beck status report

Beck had lost nearly 15 pounds during the three months he had eaten at the castle. His digestion, which had been controlled before he arrived was starting to go awry again. But after cutting out dining room gruel, his weight was coming back.

His digestion was beginning to return to normal.

So what were these magical foods that Beck was either ordering through seamless or through Fresh Direct?

Poached eggs over well made grits with white buttered (real butter) every third day (seamless).

Low fat yogurt with fresh fruit on other days. Generally washed down with black coffee.

During the week and a half he’d been on this very delicious regime, he’d had to open his belt a notch. (He really should get a scale in his room.)

The 15 pounds he had lost had taken him from 175 to 160 pounds. He guessed he was back to 165 which wasn’t a bad weight. He was 6 feet tall but had a thin build.

Lunch: Annes burritos with yogurt, sometimes plain, some times with fruit. He had also noticed that his BP had begun to drop when he lost the weight. At that point the Wellness Center was still giving him the same two BP pills a day although his weight had dropped. They were supposed to weight him once a month. Ha ha.

Now that he had control of his BP beta blockers, and had his BP machine working, he could decide to cut the Beta Blockers for a day if his BP was getting too low. Of course that was supposed to be up to Dr. P. but he only saw Dr. P. if he slipped or had anything approaching a fall.

He got paid for that visit, needed or not. And it counted towards the 12 medicaid visits he was allowed without applying for an extension. They were written up in myChart which is from Sinai, and they made it seem like something neurological or vascular had happened, when nothing of the kind had happened.

Dinner was usually a treat: a slab of cake from a nearby diner (carrot cake) and a frozen knish he had gotten from Fresh Direct.

On the other hand: Beck had received a few missives from the Feds saying he was not eligible for SSI since he wasn’t blind, and his SS was higher than $770.

That had blown his mind only because it had been presented as a given by the group of ingrates that had done his intake.

Another thing that had blown his mind was that the place was filled with dementia when they had given him assurances that it was something they rigorously screened for.

Help Me, Help Me, HELP!!!!!

Beck really was starting to feel a mission coming on. The kind of mission that could set him up against the Catholic Church. This was the 2nd coming of the church, the first had been a month at Cardinal Cooke (a few blocks away which had left him with mild PTSD) and now a more hidden place – i.e. mixed up corporate lines – named after a priest accused (after his death) with Pedophilia. No big news there, except that the guy who he committed Pedophilia with followed in his footsteps and became a priest.

After Priest I died, Priest II accused him of abuse, declared himself gay, left the church, and married a guy. (Just a side note).

Priest I was beloved here and many residents want to know why the so-called abused priest waited for Priest I to swing up to heaven before outing him.

Beck was really curious about how the new corporate entity was setup. He liked to think that by not going to the dining room he was costing them a few bucks.

Beck kept the air-conditioner fan on all day to keep out the sounds of the “help-me” man that drifted out of his vent. He was beginning to understand why there were so many blind or mostly blind people. The finance woman had sent his SSD form which is state disability to the Case Worker for some reason, which meant he’d never hear from them again.

After six months of almost continuous Physical Therapy his walking endurance was worse, not better. He was beginning to look into a motorized or even a manual wheelchair so that he could get into the park and get around. He had finally been given an honest assessment that it could take two years or more to recover from the strokes.

That would bring him into his early 70s. No use wasting what wits he had left.

As it was, he was using his rollator to roll around which all the PT people yell at him for, because you are piushing yourself backwards like those guys begging on the subway, and if you hit something behind you, you could (it’s a slim chance and more of a legal precaution like when you get a ladder and it says don’t stand on the top, and don’t stand on the next step down, and don’t stand… and wear goggles and anything else that will protect the poor ladder company from a lawsuit) – you could flip over, but it would have to be in the shape of a fulcrum and you’d have to be going drag racing fast.

If I’m wrong, I’ll hopefully be around to tell you and Dr. P. about it.

Published by Dave

My name is David Beckerman. I am a fine art photographer working in New York City. Or I was before I had two strokes. I now write from a Nursing Home.

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