We Revisit the Guy who was in the movie with another guy

This is one of my favorite conversations, because he actually brings it up once in a while and laughs about it still.

You know that movie with that guy who does that thing?

DG is watching "Red Tails". I told him I liked that movie back when it was called "The Tuskeegee Airmen". He said: "Har-har."

But this is what just happened.

DG: "That guy is in this movie."

Me: "What guy?"

DG: "That guy... you know the... that guy... Designing Women?"

Me: "Which one?" (I knew who he was talking about, but I wanted him to say it).

DG: "The one who married that lady." (he sort of stumbled over the word "major" here).

Me: "Major Dad?"

DG: "Yes!"

Me: "Gerald MacRaney. I get it, he's in this." (I have to go because I have stuff to do, so I was trying to walk away and he kept talking).

DG: "He's a colonel in this." He looked at me all smug for some reason and said: "One star."

I stared at him. He stared back. I narrowed my eyes slightly. He repeated: "One star. You know... just one." (He nodded, so sure of himself. I still don't know why, it wasn't like we don't know military rank. We're both Army brats).

I narrowed my eyes a little more. "One star?"

DG: "Yeah, you know [motioned to his shoulder]- one star."

Me: "He's a one-star... Colonel?"

DG: "What?"

Me: "You said he was a colonel and that he had one star."

DG: "I did not. Did I?"

Me: "You did. I was waiting on you to catch it."

DG: "I wasn't listening to myself. [he pointed at his head as he said that]. I must be SPECIAL!" Then he sighed heavily. "I don't know what's wrong with me..."

It's a pretty good movie. You should see it.

Wrong words, Extra words, Words!

The whole point to the "Conversations" thing is that I'm sharing the humor with you. Sometimes, DG's disability makes him say the goofiest shit. Sometimes he's so funny, we drag it out by asking followup questions ("Rats with little Nike shoes") and sometimes, he just randomly inserts words that make no sense to the situation. That's all part of his disability. And, I only post the conversations and videos that he approves of. I would never make fun of him unless he was in on the joke.

Sometimes his disability makes him say the absolute wrong words- like the time the kids were running around and making noise (they were much younger). He was trying to get them to sit down and watch a movie. So, instead of coming out as a stern: "Sit down and be quiet!", in the same stern-father voice, he declared there was a steering wheel in the coffee table. We didn't have a coffee table at the time.

And sometimes, the disability makes him say extra words that eventually get to the point, when anyone else would have simply gotten to the point. ("You know that guy...")

Years ago, I had a Rottweiler puppy. He was the greatest dog in the world. I read several Rottie books before I brought him home, because I never owned a dog like that before. His name was Kodiak. I still miss him. I shouldn't have worried about training him. That dog was so brilliantly smart that he balanced my checkbook when he was just four months old. (that might not be a true story). So, I trained him with simple, one-word commands. "Sit", "stay", "down", "up"... easy.

Then came the time to train the disabled guy. Sit became: "Sit down". Stay became: "Stay there". "Lay down", "get up"... Luckily, the dog was killer smart and figured it out pretty quickly. But, even with simple one-word commands, the disabled guy's brain just added on extra words.

Today, he's outside fixing a bird feeder. Its a round one, with a plastic tube and a rounded wood-shingled topper on it. Well, it has seen better days. The bottom was almost completely rotted off. So he cut up some scrap wood and made a new round bottom for it. Except now he can't get the top to thread the cable back through. He asked me for help. While were standing there, trying to cram that cable back through the opening that was now half-blocked with rotting wood from the rounded topper, I asked why couldn't he just make a new topper that wasn't all rotted.

With what, he wondered. I threw around suggestions- how about that broken plastic plant pot? Take that bottom thing off, run that cable through, bam, done! No? Then how about you make a roof like on that other birdhouse, run the cable through, bam, done! That other bird feeder is rectangle-shaped and has a straight peaked roof. Can't do it, he says. Its round, that's rectangle. So, I said, you made this (the round bottom), make another one, drill two holes in it for the cable to feed through into the bird feeder frame below and bam, done!

DG: "Huh... that might actually work."

Me: "I know. Tell me I'm smart."

DG: "You're smart."

Me: "Tell me I'm inventive."

DG: "You're so inventive."

Me: "Tell me I'm pretty."

DG: "You're pretty enough." and there was a split second where he paused and then burst out laughing.

Me: "You couldn't say that again if you tried."

DG: "No, I can't!"

At least I didn't have to traipse through a maze of words to figure out what he was saying.

The Disabled Guy and paper underpants

Last month sometime, we got a packet of forms from the State of Wisconsin. That makes it a bit convenient since we live in Wisconsin. The forms were long and a little complicated. I told DG about it, since we'd have to do them together (some of it required knowing how he felt at that particular moment and such). Then we sort of forgot. A week later, we got a reminder letter, gently nudging us to send the forms back.

Instead, I called the number they included so I could ask some questions before we dove into the ridiculous mess. I dialed the number, then at the prompt, the extension. Then I got the voicemail message of the person who sent the letter, stating the typical "can't take your call because I'm on another line or away from my desk"... I left the appropriate message with both our land line and my mobile numbers. Nothing. They never called back.

A week later, they sent another packet of papers, this one stating we had a doctor appointment- and when I say "we", obviously I mean him- for May 20th. I had to fill out a form saying that DG would go to that appointment. I sent that form back. Days later, I got another form telling me that I had accepted the appointment and that I should return this form to them upon completion of said appointment and they'd send us a check for $11.68. Then the doctor's office sent us a bunch of paperwork that I had to fill out.

All so we could see if the Disabled Guy was still disabled.

A quick run-down: April 13, 1995 a 28-year-old man suffered a massive stroke. The result of said stroke left him paralyzed on his right side. He has no use of his right hand or arm, eventually he started to walk, but with a significant limp. He also had to re-learn how to speak and even now, 16 years later, still has trouble with that part. Within six months of the stroke, he was approved for SSI (Supplemental Security Income) and a couple months later, he was approved for SSD (Social Security Disability). He has never had to go to a doctor appointment to determine his disability that wasn't related to the veteran's hospital. So, he's been receiving disability on a monthly basis, since late 1995. And now, in 2011, they decide he needs an exam by a doctor that is not his own, to determine if he's disabled.

The doctor, after explanation as to why we were even there, asked, "Why are you even here?" then after I said I didn't know, he shrugged and said, "Oh well..."

Before the doctor came in, though, we had to do the usual with the nurse. Blood pressure, weight, height... you know the drill. After she did all that, she said to DG: "Now, I'm going to need you to remove all your clothes, down to your underwear, and put on the gown."

When she got to "underwear", DG's eyes darted around and he chuckled, which made me laugh. Before I could explain to the nurse, DG said: "Uhh... well... I don't wear underwear." and he turned a few shades of red.

She said, "Oh, you're not the first and you certainly won't be the last!" and pulled a pair of paper shorts out of a drawer.

DG wasn't too thrilled about the paper underpants. When we were alone in the room, he took off his clothes and put on the paper underpants. At his request, I cropped the photo to his liking (he's not happy with the 220 pounds he weighs). But I also took a photo of him from behind, so you can catch a glimpse of his paper underpants. Which, by the way, he had to keep pulling up because they didn't fit properly.

As you all know, he's a total ham.



Blue paper underpants.



After he changed and climbed up on the exam table, he sat there, swinging his left leg and looking around the somewhat bare room. Then he started making faces. And if I wasn't looking at him, he'd make noises. Fish lips, "blurp-blurp". Duckface followed by a bad impression of the Burgess Meredith "Penguin" from the old "Batman" TV series (I don't know why a duck-face sounded like the Penguin).

DG: "Hurry up, guy. I'm sitting here naked!"

Me: "You're not naked."

DG: "This is paper!"

Me: "Just the shorts."

DG: "Still! That's wrong!" Then back to the face-making and weird noises.

I asked him why he was making noises. He replied, "It wasn't me." When I asked who it was, he answered: "Bob." When I told him I didn't know anyone named Bob, he said: "Well, you do now!"

So, the doctor finally comes in. And I explain to him what I told you all above. More than once the doctor expressed his confusion as to why we were even there. He did the exam, which was typical. Asked if he was paralyzed, how much use of his arm and hand he had, if he could walk, how long he could stand. He asked if he had any trouble with communication. DG said, "No."

I exclaimed, "What!?"

DG: "I don't!"

I said to the doctor, "He does. He's got aphasia and apraxia. I mean, I even write a blog about him called Conversations with the Disabled Guy." (that made the doctor chuckle) And we established that he does indeed have some communication issues, but he can carry on a fairly normal conversation. And that was meant loosely- because obviously not every conversation we have ends up on this blog.

Then he had to ask him ridiculous things like having DG identify things around the office (the doctor's tie, the knot at the top, where we were [DG said "Earth"], ink pen, glasses, and so on). Then he asked DG to repeat this sentence, verbatim: "For a nation to be independent and secure, it needs an abundant supply of oil."

DG's eyebrows went up. He stared intently at the doctor. He raised his hand slightly, as if he were going to grasp the words in the air. "Can I get you to say that again?"

Doctor: *speaking slowly, but not pausing* "For a nation to be independent and secure, it needs an abundant supply of oil."

DG watched him with such intensity that I thought he was going to end up kissing the doctor. He looked at me and I knew that if I said the first three words, he would have picked it up, but I couldn't. That's why we were there- to show his disability. DG said: "Uh... one more time?" So he said it again. And again. And a fifth time.

Each time, DG stared at the doctor, his eyes as wide as his squinting would allow (DG has squinty eyes). And he'd glance at me, then he'd look back at the doctor. And the whole time, he had his hand raised slightly.

After the fifth time, DG said: "For... the... world... the world... has... this ain't gonna happen!" and he laughed at himself. I was so glad he laughed at himself. Because it was downright painful to see that look of complete confusion on his face and not be able to help him.

After it was all over, the doctor said he wasn't allowed to comment on whether or not he was disabled. And he read a statement on his paperwork that said something like: "DO NOT discuss the health of the applicant/patient. DO NOT reveal your findings to the applicant/patient." So, basically, he wasn't allowed to say, "Yup, you're disabled."

I said, "Damn. Now I gotta change the name of the blog!"

And we all three laughed. The doctor told us we were done and DG could get dressed and we could leave.

When the doctor left the room, DG stood up quickly and said, "Let me get these goddamn things off my ass!"