A Writer’s Diary Entries From Mid-March, 2002
Tuesday, March 12, 2002
6 PM. Last night I felt so hopeful and excited. This evening I feel I’m such a mess.
I wanted to believe my back pain would disappear once I read John Sarno’s book and realized that my problem was emotional. The truth is, I do realize that. I’m stressed as I’ve never been stressed before.
I’m doing this totally ridiculous thing of seeing two chiropractors. My pain hasn’t gone away, and it seems like classic sciatica – which is a symptom, not a diagnosis.
I went to Dr. Dobkins this morning because I was in terrible pain when I got up from a two-hour talk with Joe.
Dr. Dobkins said my x-rays looked fine, basically, and I could see that my discs haven’t degenerated; he says there’s a little misalignment of the hip.
What he doesn’t do is know how to keep me informed, so I kept my 5:30 PM appointment with Dr. Davis. (Thanks to my insurance, Dr. Dobkins is free now.)
Dr. Davis said I have good movement everywhere, and that’s true. What’s unusual is that I developed radicular pain as my back itself healed.
Both doctors did adjustments, but Dr. Davis gave me exercises to do.
It turns out that the Cataflam is an anti-inflammatory, but it’s not a painkiller. So, with my dinner just now, I took an ibuprofen – but I’m a little scared that it will make me nauseated because Advil used to do that. We will see.
Anyway, I sound like one of those neurotics fixated on his back pain, and Sarno says you need to forget about your back and concentrate on the rest of your life.
I have sweaty palms now. I almost wish I had more anxiety symptoms because as God-awful as they were, I knew how to deal with them. It’s as if, having once faced the anxiety with pure anxiety symptoms, I am now somatizing my pain into a back injury.
I feel I’m reaching a crisis point at work. Joe went over my report and told me to send it as an email before the faculty meeting, and then at the meeting, I should just summarize it and take questions. Maybe when that’s over, I’ll feel a little bit more relaxed even though I’m feeling a zillion things at once.
Lorene quit as an ARP teaching assistant for Property. She’s overworked, getting a divorce, and dealing with a disturbed 13-year-old son; she said she may need to take a leave of absence herself.
I had to put out other ARP fires as well as responded to the 2.0-2.2 GPA students asking for appointments in response to my email and I met with the last of the students on probation.
Walking on campus, I ran into Charles Zelden, and we talked about the undergraduate Legal Studies program and law school and legal history and Nova and Arizona State.
Anyway, back to my meeting with the Dean.
Joe sounded like a visionary – or a crackpot – laying out his radical plan to deal with the 40% or so of Nova Law students at risk for failing the bar exam. I’m going to have to write out a memo for him to see if I understand it myself – but I think I do.
After the first semester, he wants to put at-risk students in a mandatory program where, instead of one class, they would take a course teaching them how to take notes (to start with the simplest thing) through outlining and other exam skills – and he wants this stuff taught online, by the kind of teachers like the bar exam readers hired for the online AAMPLE program.
Joe sees this idea, like all his ideas, as replicable, with us getting partners like Florida Coastal and Rick Matasar’s New York Law School and, of course, being marketable to other law schools.
Joe told me that after seven years of constant change, many on the faculty wish he would just stop and let them rest and do the same old, same old stuff.
To be honest, so do I. I have enough trouble trying to figure out how to run a “traditional” academic support program. But I do see Joe’s point. “Same old, same old” doesn’t really work.
Yet at all levels of education, these visionary programs – even or especially the ones that achieve results – always seem to eventually get discarded, and the new administration goes back to the familiar.
Joe wants to meet with me, Jane Cross, Mark Padin and Steve Friedland before the semester is over to talk about this more. But who knows if he’ll forget about this in a week or in a month?
I’ve got to think about this a lot – and that’s scary. On top of everything else that’s so scary to me in this job, it’s no wonder it hurts when I walk. I’m amazed I can stand up – even with the excruciating pain.
I’m a mess, like I said. I’ve got the feeling I’m either going to be brilliant at this job or I’ll be a total failure. And that’s scary.
Thursday, March 14, 2002
7 PM. I’m learning to live with sciatica – or perhaps the pain is getting slightly less intense or the Advil is working better.
Last night I tried to unwind by watching stupid TV, but I was so embarrassed by seeing middle-aged has-beens on Fox’s Celebrity Boxing that I shut the set off and read a John Fante story, which was really good.
I slept well, with dreams of New York and Long Island, and woke up at 6 AM, which is very late for me.
Today was much less stressful than the last couple of days. In fact, I made a conscious decision to try to goof off at work as much as possible.
Yes, I saw a couple of students, made some appointments with others, tried to arrange for my BarBri course, and dished on yesterday’s faculty meeting with Pat.
But I also spent a lot of time answering emails, writing to Mark B (several times), Teresa (who, along with Paul, is still focused on moving), Miriam (who’d wondered if I’d settled in), Tom, Ronna, Sat Darshan and other friends.
I got a nice office email from Lundy Langston, thanking me for all the work I’m doing with students.
Yeah, I guess I’m sort of getting myself into the community at NSU Law. I sympathized with Yvette Hernandez, whose grandmother just died, and I chilled with my TAs Shahabudeen and Dominic.
I hope that in a way that NSU Law can become what UF Law once was for me, or even Broward Community College or Brooklyn College, a place where I feel I have lots of friends. So far, they’re all just acquaintances.
But I do get caught up in their lives, and people have been asking me about my sciatica. I’ll always be a little apart even if I will eventually “fit in” because that’s my nature and because I’m a writer.
Law school faculty are so pompous and pett sometimes, like at yesterday’s meeting, but I also think they’re insecure. I don’t know; I’ve never been able to take things that seriously. Professors in general are annoying, and of course these people are all lawyers, which makes them that much worse.
I realize that at almost 51, I’m never going to stop being a writer even if the only writing I do is in this diary. While I’ll never become an elegant stylist like Vincent or a sophisticated one like Tom, I have my plain, hard virtues. I need to remember that I don’t have that many years ahead of me.
I’m not expecting longevity. I’ll probably get cancer or heart disease or a stroke and die around 70, if not earlier. So I don’t need to worry about what will become of me in old age. Yes, my parents are still alive, but I don’t expect them to live much longer, and of course I’ll be devastated when they die.
Mom’s been sick for three weeks with back trouble, but she won’t see a doctor. My hunch is that she knows something’s wrong with her and doesn’t want to face it. That’s where I get my tendency to avoid unpleasant details and cold reality.
I expect Mom may really have something serious wrong with her, and although Dad is five years older and has had a heart attack, he will outlive her.
It’s horrible to speculate about this, but I think that after Mom dies, Dad will move back to Florida with Jonathan. He doesn’t need a house; that’s always been what Mom has wanted.
Anyway, Dad will be 76 in July, so he won’t live forever, either – but he gets medical care at least. I don’t know how he and Jonathan will cope without Mom. They don’t know how to do laundry, for instance, though I guess they can learn.
I don’t mean to bury Mom already – because I’ll be broken everywhere, not just in my heart, when she dies.
Last night on the couch, as I fingered the Afghan blanket Grandma Ethel made, I started thinking how much I’ve missed her all these years, and I started to sob.
I called Alice today. She’s had two divergent opinions on her wrist: one doctor said she’s in bad shape and needs another operation soon; the other doctor said everything is okay. So she’s going to get two more opinions. But she’s not in pain, and she can use her hand, which is her left hand anyway.
Alice said that the other night she went out with a friend and with her brother, who’s now living with her half the time. They were all talking about their surgeries and illnesses until Alice called a halt to it, saying they sounded like little old ladies. So I kept my discussion of my sciatica to a minimum.
I think about how Teresa’s Grandma Agnes and her best friend Mrs. Sarno (I can’t remember her first name) were both in the dining room of the nursing home in Manhasset, and although they met on the boat from Italy as children and had been lifelong friends, they were unaware of each other’s presence.
Alice and I could end up like that.
At a garden party at Uncle Marty’s house in Oceanside, Grandpa Herb, then about 73 or 75, said to me suddenly that he had been having trouble sleeping: “I think a lot about D-E-A-T-H.” He spelled it out.
I’m not that old, but I already think about D-E-A-T-H.”
Saturday, March 16, 2002
7 PM. My life hasn’t been so stressful since last year at this time, when my car was constantly breaking down, I was filled with anxiety symptoms, and I got the interview at Nassau Community College.
But I survived that, and I guess I’ll survive this as well. I didn’t sleep much last night despite all the medications. Aunt Sydelle called at 8 AM. I’ve been with her since before noon until just a little while ago. She is truly a mess.
On Wednesday night, Frank was watching Celebrity Boxing while she was watching a PBS program on Israel. When she berated him for watching such junk, Frank exploded, telling her that they were through, and he walked out.
He’s done that before, but the next day, he took his phone off the hook, and Sydelle, frantic, drove over to The Moorings, having taken a Valium.
As she got out of the car, she fell badly – right on her face. As a crowd gathered, she yelled for Frank to come down – but he wouldn’t.
Someone called 911, and paramedics insisted she go to the hospital on a stretcher. Frank finally did come down and asked for her keys so he could drive her car back to Aventura.
At the hospital, they checked her blood pressure, sugar, etc. She broke three top front teeth, and today she has a big black eye and a very bruised upper lip.
Yesterday she spent three hours at the dentist, and he put in temporary crowns, but she’ll need one root canal and three crowns, costing $3,000.
Anyway, she left Aventura Hospital by cab, expecting to find Frank at her apartment. But not only wasn’t he there, he had taken out all of his clothes, left his key to her apartment, and took the key to his apartment off her key ring.
Frantic, Sydelle took a taxi back to The Moorings and asked Frank to let her in so that she could get her mink coat and her clothes. But he called the police. It was another scene.
He wouldn’t let her in, but he did hand the police her belongings, and she was taken home in a taxi or the police car – she can’t remember which. Frank still won’t answer the phone.
I said I would be over at noon.
I’m still feeling as bad off as I was a week ago. I did get a massage at 10 AM and signed up for a series of five (today’s was free), so it’s $150 for six half-hours.
The massage therapist told me I’m getting too many chiropractic adjustments, and so I’ve decided not to go back for a while.
On Wednesday morning, I’ll see the doctor at the NSU clinic, and until then, I’ll endure the pain.
Just as Aunt Sydelle is lucky that she didn’t break anything other than the three teeth, I’m lucky I can sit comfortably even if walking is very hard.
After all, many people have it much worse. It’s just hard to deal with the constant nagging pain.
As for my job at the law school, I need to endure that as well and do the best I can.
While it’s probable that job stress has led to my back problems, I also was stressed in January and early February and didn’t really have back problems then.
I forget that I also had trouble walking when I had my tendonitis and plantar fasciitis – and that occurred when I wasn’t stressed about anything.
Anyway, Sydelle didn’t look as bad as I expected. But she’s really depressed. She and Frank were together for three years, and in his way, he was very good to her (as he was to me). It will be hard not having someone to drive her around all the time.
This afternoon I took her to the beauty parlor, although she debated whether to go beforehand. She was embarrassed that people would think that Frank hit her. But at home, her friends were constantly calling to find out how she was. To most of them, she didn’t mention breaking up with Frank.
While Sydelle was at the beauty parlor, I went out to Borders for an hour and had a turkey and Swiss sandwich and iced tea. But soon afterwards I started to feel nauseated.
It was an anxiety attack, and I became panicky, but I took two Triavils and managed to quell the attack before it got out of control.
After they washed and combed out Sydelle’s hair, I drove her to a deli, where she got a sandwich to take home. (Earlier, I had brought her orange juice and lactose-free milk from Publix.)
I stayed with her till 5:30 PM, listening as she told Dad the story on the phone. I had called him earlier, but he pretended he was hearing the story for the first time.
I have a lot to think and write about, but I need to rest. It does strike me how a breakup when you’re 81 is as hard as a breakup when you’re 19.
Sydelle is afraid to call Scott because she says he’ll be judgmental. She’s also worried about going to her granddaughter’s bat mitzvah in three weeks. Frank had bought the plane tickets.
When Dad called this evening, he said Scott doesn’t have much to do with Sydelle because his wife detests her.
It’s funny that Sydelle sees me as less judgmental than either Dad or Scott, but it makes sense.
Last evening I got a call from an elderly woman with a British accent who had saved a “What They’re Reading” column from a 1989 (!) Sun-Sentinel and asked me where she could buy Crad Kilodney’s Blood-Sucking Monkeys from North Tonawanda.
Later I ran into Lynn Grow, who said they had been discussing me at the BCC English Department that morning.
“What about?” I asked.
“As a writer,” he said, “and frankly, as an eccentric.”
Yes, I was once an eccentric – back when I had nerve.
Monday, March 18, 2002
6 PM. I just got home. Last night I barely slept because of anxiety and pain. I don’t think I’ve ever been this stressed, not even in Arizona.
So in a way, I have to congratulate myself for making it through the day. I’ve been in nearly constant pain from the sciatica for about ten days now.
On Wednesday, when I see the doctor, I need to demand some pain relief. The sciatica may not be getting worse, but it’s definitely not getting any better.
I finally got my new computer just before I left work tonight. It’s only temporarily got a wireless card so I can get my email and the Internet. But of course, I lost all my Word files and all the email messages I saved in my personal folder.
Everyone from Pat to Billie Jo was sympathetic about the theft of my computer. I went to see Richard first thing in the morning.
Not having a computer certainly screwed up my day. I did what I could, reading printed material on exam-taking strategies, and I xeroxed the material I’d already printed out. I also tried to organize my disorganized file folders.
But I felt so anxious, and of course that made my pain in my leg worse. Walking is torture after about twenty steps, and standing in one spot is almost impossible. Right now, lying here, I’m aware of only a dull ache – but it’s an ache that never goes away.
I called the HMO’s mental health services and got the names and numbers of five psychologists. I called one near here, and I spoke to her receptionist, but she hasn’t called me back yet.
It’s been hard to decide that I need to see a mental health professional again, but I am at my wits’ end. I mean, I actually do like the law school, where I feel part of a community, and I like the people at work – the staff, some faculty, and nearly all the students – and I know that I can make a difference in students’ lives.
I met with a student, Alan, who’s close to my age, just before I left. We went outside so that Steve could finish installing my new computer (which has only Win 98, not Windows NT, so that will take time getting used to).
I didn’t look at today’s paper, and I’m not going to unless I’m up all night again, and probably not even then. I took a Triavil this morning and another one at lunchtime. It’s possible I might “crash” tonight and sleep, but I may also lie awake most of the night. Oddly, last week I slept well.
Maybe I should take the muscle relaxant and the NSAID again; I think I will. I’ve had some rough breaks lately – first, dealing with Aunt Sydelle and then my computer being stolen.
Even if I felt well, things would still be rough, but the pain just makes it so much harder. All day at work, I thought that I would come home and burst into tears and just go on a crying jag that would ultimately make me feel better.
But I can’t cry right now. What’s next? Well, the stressors have to let up sometime, but I’ve got the worrywart’s premonition that stress will bring on more bad things happening.
Of course, I had nothing to do with Aunt Sydelle and Frank – and though I can try to blame myself, I had nothing to do with the computer being stolen.
A year ago, I thought nothing could be worse than pure anxiety symptoms. Right now, I’m still not going to wish for them, but the physical pain of sciatica does seem worse. Maybe I should use a cane?
I miss being what I consider a normal person. Last winter, despite my anxiety, I was able to exercise. Back then I was immobilized mentally but not physically.
On the other hand, I’ve seen a number of people in wheelchairs over the past week, and of course I’m so much better off than they are. I should be ashamed of complaining so much. Am I afraid to stand on my own two feet? I wish I had the wisdom to deal with this.
Wednesday, March 20, 2002
6 PM. As I wrote Vincent, I don’t recall ever being so messed up. I took the Vicodin only this afternoon, after Pat could see I was in excruciating pain just standing, and she and Meg told me either to go home or to a hospital ER.
The Vicodin didn’t make me nauseated, and it did reduce the pain to where it had been, so I went back to work at 2 PM. Betty, Dr. Dobkins’s receptionist, called, and probably stupidly, I went over there at 5 PM.
But I didn’t want him to do an adjustment; he just let the electric stimulation work and stretched me out.
He told me I need an MRI, and he gave me the number of the place to make an appointment. I don’t have confidence in Dr. Dobkins, so I don’t know what to do. This morning my pain was definitely at its worst, but I think I may have forgotten to take Tylenol or ibuprofen before I left the house.
I’m going to take another Vicodin soon, and I’ve taken the Flexeril and naproxen with my dinner. I’ve only got 20 tablets of Vicodin, and there’s no refill, so I can’t use it all the time.
This afternoon Pat told me I shouldn’t have driven back to school, but I didn’t really feel woozy.
I’m having trouble with my new computer at work; it’s so slow, as it’s a model that’s two years older than my stolen one.
I tried to do some planning for the exam-writing workshop a week from tomorrow, but frankly I don’t know how I’m going to get through it. I can’t really stand up.
Why did this have to happen? I’m assuming I won’t be feeling better in a week, and I don’t know why I should.
Early on, I confused myself by seeing two chiropractors, and maybe they did more harm than good. Right now, I don’t know where to turn, and I’m so confused.
Just three weeks ago I was like a different person. Yes, I felt anxiety, but I was able to enjoy life. Both chiropractors tell me it’s not as if I’ve got something life-threatening like cancer. And of course that’s true.
Today is the start of spring, and birds were chirping away. Mom says I should be glad I’m in South Florida, and I am, but I am starting to associate being here with being sick, just as I associate Arizona with anxiety.
A week ago, Dad tried to reassure me that I’m not having a nervous breakdown, that I just have sciatica, and he said it would take at least another few weeks to run its course.
Because I have such good movement, both chiropractors seem mystified by the level of pain I’m getting. Could it all be psychosomatic?
Once again, I didn’t sleep very much with the pain waking me up often. Right now, I feel the pain most acutely above the ankle, which is where the worst pain seems to be.
Pain: It’s as if my whole life had come down to pain with a capital P. I know I can feel this way forever, but what if it takes months or even just weeks to go away?
This morning I did my income taxes, and I owed $811 – which I charged to my First Consumers National Bank MasterCard. More expenses. My debt level is already unmanageable.
Of course, between the bar exam, stuff at work, the problems with money, Aunt Sydelle, the bugs in my apartment (the exterminator came while I was here), and everything else, it’s no wonder that I’m so stressed.
Today I called another psychologist, but he never called me back.
Well, I need to relax tonight and maybe watch some TV to try to see if I can forget about the pain. I know this is “classic sciatica,” as Dr. Dobkins called it.
There’s nothing truly unusual about my case, I guess, except that things like this always happened to other people and not me. Why me? Why now?
Dad said I put off feeling sick until my health insurance kicked in.
At this point. I think that I should never have applied for such a high-pressure job. I should have remained in Apache Junction, living with my parents, teaching adjunct courses, declaring bankruptcy, and trying to find some low-level, low-pressure position. I guess I’m describing Jonathan’s life.
But I don’t really regret taking a chance and taking the risk of coming back here. Deep breath. I wish I had Susan to talk with.
Of course, I also could have gotten sciatica in Arizona. It’s not as if I never had back problems before. Oh, I’m so messed up – this is where I came in on this entry.
Well, I think it’s been six hours since I took the last Vicodin. If I could just get one good night’s sleep, I think I would feel better.