Again

I spent almost two hours on the phone with John Friday morning. Normally I would consider this a good thing. But this wasn't "normally." No, wait, it's becoming our normal. Let me explain.

We were supposed to spend my day off together. In person. For his birthday. We were going to have lunch at Italian Village. His choice. It's a venerable Chicago institution. I was enthusiastic about it because I haven't seen him -- literally -- in a year. Not since his last birthday. He completely forgot my November birthday until the last minute and then, with enhanced corona restrictions, we were unable to get together. Then he'd cancelled on me a couple of times because he couldn't make it. Literally couldn't. It turns out he'd been hoarding and meting out his meds and was doing a bad job of it. Even though he's diabetic and suffers from chronic heart disease, he hasn't seen a doctor since 2019. Because he never bothered to sign up for Medicare. Just writing these words makes me angry. A man with serious pre-existing conditions willingly went through a pandemic without healthcare. He claimed it was a money thing, but he managed to visit his "home away from home," aka the bar up the street, several times a week. 

He's been hobbling with a cane because he needs help to walk any distance. He tires that easily. He took hours-long naps every afternoon. He had trouble breathing. But, since he finally got his entire prescriptions filled, we thought those days were behind us. Even better, as of today, he's covered by Medicare and has an appointment with a cardiologist. So I thought the illness cancellations were behind us.

I thought we could celebrate his birthday, America's birthday, and the reopening of Chicago Friday afternoon. I thought we could share appetizers and enjoy our big plates of pasta in one of the Loop's classics. Then we were going to stroll (slowly) and check out what's happening as the city reawakens. Home by dark, all caught up, happy and filled with good food and friendship.

That was the plan. 

But Friday morning he cancelled. Again.

He was OK to talk on the phone, and he was working up to a trip to the grocery store. Three blocks away. He had to work up to that. Then he planned to go back to bed. He is spending his actual birthday (Saturday) alone by design. Sunday he's going to a "low-key get-together" at his "home away from home." Just a drink and a burger, on the house. I suppose I could join him, but trains will be running on a special schedule and, frankly, I'm not in a good mood and I don't trust John not to cancel that, too.

I am sad. I miss my friend. 

I am angry. He takes his own health and welfare so casually. I admit it, I'm in terrible shape. But I don't need a cane, I can stay awake and I am able to honor my commitments. How is he satisfied with living this way?

I am resentful. I didn't make any other plans for this weekend because I prepared to spend $150 or so (more counting the gift*) on John Friday. I thought it would be sensible to do my celebrating on Friday and then save the money I'd be spending on Ubers and drinks. Now I'm alone over July 4th. Thanks, John.

We have been friends for 40+ years. He is part of the fabric of my life. I love him. I hate what he is doing to himself. I hate how it affects me. I don't understand how he is content to live like this. I am very tired and sad.

 *It's a great gift, if I do say so myself. I had a set of coasters made specially for him, stamped with the name of his "home away from home." And I got him giftcards to DoorDash and GrubHub. I was going to tell him I wanted him to still be able to eat during the dogs days of summer when it's too hot to go out. I didn't know how prescient I was.