Can't kill The White Bear

Alice in Chains.  "Can't Kill the Rooster."  Classic.

In the the spring and summer of this year, 2018, I've had my life and well being threatened more times, BY FAR, than in the rest of my life combined.   In more than in 6 1/2 years of taxi driving, which was the only time I actually had my life threatened very much by other human beings.  Well, there was that guy in the trailer park in Idaho who got a Section 8 out of the Army and would take random potshots at us when we rode our BMX bikes with his 30/30.  But he was mostly just a crazy drunk idiot.  And he never actually hit us.  Anyhow, why all the drama recently?  This blog.  Seriously.  I mean, does this blog seem like a huge threat to anyone?  Apparently, it is.

Some people in seemed to be pissed off that a homeless guy without a degree was blogging about the economy.  Hey, it's an interest of mine, and there is a serious recession in the works.  But the Central Banks are just keeping Wall Street high by pumping money out of nowhere into the economy, delaying the inevitable.  I'm not the only one writing about that.  But I have a few of my own ideas on the subject.  So that's one thing.

In Winston-Salem, where I spent the last year building my art into the beginnings of a small business, some of the local power structure got wind of my blog.  They seemed to be particularly pissed off by the fact that my blog got more page views, and organic web traffic, than most of the official sites in town.  Hey, I've been blogging since 2007, and I'm pretty good at this.  And I sat down and took the time to learn how to promote sites organically, EARN a following, and get steady readers.  It's not my fault they suck at social media.  You can't rig it.  You HAVE to actually put in the hours and learn and THEN, do the steady, day by day, work.  Listen to Seth Godin speeches and read his books.  Watch Gary Vaynerchuk content.  I literally told them where to turn to step up their game.  But that's not how cities in The South work.  Since the first black people were hauled to the colonies 300 or so years ago, the game in The South has been to rig the game in favor of a handful of the favored White guys.

To be fair, EVERY town and city everywhere is like this to some degree.  But it's definitely much more dramatic in the cities I've seen in North Carolina.  I pissed off the good 'ol boys, by accident, as I often seem to do.  And then they started the standard intimidation routine.  But it didn't work.  Even 8 or 10 guys, which is what it sounded like on May 14th, stomping around outside my tent, and actually verbally threatening to beat me with baseball bats, didn't work.  I just laid there, alone, unarmed, inside my tent, and told them, "OK, do it."  They didn't know what to do.  There's one thing Southern Good Ol' Boys aren't used to... COURAGE.  Since intimidation didn't work, on that occasion, or the many others, they just tried to put the screws to my little bit of income.  And give me a completely absurd sentence for my bullshit arrest for buying donuts.  But that's another story.

At that point, it occurred to me that I had no obligation to live in a region populated primarily by douchebags.  So I left.  One person didn't pay me the $120 for the drawing I did, as a commission for him, right before leaving.  That $120, is why I wound up in Richmond, and didn't get a bus straight to Chicago, where I planned to visit for a bit because of an offer of a place to stay for a short visit there.  I had money to get here, but no farther.

I landed here, in a city I've never been to, about three weeks ago, with a few clothes and art supplies.  I planned to get the rest of the bus fare, for the trip to Chicago, in a day or two.  I had almost no money.  That's basically the worst case scenario for becoming homeless.  No friends or family, no money, no knowledge of the city, like where to go, or where to avoid.  It's been PhD level street survival from night one.  Moment by moment, day by day, using what I've learned as a taxi driver and homeless guy over the years, I worked to earn the money needed, to first survive, and then to try and come up with the needed Greyhound fare.

Like nearly everything about homelessness, the worst part is not what most people think.  The crazy heat here has been the real killer.  It's been in the low 90's and high 80's and humid every day since I got here.  I heard yesterday it was 95 with a dew point of 76.  That's insane.  It wore me down.  It dehydrated me.  Then I got caught in the rain, and eventually got a leg infection called cellulitis.  My lower legs, especially the left, swelled up one night, and so did my foot, making walking hard for about three days.  On the third night, both legs were staying swollen, and were warm to the touch.  I've had cellulitis 4 times, twice they blamed the nasty MRSA infection.  It needs medical attention.  So I Googled hospitals in the area, and VCU Medcial Center, downtown, was right near a bus station.  I stumbled down there, hauling all my bags.  My heart rate, when first checked by the triage nurse, was astronomical.  I honestly didn't even know that high of a heart rate was possible to live through, even for athletes.  And I'm about 330 pounds right now.

I got called in, checked, they agreed it looked like cellulitis, did the blood work, and gave me an IV of antibiotics to get to work on the infection.  I kicked back, wondering if I'd be released in before 4am, so my All Day bus pass would still be good.  Wishful thinking.

The hospital decided to move me to an observation room, which, ironically, had a blacked out window on the door.  Never could figure that out.  I think I got three full IV bags full of the antibiotics.  I woke up pink.  Bad sign, that happened once before, and most likely meant I was allergic to the medicine.  They gave me a medicine I'd never had before, and yep, I was allergic to it.  And by then, since it took nearly a day to show up, I had a lot of it in me.

Over the next three days, I went from pink all over to red, like a sunburn red, and then to a deep, dark red with weird mottling.  I swelled up in all kinds of places.  I got admitted, shipped upstairs to a regular room, and had a continuing cast of doctors, nurses, and residents coming in and out, trying to figure it out, and how to get me through it.

My body dried up.  My mouth was full of gunk.  I lost my appetite and almost all strength and energy.  I wasn't in pain.  But the rash started to form wonderful little things called pustules.  Little tiny blisters on my back and under my arm.  That was not a good thing as I learned.  Dermatology was called in, and said it looked like ACEP: Acute Generalized Exanthematous Pustulosis.  If you ever want to disgust your friends, wait until they're eating, then search that term on Google images, and show the photos to them.

The doctors and nurses were all great.  I know it's a Med School hospital, but for some reason, most of the women working at VCU are freakin' gorgeous.  Sure that sounds cool.  But when a 26-year-old knockout doctor needs to look at the rash in your crotch, it's a lot more embarrassing than normal.  But I was so weak most of the time, it didn't matter that much.

The Derm team found some super cream that had to be rubbed all over me to try and break the rash, and it worked.  On day four or so, I started, slowly at first, getting better.   I think it was day four that I just barely had the strength and energy to walk to the bathroom and back.  This morning, three days later, I hiked about 2 1/2 miles carrying my 30 pounds of luggage in heat and humidity.  I was not supposed to do that.  But that's the dilemma of recovering while homeless.  Luckily, my strength came most of the way back over about 2 1/2 days.

How swollen was I?  For about three days, the top of my left hand, from the knuckles to the wrist, was a full inch thicker than it should be.  I couldn't make a fist because the skin was stretched so tight.  Other random parts of me were even more swollen, and deep, dark red.

I was really worried about where they would send me from the hospital.  The doctor team had a meeting about what to do with me yesterday morning.  And then I heard nothing.  There was some kind of crisis at the other end of my floor, which kept them busy.  I ended up getting my first Lyft ride to a homeless shelter in the middle of some sketchy-ass industrial district.  It offered 72 hours of shelter life, then I had to leave.  Since I communicate everyone by computer, and hadn't connected with friends or family in a week, I left, by choice, this morning, carrying all my bags, and trying to figure out where I was.  I've come to know a few small areas of Richmond, but not many.  I struggled to walk about ten blocks this morning, two or three at a time.  Much to my surprise, I found a McDonald's, which meant $1 drinks and wifi.  Even more to my surprise, I knew exactly where I was.  I scraped up a buck for a drink, and rehydrated the hell out of myself while catching up on Facebook messages.

Thanks for all the likes and comments this morning everyone.  This battle with the drug allergic reaction could have easily taken me out.  It really was that serious.  That's why my usual sarcasm about life is toned down in this post.  I've been given, yet another, bonus life, apparently.  I'll try to run with it and keep this blog, and my other work, worth checking out.  And if I've EVER written a post, a BMX story from back in the day, or whatever, that really connected with you, feel free to toast God, or whatever Force you believe in, with your favorite beverage, and listen to "Can't Kill the Rooster," and substitute "The White Bear." 

If that's too corny, just take a moment to look around where you are.  It can all end at any time.  Live today well.  Thanks for reading.  I'll do my best to keep putting out something worthwhile on a fairly regular basis.  I do plan to make it back to Southern California before too long.  We'll see what happens...

Yes, I realize it will be really ironic if I happen to die in the next month or so after writing this post.  If I do, it'll be because of the long term harassment and BS from the Religious Right and/or evanglicals.  They've been on my case for 16-17 years or more.