Dispatches from the Time of the Virus VI: The Stupid and Dangerous Are Strong with This One...and Many Others

Wear your masks and I'll stop with the selfies...

     Sometimes, when I recite events through dialogue, some people wonder how much embellishment occurs; I can guarantee that 98-100 percent of the dialogue quoted here is accurate/verbatim.

     Saturday, May 9, I picked up dinner for my lovely wife Val from a Vietnamese restaurant on Buffalo’s West Side on my way home from grocery shopping; I will not name it here because it was the victim of the following douche nozzle’s actions and did not cause/precipitate them.

     As I entered the restaurant, a sign in the now-deserted downstairs bar/serving area told people to go upstairs to pick up their meals; as I headed to the stairs, I could hear that someone was already up there. It turned out to be a man, about age 65, working for one of those food-delivery businesses, picking up two or three orders. He was talking to a staffer of the restaurant, so I stayed on the stairs to leave some distance; this turned out to be a good choice.

     “I know it wasn’t you people, but remember, the USA fought and beat the Japanese in the Pacific as well as Germany in Europe in World War II,” this genius said. “What I mean is that we need to fight this alleged virus. We need to fight and attack it, and not wear masks and gloves and stay separate and be afraid of it.”  He expounded on a few more similar topics, with lots of “you know?” tossed in. He then noted the orders he was picking up said they were for “John,” and that his name was “Joe,” and he proceeded to recite each order from memory to confirm that he was the proper person to pick up these deliveries.

     All the while, I kept hoping for him to just pick up the food and leave; when he did, just as I had feared, he was not wearing a mask. He noticed me for the first time, smiled, lowered his voice a bit and said, “Hey, how are you doing?” “FINE,” I spit back through gritted teeth, and I think he got the message, because he slinked against the wall and virtually ran out of the restaurant, probably not even hearing me call after him,” “Nice mask, idiot.”

     I’d like to write that I commiserated with the restaurant staff over this idiot, but it turns out that they forgot to check the online ordering account and hadn’t started Val’s dinner yet, so I went back downstairs for 5 minutes or so while they made it and I finally left for home.

Dispatches from the Time of the Virus V: I Guess You Call It a Rally When Your Cause Is This Far Behind

    

Is this a deep state effort to control your soap?

What if they held a rally, and, well, almost no one rallied?

     Friday, May 1, a Rally to Free New York, or some such nonsense, was scheduled and more or less held in downtown Buffalo, as well as other sites across New York State. The “rallies” were to protest that many businesses and other activities remain closed, or at least severely limited, due to the coronavirus/COVID-19 pandemic that has killed more than 60,000 Americans in two-three months. You know, how it is such an affront to the Constitutional and other rights to prevent people from participating in activities that might spread the virus and make themselves and other sick, like social distancing (staying 6 feet apart), keeping non-essential businesses closed, allowing restaurants to be open for carryout only and to make people wear facemasks in most public settings.

     The Buffalo rally was slated in front of the Rath Building, the main building of Erie County government and business, including the offices of the county executive, county comptroller and several large departments, including mine, the Erie County Department of Social Services. Conservative estimates would place about 1,000-1,500 county employees working in the 16-story Rath Building, which also contains its own Erie County Sheriff’s Office substation; hundreds, if not thousands, of citizens conduct business in this building each day under normal circumstances, but way less during this COVID-19 crisis. County Rath Building employees received an email several days before the rally, noting when and where it would be held and mentioning some of the basic setup changes and how to avoid the crowd (if one wanted to, I suppose). Prudently, the plans expected a large rally turnout and complications caused by it.

     Come Friday, a day I was on my alternating work schedule, and as I walked from my parking about 3/4 mile from the Rath Building, I took my usual long route and walked to the front of the building off Franklin Street, with both employee and public entrances, instead using the employee entrance off Pearl Street. Some barriers had already been put up in front of the now-closed public parking ramp under the Rath Building, as well as at the small staff parking ramp, and a group of guidance barriers, for lack of better term, were placed near the employee and public entrances to funnel pedestrian traffic approaching the building into organized areas. At that point, there were only some of the barriers up, and little change to the traffic pattern except that it was easier to get to the building by using then side steps than those directly in front of the doors. Workers continued arranging the barriers, making the lines of sorts leading to the building even more organized when I went on my lunch walk at about 1:20 PM.

     Melissa and I, the two people working on our alternating team/shift in the cashier’s office that day (out of the “normal” compliment of four workers and a supervisor), noticed that we had a damn good view of whatever would happen; our office is on the fourth floor, and our windows look directly over the site of the planned rally, the sidewalk and steps coming up from the sidewalk So, along with everything else, we were able to tell from the start how well this rally would or wouldn’t be attended, and pretty much knew that attendance would, to be kind, be on the low side. Neither of us spent even a minute going to the windows just to look, but the printer we use for the financial documents we need is located near the window on the left, the one most directly over the rally site. It gave us frequent opportunities for observations without having to detour from our work areas. Even at 2:30 PM, there were maybe 5 people walking back and forth the length of the block in front of our building; a few minutes later, as far as we could tell, the first group with pennants or banners and a pickup truck or two showed up. The signs and banners were disappointing; one pro-President Trump banner on a pole and a couple of handmade signs for him, with most of the preprinted signs a version or two of ”Don’t Tread on Me” or other Libertarian clown car supporting slogans. And yes, despite the fact there is no direct connection between opening up New York State or anywhere else and this, there were plenty of pro-Second Amendment signs. I realize that there are many of these protestors who use the Second Amendment (too often without having read or understood it) and possession of firearms, and the accompanying delusions of overthrowing the government or thinking they’re greater patriots than others, as personal inadequacy Viagra, making them, mostly males, feel stronger and more fulfilled in their empty but dangerous way. Also, with Governor Andrew Cuomo having helped develop and signing into law the NY SAFE Act, as well as smartly supporting measures to keep New York as closed and people home as much as possible to help fight the spread of COVID-19 and to flatten the disease’s growth curve, there was an anti-Cuomo flavor present..

    But pulling out the old tricks and adding them to new ones, to opposing staying at home and keeping nonessential businesses closed, apparently wasn’t enough to bring the alleged masses out of their homes and to downtown Buffalo, although enough of these reopening supporters don’t come downtown, or to the city, often anyway. At best, it appeared that about 50 ralliers showed up, as well as a few pickup trucks and vehicles circling the Rath Building. One truck referred to the governor as “Lord Cuomo,” always a reminder of how badly Cuomo defeated his GOP/rightwing opponents in gubernatorial elections, including Buffalo’s own idiotic jackbooter, Carl Paladino. I suppose it should be no surprise that I was only able to identify one person of color who did not appear to be a member of the media at the rally. If you notice that I am not overly detailing the rally, it is because pretty much little occurred, and even less of note. The sign waving was pretty average, and the chanting was, well, less than enchanting, A couple of efforts failed and sounded like almost rhythmic groaning, and the one chant that worked, and was used several times, was the oh, so original and biting “Cuomo sucks.” The vehicles supporting this rally drove around the Rath Building repeatedly, honking their horns almost nonstop; with the small number of vehicles participating, no more than 5 as far as I could tell, you got this laughable Doppler Effect of sorts as the horn blowing would come from one end of the street in front of the building, get louder as it got to the middle/our window, then start to subside as the vehicles got to the corner, had to circle around and return.

     By about 3:45 PM, the crowd seemed to lose interest, the anti-Cuomo chanting lessened and the drivers honked less; by 4 PM; people had started leaving, meaning those of us leaving work at 4:30 PM would miss out on a golden opportunity to meet and greet those douche nozzles allegedly protesting the inability to work by trying to disrupt those of us actually working. The number dropped to about 5 rally participants and they were drifting toward the nearest parking ramps. I left work at 4:30 PM out the back of the Rath Building, because that was the nearest exit to where my car was parked. There were six Erie County Sheriff’s deputies in uniform but not crowd control/riot gear in the small lobby area between the first doors and the outside doors, looking like they hadn’t had to do anything for a while.

     Yes, I seriously question the intelligence and compassion of people who apparently place the “reopening” of businesses above people’s health and mortality; no doubt people are being genuinely hurt by so many businesses being closed, but more than 70,000 deaths from COVID-19 across the US as I write this is a strong reason not to reopen anything too soon. Also, complaining about having to wear masks in public is just plain stupid and selfish; having to wear masks in public and in government buildings is not in violation of the U.S. Constitution, Just having to write the preceding sentences in this paragraph outrages me. Let’s be more thoughtful and compassionate of other people and make sure as many of us are alive to truly reopen Erie County, New York State and the USA.

     Final note: Several people have asked me if I took a photograph of this rally; no, I did not. I was working/on the clock for Erie County when it happened, and didn't feel I should do any such thing while working. 

Dispatches from the Time of the Virus IV: Wear Masks

    

The author on lunch walk, April 15, 2020

I’m furious.

     New York State Governor Andrew Cuomo issued an executive order earlier this week ordering people here to wear face masks when they are in public situations in which they are likely to come within 6 feet of other people, the standard distance to be kept through social distancing. I work in the Rath Building for the Erie County Department of Social Services; almost two weeks ago, County Executive Mark C. Poloncarz issued an executive order mandating workers entering and working in the Rath Building wear facemasks. Both of these are part of safety precautions to take due to the coronavirus/COVID-19 outbreak.

     But on my two public outings so far today, Saturday, April 18, one a two-block walk to pick up breakfast and the other a just more than 2-mile walk with our dog Harold, I witnessed an incredible lack of adherence and/or awareness of these orders and health/safety measures and no more than 50 percent of the people I encountered close by wearing masks. And by wearing masks, I mean either wearing masks or scarves, etc., fashioned as masks over their faces or even just around their neck, ready to be deployed. If people had them in their pockets, I wouldn’t know, and no one who may have made any attempt to put them on when I encountered them.

     Yes, due to my anal nature, I kept track of this on both walks, and so you know, I used the measure of about 10 feet from me, not 6 feet, because some people, like myself, try to put more distance between themselves and others at that moment. At 10 AM, I encountered 26 people as I walked just more than 2 blocks from home to Perks to pick up a telephone order. Of the 26 people, 13 were wearing masks, or 50 percent; 50 fucking percent. Of this, there were two most annoying groups, the first two Caucasians, a male and female, walking through four of us standing outside, all of us wearing masks and standing more than 6 feet from each other, waiting for orders (which were brought out to us by a masked employee), to go inside, unmasked. Just what I want, some entitled white people going unmasked into the small area Perks is using, not only where people are working and can’t leave but are preparing food. Second, what appeared to be a mother and her two young children, age about 18 months to 4 years, outside on their sidewalk, none wearing masks, as mom created inspirational COVID-19 oriented chalk art (some of which I have quoted elsewhere on social media) but not moving when other people approached them. I was walking on the same sidewalk, and on my way to get food I walked in the street, which I should not have had to do, to avoid the unmasked trio. They were gone when I walked home.

     On Harold and my walk, which took us down Norwood Avenue, Lexington Avenue, Ashland Avenue, Bidwell Parkway, Elmwood Avenue, Bryant Street and home, we encountered 65 people, only 31 of whom were wearing masks, or 47 percent. It was sad to see this even lower adherence rate on our kind of long walk, and there was one interesting short incident witnessed. We had just turned right onto Ashland Avenue off of Lexington Avenue when a man bicycled up to the dairy store there on Ashland, maskless, got off his bike and went in the door. He stopped partly inside as a voice inside asked him if he had a mask with him; he said no, he didn’t. The person then told him that he couldn’t come in without a mask. “What do you mean, I can’t come inside? I can’t make a purchase without a mask?” Yes, the person replied, you can’t come in or make a purchase here without one. As Harold and I passed by, the man then said, “Well, I don’t like New York State or what it is doing.” “Well, we don’t like idiots like you making life dangerous for us,” I said to no one in particular but apparently unheard by this man, who got on his bike and rode away.

     Look, people, this is one of the easiest steps to take to make things safer, even if a little bit, for all of us. If you are an adherent to the Libertarian/Ayn Rand clown car, that’s your choice, not mine, but you have no right to make my life more dangerous. I’ve been wearing a mask at work for about 3-4 weeks; we first received them in my part of the Erie County Department of Social Services about a month ago, and were first told we could ask clients to wear them if they appeared to have COVID-19 symptoms or were unhealthy. I immediately asked if we could wear them if we encountered unhealthy clients, and was told yes. My life was saved by medical professionals in late 2017, mainly at the Cleveland Clinic as well as by some here, and it included being on ventilators; I would be dead without them. I have no wish to be on one ever again and don’t wish that fate on anyone, so I support actions such as wearing masks at all times in public. Be safe, everyone.

Dispatches from the Time of the Virus III: Every Picture (Photograph) Tells a Story, Don't It?

     

As someone who has enjoyed and appreciated being able to take photographs that people interpret, discuss and use in some small way to make sense of life, I have been frustrated in trying to find photos that express the changes in everyday life due to the coronavirus/COVID-19 crisis.

     While my use of my iPhone 8 may place some limits on me, I also realize it is hard to take a photo that truly captures the changes in, say, downtown Buffalo, where, for those who are unaware, I work in the Rath Building for the Erie County Department of Social Services. As of this writing, I am deemed essential personnel and work at the office on an alternating schedule, Monday, Wednesday and Friday one week, Tuesday and Thursday the next week. Walking from where I park my car to work and walking on my lunch break, it is so obvious that traffic is down to the absolute minimum downtown, both for pedestrian and vehicular traffic, with the corresponding quiet. Problem is, a photo of how quiet and empty the streets are cannot be easily shown through my cell phone photos, or maybe otherwise, because you need me writing that this photo was taken at 8 AM or noon or 3 PM on a workday during certain weather to give it any context that would be different from a photo taken on a holiday or weekend. The same with a closed or empty restaurant or business, and maybe a photo of a virtually empty NFTA Metro Bus or light rail rapid transit with interspersed masked riders and staff, but no one wants to stop a bus or rail for me or anyone else to take a photograph.

     So, when I took this photograph Friday, March 28, at first I thought it was an amusing, if unplanned, play on words from Mardi Gras masks to the masks that at that time mainly medical personnel and first responders were wearing and shortages were only thought to be off in the future.  For the record, this photograph was taken of a storefront on Elmwood Avenue between West Ferry Street and Cleveland Avenue in Buffalo’s Elmwood Village. Obviously, the store closed in a bit of a hurry and days before Mardi Gars (Tuesday, March 25). I have spoken both about the above-mentioned issue with my lovely wife, Valerie Dunne, as well as about this specific photo; one of the many great things about being married to her is that she is a professional photographer. She encourages me to go with my intent and to be honest to the image and to try as hard as possible, even with the cell phone camera, to present a quality image that can tell the story. While I liked this image from the start, it took me a while to realize that this addressed several issues I’ve worried about and tells several parts of the story the more I look at it.

     While I am about to finish an installment of this series I started about a week ago (no, really) when this finally hit me, it hit me almost as hard as the first time I heard a Ramones song.

Dispatches from the Time of the Virus II: Fuck, Not Ivan

     It was scary to hear my wife Val yell to me in the kitchen from the living room at about 7:40 PM Sunday in a shocked tone, “Oh, no, hon; I just read Colleen’s post on Facebook. Ivan is in the hospital with coronavirus.”

     Ivan is Ivan Gonzalez, a friend for about 30-35 years who lives around the corner from us in Buffalo. He is an amazingly great guy; he absolutely loves his family, is a musician (I met him in Buffalo’s punk scene), Buffalo Public School teacher, hockey player, artist and one utterly hilarious guy who can be as caring as possible at one moment, as profane as you’d like at another.

     But this is not a fucking obituary about Ivan; as his wife Colleen posted, Ivan is in for the fight of his life against a strong and uncaring foe. Knowing Ivan, he is asking us more to do what we need to do for ourselves than to think about him, but indeed, we need to think about Ivan, Colleen and their family. We need to start seriously following social distancing if we already aren’t; we need to stay home unless it is necessary to be out. Wash your hands and wash your hands again; using fucking wipes or sanitizer whenever you get the chance, We need to fight this fucking coronavirus or COVID-19, stop trying to blame another country, region or whatever for it and to believe in and fund the science.

     We need to care about and do everything we can for people with coronavirus and their families, much more and much sooner than we did for people who suffered from AIDS/HIV. We also need to support the individual families who need physical, financial, spiritual and emotional support. And finally, whether or not some want to think about it, we need to think about what we do in the voting booth this November (and earlier in some places) and damn well vote out the president and his minions and those who have let this country be susceptible to this virus.

     God damn it, I am getting sick of writing obituaries, so let’s do everything we can not to have to write Ivan’s or anyone else’s obit.

Dispatches from the Time of the Virus I: Changes, Delays, Stupidity, Fears But Trying to Avoid Loathing

     The March 15, 2020, edition of the Buffalo News headlined that 3 cases of coronavirus/COVID-19 had been confirmed in Erie County; as of NY Governor Andrew Cuomo’s 11 AM Monday, March 23, 2020, news conference, 87 cases had been reported here. Who knows how much faster the virus will be contracted and detected in Buffalo and Erie County, or how bad the outbreak will be here or nationwide?

     I started working on these targeted installments to The Hosey Report with a new title/subtitle. “Dispatches from the Time of the Virus,” about a week ago. My first one was written, a bit more than 1,000 words, but I wasn’t satisfied and decided to sleep on it. My attempted revisions didn’t work, and I junked the first version altogether, and will use some of it, rather revised, here. That things are changing on the coronavirus front so fast outdated much of the first attempt. Life has given me some unique experiences and views into this virus and situation we live in, prompting these installments. There is so much that I want to write about that it couldn’t and shouldn’t be given an all-in-one approach.

     I won’t write a bio, but a bit about me will help. I worked as a newspaper reporter and editor for more than 18 years and have been a freelance writer for about 35 years. I started working for Erie County in 2004, first for the Erie County Legislature Democratic Caucus (eventually director of communications) and I have worked in the Department of Social Services (hereby ECDSS) since 2014. My wife, photographer Valerie Dunne, works in tech support, and we live on Buffalo’s West Side/Elmwood Village with our dog, Harold. In case you don’t know, my wife Val was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis more than 25 years ago, and among its traits are the immune system going haywire and attacking parts of the nervous system. I suffered a heart attack in October 2017, a torn aorta was found when I was about to undergo surgery, and I underwent massive open-heart surgery at the Cleveland Clinic in November 2017. I may be susceptible to germs more than before and I really don’t want to find out the hard way. So, unnecessary exposure or higher risk of exposure to the coronavirus could be life threatening to us.

     When I first started writing this, a state of emergency had just been declared in Erie County by County Executive Mark C. Poloncarz, someone I have and do support as a candidate, officeholder and friend. His hard work, communication skills and proper serious attitude have been a great help. In a few days, we went from a 50 percent workforce reduction in the private and public/government sectors to 100 percent noon-essential private sector and 50-75 percent in the government/public sector. FYI, my job is classified as essential and I am on-call, as well as work a reduced scheduled of M-W-F one week, T-TH one week, alternating with the rest of our office and department. While restrictions on who can come to the Rath Building, where my office is, we are still seeing more than the absolute necessary clients, some making monthly loan repayments; we aren’t quite certain how they get into the building, and we do service them (more explained soon). We also distribute transportation to certain required clients/audiences, but that has fallen off to a few extreme cases.

     But there are always opportunities for stupidity and hubris, at the very least, during the coronavirus crisis. On Sunday, March 15, while walking Harold through parts of Buffalo’s West Side and Allentown, avoiding proximity to dog walkers and others, we noticed a larger than expected or than healthy number of people, mainly younger adults, walking towards the area of Buffalo, on and near Delaware Avenue and Elmwood Avenue, where the usual St. Patrick’s Day Parade and parties were held. The main and second parade in South Buffalo had already been canceled, but this did not stop hundreds of people heading to the area and partying as if nothing was happening out of the ordinary and as if social distancing and virus transmission avoidance was for wusses. Eventually, an uproar at least shamed some of the participants, including the bars and other businesses involved, but too many people still are not taking this seriously. These are not normal times, and personally, except for dog walking, grocery shopping, work and pharmacy stops, I am not leaving the house. Fortunately, I can alter the dog walk times to those when fewer people are around. But it remains so fucking annoying how too many people are not taking things serious and not only risking their own health, but those of others. The easy ways to help fight the spread of this virus aren’t even on too many people’s radar screens and aren’t even identified as targets when seen.

     If people can’t take these small, easy steps to help confront a virus that has already killed thousands in China and Italy and at least hundreds in the USA, what are these same people expected to do when much harder decisions need to be made and much more urgent action needs to be taken? The acquisition and distribution of health care, food and other resources are profound issues too many of these people haven’t shown that they can be trusted to understand or make decisions about, Hell, social distancing is too hard a concept to grasp, no doubt in part because it also entails some social responsibility. It seems a large part of a generation is sadly turning into mini-Donald Trumps in certain ways; maybe coronavirus is their Vietnam, of which they, too, are trying to avoid responsibility. Way too many WNYers are that stupid, oblivious or willing to take risks with their and other people’s health.

     I’ll conclude with a story from grocery shopping at Wegmans on Amherst Street in Buffalo March 14. It was my first day of grocery shopping since the rushes on toilet paper, sanitizer and sanitizing hand wipes, milk, etc., had occurred. Thankfully, if you’ll excuse the pun, I’m rather anal about keeping a sufficient supply of toilet paper at home, so I had no need to buy any that day. The toilet paper, napkins and paper towels are in the last aisle from the front door area, and I’m one of those mission-oriented shoppers who goes down pretty much every aisle, from right to left, to do my shopping. I wasn’t planning on even trying to get any paper products, but I felt the need to see it for myself. As I neared the one end of that aisle, a man of African descent walked from it with a basket containing several items but no paper products. I was about 15 feet away from him and said I had to just take a look at the aisle; the side with toilet paper and paper towels was emptier than the president’s heart.

     The man smiled, then said to me in a voice that gave away an accent sounding like he was probably originally from Africa, “You Americans. This is, how do you say, a respiratory virus I believe, but you buy all this toilet paper and all these other things. But here we are, right next to the beer area, and look at all of it; no one is staying home and drinking beer.” I smiled, laughed and was kind of stunned at the clarity of his point, and stammered something about not enough Americans are educated, listening or want to believe in the worse cases. He smiled, shook his head, repeated “You Americans…” and waved goodbye. I hope we both survive this to talk more about his observations.

     The painters paint, the sculptors sculpt, the singers sing, the photographers photograph/portray, the actors act/recite, the musicians play/perform, and for me, the writers write, and we artists must try to make sense of life, whether joy, tragedy or anything else, including coronavirius/COVID-19. So you will read more from me very soon.

I Saw a Picture of You...

    Once again, I am moved to write about death, and once again, to no surprise but definite outrage, it involves that bastard, cancer. Specifically, I am writing of my work colleague and friend, Lynn Martens, who died after a long fight with cancer a couple of weeks ago.

     I first knew Lynn in professional terms shortly after I started working for the Erie County Department of Social Services in July 2014; I am the cashier in the accounting division, while Lynn was a senior investigator in Social Services’ Special Investigations Division (collections, etc.). Lynn was friendly if quiet when I first met her, mainly through the telephone contacts we had, and always polite, well informed, hard working and way more than competent. In a position that required her to answer concerns from our office that we were often unable to access the proper information to handle, were not authorized to handle or never thought to be trained to handle as well as present us with financial items sent directly to her that were often complicated if not messed up, her approach and attitudes were pretty much always on target.

     She also began being the person from her department who would visit our office every afternoon to deliver checks and other financial information and to pick up similar items for her division to research and probably resolve, as well as answer unexpected questions and concerns. Between these visits and us seeing more of what her job entailed and her seeing more of what our jobs entailed, we got to be friends and often joked about situations each department encountered.

     Unfortunately, in 2017, Lynn started telling me about not feeling well and her health situation worsening. She never said the word “cancer” directly to me for a while, but described treatments and ailments that would lead many people, and especially me, the son of a more than 20-year cancer survivor at that time, to easily deduce that she meant cancer. That summer, she told some of us that she as taking a medical leave of absence for surgery, radiation and chemotherapy treatment, leaving no question about her health issue. We wished her well and I told her I looked forward to her return, something she said would take months but she was committed to doing.

     During this time, in October 2017, I suffered my heart attack and in November 2017 underwent lifesaving, massive open-heart surgery at the Cleveland Clinic. I returned to work in January 2018, and Lynn returned a few weeks later. I was still a bit pale and very thin (losing more than 40 pounds and eventually gaining about 20 of them back), and Lynn was a bit thin, pale and had lost most if not all of her hair and wore hats and head pieces of varying styles. She had heard of my health travails, so we immediately hit it off again and in new ways, both of us realizing that certain situations and issues just weren’t worth worrying about or paying much attention to and that we were sharing a survivors’ bond. We easily spoke of times and events that pointed to us being at the deciding point, between living and dying, and how we were doing absolutely as much as we could to assist in our doctors’ efforts to help us stay alive. Topics included such things you can’t talk to just anyone about such as trying to sleep the night before life saving or fatal surgery, what do you say to your spouse before they leave before you go under anesthesia for surgery, trying to figure out how to truly pace yourself during recovery, always fearing that something could go wrong even after surgery, trying to figure out when something was simply an old or new pain or if it was a symptom of something worse, and how to explain so much of this to people never in your situation, or even if you should try. We both expressed how fortunate we were to have great support from our spouses and families (my wife, Val Dunne, and my medical team are the reasons I am still here, and my sister Heather lent inestimable support and love).

     We both continued to recover and gain back weight, color and strength, at least for a while. Lynn plateaued a bit, never gaining her strength back as well as I did, and she never seemed to be 100 percent rid of cancer symptoms. Her hair grew back a bit more, but never as long as her not-too-long style in the past. A few months later, as we felt the dread that her cancer was returning, it did. Lynn decided she needed to give more time and health to her continuing battle with cancer, and because she had worked for the county more than long enough, she put in her retirement papers. We talked about her next fight and how she came back and recovered the first time, but she didn’t put as much faith behind a recovery this time, hoping she could make certain goals and warning me not to get my hopes up too high about her. This was an absolute punch to the gut, but I kept up as much of a positive feedback approach as possible. She announced this a few weeks before her actual leaving, which I thought would give me enough time to come up with something to say that wouldn’t be cloying or kind of betraying the honesty in which Lynn and I had discussed medical matters.

     But when that day arrived, the words hadn’t really come to me, but I tried. I wanted to say something that reflected our serious and medically personal talks, but nothing grim or unnecessarily sad. Of course, I also wanted them to be honest and intelligent; in other words, while I didn’t want them to sound like it, something proper to say to a friend who may very well be dying and who you may never see again. It’s not like there is any AP Stylebook, Elements of Style or other guides to this situation, only humanity and attempted grace, something to strive for regardless our chance of success.

     As always, Lynn was conscientious and conducted her business first, which I decided to handle from our department’s side, even though anyone in the office could have. I could tell people were watching and listening to us while trying not to look like they were doing so, as everyone knew Lynn was retiring for health reasons, although not everyone yet knew the extent of her cancer’s progress. As it was time for her to leave and actually finish some work on her last shift, I looked at her through the thick plastic windows of the counter at which she stood. In a voice cracking a bit, I told her, “let’s not make this farewell. Let’s make this the last thing I say to you for now and we’ll talk again down the road.” It was hard to say not only because the situation was making my voice crack, but also because I could see tears in Lynn’s eyes. We both knew that this was almost definitely farewell and that there really was no chance we would get to talk in this life again, but one thing I learned during my health crisis and have learned from Val’s continuing health battles is that there needs to be, there must be, hope. Regardless how bad Lynn’s cancer was, regardless how bad my heart situation was, you can’t take hope away from someone. Hope may not be a medication or procedure, but it can be just as powerful when you want or need someone to keep fighting or to want to keep fighting and searching for a cure or something to delay that fucking bastard death. I couldn’t give Lynn medication, I couldn’t perform a procedure, I couldn’t remove a tumor, but I sure as hell wouldn’t steal away any last hope of recovery or even extended life; I was not going to toss any proverbial shovels of dirt on her grave while she was still standing and fighting, if even just by living. Anyway, she smiled, knowing my discomfort as well as the reality she was living, and quietly said, “sure, this won’t be goodbye, not as long as I can help it.” She quietly walked away, and I walked back to my desk and buried myself in some computer work; we have neither cubicles nor walls in our office, so there is basically no privacy in the office.

     Several months later, a couple of weeks ago, we heard that Lynn was on the last part of her final journey and she died two days later, a little more than a month ago. A week or so after that, I saw her death notice in the Buffalo News, with a small photograph of her, healthy and smiling. That is how I am going to remember Lynn, happy and enjoying life, but also recalling how she helped me find a way through the toughest part of mine.

     The similarities in the timing of our medical crises, how we handled them and could talk about it and one of us dying while the other one lives and gets healthier is something I frequently run through my head. It doesn’t matter whether or not it is healthy or useful, I feel survivor’s guilt in this and other situations. Why did my critical health situation result in what medical professionals at the Cleveland Clinic called a miracle (actually two, my arriving there alive and my surviving the surgery) and my continued survival, while Lynn’s critical health situation led to a temporary recovery, an unfortunate recurrence of her cancer and, despite and all-out fight, her death?  Indeed, there have been too many recent deaths among my family and friends for me not to feel this way, no matter if there is any real sense of relevancy to it; survivor’s guilt manifests itself in many ways. Cancer in particular has taken too many family members and friends who Val and I consider family, My much too-young and always full of life niece Colleen Hosey Tucker died of cancer in her 30s in the last year, leaving a husband Michael and daughter Jessica; our very good friend Elayna Ratchford Buyer died after beating back cancer in previous bouts, leaving her husband, my longtime college friend Michael Buyer; Jill Manias, not only mother of our great friend Alex Manias but an incredible friend to Val and I as well, lost her battle with cancer, also leaving her husband, another wonderful person, Giles. Within the last couple of years or so, we lost a great friend who touched so many people in great ways and was an absolute lover and supporter of music, Susan Tanner, who is survived by her husband and another great friend, Marty Boratin. Sadly, this is no doubt a partial list. While she was a more than 20-year cancer survivor, the death of my loving mother, Sheila Connelly Hosey, in June, two days shy of her 89^th birthday, has left assorted mental scars I’ll be peeling sway for years. As with Lynn’s health situation, I sometimes compare mine to these relatives and friends, wondering why I at least temporarily escaped the grim reaper and have this second chance at life.

     Fortunately, I do have some people I can genuinely and explicitly discuss these things with, starting with my incredible wife Valerie Dunne. We have been friends since 1985, started dating in 2000 and were married in 2002, and she has been and is the confidant, supporter, friend, lover and spouse I could only have dreamed to have had. She has been with me every step of the way, including the darkest ones such as being discharged from a local hospital to home without a referral to anywhere else after my surgery could not be done because of the detection of a torn aorta by my anesthesiologist. She never left my side as we traveled to the Cleveland Clinic for my declaration as being a “miracle” for getting there alive and for surviving my massive open-heart surgery. I’ve told her how amazing it was to see her every day before and after the surgery, especially when I slowly came out of the anesthesia that knocked me out for more than a day. My wonderful late father, Edward, was a quiet, sometimes seemingly secretive man, much of it from his military intelligence training as well as nature; I sometimes would act the same in the past, while normally being much more open. With Val, I can be 100 percent open, discuss my worst fears and confusion and always receive honest, thoughtful, supportive insight. For those who aren’t aware, Val has lived with and fought multiple sclerosis for more than 25 years, so she has certain insight into many of the concerns I have come to more recently, and I am a grateful listener. Because of the caregiver side of me, I have had some great, supportive, eye opening discussions with a friend, Sherry Brinser-Day, who knows about much of what I went through and the many thoughts and feelings I have as a survivor and caregiver because she is the so far successful wife of a heart transplant recipient and is also a successful mother, social services style worker and until recently, roller derby skater (and herself has survived medical crisis). There are some things we feel and do and try to handle that another person not experienced in these areas may not understand or take in a manner not intended. One of our most interesting discussions was how we both realize we don’t always take care of ourselves and our needs as best we should, almost feeling guilty or selfish if we do something for ourselves when we feel we could be doing it for our spouse or her children. It’s not that we necessarily feel trapped or even strongly obligated to act this way so often, but we do feel a responsibility as well as a real joy at helping someone like our spouses be their best when possible and to give then as much independence as possible (certainly my lovely wife Val has much of that and I don’t want to take too much responsibility for all of her accomplishments).

    I realize that the survivor’s guilt will continue to be something I deal with on several levels. I will always wonder why I made it to the Cleveland Clinic in time, before my heart attack and other issues were so much worse or had even killed me, while other people never got that chance. I am eternally grateful for the lifesaving medical and personal care I received there and every moment I have had since my surgery there with Val, Harold, family, friends, colleagues, writing and music. I hope I honor those who didn’t get the opportunity I had, the miracle as it were, to continue living, creating, loving and even feeling pain, annoyance and loss. Speaking to other friends and family who have undergone these and similar medical situations, and to some friends who have survived combat, I realize that the time I have lived since the surgery and any further time I have is pretty much bonus time, is kind of playing with house money, and I intend to play as long as that bank remains. I also feel I owe it to people who did not get the chance I had, who succumbed to their heart ailments, cancer, diabetes, emphysema, vehicle accidents, violence, accidents, Alzheimer’s and other conditions, to make my life, my living worthwhile and worthy of their memory and efforts. People like Lynn, like Elayna, Colleen, Susan, Jill, Joseph Natale, Tim Moran and others showed me how to live and sadly how to die with dignity and purpose, and I owe them the respect and love of living a good life, a vital life.

     I sit here writing at my computer in the chair and at the desk I was at October 21, 2017, when I suffered my heart attack; if I look down, I can see the start of my scar, my “zipper,” from my open heart surgery. I have Harold laying at my feet and I can hear Val working in the studio. I don’t need any more reminders of how fortunate I am or of how much others have lost.