life has completely gone to shit since Kone died. It seems fitting.