Imbruvica Keeps Me Alive

When the docs finally realized back in 2017 why I was sick, they concluded I had a blood disorder that at the time didn’t require any treatment. As the symptoms continued and assumedly worsened, I was put on Imbruvica, a hard to get and very expensive drug.

Every morning I take a couple of pills. They cost $300 a pill, give or take a few shekels. A bottle costs $12,000 to $14,000 a month. Not sure how I can afford it; insurance, I guess. Lucky I am in remission, though I still have to take it.

Now the US Government is investigating the Chinese company that developed it or manufactured it or distributes it. They might even have a lab next to the one that developed the covid virus. Who knows?

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/04/15/health/wuxi-us-drugs-congress.html?searchResultPosition=1

At least President Biden is aware of the problem. He wants the price reduced. I sent him a note asking him to make sure all who need it get it, along with an album of my Imbruvica images. Have not heard back from him about my note or the photos. He has other things on his plate.

 

 

Blood Today

SO, you have to have a blood sample analyzed. Now, instead of going to a hospital or lab near all the other imaging and testing devices, they send you to a place once called a drug store, but now a place that sells everything and takes your blood. To get there, opportunities arise to buy, buy, buy.

Modern check in. Doc has forwarded by text or fax the order. Reservations made on line like getting a table in a restaurant. Identify yourself, verify your insurance and personal information.

Take a seat.

Liz Duckman

My cousin Liz just moved to an assisted living facility near us. We visited today, exchanged some health information and conversated. We were happy when we left, because we knew she was safer than when she lived by herself.

Just cannot do anything except be there, give her a little love and attention.

Della the cat, seen here getting ready to paw a shoe, keeps her company.

XRAY Today

It’s just another day in the hood for the aging. I go to Publix or I go to a doctor or a support service. Well there are other things, but not many outside the home, especially where we live.

So, they try to relax you with aquariums that have no fish.

Then, into the chamber with weird tools, ones not in your workshop.

A cute woman, trained to operate the camera and pose the subject, asks your name and date of birth and then a few stupid questions to make sure if you know why you are having this XRAY done. Stand here. Turn. Deep breath. Bang and it’s over. Another photog at work.

Then you get to leave, passing what impersonates for art and has no relationship to why you are there.

 

Staring Philodendron

No matter where you go these days, some eyes record your movements. Could be a plant, a tree, a shrub or a drone. Could be a neighbor who has read 1984. Or maybe your salad fixings.

No way to tell to whom they report, but someday, when you don’t pay attention, an image will pop up to remind you. So, be aware. Don’t do anything you wouldn’t do in public, because there isn’t such a thing anymore.

PASFLA at Loxahatchee

 

To be supportive of my camera club, I went on a birding trip at Loxahatchee. Everyone shoots birds down here, except me. I cannot carry the heavy equipment and don’t have the patience.

 

I  got one shot. Missed the bird eating. My expert advisers told me the hawk was digesting his food. By the time I got my cell phone out, he had finished.

 

So, I walked over to a spot I had selected to shoot a self portrait and these two people were birding. Karli was spotting and Russell was looking with the glass. They sat for a portrait, a memorable one  I hope. We had a nice time chatting and I got some practice in.

 

 

 

Navalny Dead

They get you. They get you. They get you. They crush you. They denude you. They diminish you, take away your dreams and livelihood. They make you want to give up. They make you want to kill yourself. They make you feel like you don’t make a difference any more. They make you hated. They rob you of your friends and family. You give up, especially if you have a loving wife and you leave. You relocate, try to start up again. Still alive. You feel you still have support, so you return. They lock you up. You keep talking. They imprison you. They torture you. They poison you. Then they kill you. They get you. And lie about it. BUT NOT YOU.

Sad. Sad. Sad. And you leave a mother, a wife and people who needed you to be alive. Hugs all around. They will kill some of them, too.

We needed you to be alive. All over the world you gave people strength to speak out, to resist. Everyone heard your voice. You HAD to go back. I understand.

Love you, bro.

Critics beware. Keep fighting. Expect to die or lose your life and livelihood.

I cry for you, my brother.

Navalny (shout his name) never gave up.

He left a mantra: Never give up.

Gene Joyner, Died

Eugene Joyner died. https://www.tillmanfuneralhome.com/obituaries/eugene-joyner

We did not know him, personally, just botanically. Interesting man. He had an interest in rain forests and botanical gardens. So, right in the outskirts of West Palm Beach he built a tropical rain forest, supported it with private contributions and filled it with plants he had picked up traveling around the world. I wrote about him on this blog previously on August 14, 2018. https://www.duckpondworks.com/?p=7237

On visiting the gardens, he was the personal tour guide, always enthusiastic, always informed. There were plants and trees and fruits, several different kinds of avocados. He had tables for eating and lectures, but that never seemed to work out.

Yesterday, we called to make reservations at the garden and learned of Gene’s death. The web page said today and tomorrow would be the last days the garden would be open.

I found the two images displayed here and printed them 11×17, and looked for more. In my haste, I missed a couple. But, so what? During the drive, Sharon Googled Gene and much to her surprise, she gasped, the search turned up a picture I had taken in 2017

We arrived, parked, amidst several cars, a sign many were coming to pay their last respects. I photographed the guide we had walked with in the past who was helping to park cars. Tears welled up in my eyes.”Go in and see his sisters,” she said.

I carried my camera and the two prints. As we approached the interior, a woman sorta shrieked, “…, you’re the photographer. Come over here. We looked all night to find these pictures you took.” She remembered me and honored me by having my images displayed.  And, there on the table were the two images I had taken, 8.5×11 in the original sleeves I had sent them.

Sharon and I walked around up and down familiar paths, the only difference being that this is winter. We remembered all the seasonal views. Soon, after the property is sold and developed, all the trees will be gone and deflowered. Town homes will fill the space. There will be no sweet smells or exotic plants.

Natures natural noise won’t ever be heard again. Order will reign.

Publix Sushi Maker

I don’t know his name, but I eat what he makes. I smile at him; he smiles back. If I don’t see what I want, I point or tell him. Whether he understands, I dunno. But our Publix puts out a credible Sushi and handroll product.

I have taken many images of workers at the store, printed and distributed them. Dunnot know what they do with them. A fruit cutter had hers on the wall for all to see. Usually supermarkets have the manager’s images posted near the service/complaint dest next to the founder’s. I give the workers equal status.