Tuesday, April 12, 2011
EASTER and Richard Armitage
Well, Easter is coming friends. I thought I'd post a Youtube of one of my favorite actors, Eddie Izzard, discussing some of the strange customs involved in this holiday. If you've never seen this comedy special of his you really have to make a point of finding it - he is wonderful; not so much in his follow up ones, though. He dresses oddly and wears more makeup than Tammy Faye, his heels are to die for. Eddie Izzard...
THE WEEK FROM HELL
There are things you do for your friends. Sometimes it is a simple request, easy, not painful; they depend on you so you try not to disappoint. Life's complicated. Things get in the way. You laugh it off.
Then there are other times. Rich has a friend, a man a few years older. He just found out he has stomach cancer. Everyone who knows Frank was devastated by the news; he is a larger than life character. You love him or you hate him, and more than likely both at the same time, but you never forget him.
He has emphysema, a bad heart, bad everthing. He also drinks like a fish and more than one night we've had to drive him to the hospital at two in the morning because he's fallen over somewhere. His brain is a little slow and he has a terrible temper, especially with his wife. She is very hard of hearing and a little dense, one kopek short of a dollar.
Anyway, Richie promised to drive him to the Moffitt Cancer Center in Tampa, more than an hour trip each way. Frank is very weak and could never have made the trip by himself and Frances gets lost easily. The initial meeting with the gastro specialist was Friday morning. Richie woke up with an ankle swollen to twice it's size so I had to drive us all - Rich, Frank, Frances and me, at the crack of dawn(about 7:30 a.m.) in the dense fog. I was a wreck, worried about my husband, listening to Frank and Frances scream at each other. God is good, but he has a devil of a sense of humor.
When we got to the hospital I ran in and got a wheel chair for Rich and I noticed how kind and compassionate the personnel were to us. It took a while to realize that they thought Rich was the patient - poor Frank was straggling along behind us, nearly collapsing. His wife got lost once or twice. Good times.
The gastro doctor was quite a surprise. She looked like a fifteen year old hooter girl. She had on a snug fitting suit with a skirt that came half-way up her thigh, no stockings, killer shoes (I would die for those shoes, just to be able to walk on 3 inchers again would be a treat). She also had a low cut tight top on under her snug little jacket. Frank and Richie were very impressed with these credentials, thought she was the most wonderful doctor they'd ever seen. I hated her on sight, and that was before she informed us we had to bring Frank in every day for tests, for the entire week.
Well, by Wednesday Frank and Frances had nearly come to blows about everything. At one point we were standing by the elevators, Rich in his wheelchair, Frank with his pants half zipped, and Frances nearly in tears. Finally she couldn't take him anymore and shouted - "You Bastard!" Then she turned on her heels and walked into the elevator. Trouble was it was the wrong elevator. It went up instead of down. We found her later. More screaming.
Lord I do pray in your infinite wisdom that Frank is healed, that Monday, when Frank hears what his course of therapy will be, that it does not include daily visits to Moffitt Cancer Center in Tampa. If it does, I will blow my brains out.
Quit looking for Richard Armitage information. This is classic bait and switch. Nacho is here solely for LucyParker.
Posted by Karen V. Wasylowski at 9:24 PM