Dean Meets Jean
I was as happy as could be to be back home and once again able to spend some time with Jean. Not a ton of time really as she was busy with her job and family. But still, we would get together at the lounge at least once a month.
The guys at the Venus Diner were thrilled to see me back. Frankie said that he created a new title for me. In addition to being Chief Chef, I would also be the Event Coordinator and Planner. “What events?” I asked.
“Lunch and Dinner!” he replied. I rolled my eyes and shook my head.
“Thanks Frankie, I’ll think about it but to be honest, I’m thinking about retiring.” I didn’t have to go back to work if I didn’t want to, because Dean had more than enough income to support us. Especially since he never went out anywhere and never spent any of his money, other than when he discovered a TV repair shop in Etna. He bought a color TV with a remote control for himself and a computer for me too, so that Jean and I could continue emailing. I even learned how to use the internet. A couple of years later, Jean introduced me to a new thing called blogging. She said that I should write about my life stories because they are “unbelievable.” I’m not so sure that was a compliment but I thought it was a great idea. It gave me something to do while Dean was watching Captain Kangaroo every morning and his other crazy shows all day long.
Even though my grammar skills were terrible, I still had fun writing and sharing my real-life stories and I even began making up some fantasy fiction stuff too. I was a little bit self-conscious about my writing skills. There were just way too many stupid rules. Run-on sentences, incomplete sentences, punctuation, spelling, and so much other bullshit. Jean told me not to worry about it and that I should keep writing the blogs the way I want to. She said that I should just write the way I talk, but tone down the swear words a bit. A ton of people were reading my stuff and most of the responses and feedback were very nice. But I was getting tired of the negative ones, so one day I wrote my best response to the complaining whining critics: If you don’t like reading what I write then go read something else you jagoffs!
Some of the blog titles were:
The Beatrice Bitchin Chronicles.
Touring Mexico in an American Taxi.
A guide to the ancient Chinese herb “GiN-ZUiE.”
Dieting Too Hard.
Was Janis Joplin a Hippie?
Big Beautiful Beatrice – A bit above petite!
Burpin and Fartin – This story is a gas!
Don’t call me Hippy! (or “Broad.”)
Beatrice B. Boppin – A guide to the 60s & 70’s music.
An American Woman’s Guide to Traveling by Taxi Cab.
Beatrice B. Cookin – My best recipes.
The crazy stories took off. As my blog’s popularity and readership grew, people started contacting me about running ads on my blog pages. Jean wanted me to publish them as short stories or maybe even write a book. “Maybe someday, but I wouldn’t even know how to begin,” I told her.
As the years rolled by, life for me was pretty damn good. Jean however continued on the health issues roller coaster ride. In and out of the hospital for various afflictions. She caught PMR. I still don’t know what that was, but she had to take steroids for a year to fix it. And then there were the extremely painful ongoing diverticulitis episodes. She was in and out of the hospital to receive IV antibiotics for that. The last time she was admitted, her colon ruptured and she had to have emergency surgery. Which resulted in a colostomy bag for six months and then another surgery to reverse the colostomy. Jean spent a total of 28 days in the hospital that year. Man, I can’t image the level of distraught that I know she and her family went through. I know I sure was. I felt so bad for her. How much suffering can one person be expected to endure? Why Jean? And when I thought about it, I had to wonder, why Dean as well? Life beat both of them up and treated them so unfairly. But neither of them let it beat them down for long. Somehow Jean always bounced back. And Dean never complained. In between life’s hardships, Jean always had a positive attitude and always remained active. She had a lot of friends and was very socially active. She was always smiling and happy when I saw her. What an amazing woman!
And then my worst fear, another heart episode. I couldn’t believe it. I was so angry and upset. I know I swear a lot more than I should but I never used the words that I used the day when I got a call telling me that Jean was in the hospital for another heart problem. “****!” Enough is enough! I was so afraid that this was the end. “****!”
I took Dean’s remote control and threw it across the room. “Get up off your ass Dean and drive me to the hospital,” I ordered. “It’s Jean’s heart again.” He dropped me off at the hospital entrance and then parked and waited for me outside. I took the elevator up to Jean’s ninth-floor room and walked in to find her sitting up in bed reading. She smiled and said, “Thank you for coming Bea.” What the… I was shocked. She looked fine. “What happened Jean? You look okay.”
“I’ve been having chest pains and shortness of breath at home, so the doctor wants to do an angioplasty. I probably have another little blockage. Might need another stent.”
I sighed; a little bit relieved. “I was so afraid that you had another heart attack.”
“Nope, not yet, she said, and hopefully never again.” I stayed for quite a while and we talked and talked until I could tell that she was getting tired and even a bit short-winded from all of the talking.
So, I said, “Goodbye, get some rest, and I’ll see ya later.” I gave her a hug and wished her good luck with the procedure. ”Call me when it’s over.”
The next day I waited and waited. No call. I began to worry. Who am I kidding? I never stopped worrying. Around 2:00 that afternoon, the phone rang and I jumped up. “Hello”
“Beatrice, it’s Linnie. Jean is ok, but there’s been a mishap.” I got lightheaded. Nooooo! Don’t faint I ordered myself. My mind was racing, thinking to myself, A mishap? What the **** is a mishap? “Lynn, what happened?” I asked.
Linnie replied, “During the angioplasty, they accidentally punctured an artery near her heart. But the nurse told me that they were able to stop the bleeding pretty quickly and Jean didn’t have a heart attack. They were still able to put a stent in. However, what was supposed to be a quick one-night hospital stay won’t happen now. They’re not sure how long she will have to stay. At least a couple of days though because they have to watch her closely for artery bleeding and/or fluid build-up.”
“But she’s going to be ok?” my voice quivered.
“We all hope so,” Linnie replied.
“Linnie, thank you so much for calling me.”
“You’re welcome, Beatrice, I’ll keep you posted.”
It was horrible waiting for updates. But no news is good news I suppose, right? The next day Linnie called and said, “Jean was doing ok, no bleeding, and the doctors sounded more optimistic today.” Thank God! After hanging up, I went back to my computer and began writing feverishly about anything, about nothing. I just had a sudden need to keep myself busy. On day three, Linnie called with another update, “Beatrice, Jean has developed a fever. That’s all we know. She’s been sleeping a lot, so I’m going home to get some sleep myself, I’m exhausted.”
“Thank you again Linnie,” I said as calmly as I could. I went into the living room and said, “Dean, I’m really scared. Will you please pray for Jean?”
He replied, “I always pray for Jean.”
“No Dean, I mean right now. Will you pray for Jean with me now?”
“Close your eyes,” he said. I sat there beside Dean, quietly with my eyes closed, waiting for him to say something. I squeezed my eyes tighter and the darkness became lighter. I felt a calmness wash over me. And in an instant, I knew. I opened my eyes and poked Dean in the ribs “Dean!! Jean is going to be fine, right?” He smiled at me and nodded. “Please take me to the hospital.” We drove past the hospital entrance and I yelled at Dean, “What the hell Dean? You forgot to stop and drop me off?”
“I want to go inside with you to see Jean,” Dean said.
“Stay calm Beatrice, slow deep breaths Beatrice,” I said to myself as I almost fainted again. Dean never gets out of the cab when driving me somewhere. But this time he parked in the taxi-only parking area, which was very close to the entrance. I held onto Dean’s arm as we walked to the automatic doors. I thought to myself that I shouldn’t be holding on to him, he should be holding on to me as he limped along. Up to the ninth floor, we went. Jean was asleep, resting, but not very comfortably it appeared. But then how could anyone hooked up to all of those tubes and wires and IVs and machines possibly rest comfortably. It was a scary sight. Dean and I stood quietly by the bed.
The nurse came in and asked us not to wake her. She went on to explain, “They had to drain some fluid and now they have her sedated. She still has a fever and needs to rest.”
I asked, “What is causing her fever?”
“Pericarditis and pneumonia,” the nurse replied, as she walked out of the room. I held Jean’s hand and saw Dean place his hand on Jean’s head. Dean whispered. “My sister, you are going to be fine.” I noticed Jean’s breathing seemed to change a bit. Maybe it was just my imagination, but she seemed to be breathing easier. In the end, Jean was fine, but not until after a lengthy hospital stay and a difficult six-month-long recovery period.
RUCKSACK GRUNT - A Vietnam Veteran's Memoir 