Sept. 28, 2019

Yesterday I talked about the CIDP diagnosis. Just to finish that up for now, I asked my PCP (primary care practitioner) if he could recommend a neurologist that knows about that syndrome. He said I should ask the neurologist I have an appointment to see on Oct. 23.

So far I have seen 3 different neurologists there. So who knows what I’ll get this time.

Okay, end of that tedious med stuff. Let’s jump to section II.


They are making a trip to Empire State Casino (the one next to Yonkers Racetrack,) and said I could go with my scooter. That I’m keen to go on. (That is convolution at its worst.)

I have been there many times pre-stroke, and the idea of going on my scooter intrigues me. First of all, I usually get kicked out for trying to take pictures there. In the beginning, they weren’t watching peoples carefully, but later, I was caught every time.

I love the lighting. The reflections of glazed eyes in the slots. And the fact that it is totally against the rules, maybe the law to capture images in this dark world of flashing lights, depression and elation.

But what are they going to do with a disabled person on a scooter. I have to think this through. It’s the perfect level to sidle up to someone and click away so long as I don’t hold it to my eye. Bluetooth triggered.

That is something worthy of some planning.


Most of this was written yesterday (Sat.) But while I was writing a blue coat popped in. It’s the one who thinks I’m the nicest person on earth. Little does she know. and then I put this down, to get out of the room, and went to the mailbox in my scooter.

By God, my debit card / MC was there. I can use it to take cash from the ATM that’s in the building and to buy stuff anywhere MC is accepted.

Getting the card activated took about a half-hour and finally an operator.

But no matter what I did, it complained when I tried to verify myself to put a pin on the card. I went through 2 hours of trial and error. It kept complaining. And then I noticed:

My cell phone: Galaxy 7 (android) was down to 30% charge, and worse, it isn’t accepting a charge.

After I got 3 new usb to micro cables – the one I used works perfectly in the fire tablet – I tried to call Verizon and couldn’t get through. I wonder if they’d mail me a replacement.

End of Section III

I was going to leave this section INTENTIONALLY BLANK which is one of my favorites because if you write that it is INTENTIONALLY BLANK it is no longer BLANK. But that’s a joke I’d send to Stephen Wright.

So I emailed many people and said msg me to davebeckerman@gmail.com (I think that will come through on my Mac) or just email me.

I have actually turned the phone completely off, which might not be so bad, while I figure this thing out.

On other fronts: I upgraded Safari yesterday and now I get a lot of that spinning colored whatever it is signifying that I have to wait before typing. It is 13.01 (if you care.)

The Indian blue coat made the bed with the heavy comforter on top, tucked in so that it took me a half hour to get under it last night, and help from a blue coat to sit up and get out of bed this morning.

Marlene (my previous home health care aide) is coming to see me today. We became good friends. But she’s going to kill me because the plants she gave me aren’t looking too good.

I think I overwatered them. They have a half starved, half saturated yellow look. I somehow don’t think that’s right. I can get along with most animals, but I warned her that it was likely I would end up killing the plants, not that I have anything against them.

She txted me, asking if I talked to them, and told them how much I loved them?

I lied, and said I did.

I’m not saying that doesn’t work, but plants should be able to make their way in the world without listening to my nonsense.

Why call this W?

I wonder why myself. Does the letter W have some significance?

It is where the treasure is buried under the palm trees that form a big W in it’s a Mad Mad Mad Mad World.

And it has one of my favorite sight gags, when Jimmy Durante dies and literally kicks a bucket. I like to think of the writers in the room laughing their asses off when one of them came up with that.

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. https://dave-beckerman.pixels.com

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