My Friend Leah—update 7

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Note: Okay, this is big: I am changing Bailee’s name to Lilian. I hate the name (and spelling) of Bailee. Leah hates the name (and spelling) of Bailee. Bailee hates the name (and spelling) of Bailee. I have no explanation for my weird decision. So, Lilian it shall be. My apologies to all involved. I have brought shame upon the Harms name.

We (we??) continue to deal with pretty significant memory loss. This is partly due to the ECT (electroconvulsive therapy) and partly due to meds. It has been hard for Leah, who seems to take it in stride. Her strength is preternatural and regularly blows my mind.

As mentioned in Update 6, meds have been an issue. And they continue to be so. We’ve had a few rough nights. I recently joined in a Telehealth video conference meeting with her psychiatrist, whom I liked immediately: clued in, attentive to Leah and her needs, observant, and an intellect that came through the computer screen.

By the end of the meeting, Leah was lying on my bed, rocking back and forth, and lightly hitting herself in the head with her fist. She was on a merry-go-round that was spinning at a dangerous speed. The ECT had put a bunch of parts behind a partition, and they were trying to get out. Leah was switching rapidly. It was difficult to watch. She eventually resurfaced.

It would be remiss to not give a shout out to Lilian and Blair for essentially coming to Leah’s rescue. It was due to their strength that Leah was pulled off the merry-go-round and allowed to resurface. It’s good to know that there are parts who have Leah’s back and possess the courage to stand up to darker forces.

Over last week, things took a bad and weird turn. She was basically bed-ridden for two days, physically numb, when not in pain, and was conscious for brief windows. This started with some hallucinations; I was on the phone with her for some of that.

Her psychiatrist said this in a report:

The symptoms appear to be psychosomatic presentation of the level of distress and cognitive overload that she is experiencing and may represent an extreme form of dissociation and derealization symptoms that we will continue to monitor very closely.

That’s quite a sentence. Leah fears “leveling up,” meaning getting worse. It remains to be seen if she is indeed getting worse. Her therapist refers to these experiences as "growing pains."

The whole thing was quite unsettling. We’re not sure what happened. She eventually came out of it, and by the evening of day two, she was over to see me and we watched an episode of Starfleet Academy, the newest Star Trek franchise. It’s okay. I think there is room for growth and some good characters; Leah did not like the pacing and does not share my optimism.

Leah’s episodes are excruciating to watch—if I can make this about me for a minute. I feel useless. All I can do is tell her I love her, and utter platitudes like, “It’s going to be okay.” This is why I like to buy her stuff. I feel like I’m doing something, when in reality I am doing nothing. She says she loves the gifts, and that no one has ever done that for her before. I figure a few nice things and some books can’t hurt. And it has the added bonus of making me feel better!

Speaking of which, on a couple visits over here, she kicked off her boots and I told her, “You need to up your sock game.” You can well imagine the look I got. So, while she was in the hospital last, I ordered her over twenty pairs of socks. I bought her a few pairs of nice ones from Paul Smith, and I also picked out a bunch from Amazon. Suffice to say, she’s good in the sock department.

But again, this has more to do with me feeling kind of pathetic. And if it makes her smile for a few minutes, that’s good enough for me.

This is funny: I was talking to Leah on FaceTime the other night, and she switched. Lilian was now up front. We had a nice visit and a few laughs. At one point she said, “I like your glasses … you look like an owl.” I said, “God damn, Lilian! A friggin’ owl?? Now I’m self-conscious and want to buy new glasses!” (Which I did; they’ll be ready in a week.) We were in hysterics. We got quite a bit of mileage out of that.

Also amusing: Leah and I recently got into one of our weird debates, We were “arguing” which person was better at multitasking. (I know, I know.) I maintained I was like a heavy-weight champion in that department: “I have a multi-channel attention span!,” I ridiculously boasted. And she countered with, “I have multiple operating systems running!!” Okay … I guess you win. [sigh] “Fine! Whatever!”

There’s so much about Leah that I would love to tell you, stuff about her personal life, her photo, and so on. I wish you could really get to know her. I hate having to maintain her anonymity. But, for now, it’s what has to be. And because I love her so intensely, getting to write about her—if even in a shrouded way—means a lot.

Hi, Lilian. I love you.

Joe List

I watch a lot of standup comedy. In a month I will probably check out over fifty new comics. In the last year or two I have become something of a student of the art form.

Of all the comics I’ve checked out, and of all the comics I really, really like and enjoy—in no particular order: Rory Scoval, Sam Morril, Maria Bamford, Aaron Weber, Dusty Slay, Ali Siddiq, Kathleen Madigan, John Mulaney, Marc Maron, Judah Friedlander, Jen Kirkman, Nate Bargatze, Jordan Jensen, Hasan Minhaj, Sheng Wang, Neal Brennan, Kevin Hart, Tig Notaro, Vidura Bandara Rajapaksa, Jimmy O. Yang, Kyle Kinane, Chad Daniels, to name a few—the comic who makes me laugh the hardest and the most is Joe List.

Joe List is either a genius or a knucklehead who’s not very good at standup. In either case, he’s hilarious.

A comic’s worst nightmare is to bomb: you go out there, you hear crickets, the audience is rolling their eyes, your jokes aren’t landing—as they say in the industry, you eat s***. Joe List, on the other hand, has turned bombing into an art form. Best I can tell, he’s doing it on purpose. And then he makes fun of himself, reprimands the audience, it’s too much.

Check out this performance, and decide for yourself.

PLUR1BUS

The premise is ludicrous: an extraterrestrial virus from the planet Kepler-22b transforms humanity into a collective hive kind of consciousness. It cost almost a billion lives, but people are now part of a peace-loving, honest, highly cooperative shared mentality. The individual has been submerged into the collective. 

All humans that experienced “the Joining” seem to share all knowledge and expertise. I would no longer be Gregory; I would be the individual formerly known as Gregory, and I would know how to weld, fly a helicopter, and perform surgery. They don’t eat meat—they don’t even eat plants. John Cena explains what they do eat. Just watch it.

Maybe the race of beings on Kepler-22b made observations, and they decided those humans are on a collision course: they have allowed psychotic alpha males to rule over them once again, which has created environmental degradation, warfare, the threat of nuclear annihilation, and so on. They need to become, well, a peace-loving, honest, and highly cooperative people. We’ve got just the thing.

There are, however, thirteen people who did not undergo the Joining. For whatever reason, they were immune to the virus. The human we get to know the most is Carol Sturka.

Anyone familiar with the classics of dystopian literature will know well the set up: humanity “fixed” or individuality? One recalls the conversation in chapters 16 and 17 of Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World between the world Controller Mustapha Mond and John the savage. It’s a debate between which of these two scenarios is better. Is our individuality worth all the misery and agony?

On the face of it, life in the hive seems okay. They, called “the Others,” appear happy. But there are certainly benefits to being one of the thirteen survivors: the Others wait on you hand and foot, you can have anything you want, and nothing costs anything. One survivor helps himself to Air Force One. You more or less live in a consequence-free environment.

But the Others want to convert the thirteen and bring them into the hive. They need stem cells to do so, but they’re having a bit of trouble with the process.

The series really sucked me in. It’s somewhat hypnotic. The pacing is superb. It does not underestimate the viewers’ ability and willingness to watch people do very little. It’s that rare thing: intelligent science fiction.

When I started episode one, I thought it was going to be some kind of zombie BS. I truly can’t stand the zombie genre, but I went back and was pleasantly surprised. Yes, the premise is a bit tough to take, but it sets up a good story that is well told, and it gets the viewer thinking. Watching Carol (played by Rhea Seehorn) is by itself a pleasure. Strongly recommended. Nine episodes. Not sure when season two is due out.

https://tv.apple.com/us/show/pluribus/umc.cmc.37axgovs2yozlyh3c2cmwzlza

My Friend Leah—update 6

Leah’s meds are out of whack, which landed her back in the mental-health facility she goes to. She doesn’t love it there. I’ve been there a couple times. The staff are friendly, but it’s like a really, really nice prison.

Leah was able to join in the shenanigans at the Peninsula with us. We had fun swimming in December. And the pizza was good. You can see her a bit in one photograph; an 18-month-old is hitching a ride in my lap in the wheelchair, and Leah is behind me wearing a red top. I couldn’t show her completely, but I did want her in the photos. So, we went half way between the two.

I hate when Leah is feeling low; I hate seeing her like that. She mumbles, she’s weepy, and talks of dying. It’s strange that I bear no hatred toward the sadistic psychopath who did this to her. It’s like he’s still torturing her. That’s the thing about mistreatment of people—especially children. It stays with them. It damages the mind.

Don’t get me wrong: he should die in prison. I mean, it’s not his fault he operates outside of human nature, but he’s still responsible for his behavior. It’s our nature to be sympathetic, to care for our children, to not enjoy creating pain in another human being. That is who we are.

I have written about this, and I have looked closely at everything from Enlightenment philosophy to the latest research. It all points to the idea that we have a nature. This is not to suggest we’re angels; but we’re not demons either.

I recently bought Leah a beautiful Canada Goose puffer coat. She loved it; she was shaking when she opened the box. It was midnight blue and looked resplendent on her. But we decided an iMac would be more practical. Probably the purple one.

Her studies continue apace. She is about to embark on a reading of Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov. She’ll be doing so with friend Michael. Seeing as though Michael is a Russian-literature scholar, she’s in good hands.

I, however, won’t be joining them because of my Adam Smith studies, which will likely take me through the summer. I posted a little bit about it on the ol’ blog.

I already have rooms reserved at the Peninsula for December 2026. Such a good time was had; I typically don’t really do fun, but after my close call, I’ve decided a bit of fun is just fine.

Leah was nervous about socializing in a group. She seriously irritated me when she said, “I don’t want to embarrass you.” I said, “That is horseshit—why did you even say that??” She could not embarrass me.

Such a thought is ridiculous. If she switched, it would likely be Bailee. Leah and Bailee are like twin sisters. I would just introduce everyone to Bailee. “Hey everybody …” It would be fine. And even if she went to a dark place or bottomed out, it would still be fine. I love Leah, and she comes first.

My father’s wife met Bailee. Leah was over, and she was sitting on my bed. She all of a sudden switched and I was then chatting with Bailee. My father’s wife came down and entered the room. I whispered to Bailee, “Can I tell her?” Bailee nodded.

Cece wandered over and I said, “Cece, I’d like you to meet Bailee.” Bailee got all embarrassed; it was quite adorable. I said, “Don’t be weird! I’ve seen you socialize before.” “But I’m shy.” “No you’re not.” Cece was a pro and cheerfully said, “Hello, Bailee!” Like nothing. Like she’d done it a hundred times. Gold star.

Bailee will be delighted she got mentioned in this update. Oh, and Bailee, I love you. And tell Blair I love them, too.

Fun fact: Leah always green lights these updates. So, I read it to “her” over the phone, and then discovered it was Bailee on the phone. So, Leah, if you don’t like it … it’s Bailee’s fault. ;-)

Ironing Board & Kinetic Sand

I have it on good authority that I fell out of a shopping cart and landed on my head when I was a toddler. One hundred percent of the people I have told that to—and it’s been a few—have been like, “Ah … okay” (as if to say, “That clears a few things up.”) Zero of them have been like, “Nah, that doesn’t sound right.”

Watch this clip from me having breakfast at the Peninsula this past weekend, and you be the judge.

I am describing a skit that stand-up comedian Dusty Slay does about stealing an ironing board from a hotel.

I challenge you to not crack a smile while watching it.

KINETIC SAND

This post is a two-fer. So, I was having breakfast there yesterday morning and we were leaving heading for the room. And this little girl (maybe four years old or so) sees me wheeling toward her table and says to me, “What happened to your legs?”

 
I said, “I have a sickness called MS, and they don’t work anymore.”

 
She replied, “Why don’t you use crutches??”

 
I said, “I could try that, but I would probably fall down.”

 
“So, you need wheels?”

“Yep, I need wheels.”

Her parents are head in hand like, “This isn’t happening.” And her mother says to her, “Um … do you have any other questions?”

 
“Do you like my snowman?”

I replied, “I like him very much. Is that Play-Doh?”

The mom said, “It’s kinetic sand.”

“Aaaahhh!! That’s kinetic sand!! I’ve been hearing a lot about that.” I then tell the girl, “Well, I’m glad we had this conversation … now I know what kinetic sand is.”

We said goodbye, and she continued making her green snowman.

The Peninsula, round 2

Fun was had at the Peninsula. Pool party followed by pizza party in the room.

Pool photos include me, my brother, cousin Cindy, and friend Michael’s son Leo. They also feature my mother and I picking out an expensive hat for me. And there’s a couple scenes from the pizza party.

Also pictured is little Parker bumming a ride on me and my wheelchair exiting the pool. And a clip of me in the elevator snorting like a pig in Parkie’s ear. It was quite a hit.

Where the hell is my frittata?? This is an outrage!!!

Optimo. Accept no substitutes. Me and mom.

The man … in grand surroundings

Michael and gang.

Parkie hitching a ride, and friend Leah.

About to devour much pizza. That’s Gino and my half-sister LJ. I look like I have a secret.

Me explaining Aristotle’s Posterior Analytics to Parkie.

Oinking like a pig. Works every time.

The Peninsula

Well, I gotta tell ya, this beats ambulances and hospitals all to hell. Some people go to Florida; I, however, am partial to five-star hotels and staycations. It’s a thing.

Anyhoo, my step-brother, Marcus, and I are posting up at the Peninsula in Chicago. I’ll have more photos tomorrow. This is just us getting settled in.