Days and Nights

I'm not sure what's worse, the late nights or the early mornings. When I can't sleep, I lie in bed and think until my brain hurts. And when I wake up very early, I spend time wondering what horrors the coming day will drop on my head. Our lives here have really fallen into disarray, and I think about when times were good. Then I try to figure out what the hell went wrong. I pretty much know the answers, but I think about it all anyway. If I were a single man, it would be so much easier on my brain. I'd simply throw in the towel, pack up and walk away from it all. Let the bank have the house, file bankruptcy and be done with it.

But the kids are part of my life. I can't just uproot their lives. This house is their home. My youngest was born here. I want their lives to be stable. For 30 years, I did so well in my career. I made good money, and when we started a family, I was at the top of my game. I was a good provider. We didn't spoil the kids, but we did give them a good life. We did some great vacations, had some wonderful Christmases. We did send them to parochial school, not for status, but for the religious education that their Mom and I both grew up with. It was funny, the vehicle I drove was a 1997 Ford Explorer that I won in a raffle. As the family grew, we added a second vehicle: the dreaded minivan!

Life was good.

Then it wasn't so good.

Technology advances basically put me out of business. Injuries I suffered sort of accelerated the process. Everyone knew that if you ever took disability time, it wasn't long before Merrill Lynch would show you to the door. It was sort of an unwritten rule. One guy was out of work for about four months having had surgery to remove part of his intestines, which were damaged by Crohn's disease. He came back to work, but within six months or so, he was "laid off". Another colleague had a few months out because he had a toe removed as a result of diabetes. Within a year, he, too was "laid off". I destroyed my knees and was out for a little more than six months. I returned to work in February of 2007, and on May 24th, 2007, I got my pink slip.

I did see the writing on the wall in my own case. I did a lot of saving in the last two years of my career with Merrill Lynch. When I got the gate, I had 2 1/2 years' salary in the bank, just as the experts advised. I took exams for three different securities licenses, in hopes of transferring to another division within the firm. I was studying for a fourth license exam when the axe fell, and in a minor show of decency, Merrill agreed to sponsor me for that exam. (You need a securities firm to do that for you).

It was all for naught, however. The door opened, and out I went. I immediately began applying for jobs within the industry, and got nowhere. While you never have to supply your age or date of birth in those applications, 30 years at Merrill listed on my resume made it easy to figure out that I wasn't  25 years old. Firms, these days, don't want 47 year olds on the payroll. They could hire two young people for what they figured it'd be asking for, plus the benefits, health insurance, etc., for those youngsters would be a lot cheaper.

So, no luck getting hired. In 2008, I went into business for myself, selling life insurance as well as designing investment portfolios for retirement plans, etc. I was doing pretty well, but between paying a mortgage and paying for my own health insurance (Horizon Blue Cross/Blue Shield was taking $2250 per month) I was starting each month $5000 in the hole. That wasn't going to work. I did stay with it for 3 years until I was offered my current job. I now pay $65 per week for outstanding health insurance. Huge relief.

But even with great insurance, I'm laying out $300-$500 each week for prescriptions, doctor co-pays, etc. (My daughter is ill at the moment and her medications are nearly as expensive as mine). We have about $200,000 in medical bills from the time I was insured privately. My wife had two surgeries which the insurance company pre-approved but then reneged on paying. The same for me; I had surgery and it was pre-approved but then reneged upon. Always read the fine print, folks!

Anyway, I want this to be the last post of this kind. I know it's got to be boring. If you're still reading at this point, thank you for staying with it. I promise to be a little more positive, to inject some humor into this journal of mine. I'll try harder to make it more interesting so it's worth your while to come here and read.

Thanks for tuning in. The best is yet to come.

Hi Brandi.

62 Months: The Journey Continues

One of the problems that I had when I came home was that I was assigned physical therapy exercises to do. I was 14 years old wearing a huge plaster cast, once the cast came off the trouble really began. I had to use a small dumbbell on the edge of the couch or chair with my arm on the end. I had to flex and extend the arm hundred times a day.

I had no interest in doing anything like this. My mother was pulling her hair out because every day it was the same routine. Normally, it takes less time to do what you're supposed to do, then it does to spend the time arguing about not doing it. I, of course, chose to argue day in and day out. I did the bare minimum, and to this day I pay the price for that because my arm is crooked. My friends even have a nickname for my arm: they call it "The Crook".

It was summertime. Another treat resulting from the elbow injury was the lengthy scar that ran down the back of my arm. I had something called keloid. The scar was long, raised and bright red. And it was raised and thick. So in addition to my arm being a crooked mess, I had a huge centipede taking up residence.

Countless times I was asked what I did to my arm. Eventually, I began coming up with clever answers. Shark attack, ( that one got a lot of attention ), chain saw accident, knife fight. Hey, to me it was fun watching people's reactions to the tall tales.

No one said I was a good kid.

62 Months: The Journey to Today

My life has always been a big mess. I'm not the guy you want handling your fine China. I became a human wrecking ball at about 18 months old, and it's been just delightful since. Yes, at the ripe old age of 18 months, I stood up in my carriage flipped the whole thing over, and ripped a hole in my lip.

I continued to torture my parents with stunts and things like that. I had a neighbor kid plop my head open with a rock, I swallowed a fishbone and it got lodged in my tonsil. And that was before I was even 10 years old. I gave the folks a few years off from physically injuring myself, but during that time, I tried my hardest to become the official "Class Clown". There were some interesting report cars from school those years.

In January 1974, I resumed my wrecking-ball activities. I chose to run during an ice storm. I took a nice flip off of a NY City curb and shatter my right elbow. That cost me two surgeries and a six week hospital stay. These days, my visit would have been a couple of days, but nope. I created quite the hardship for my parents, who kept me company every day, without fail. They'd rotate Vaisya, because I had four siblings at home, including a two year old brother. They never complained, although they probably wanted to have my brain examined. The elbow surgery was as successful as possible with what doctors had available at the time. A week before release, I added some more fun to the party by developing a staph infection in the surgical site. I met a boy my age who'd tried to castrate himself poking a whole in his belt with a knife. The two of us took to racing wheelchairs during late-night hours. ( I propelled myself with my feet ) The nurses were at first quite annoyed, but I think eventually they took to placing bets on us.

Once I was released, we learned that I'd grown considerably, which meant my parents had to replace my clothes. It was bizarre how much I'd grown in that short time. I'm surprised my folks didn't give me up for adoption. And yet, the fun continued.

And this is to be continued...