The Hermits of Strata Drive

The Hermits of Strata Drive © 2010 by Mark C. Fearing  All Rights Reserved.

         Isabella was perched precariously in her power wheelchair, not buckled in, as usual, though she had taken an occasional spill that way.  She was a spinal injury victim like two of her other close neighbors, Ian and Jim, in a two-bedroom apartment on a quiet street in Denton, Texas.  There was another duplex inhabited by Mark Fearing, a quadrilateral amputee due to meningitis in ’95 in New Zealand, where his first teaching gig with Lincoln University had been since ’94.

         Isabella, or “Iz” for short, had had a rough life, having been hurled out of a speeding car, which severed her spinal cord and now lived with the aid of caretakers, who understood sign language, which she managed to get out with her limited muscle movement.  She had suffered sexual abuse at the hands of caregivers in the past.

         All four of them met very occasionally now for birthday barbeques at one of their homes, but mainly kept to themselves these days now that summer was coming on.  Ian and Mark were the hermits of Strata Dr., rarely interacting with the outside world during the summer months especially.  Luckily both enjoyed good family support, but Isabella had none, but the love of her pound puppy, Danny, who accompanied her on her walks.  She adopted him years ago and saved him from an abusive previous owner.

         Jim and Ian were fairly independent and drove modified vans, though Mark required someone to drive him places in his private van, not an ideal situation, but it worked.

         Today Iz was going for her morning walk up the street and met Mark, easily the most active of the foursome, on his own morning walk, as he was most prone to boredom and only had two semi-active days of PT from Greg Garrette, who worked at Good Samaritan Village retirement community nearby, to burn off his relatively high-calorie diet.

         Two years previous to this, Mark’s daytime caregiver Phil, a 300 lb. + hulk of man with a penchant for NASCAR and unhealthy food, had brokered a sweetheart deal with his half-brother, Greg Garret, whereby he gave Mark’s parents, Joe & Peggy, a discounted rate to give Mark physical therapy in his home.  Since that time, Greg had come faithfully, rain or shine, on Mondays and Thursdays at 4:00 to go through a series of strengthening and flexibility exercises.

         “Isabella met a fella,” Mark quipped as he passed her on his way down the driveway and into the street beyond.  “Nice day, innit?,” he chuckled before going out of earshot.

         Mark had “watershed” damage due to the tiny capillaries not carrying enough oxygen to his brain while he was in a medically-induced coma, and though he had learned to cope pretty well on a daily basis, he was prone to the odd missed logical connection or gaff. 

         Today he was “on a mission” to visit his octogenarian parents at Good Samaritan Village, a few blocks away to  talk about the week ahead and share issues with each other.  Active churchgoers and charter members of Trinity Presbyterian nearby, they would share crucial issues with one another at least once a week on Sunday, when Mark’s weekend caregiver was paid.

         When he got there, Mark’s mother let him in and said they were about to have lunch, but that he could stay and visit a while anyway.

         “Who’s working this weekend, Mark?” Peggy asked her son.

         “Steve works because Kirk worked the last one.  He comes in while you guys are at the TWU Happy Hour, I guess.  Who hosts it this week?”

         “The Schwalms.  Have you seen your Fritz lately?”

         She was referring Mark’s best friend, Fritz Uwe Schwalm, whom Mark met at the TWU Faculty Club Happy Hour back in the 1980s.  Since that time they had stayed fast friends and weathered the stresses and strains of their lives: Fritz’s divorces and Mark’s life-changing illness, and also triumphs:  Mark’s earning his MBA and Ph.D. from the University of Houston and the births of Fritz’s kids, Fritz and Gioia.

         They met once every fortnight for a beer or two at the Greenhouse, a local eatery and bar and especially loved the jazz nights on Thursday, with bands from the renowned University of North Texas College of Music.

         These outings were always joyous affairs, with both men reliving old times and sharing their current lives, but ended rather late, around 10:00 or so, as they both needed their “beauty rest” and to meet up with Mark’s nighttime caregiver, Kirk, of nine + years, who worked in the wheelchair shop at the Denton State School, and had to be up early.

         Tonight was one such night and Mark always tried to “pre-hydrate” prior to their going out, as there would be some alcohol imbibed for sure, but both men lived by the maxim of “Moderation in all things.”

         They left shortly after Fritz got there at 7:30p.m., and Kirk had set aside Mark’s evening meds for him to administer to him, as there is a sleeping pill among them and his longevity into the night depended on them being taken as late as possible.

         So they were off on the road by 7:45, bound for the Greenhouse, their favorite “local” pub, with an alcoholic’s “candy store” of available beers on tap.

         They usually drank water and had an appetizer so they would be able to stay up long enough to see the jazz band, a new one each time, for variety’s sake.

         It was big band night tonight, with a stage full of horns, Saxes, and upright basses.  The swing was on!
         
              It was a typical Fritz night with good food and drink, and when they got back Mark went straight to bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

         The next day, Friday, was an active one for him with an optometrist appointment at his local sister Marilyn’s (from Sanger, TX, 15 miles north of Denton) doctor’s office, Dr. Cooper, which was in the local Wal-Mart store.  The day ended late with an Occupational Therapy session and wrap-up meeting with Mark’s team of case manager Geri Sams, therapist Paul, and Mark’s family – his parents and other local sister Kim (from Argyle, TX, less than ten miles to the south).

         It was a review of all that they had accomplished in the nearly six weeks of twice-a-week sessions:  Preparing two dishes – a southwest Caesar salad from Peg’s Dean Fearing cookbook and an artichoke chicken recipe from A Texas Hill Country Cookbook.  Both dishes were quite involved, but gave him a renewed confidence in the kitchen and were a source of autonomy and pride that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

         OT had been interesting and fruitful exercise for him, but the sessions started at 5:00, after most of the day was over and when Mark was feeling tired from the day’s toils.

         He was exhausted, though at the end of this day, Friday, and looked forward to his weekend caregiver, Steve Painter, coming in that evening at 7:00.

         They discussed seeing a guitarist, Cliff Temple, at a nearby Cajun eatery, Frilly’s, and were planning to go the next day.

         The following day was Mother’s Day and church at Trinity Presbyterian Church, so it had to be a low-key evening with not much drinking of alcohol.  His psychiatrist, Dr. Latiff,  had given the guideline of two beers or wines max at a time, and he stuck to it pretty well, though others were clearly imbibing freely.

         Steve was a good caretaker in that he took responsibility for seeing that the house was well-stocked with nourishing food, as Phil, his full-time caregiver, sometimes got so busy he wasn’t able to get all the shopping done during the week -- and that Mark’s water jugs were always full of fresh cold water, important now with summer coming on.  He was also the exact same age as him, which gave them a common frame of reference, being of the same generation and all.

         With Mother’s Day being the very next day, it was crucial that Mark tame his “party animal” nature that night, which he managed to do, only having a glass of wine with his usual Frilly’s meal, the Cajun combo – a filet of catfish and dirty rice, doused with hot pepper sauce, probably a bad call given his night of restless sleep that night.

         He and Steve rose with the sun on Sunday morning and he had two cups of coffee in bed – a luxury all three of his caregivers gave him daily.  He futzed around on his PC since they had time before church, and in fact got there the earliest he had been in a long time.

         The day went QUICKLY, as Sundays generally do, but ended for the two of them at 3:30p.m., sharp, as Steve had to pick up his bulldog from the sitter’s and head out to eat with his brother and his wife for Mother’s Day dinner in “big D.”

         Mark, for his part, had only to wait till 7:00, when his senior caregiver Kirk came in, being careful not to drink too much and overfill his foley urine bag.

         Yes, it had been a great weekend, but very tiring, too.

         Mark dreaded the next day, Monday, after his active weekend, as it brought with it physical therapy with Greg as well as his full-time caregiver Phil again, or “Farmer Phil,” owing to his planting and maintaining a big garden in the backyard, funded with Mark’s meager Social Security Disabilty income.

         He had to make two phone calls prior to leaving for lunch:  To Dr. Steve Eustices’s office, Mark’s chiropractor, to set up an appointment for Thursday, and to Mark’s parents, as he had failed to pick up his spending cash on Sunday.  Phil headed down to Lewisville, as Monday was payday for him, leaving Mark alone, as he so often did, vowing to “be back as quick as I can.,” one of his trademarks of his three-year tenure on the job.

         Phil would be bringing his lunch from Long John Silver’s when he returned, as Mark ate quite late compared to most folks, and only two times a day, to keep his weight down.

         Mark was a semi-regular member of a writer’s critique group that met every Tuesday at the nearby North Branch Library; depending on how busy a week he had, he would go and share his writing and get verbal feedback on it – which was sometimes hard for him to follow, with his faulty hearing; usually other participants were only too glad to write their comments, and he’d go through them the next day at his leisure and make suggested edits to his work.

         First to enjoy Monday night at home with Kirk, though, as they had a long-standing tradition of watching sitcoms on TV on Monday nights, starting at 7:00 when Kirk’s shift began and going sometimes up until 10:00, bedtime for them both.

         Tonight Mark would likely beg off staying up late since the weekend had left him feeling a bit sleep-deprived and fatigued.

         After a good night’s sleep, hot coffee and shower, though, Mark felt half-way human again and ready for the challenges of a new day, with just one external appointment:  Dr. Emick, his neuropsychologist, at 1:45, which Phil always got him to on-time, after taking a generous lunch hour, of course.

         He left at 11:30 for the Denton County Tax Office, as his car’s registration had expired a week ago.  He wasn’t proactive about such things, but rather reactive, as with MOST issues in his life, including managing his weight and Type II Diabetes.

         Phil simply couldn’t take care of himself; one look at him told only part of the story. He may have been borderline morbidly obese and wore thrift shop clothes, but deep within himself beat the heart of a lion, as he rarely missed a day of work.  He could have been neater around the kitchen and bathroom, but Mark felt a certain kinship toward him despite his rough edges.

         And man did he love his family: his elderly father, sister Ernestine, and brother Greg.  He also had a great friend, Homer, who lived in Lake Dallas, a short drive away near Lake Lewisville.

         Wednesday dawned a new day, with its own set of challenges:  a “non-shower day,” but Mark’s former caregiver Tom caught him on Yahoo! Instant Messenger and invited him to go to the Winstar Casino just across the Red River in southern Oklahoma.  Always up for something fun to do, he accepted the invitation, though he wasn’t much of a gambler and had only $50 of his weekly spending money left, and he wasn’t keen to “fritter it away.”

         He met Tom’s new live-in girlfriend, who shared his double-wide mobile home in a trailer park on the edge of town, who was in the mood for some action.  They entered the casino and it was playtime for Tom, a gambling fool.

         Tom had some luck and won $90 and they left soon thereafter to drive back down I-35 for Denton.  They invited him to a barbeque later that night at their house, and he was whisked away at 3:30 and stayed till almost 9:00, making it a long, long day indeed.

         It rained cats and dogs all the way home and Kirk and Mark watched the Texas Rangers, the local baseball club, win 9-1 before turning in at 10:00, their usual bedtime.

         Thursday brought a much-needed shower and chiropractic, for his spondo lysthesis (broken back from DHS soccer in the 80s) and PT again with Greg, a given on Thursday.

         Phil was bit by Iz’s Danny as they were outside enjoying the nice day before Mark’s appointment, just part and parcel of life on Strata Dr., making it a tough workday for him, as he also was plagued with a sore hip from a fall the previous weekend.
         
                The next day was another Friday, the start of Phil’s weekend to work, as the caretakers alternated working weekends:  Kirk, the 1st of the month, Steve, the 2nd and 4th of the month, Phil the third, and on months that had five, like May, Mark requested Kirk, as he was the senior person on his little “staff.”
         
                Mark didn’t mind giving Phil a break here and there, even though at times he was his own personal welfare case, and in fact looked forward to this weekend, as they’d been planning for quite some time on going to a Frisco Roughriders baseball game, and this was happening tomorrow (Saturday).
         
                He only had to get through his last occupational therapy session with Paul and wait for his caregiver to return and watch the Ranger game with him, as Phil was a fan, too.  Well, they got through the weekend with a minimum amount of fuss, and the game in Frisco was enjoyable, with a cool breeze blowing throughout it; Frisco won the game 8-0 in the end – something Mark informed Phil of when he came back, as they had left the game early.  On Sunday afternoon, Phil was bringing a pizza for lunch, not really healthy, but satisfying nonetheless.
         
                “A new week starts tomorrow, Phil, are you ready?” said Mark.
         
                “Yeah, bring it on!” he said.

         Yes, it had been a rough week for him the previous week, but he had managed to work it without complaint.  He kept on shining on, much to his credit, and then worked a good weekend on top of it all, one in which they had done something worthwhile, too.

         Mark had THREE good caregivers and the love and support of family and good friends, all a person needs in this life, along with God, whom he prayed would forgive him for skipping church today.  (He would be back at Trinity Presbyterian next week, as he NEVER skipped two weeks in a row).

The Hermits of Strata Drive © 2010 by Mark C. Fearing  All Rights Reserved.