Spring cascades into summer and Blanche is still in the hospital. Our Saturdays together at St. Vincent’s have become our new weekly rendezvous.
THE goddamn FEVERS are now ever-present. Blanche says that since he’s fully acknowledged their existence and his dread of them, it’s as if they’ve been granted full permission to take over. I tell him he’s giving them too much power, and to stop. He sighs okay…
More tests. Blood cell counts fluctuating like crazy. Blanche’s liver is being attacked: His skin glows, an olive-hued yellow. Somehow he pulls it off. I assure him that he looks like a bronze-burnished young god. He ruefully replies: Yeah. More like a god-help-me.
He spends many hours propped amidst large, plastic crushed-ice packs. We don’t go downstairs to smoke much anymore, he’s so wiped out and by now there are just too many I.V.-things to finagle with at any given time. Too much of a hassle.
But we do a lot of talking. I learn that prior to Blanche’s hospitalization, he’s been regularly attending substance-abuse meetings at A.A. and N.A. He says he no longer has a choice - that if he doesn’t get sober and clean, he knows he’ll die sooner than later. I hadn’t realized how serious his self-abuse is, but apparently it has been extensive and long running.
One Saturday, Blanche is cranky and just not having it. He’s sick of this fucking hospital, he’s sick of the ice bags, he’s sick of being sick. He’s also very aggravated at a certain ‘friend’ of his who has not come to visit him once during his stint here at St. Vincent’s…
Blanche: “….and MISS THING LIVES a mere FEW BLOCKS AWAY. I suppose one finds out who their true friends ARE in this life, but REALLY!!! I am MORE than DEEPLY INJURED and I WON’T FORGET THIS. I can maybe FORGIVE, but I will most certainly NOT FORGET!”
It’s actually refreshing to see him getting a little charged up about something. There’s that hell-raiser I know so well!
Me: “Blanche, some people are just no good in crisis mode. They can’t function. It has nothing to do with you, it’s HIS problem.”
Blanche: “Yes, it’s his PROBLEM all right…”
Me: “…And his loss, too! I mean, honestly… of course I wish you were out of here by now, but when all is said and done, I’d STILL rather be spending this afternoon here with YOU than be practically anywhere else with anyone else. Screw that bitch!”
Blanche (with a tired little laugh): “Oh, honey – we both know you’re only saying that because it’s THE TRUTH, but thank you anyway.”
Me: “And speaking of friendships, Blanche…I was such a frigging bitch to you back when we first started working together. Do you remember?”
Blanche: “Do I REMEMBER? It’s how you got your NAME.”
Me: “Right! So why did you have so much patience with me? You wore me down until I couldn’t live without you. Why? Why did you zero in on me like that?”
Blanche thinks about it for a moment.
Blanche: “You know why? Because it’s the story of my life. I can be in a crowded room and EVERY SINGLE PERSON in that room might LOVE me. Except for ONE person. And winning that one person over becomes the only thing I can focus on.”
Me: “So I was a challenge.”
Blanche: “YES – you were like TAMING A VIPER.” He makes bug-eyes and monster teeth at me.
Me (shaking my head): “How lovely.”
Blanche (laughing affectionately): “Ooooh, Blanche. That’s not it, really. Maybe initially it was, but then I could see your heart and your goodness. Even tho’ you couldn’t see it yourself, I could see you had POTENTIAL. And see? I was right! Look at what a sweet Blanche I have now.”
I feel my lower lip trembling. Blanche looks weepy, too but we’re smiling at each other.
Blanche: “And ANYhow…I figured – anybody who writes a song called NIKKI’S TITS can’t be a PMS-ing, crabby bitch ALL of the time!”
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