The Reprieve.....

[Ray]

Old Doc. Ham (affectionate diminutive of Hamilton) got his M.D. courtesy of uncle sam, did a year in korea with a m.a.s.h. unit then another year at walter reed with the promise of fulfilling the obligations of his commission in the indeterminate future in either the reserve or ohio national guard. He settled in Cleveland and hung-out his shingle, took a bride of a somewhat higher social plain than himself and generally prospered and eventually profited. Frugal living and a minimal number of office/practice staff along with wise investments (financed by his wealthy inlaws)allowed him to begin to dream of early retirement and self-exile to the deep south where there were no lake-effect blizzards.

Then one day a pair of suits showed up at his office with g-men written all over them.....you know, ominous "men in black" types of legend and myth. The g-men assumed a somber demeanor that would do an undertaker proud and commenced to perform a convincing toughcop /nicecop routine on the good doctor that left him quite shaken emotionally.

The long and short of it was that Ham had neglected to fulfill his military obligations from a quarter century earlier and owed Sam (uncle) two years of his time or the alternative. The alternative being something like fines to the tune of $100,000 and possibly even six months in leavenworth. This bad news was disclosed by the "bad cop" component of the dynamic duo.

The "good cop" offered an alternative. This was 1980 and an election year. The peanut farmer in office had just reinstituted the old govt. doctor's clinical practices from the f.d.r. new deal era to ensure the small town negro vote. Would Ham consent to a three year contract ?

Enter "bad cop", stage left. There just so happened to be an old govt. doctor's clinical practice billet that was vacant way down south in a place called patona city. So Ham reluctantly signed the required redtape and left his practice and lake erie mansion to the responsibility of young doc. Ham., his son. He and mrs. old doc. ham hied the 841 miles southwestwards to patona city with moving trucks following.

The old govt. doctor's mansion on the hill above the intersection of krag & plains was still owned by uncle and just needed airing and a few coats of paint. The local federal health dept. folk hired a crew to muck-out and spruce-up the full-basement located waiting and examination rooms. Want ads for staff were published and Interviews scheduled.

Build it and they will come says the old saw. Soon the waiting room was full of sniffling, hacking adults and juveniles and crying babies. The demographics averaged to about four black to every white and three women to every man. Old Ham swiftly got into the swing of things. After all, feigning empathy and prescribing penicillin for southron patients was no different than playing the game in cleveland. In a month or so he was even able to resume hitting the links and greens on mondays and fridays.....and this country club wasn't closed from nov. through apr. like his former playground had been.

Time rolled on and Trey, the spawn of young doc. ham. and the grand-spawn of old doc. ham. was flunking-out of pre-med. His penchant for popping tops and pulling corks and stuffing contraband powders up his nose finally caught-up with him. The only child of an only child of an only child, he was spoiled and raised with privelige and only expectations of entitlement. But the Hamiltons were made of tougher stuff than that and tough love was what he got. He was shunned and banished and exiled to the custody of his grandparents in patona city.

At 24 years of age and no skills for survival and a very meagre allowance, Trey thought he might, by grift and flummery, dip into the presumed swollen coffers of his grandparents. But alas, they were too astute for his larcenous plans and he soon found himself toiling on the assembly line of a local automotive components manufactory. With little coin with which to purchase booze and nose powders his brain soon cleared and, in time, his good breeding showed. Promotion after promotion followed and he soon found himself wearing sunday clothes and shining shoes at his very own desk in his very own 40 sq. ft. partitioned cubicle up in the front office.

But into every eden, tribulations must fall. Something in the air or water or his diet did not agree wth him. He developed tummy/poopy problems. There was some mild lactose intolerance in his family's medical history so he thought he would fight it head-on the old fashioned way. A bit of the hair of the dog that bit you as they say. Assuming lactose intolerance was his infirmity, an alimentery cramp was treated with a tall cool glass of the white frothy. Egregious flatuence was countered by a grilled cheese or fried curds. Loose bowels got a dose of a double dipped ice cream cone, etc., etc.

But the symptoms worsened and he sought his grandfather's professional advice. In time, a gastrointestinal specialist suggested and the uncomfortable intrusive exam confirmed definite diverticulosis which might indeed progress to direr diverticulitis. The gut specialist warned that thin, mucousy stool followed by dark black was cause for alarm and for Trey to hie to the e.r. posthaste should that occur. Profound changes to his diet were made and though he did not lay-off dairy entirely, he cut down on it dramatically. It was actually seeds and nuts and the outer husks of maize kernels that proved to be the main triggers.

Then on the eve of a very important day at the plant with corporate bigwigs from up north coming to inspect, Trey made some imprudent and poor culinary choices. He had highly black-peppered sawmill gravy for breakfast. Tiffin found him scarfing down a pressed cubano sammie. Supper just happened to be new england quoahog chowder. There were no crackers or croutons to be found to add bite/chew to the stew so he improvised with about a tablespoon and a half of toasted pumpkin seeds spread on top of the chowder. Afterwards, he curled-up on the sofa with his affianced piece of fluff and a generous bowl of popcorn to watch the telly.

Along about 0200 what was meant to be a simple pressure relief of stool gas actually fizzled into his pajamas. He spent most of the rest of that predawn sitting in agony on the potty. A conventional, even lighter than normal breakfast was out of the question so he made do with a draught of the thick pink over the counter upset tummy remedy.

He made a pale and shaky appearance at work but spent most of the morning noisily thickening the atmosphere of the front-office men's room. With each frantic trot from his cubicle to the porcelain pot he would take yet another draught of the yucky pink pseudo-physic tonic. Not heeding the finely printed side-affects of the pink syrup, he did not know that the appearance of the waste expelled would ultimately be an unhealthy looking dark-dark black.

As time approached for his scheduled presentation to the corporate bigwigs from up north, Trey made one (hopefully) last trip to the men's room. Looking down before flushing he gasped in fright as he remembered the warning from the gut doctor regarding stool coloration changes.

He had to consult his grandpa and had only a few minutes to do it. Peering about and over and under to verify that no other toilet stalls were occupied and he was indeed alone, he dialed the number from his cellphone. Perhaps it was the echo in the men's room or maybe the tons of intervening steel-reinforced concrete but old doc. ham. with his hearing aids could not quite ken the gist of his only grand-spawn's panicked conversation and suggested Trey call his dad.

So young doc. ham. was called. When he answered he heard a frantic, hysterical.....

"Dad ! I'm pooping dark black and I'm scared ! What do I do ?"

The good doctor replied, "Son, I'm in a critical conference with colleagues and a patient and you are on speakerphone so call me back later."

A much dazed and worried (and somewhat malodourous) Trey did indeed sucessfully complete his expected presentation to the corporate visitors. Then, due to his morbid frame of mind, he went on a desperate one last, on this side of eternity, culinary hoorah for lunchtime. On the drive to the western bypass where the fast-food and greasy-spoon dives were located, he absent mindly gnoshed several ounces of shelled, roasted sunflower seeds. At an "all you can eat" chinese feeding trough he filled himself nearly to the back teeth with the richest dainty bits that they had. Then, on the return trip he stopped at a gelatteria and ate a pint of pecan praline vanilla.

Needless to say he wasn't very productive that afternoon but it didn't matter. He was not observed larking simply because there was no one in authority there to observe. His bosses and the corporate visitors, much inebriated and with two-dollar bills clinched in their fists, were mobbed around vanessa and her stripper's pole over in the next big city.

Along about teatime an urgent cramp hit him and he trotted yet again to the cool white throne. Though he dreaded to look down, he braced himself emotionally and faced his impending mortality head-on and what he saw there gave hope. Like the joy of the condemned being reprieved at the psychological moment by an intervening phone call from merciful governor, Trey looked up into the heavens through the ceiling of the men's room and silently mouthed a thankful prayer.

Hitting redial on the cellphone, his much concerned dad answered on the third ring.

Remembering the embarrassment that his dad must have suffered due the conditions of the last call, Trey cautiously asked in a discreet whisper.....

"Dad, is green okay ?"

[JimT]

Ray .. you have a great way with words. A wordsmith such as yourself should have at least some of it in print.

[Ray]

Ray .. you have a great way with words. A wordsmith such as yourself should have at least some of it in print.

burger king seemed the logical choice for breakfast this morning. Bad idea. Agony not far from that described in the above narrative. One chamomile capsule chased by a mug of chamomile tea did not help. Tried second dose. Finally had to have a shot glass full of the pink syrup. 1800 to 0500 shift last night....same tonight.....same sunday night. I feel about as bad as a pot of chitterlings smells whilst boiling

[JimT]

uh ... well .... I am at a loss for words ....