Tag Archives: Cleveland Ohio Dog Rescue

Wear and Tear

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“The old saw about old dogs and new tricks only applies to certain people.”  Daniel Pinkwater

All hairdressers at all salons break down, sooner or later. Some hairdressers break down earlier than others, but it’s taken me more than thirty years to break down, for the work to take its toll.

I have bursitis and tendinitis in both shoulders. When you’re working your arms are always up around your shoulders. It hurts. I wake up dreaming that somebody is twisting my arm off. Sometimes I dream they’re twisting both arms off.

I got pain shots, since it started running up my neck, but my doctor was just guessing.

“Am I hitting your bursa?”

“I don’t know.”

“How does that feel?”

“Yow!”

I got shots twice until my doctor said, “I think you need to see a pain specialist.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“OK”

“Did you bring records?” the pain specialist at the Cleveland Clinic asked.

“No.”

“That’s all right, you’ll get your shots anyway.”

He was definitely not the shot Nazi.

But it freaked me out a little. I thought I was just going to pull my shirt down and they were going to put a shot in me. Instead they gave me two gowns, told me to take everything off, and get into the gowns. I had to wear the blue hat.

“I’m just getting s shot in my shoulder, right?”

“Right.”

“So why am I getting naked?”

“Well, you are going into surgery to get the shot,” the nurse said.

I was a little paranoid going in. I had to get an IV stuck into my arm.  They told me I wouldn’t remember anything. But I remembered everything. I sat up and talked the whole time. I remember watching the video screen. I remember him hitting my nerve. I jumped.

“No, no, no,” he said. “Sit still.”

“OK, but I need more juice.”

They gave me more the second time I went, and I definitely don’t remember much about that time.

After he stuck the needle in me, and did the procedure, I thought, are you kidding me? The preparation took much longer than the shot itself.

“You freaked me out for a couple of minutes of shooting?”

I had my right shoulder done first, and my left shoulder done two weeks later. It worked, although I think the second shot worked better. I was more relaxed. There were some side effects, though.

I’m the kind of person, if there are going to be side effects, I’m going to have them. For two weeks after the shots I had horrible side effects. They’re shooting in cortisone. It’s a steroid. Whenever you get steroids injected, you risk getting hungry, getting ‘roid rage. I got hungry and got ‘roid rage. I got heat sensitivity, too.

I was flushed all the time. I was crazy emotional all the time, whenever I wasn’t eating all the time. What the hell is wrong with me, I wondered.

At the same time, I started sleeping in positions I hadn’t slept in for years. I used to always sleep with my arms up over my head, but I hadn’t been able to for a long time because of the pain in my shoulders. I couldn’t sleep on my face because my shoulders hurt. I would wake up wimpering. The pain was so bad, rolling over didn’t help, nothing helped. My arms would go numb. The pinkies on both my hands would go numb. Laying in a beach chair, whenever Brian and I went to Mexico, nothing was comfortable, even though it was the most comfortable place in the world.

For a long time, there were no comfortable spots. Time goes by, you forget about it. After the shots, I’m sleeping with my arms up again. Everything is a comfortable spot.

The pain starts to come back after a month-or-so, but you can’t get a shot every month. You can’t have more than four of them a year. It’s not good for you, even though they’re good for me. Too many shots will deteriorate the muscles around where the steroids are going. The big question is how long will the cortisone stay in the nerve and block the pain?

When the pain comes back, I start having a hard time turning my neck. When I’m driving, and I try looking behind me, ouch! I already am having a hard time turning to the right. Don’t be coming at me that way! I would like to not feel anything from the neck up, I told my pain specialist doctor. That would be wonderful. He just laughed.

Hairdressers always have lower back and hip and foot problems. They’re always on their feet, leaning over their clients, twisting a little one way and the other way.

Everybody laughs at my platform flip flops, but I’ve never had any foot problems. Walking in them is like standing on my rubber mat. When I walk in them, it’s like I have a platform mat for shoes. When I first started, I used to wear high heels. I learned very quickly that was a dumb idea. A woman I worked for, for a few years, who also cut hair, always wore high heels, twelve hours a day. She destroyed her feet. She can never wear high heels again, even though she’s twenty years younger than me.

I don’t have any lower back or hip problems. I don’t have varicose veins. Francie has plantar fasciitis. Mel has bad varicose veins. I don’t have corns or bunions or gross looking feet. I have nice looking feet, not like many hairdressers, at all. The feet on some of them get all gnarled up, pinched, ugly.

Anybody can say anything they want, make fun of my platform flip flops, I can take it. I’ve been wearing them for twenty-seven of my thirty-two years on salon floors, and I‘ve made it this far without breaking down too much. Although, I might fall off of them and break my neck someday.

If only there were platform flip flop things for my shoulders. That would be a new trick.

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Click here to see more writing between fiction and non-fiction by Ed Staskus.

Crack Corn Popcorn

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“If you don’t own a dog, at least one, there is not necessarily anything wrong with you, but there may be something wrong with your life.” Roger Caras

When Jimmy broke up with Lynn again it was because he told her that her addiction to pain medicines and her drinking weren’t any different than his smoking crack cocaine. So, he decided he was going to smoke crack on weekends, and that was that. When Jimmy gets it into his mind that that is that, that’s the way it goes. Lynn thought it was all too trashy for her, and they got into a fight.

“I’m never coming back,” he said at the end of the fight, and left. He walked out of the Florida mansion, gave his pick-up truck, which was her truck, back to her, and left with a suitcase, his phone, and his wallet.

“I dropped a truth bomb on her,” he said.

“I’m going to drop a truth bomb on you,” I said. “You’re homeless, you’re living out of your son’s pick-up truck, and you don’t have a job.”

“I’m trying to find work,” he said.

JJ and Alex, his sons, who are both in the Marines, have a house in Colorado. They invited him to visit them, with the intention of doing an intervention on their father. They didn’t say anything about it to him.

He got fucked up on the way, lost his phone, lost his wallet, lost his way, but somehow made it there. When he found out what they were up to, he got his hands on Alex’s pick-up truck, and beat it.

“How dare they pull that shit on me!” he said.

Trying to get Jimmy to do something he doesn’t want to do is like trying to dam up Niagara Falls with toothpicks.

“Oh, Jim,” I said.

“Don’t you take their side.”

He somehow made it to Georgia. He called me. He had gotten another phone, somehow.

“I’m coming up to Cleveland.”

“Why?”

He showed up a week later. He didn’t have any money. He stole his whole way up from the south to here. He would go into Walmarts, steal food and alcohol, go to gas stations, steal snacks, connive gas for his truck.

“I have a Home Depot gift card,” he said. “Can you buy it off me?”

“I guess so.”

“You know it’s stolen, don’t you?” Brian asked me.

“Oh.”

Jimmy steals stuff from big stores, returns it later on for a refund, and gets gift cards.

We met him for breakfast when he got into town.

“I don’t have any gas,” he said, wolfing down ham and eggs and coffee.

“I’ll fill your tank up,” said Brian.

He was hoping we would ask him to stay at our house. I could tell. I brought it up to Brian later at home. But, buying him breakfast and filling up his gas tank was as far as it was going to go.

“He’s not sitting on our sofa, much less staying at our house,” he said.

Jimmy called me again about buying the Home Depot card.

“How much is it?” I asked.

“It’s $186.00, but you can have it for a hundred.”

I knew it was throwing money away. We would never use it. It would just be something to help Jimmy out.

“I have to get out of Cleveland,” he said.

“Who did you piss off?”

“Nobody,” he said.

“Did you steal some drugs?”

“I just need to go,” he said.

“You are such an asshole.”

“All right, but are you going to buy this gift card, or not?”

“OK, I’ll come and get it. I just need to stop at an ATM.”

“No, I’ll come and get you,” he said.

Like an idiot, when he came over, I got into his truck with him. He went flying down Detroit Road and sideswiped a parked car. He didn’t stop. He just kept going.

“Stop the car,” I yelled.

“I’m sorry, Jewel,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Stop the car!”

The whole side of his son’s new, very nice pick-up, on the passenger side, where I was sitting, was bruised and dented and scratched up. There was food scattered everywhere.

I was pissed.

“Do you know you just smashed your kid’s truck? And you drove away. And you almost killed me.”

“I know, but I promise I’ll be good.”

“Did you steal all that food?” I asked.

“A guy’s gotta eat,” he said.

The next day, JJ called.

“Alex is in Cleveland,” he said. “He’s gone up there to get the truck back from our dad.”

“JJ, why didn’t you tell me he was coming? Jimmy was here yesterday, but now he’s gone.”

“We called him and said we were coming.”

“That was a mistake,” I said. “He’s gone to Canton.”

“Why Canton?”

“Because Alex isn’t in Canton, that’s why. He’s hiding from you.”

They finally found him by phone, and Alex went to see him. They met in Canton. But Jimmy parked the truck a couple of blocks away, so Alex wouldn’t see it and take it away from him. They talked, but Alex never got the truck back. He went back to Colorado and Jimmy went back to living in the pick-up.

Jimmy thought I had led Alex to him. He thought I was scheming with them to take the trucj away from him. He called me and called me every name in the book.

“Even though you do what you do to your kids?”

“That’s right,” he said.

“You treat them worse than junk yards treat their dogs. Have you ever even had a dog?”

“No,” he said

“The only way you’ll ever get that truck back is if you report it stolen,” I told JJ when I talked to him afterwards.

“No, I can’t do that,” he said. “My dad would go to jail if I did that.”

“Maybe that’s what he needs,” I said. “Maybe he needs to be in jail for a while.”

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Click here to see more writing between fiction and non-fiction by Ed Staskus.