Tag: troubles

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We have to burn this apartment down

My unwanted houseguests

The below is why I didn’t post this past Sunday.

Her: Why do you think it happened all of a sudden?
Me: They were doing construction right next door for a year, and they just pulled out all their tools, junk, and equipment. I guarantee you that they were nesting there when alla sudden their home disappears and they scattered and went into the closest place.
Her: Our building?
Me: (nodding) Our building…and this apartment, evidently.

It was a pretty uneventful trip back home from my mom’s but I was beat and just wanted to crash.

As I walked into my apartment, past my kitchen, and glanced at my stove, I saw TWO furry heads looking back at me.

I froze. Mice. Two of them.

Both Alison and Sara were/are neat freaks and keep an immaculate house, which means that, in the 30 years I’ve been here, I’ve only ever seen 8-9 mice ever, but I’d never seen TWO before.

Not putting up any gross pics, so this entry will be fulla rando pics of NYC.

So, I quickly ran out of the house and looked for some traps.

Had to go to three stores before I picked up a bunch at my corner bodega.

Ran back and laid them out in my kitchen – but then a RAT (!) not a mouse ran past me, into my bedroom (!!) and disappeared into my bathroom.

This was my first rat sighting EVER in my home.

But I had two to contend with. So, I pretty much covered my kitchen and bathroom with traps.

I took a shower (yes, in that bathroom) and Sara and I went to bed but just as we were settling in, I heard some shrieking in my bathroom and ran to find one trapped.

Me: Holy cow, that was fast!
Her: (running in from the kitchen) LOGAN! I was getting a cup of tea and saw another one in the trap.
Me: There’s another one?!

I ran into the kitchen and, yup.

I quickly dispatched both of them, beyond relieved.

Me: Honestly, that was the best possible outcome.
Her: It’s still gross.
Me: Well, alls well that ends well.
Her: Did you put away the other traps you had out?
Me: Nah, I’ll do it tomorrow. I’m beat.

The next morning, Sara went to work before me, as she usually does, but she pounded on my door.

I groggily went to the kitchen, but Sara was already halfway out the door.

Her: (leaving) There’s another rat!

Except, she was wrong.

There wasn’t A rat there – there were TWO of them, each in their respective traps.

That means I went from zero rats in 30 years to FOUR rats in eight hours.

I took a deep breath and dispatched those as well.

I had just two traps left.

There can’t possibly be more, can there? I thought, before starting the long process of cleaning and sanitizing every inch of the kitchen and bathroom.

Spent the entire morning cleaning before taking a quick break at noon or so to make a cup of tea.

I went to my bedroom to doom scroll when I head the trap go off in the kitchen.

What the…?!

It was a fifth rat.

Her: (on phone) You’re kidding.
Me: Oh man, I wish…

That’s gotta be the last one, I thought.

So, I dispatched that one and continued to clean the entire kitchen again.

Sara came home and couldn’t believe there were FIVE rats but was happy it was over.

Her: We should move.
Me: (shrugging) If you’re buying, sure.

We settled into a quiet evening when she went to get a cup of tea, herself.

Her: (from kitchen) LOGAN! I almost touched it!
Me: (running in) Touched what?!
Her: ANOTHER RAT! It was sitting on the sink, and I went to wash my hands and almost touched it before it ran away.

That’s SIX rats if you’re keeping count.

That was enough for me.

A neighbor highly recommended this “great” exterminator to come the next day, so I did that.

We just ate out and kept all the doors closed – but the exterminator was 90 minutes late and didn’t bring the right tools.

He’d come back tomorrow, he said.

But he didn’t.

This is getting crazy long, so I’ll wrap it in the next entry.

Her: Clearly, we have to burn this apartment down.
Me: Clearly.

Location: a sparkling and ridonk clean kitchen
Mood: ex-haust-ed
Music: They don’t scurry when something bigger comes their way
 (Spotify)
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The courage of despair

Chapter 7 – Maneuvering

Recently got into a pretty bad argument with a business partner. It was bad.

He called me a few choice invectives, and I invited him to say them to my face when next met.

Went downhill from there.

He later apologized but I refused to take his apology, which was my shortcoming.

I lost the high ground when I refused to listen to him, and I realized that I was being a hypocrite because I’d been upset – for years – with a former friend for not even hearing my apology when I tried to give it once.

We managed to sort it all out, but I thought about it again recently when I heard about Trump’s attack on Iran.

One thing that I messed up with in my situation was that I cornered my business partner.

See, I was physically, legally, and ethically in a stronger position and he was not, at all.

But I overplayed my hand.

I left him no room to save face so all he could do would be to either dig in his heels or completely capitulate and acquiesce, which he wouldn’t be doing.

So, in the end, I had to reach out to him, which is what I did.

In Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, Chapter 7, Maneuvering, the general wrote:

When you surround an army, leave an outlet free… The object… is to make him believe that there is a road to safety and thus prevent his fighting with the courage of despair.

It makes sense, yeah?

Because every trapped animal instinctively knows, “Well, I’m trapped, I’m dead anyway, I might as well fight with everything I’ve got because…what have I got to lose?”

And so, any victory becomes a Pyrrhic victory.

That’s precisely where we are right now.

We have almost completely decimated Iran and have shown zero mercy – attacking without any notice or real provocation.

But the key word is almost.

They have enough left to drag this one for years and, even when things may seem quiet, continue the attack in ways we may not expect for years and decades to come.

We’ve boxed the Iranians in – and ourselves.

It’s the stupid, yet wholly obvious, result of an ill-conceived idea by stupid and wholly incompetent people.

All this to distract from the fact that my most gullible of fellow Americans voted for a pedophile.

Him: Are you ok, papa?
Me: What? Oh, I’m just reading.
Him: About what.
Me: (shaking head) Nuthin good. But also nuthin for you to worry about.

Location: the UPS store, being told that they can’t ship something – “Isn’t this what you guys do?”
Mood: exasperated
Music: Captain America’s been torn apart now (Spotify)
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Logan on Dad Bod

On being a dad in the city

Doing something a little different today.

Last month, I told you that I ran into a fella named Shawn that does a podcast called The Dad Bod, which isn’t actually about, well, dad bods per se but, rather, is about being a dad here in NYC.

In any case, we recorded an episode the other day and it just went up this past weekend so I thought you might like a little listen.

In it, I talk about raising the kid in the city, a lot more details about what happened that awful night in December of 2015 when Alison went to the ICU that I never told you about, the first several months after she and my dad died, and about this new life I’m trying to build with Sara and the kid.

It’s a little over an hour but I think that Shawn did a really great job here, maybe give it a go?

Location: home, recovering from the weekend, I’ll tell you about it in the next entry
Mood: enervated
Music: think that I could make it there someday (Spotify)
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Happy (?) New Year, 2026

A start is enough for now

Her: What are you thinking about?
Me: (sighing) 2015 into 2016 – ten years ago.

Another year’s passed.

When I was a kid, the new year was always filled with so much excitement and hope.

These days, it’s a lot less of that.

This was my room decades ago.

It’s pretty wild that it’s 2026.

I remember in 1999 how crazy it was that we were turning to a new century and millennium.

Over a quarter-of-a-century later, that seems like a distant memory.

In 2015, I had a pregnant wife I adored without end, both parents, a smoking hot career, and was in peak health.

And then, in a snap, it all turned to shit.

This was the view from Alison’s hospital room at midnight on 2015.12.31, exactly 10 years ago today. That was our wedding reception picture on the windowsill.

But I couldn’t even mourn all that I lost because I was suddenly legally, morally, and ethically responsible for another – tiny, helpless – human being for the first time in my life.

What happened the next few years was a lotta madness and haze that I’m still working through now.

On that New Year’s Eve between 2015 and 2016, I sat alone with my dying wife on the top floor of a hospital on the East River and had this exact view in the lounge area.

I remember how beautiful it all looked and, while terrified, still felt hopeful.

2016 into 2017, I felt a lot less hopeful.

In 2017, when I thought my life couldn’t get worse, it got so much worse.

And here I am in the start of 2026 with my son, who’s now old enough to be really interact with me, and Sara, who has been nothing but a gift since the moment I met her.

I struggle still with all of the darkness both in and surrounding me.

But I feel a bit more hopeful, now that I have the two of them as companions.

It’s not much, but it’s a start. And a start is enough for now.

Me: Happy new year!
Him: Happy new year, papa!

Location: an Indian restaurant, trying to warm up
Mood: hopeful(ish) and freezing
Music: Gotta find my way (Spotify)
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Hey, little guy

We love you so

We were all having dinner the other night when the kid asked me, “What happened the night I was born?”

I glitched.

I couldn’t really remember.

That’s not wholly unexpected because a lotta people experience difficulty recalling moments before a traumatic event causea stress hormones interfering with memory encoding.

And, just a few days after my kid was born, I got the worst possible news that I could ever imagine so if that’s not trauma, I dunno what is.

I walked up these stairs three days after Alison collapsed to stay with her. I’d gone home to shower, I think. Don’t really remember.

The thing is that this is part of why I take so many pictures.

Cause I know I’ll forget things if I don’t.

Unfortunately, there are three years of pictures that I almost never look at because they wreck me.

I took the least amount of pictures the year the kid was born because it was one tragedy after another – even before Alison got sick.

It’s why I stopped writing the blog during that time. It was all so sad.

And it only got worse.

Took a lot in 2017 for reasons I’ll tell you about someday, maybe.

For this entry, I looked back to see if there were any pictures I could use or memories it might jar but they were all horrible, so I bailed.

I literally have like four pictures that don’t make me wanna dry heave.

This is one of the few I have that don’t.

The kid is less than a week old in this. His mom had just been told she was sick. It was a shitshow. I don’t remember much of any of this, I’m just going by the timestamp.

Cancer is like the shitty gift that keeps on taking.

I’ve been thinking about my dad almost daily these days as well, for a buncha reasons that I’ll (also) probably tell you about onea these days.

I did remember one good thing, though.

Him: Well, do you remember what you first said to me?
Me: (nodding, smiling) Yeah, that I do. I said, “Hey, little guy. 爸爸媽媽好愛你. (Papa and mama love you so.)”

Location: another doctor’s office, being told my options
Mood: drenched
Music: thinking ’bout those days, these days (Spotify)
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Well, that didn’t work

A warming plate

Him: It’s like having a C-Section. Essentially, they cut you open from the front, remove all your insides and put it on a warming plate…
Me: A warming plate?!
Him: (nodding) A warming plate. Then they get to work on your spine. For me, it’s been lifechanging. I don’t even think about my back anymore.

Missed posting on Monday because it’s just been a bummer around here.

So, after a solid year of physical therapy, countless doctor’s visits, tons of medication, and – finally – that spinal epidural last week, I can say that there’s been zero improvement with my back whatsoever.

The thing about the shot is that it was/is the second-to-last option, with the last option being back surgery.

But even that gets complicated; a recent article that just came out late last month noted that about half of back surgeries didn’t do a thing.

And the surgery is no joke.

This past weekend, we went to hang out with the Surgeon and Steel and met a famous weatherman who had the back surgery.

He was one of the few people I know that had a successful one – pretty much everyone else has been struggling with back pain even after surgery.

It was disheartening, to say the least.

This was on top of the shot not doing a damn thing for me.

I’ve got a follow up with the shot doctor in about two weeks where he’ll give me some options but, so far, it’s not been encouraging.

On a positive note, however, my buddy is outta surgery, outta the ICU, and currently in a step-down unit before being discharged home.

Here’s to whatever small wins we can get, when we can get them.

Her: He had jello and a cup of tea before I left tonight.
Me: It’ll be a porterhouse and a glass of red in no time. Thanks for the update!

Location: a middle school, trying to figure out what to do
Mood: achy
Music: remind myself that I’m better than this (Spotify)
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More medical issues

A blessing nonetheless

A while back, my sister celebrated her birthday and gave the most lovely little nod to Alison, which I’ve always deeply appreciated.

She wrote something like, “People often complain about getting old. But after my sister-in-law passed at such a young age, I vowed I would never do that. It’s such a gift to get old and not everyone gets that chance.”

I think about that on the regular.

Getting old is a blessing.

A crappy blessing, but a blessing nonetheless.

Just found out that a dear and close friend of mine is in the hospital.

He’s an older fella but still very spry and active so it came as quite a shock.

Burst aneurysm.

It instantly brought me back to all those fucking nights in those goddamn hospitals – both for Alison and my dad.

But it looks like he’ll be ok, which I’m hoping is the case – we won’t know for sure for a few days.

That’s the thing about getting older: Even if you’re careful and lucky, you still spend far more time dealing with health issues than not.

On that note, I’ve been dealing with my own health issues. My herniated disc isn’t getting better – at all.

Doctor: The main issue is that your spinal canal is getting narrower.
Me: Is it because of my wrestling and fencing?
Him: (thinking) I don’t think so. If anything, your keeping active prevented this from being worse.
Me: What is it exactly?
Him: It’s the scoliosis I mentioned, and you have signs of deterioration and arthritis.
Me: Because I’m so active or…
Him: Oh no, just age. You’re 52 after all.
Me: So, I’ve been told.

To wit, after I went with the kid for over two hours to check out some middle schools today…

This pic is also not from today – they didn’t allow us to take pics.

…and after over a year of physical therapy and other things, I did the one thing left for me to do before surgery, which is a steroid injection into my spine.

Now, last week, I went to an office on the East Side twice to do alla the prep I needed to do and this afternoon, it was shot time.

I don’t have any pics from the procedure today – just forgot to take any.

But picture this: I’m lying face down on like a massage table with a cutout for my face in a FREEZING room with three young ladies.

I’m shirtless and my pants are pulled down most of the way with my rear end sticking up in the air.

Luckily for me, I have very little shame so, while it was odd and a bit disconcerting, it was ok for the most part.

Anywho, my chat with the doctor was pretty good too.

Him: So, when are you back from vacation?
Me: Oh, we’re not going for another month.
Him: Ah, good. So, I can see you in two weeks for a followup?
Me: Yup.
Him: OK. You know, I do all this small talk to distract you while we do the injection. And…done.
Me: Wait, you did it already?
Him: (laughing) Yup. Just keep lying there for a bit but you should be out the door in 10-15 minutes.

Considering how many medical procedures I’ve ever done or been part of, this was probably the best case scenario.

Afterwards, I was too beat to cook so I just took everyone out to eat at our fave neighborhood bistro.

Ende gut alles gut. / Alls well that ends well.

Whew.

What a day.

Location: a middle school, trying to figure out what to do
Mood: achy
Music: baby, don’t you think I’m looking older? (Spotify)
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Alison would have been 46

I’m able to pay, for now

A little while ago, the Professor dropped me a line.

Him: If you’ve seen the HBO series Westworld there’s a line where a female robot is about to get her mind wiped again – to spare her from feeling the pain of her child s death – and she cries out “Please, no – the pain is all I have left.” I thought that line was quite powerful.
Me: (sighing) Yeah. Thinking of Alison and my dad is always painful but it’s better than not feeling anything at all, I think. Sometimes, I think differently, but for now, I agree.

There was also a NY Times Article that my brother sent me that had a subtitle that read, If grief is the price of love, I am unable to pay.

For now, I’m able to pay it.

But, early on, I thought paying it would kill me.

As I age, it’s a bit less painful.

Time just dulls everything.

Yet, when I do feel it, man do I feel it.

But I’d much rather feel it than forget her.

Because pain is the price we pay for love.

And pain is all I have left of her.

Well, that and the boy.

Him: I wish I knew her better.
Me: Me too, kiddo. You woulda loved her.
Him: And she woulda loved me?
Me: Oh, kiddo, she absolutely did. And she’d be so thrilled with the person you’re becoming.

Location: 2017, at least, in my head
Mood: complicated
Music: don’t look back from a hurt like that (Spotify)
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Something about Mary (Elizabeth Sawyer)

Feeling it acutely

This little girl named Mary Elizabeth Sawyer was born in 1806 and she led a fairly unremarkable life except for two things:

    1. She had a little lamb, whose fleece was white – as white as snow, in fact. And this little lamb followed Mary everywhere.
    2. Her friend, John Roulstone, upon seeing this, was so amused, he wrote her a poem about it.
Image via Art and Picture Collection, The New York Public Library.

The poem went:

Mary had a little lamb;
Its fleece was white as snow;
And everywhere that Mary went,
The lamb was sure to go.

It followed her to school one day,
Which was against the rule;
It made the children laugh and play
To see a lamb at school.

And so the teacher turned it out;
But still it lingered near,
And waited patiently about
Till Mary did appear.

There’s some question as to the validity of all this, but I like to believe it.

See, almost everyone in America has heard about Mary, knew her situation, and remembered her little lamb that she loved so much, and that loved her so much.

But I’m struck that everyone forgot that Mary was a real person, with all her hopes and dreams, and people – and animals – that loved her deeply.

Even if the poem wasn’t actually Mary Elizabeth Sawyer, the hope is that Mary was a real person, and this was a real thing.

This coming week will be both Alison’s birthday and Mother’s Day.

Again and like always.

And the anniversary of her death is coming up as well.

Every May I struggle with the void that she left after she died.

As hard as that is, it’s even harder for the kid, who – year-after-year – feels the loss a touch more acutely than the previous year.

Moreover, I worry that she’ll just be a distant idea to him, like Mary.

Like, I picture her in my head like the picture above while I think that my son pictures her like the blurry main picture of this entry.

It’s her but it’s…blurry.

Then again, it’s always good to be remembered in some positive way.

Whether that be in a children’s rhyme or a blog that almost no one reads.

I’ll probably write more later, but I just wanted you to know that the Lo household was thinking about her this May, like we do every May.

And like I always do.

Him: Papa! Did you know that there’s a country called Burkina Faso? Isn’t that a cool name?
Me: It is! Did you know that mommy used to go there all the time?
Him: She did? Why?
Me: She worked for a place called Helen Keller and was always trying to help people. That’s one of the things that I always loved about her. She was always trying to help people – she was such a good person, kiddo. Maybe, when you grow up, you can help people like she did.
Him: I will!
Me: (nodding) She’d love that. She would have loved that. And you.

Location: home, worried about the weekend
Mood: concerned
Music: A few years had gone and come around (Spotify)
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5 Columbus Circle

Did you know that you have scoliosis?

Do you have any place or time that fills you with dread thinking about it?

For me, it’s 5 Columbus Circle here in Manhattan.

Always walked in with a fully developed sense of reality, only to leave disabused of that reality when I realize that what I think is true, isn’t true at all.

My first – positive, actually – example of this was way back in 2008, when I finally found out after months of waiting that I didn’t have testicular cancer.

Remember walking into that appointment fulla dread, and leaving feeling so light and relieved.

Then came alla the darkness there.

The first was in 2011, where Alison lost the first of six pregnancies.

Each one was awful for me, and soul-crushing for her – two were ectopic that required surgery.

It was not the last with her as she was there several more times.

Then, in 2012, I was told that I probably had a torn ACL there, which was confirmed.

I spent the next two years rehabing it (the picture in that entry is directly outside the building).

Then, in 2014, had another kinda spot of good-ish news when went in and was told that I needed to get a colonoscopy there but that turned out ok as well.

Between 2015 and 2017, Alison went there a number of times for tests and such for her cancer.

None of those experiences were good nor happy.

I hated even being near the place.

Two years ago, I walked in and was told that (a) I had massive bone spurs in my hand, and (b) I’d broken no less than seven of my ten fingers in my life.

And then earlier this week, I walked in after three months of trying to get x-rays and/or an MRI on my back and I was floored.

Like always, I was given a complete shock that shook my sense of self.

 

Her: OK, well you definitely don’t have cancer.
Me: (breathing in deeply) OK, that’s good but it sounds like there’s a “but” about to happen…
Her: (purses lips and nods slightly) Yes, well…did you know that you have scoliosis?
Me: What?! No, wait, I don’t have scoliosis.
Her: I’m afraid you do. Here, let me show you…

And she whipped out the x-rays you see above.

You can see the curve in my spine.

Evidently, I’ve had that my whole life.

BUT, because I’ve been working out my whole life, I never really noticed it – until recently, that is.

Me: Is that why I’m in so much pain? Like a few months ago, I could barely walk down the street when it rained.
Her: Partially. You have a lot of arthritis in your back as well, and you can see in the slide on the right where your disc slipped.
Me: Is there anything that can be done?
Her: Just PT, I’m afraid. The (main doctor) will get you a script for a much higher dose of celebrex than you’re on right now. (later) You have a lot of injuries.
Me: (shrugging) Just clumsy, I guess.

Like I said, I walked in with one sense of what my reality was and left wholly with another one.

At least I don’t have cancer.

That’s always a win, despite all the other discouraging news.

Location: home all day, nursing my back
Mood: blargh
Music: read the signs from your head to your toes (Spotify)
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