A Senior Evening
At Valentino’s, any entree can easily sate two gourmands. The price is right and the food is delicious. Walter, Julie, Sheila (my wife) and I meet once a month at this restaurant in Yonkers.
“What would you like to drink?” asked our waiter.
Sheila ordered an Apple Tucker, Julie, a Vodka Martini, Walter, a glass of Pinot Grigio. I passed, but asked Walter
“Walter, did you take the pills I gave you?”
“No.”
“What can two little pills do to you? They may help you sleep.”
“The WebMD website said they’re addictive. Although I’m up most of the night, I didn’t take them.”
When the drinks arrived, our waiter asked if we had decided on an appetizer.
Julie replied, “Let’s look at the menu.”
“Look at the menu? Look at the menu! cried Sheila. “It hasn’t changed since the 1980s when Danny came here with his colleagues on Open School Night.”
“OK,” said Julie. “We’ll have a salad for two.”
“Danny, with your Warfarin pills you can’t eat greens.”
“Do you take Warfarin, Walter?”
“No, I don’t have atrial fibrillation but I’m getting a bad reaction from the beta-blockers my doctor prescribed.”
“Julie entered the picture.
“What is atrial fibrillation, what is Warfarin and what are beta-blockers?” asked Julie.
After an explanation, we sounded as if we were deeply embedded, and then stepped out of a Merck Manual.
I have an announcement. After my cardiologist gave me an echocardiogram she said I was sluggish because it read 32 whatever that means. She said I need a new pacemaker which will stimulate my left ventricle and top it off with a defibrillator.
Quadruple bypass? Atrial fibrillation? Defibrillator? Warfarin? Beta-blockers. What’s next on the menu? Pills were what my parents took, not me. And, when did I ever think I’d grind out 83 years?
Out came the salad for two. There was enough greenery to feed a team of Clysdales. I lifted a salt and cholesterol-loaded wedge of Provolone cheese. A f0rbidden treat, but it was a small triangle. As the greens were being grazed, Walter raised his glass to announce,
“I stopped taking my beta-blockers.”
“Why?” asked Sheila..
“They make me feel shitty. I’m taking too many pills, so I decided to eliminate them.”
”How many pills are you taking?” Julie asked.
“I don’t know, but whatever I’m taking is too-much-taking.”
Julie added, “Well, I’m going to my doctor next week to check on my prostate.”
“The prostate? Danny had his removed in 1993.” whispered Sheila as if prostate was a dirty word.
Julie looked at me, “Did it help?”
“Did it help? A total failure,” I replied. “I have worn out the carpet from my side of the bed to the bathroom, and my back is killing me. I remember my botany professor saying that humans haven’t evolved as yet to walk comfortably on two feet. At this stage, we should be walking on all fours. Remember the comedian, Theodore? His opening line was, “Back, back to quadrupalism!” He was a man ahead of his time.”
With the prostate out of the way, I decided to make a keen observation.
“The pharmaceutical companies play games with us. One month the pill is yellow, the next month the same pill is pink. One month it’s shaped like a football, the next month it’s square. It’s as if the pill molds wear out and the company forgot their original shape and color.”
Sheila offered her medical expertise.
“Speaking of pills, Danny. Remember when I was crying all this week? I discovered that I mixed them up and didn’t take my anti-depressants.”
Walter let us know that he was going to see the top heart man at NYU Hospital next week. Why?” I asked.
“I’m so sluggish. Maybe he’ll come up with something.”
“I felt like that and my doctor prescribed Digoxin. The next day I felt much better. My mother took them and she lived to 94.”
“In the shape I’m in, I don’t want to get close to 94. Maybe tomorrow will be my 94.”
Our waiter cleared the glasses from our table then asked,
“Have you decided on your entrées?”
What are the specials?” asked Julie.
Meanwhile Danny asked Sheila to remind him to check whether his pacemaker is working with the monitoring company.