IMR: Entries: 2001: November: 21 — Wednesday, November 21, 2001

Woozy Thanks to the "gold standard of pain relief," I spent most of yesterday asleep, or at least feeling immeasurably mellow.   Our building's new owner blesses the building. They made lots of noise for such a small troupe. A late night installation at the downtown store. It's a good thing the new name is shorter. Putting up this sign was a slightly bigger project. A glimpse of two sides of the same store. Katie prefers baths again, here with her dolphin. Katie's "special friend" at preschool, Michael Curtis. Katie catches her breath at Stadium Park. The park is popular for ... whatever this is. Two pigeons share a drink at the park. We hook up with Lacene at Magic Island. A rare "Kona wind" brings planes from the East. A great day for a sail, and catching up with a friend. Thank the fates it's a short week, because it's a weird one, to be sure. Beginning Sunday night — soon after visiting with William and getting into a brief tangle with a pedestrian — I started getting one of those headaches. I've actually gone so far as to describe them (in grandmotherly terms) as "spells," as they come with a small swarm of other symptoms, but they're very distinctive and fortunately somewhat rare — striking perhaps once every three months, or — for some reason — while traveling. They come on very subtly, very sneakily, and I invariably pay it no mind and end up basically steamrollered as a result. This round wasn't much different. I got weak and lightheaded, and the backs of my eyeballs got achy, so I drank more water, took some Tylenol, and tried to chill out. (The travel connection makes me think there's a stress component.) I woke up Monday morning with what felt like a throbbing brain, but since it only really hurt when I did things like stand up or sit down or breathe a little differently, I figured I'd take more Tylenol and go to work, but be sure to take it easy. Well, there was no easy to be had at work this week, and after about an hour, I knew I wasn't going to make it. I determined the optimum time to bail by balancing the intensity of the headache against my likely ability to drive, and headed home. I took one more Tylenol, cranked up the air conditioner, piled several pillows on top of my head, and winced myself to sleep. When I woke up again shortly after noon, I felt pretty good. Not perfect, but, at least okay. Just a dull ache, about as good as I felt Sunday night. So — very, very stupidly — I made my way back to work to try and finish up some things. It was pretty much a downhill slide immediately upon arrival. I eventually went to pick up Katie, and couldn't even pick her up — she had to walk, under protest. We got home, and I just put on her favorite DVD and collapsed on the futon, oblivious to all but the most life-threatening toddler activities. When Jen came in the door, I think I just grunted, pointed at Katie, and retreated to the bedroom, never to be seen again that night. And it was a rough night. My head ached with every move. It seemed to ache even when I spent the energy to think about not moving. I was aspiring for some sort of hibernative, near-death state, but couldn't quite get there. By 4 a.m., I realized, I wasn't going to work. By 5 a.m., I realized, I couldn't stand up. The throbbing in seemingly every blood vessel in my head was so intense, it felt like my skull was expanding with every beat of my heart. At its worst, it even seemed to zap my inner ear, giving me the sensation of a half-second trip on a spiraling rollercoaster. I crawled to the bathroom to kneel before the porcelain god. I ended up lying on the floor in the hall, half in and half out of the bathroom. I waited a respectful amount of time to let Jen get a good night's sleep — three, maybe four minutes — before scratching on the bedroom door like a sick cat and asking for a little help. When I realized my hands and most of my legs had gone numb, I finally got a little worried. Jen called my mom, who then came down to take me to the emergency room. (And I am no fan of emergency rooms. I would have taken an appointment with a doctor — any doctor — but Straub told us that there were absolutely no openings that day, not even with a proctologist.) Fortunately, it wasn't a busy morning, and after some entertaining dialogue between my mom and the admitting clerk (she kept referring to me as her husband), I got my little bed in back. They turned off the light, I pressed my palms into my eye sockets, and in that rather odd position, I found some relief until the deep-voiced doctor could come by. As is the case with most emergency rooms, I could hear everything that was going on, and even the limited activity that morning was helpfully distracting. One man had something metal stuck in him that had to be removed, and he argued for some time (but in vain) against a tetanus shot. An elderly woman had chronic pain in her leg, which she was being treated for, but her doctor wasn't available and she'd used the month's dose of painkiller. And the female bookkeeper behind the curtain opposite me was complaining of a cough, and yes she was a "light smoker" (at a little over one pack a day). The nurses, meanwhile, were settling their schedules for Thanksgiving. The doctor eventually got to me, and weighed all my symptoms. He noted that the numbness I felt wasn't serious, provided it wasn't limited to half my body (as in the case of stroke), and that it all pointed toward a "migrane variant." Which, I guess, is a relief. I've heard more than a few horror stories that make my experiences sound like a walk in the park. I know my mom and Jen (until Katie was born) got them, and they certainly were not your everyday headache. Even so, because I tied them to a few other symptoms, I was referred to a neurologist. (And unlike my little heart scare last year, I don't think I'll brush this one off.) He wrote out a prescription for the ever popular Vicodin. I was still in pain, of course, and for that, the doctor prescribed what he indeed called "the gold standard of pain relief": morphene, administered via IV. The nurse came in, searched for a vein, and ended up sticking me on top of my wrist on my left hand. What followed within mere minutes was sweet, sweet relief. After assuring them I had a ride home, I was discharged. I wobbled out to meet mom, and was surprised to find it difficult to stand. She was concerned, but I assured her I was quite happy, and she went to get the car. Even seated in an uncomfortable plastic hallway chair, I think I got a few minutes of very deep sleep. I was surprised I didn't drool on myself. She brought me home, and I made my way upstairs, leaning against things the whole way. When I finally fell into bed — especially considering how excruciating it was trying to sleep before — I was in doped-up heaven. I slept like I'd never slept before. It was Jen's day off, in fact, and she came home after dropping Katie off at school to find me snoring away. (I think she was even somewhat relieved I wasn't dead.) I think we talked, but absolutely nothing registered. Eventually she figured, "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em," and we shared a perfect mid-morning nap. Every hour or so, I'd surface, look at the clock, and fall back asleep. Eventually, mom called, and roused us both to join her for lunch and to pick up my prescription. We hit Longs and the food court at Ala Moana, and I struggled the whole time to not babble like a drunken loon. When we got home, I went back to sleep. Jen went to get Katie as I slept, and cooked dinner as I slept. I slept a lot. I'm still pretty sleepy. Today, my headache/migrane is almost entirely gone. I won't be going for a jog anytime soon, is all. I'm feeling pretty mellow, and just having a vague handle on what's going on in my cranium helps quite a bit. Only during times like these do I have moments of clarity relating to health — my lack of diligence when it comes to health, my spotty family history when it comes to health problems (heart disease and stroke run amok), the fact that I'm not getting any younger, and the fact that I'm a dad, which makes my traditional nihilistic attitude somewhat disingenuous. I know I've got to shape up. And I hate wondering what else it might take to get me to actually do something. Even though it ended on a ... odd note, the weekend itself was pleasant enough. After all, for Jen and I, Saturday brought our fourth anniversary. Four years of the marriage thing, survived to date with all limbs intact. I even remembered this year (as I often disclaim, I consider April 1, 1994 our "real anniversary"), mailing a card that arrived right on time (and I even remembered to let Jen check the mail), and having flowers (with a cheesy mylar balloon and stuffed animal attached) delivered to her at work in the middle of the afternoon, for maximum "awww" response. And to top it all off, I let her choose a spot — any spot — for dinner. She picked the Dixie Grill on Ward, and she even successfully rebuffed Katie's efforts to steer us toward Zippy's instead. (Given Katie's power over Jen, this was no small accomplishment.) Katie got a grilled cheese sandwhich, while Jen and I alone tackled their famous "trash can buffet" (ribs, chicken, catfish, crab legs, baked beans, corn, cole slaw, fries... the works). We truly stuffed ourselves silly. Four years. I guess that proves I'm serious, right? Jen and I, I often say, couldn't be any more different. From big things like religion and worldview to little things like movies and music, we often end up on opposite ends of a very wide spectrum. I've been asked how we do it, and I just don't know. And we each have said our "success" is just finding someone who can stand our respective, assorted idiosyncrasies. (We certainly wouldn't be able to stand living with someone exactly like ourselves.) But obviously it's more than just tolerating each other. We love each other. Even when we're butting heads and spitting fire, we can both say so without hesitation. And having brought Katie into this world, I think we've experienced together much of the full range of love there is to experience. We've had our ups and downs — mostly ups, and we're making a concerted effort to work on the downs. I still feel like a newlywed insofar as the future, albeit uncertain, is still wide open and waiting. There are still volumes of new discoveries (and mistakes) left to make. We're still newbies, actually. It's the fifth year, next November, that brings the first traditional landmark — wood. (I'll have 55 years to save up for that whopper of a diamond.) I already know it'll be a different world then. Unpredictable future employment opportunities notwithstanding, our family will be 33 percent larger next year. Katie turned our world upside-down in a wonderful way, and I'm looking toward the new bundle of chaos — growing, in a beautiful yet menacing way, inside Jen's belly — not at all in the way a night-grazing deer looks toward the headlights of an oncoming truck. Okay, so obviously I don't do this romantic stuff very well. Another reason I should stay married: more time to practice. Sunday, as usual, was my day with Katie. This weekend, we spent almost no time cooped up at home, instead playing for hours in the morning and the afternoon around town, only stopping at the apartment for lunch and a nap. We dropped Jen off at work, and then headed straight for Stadium Park. Katie would play her little heart out — climbing on the playground, digging in the sand, chasing the birds, and chasing after random kids — then rest quietly, almost thoughtfully. Then she'd play again, then rest again, at first on a bench, but later, by sitting down and just watching the assorted other groups that were gathered at the park. Every time we've gone there, in fact, there is always more than one group of similarly-dressed adults standing in circles or other formations practicing ... things. I'm not sure if it's yoga or tai chi or goofy Iona Pear dancing, but it is quite a sight. (The group in the pavillion this time was definitely going through some kind of martial arts drills, and they held Katie's attention the longest. Hmm.) In most cases, I'm not sure if it's freeform or just slightly uncoordinated, because no matter how specific the different arm and leg movements seem to be, I've yet to see more than two people in a given group doing the same thing at the same time. After a lunch of saimin (Katie's latest obsession) and soup (my easy standby), and a delicious 90 minute nap, we then headed down to Magic Island to meet up with Lacene. It was a beautiful, clear, blue day. Kona winds were blowing, making things a little warmer than usual, and bringing the rare sight of jetliners coming in from the East — off Waikiki — to land. Many came almost overhead, and Katie could easily identify them — Northwest, Hawaiian, United, Aloha. At that close range, the difference in mass and speed between the interisland carriers and the "heavies" was very noticable. Local flights seemed to be zipping in almost recklessly, while 747s loomed in the sky and almost seemed to hang there unnaturally. Katie just kicked back in the stroller and enjoyed the view while Lacene and I walked three brisk laps around the Magic Island jogging path. On the last lap, we stopped at the top of the wide sea wall facing Ala Moana Beach, and there we spent the largest block of time just sitting and watching the ocean and the boats and the crabs scrambling about on the rocks below. (The crabs entertained Katie to no end, even though she kept referring to them as spiders.) Eventually, Lacene had to go, but Katie and I wandered the park a little more. It wasn't long before she remembered that there was a shave ice stand nearby, and soon she was happily chowing down on a top-heavy cone, soaking her pants and turning her tongue and most of her face a faint shade of purple. We watched the sun go down, drove over to Ala Moana to wait for Jen, then met up for William for the usual dinner at Zippy's. And what happened after that has already been detailed in mind-numbing detail. But right up until then, a pretty good weekend. My mild obsession with tracking the transformation of Liberty House — Jen's employer — to Macy's will soon be at an end. Everyone's excited about the official unveiling of Macy's stores statewide on Friday, but it seems no one has taken a moment to recognize that it means that today, Nov. 21, is Liberty House's last day. I know it's just a store, but it's still sad. Liberty House bungled itself into bankruptcy years ago, but it slowly dug itself out specifically by returning to its roots, and stressing its local heritage ("A Tradition in Hawaii"). It is — was — the state's oldest retailer, founded in 1849 by Capt. Heinrich Hackfeld (according to the Google cache of the Liberty House website — I just discovered while typing this that libertyhouse.com already redirects to macys.com). It was, simply, one of the last large home-grown companies still in business. I grew up with LH. I remember their old pink-and-gold striped boxes and bags. I remember how everyone complained about how expensive it was, but still shopped there, at least for the "nice kine" dresses and aloha shirts. (And after Nieman Marcus arrived, their prices seemed downright reasonable.) It was home to a handful of quirky restaurants, including a short-lived Alan Wong eatery. And even though it was a mess at times, we knew it was local, and we took a little bit of pride in the fact that it seemed to hold its own against the likes of Sears and JCPenny's. Now it's another Macy's store. Specifically, part of the Macy's West division — one of 117 stores in Arizona, California, Minnesota, Nevada, New Mexico and Texas. The Macy's bigwigs are saying they'll try to keep the Hawaiian spirit. They came up with a localized version of their logo — a hibiscus with the Macy's star, reportedly designed by a local student — which in branding terms is no small compromise. And their redesigned stores so far still prominently feature Tori Richards and Local Motion and other Hawaiian-ish gear, something they best keep doing if they hope Mainland tourists will wander in now and then. But it won't be the same. As I was waiting for Jen to come out tonight, I saw the lights go out, and that was it. No ti leafs, no balloons, no leis. Liberty House was gone, and we came home.

Comments Similiar situation with Hudson's here in Detroit. About 10 years ago they tried to get us to call the stores Dayton/Hudson's. Didn't stick. Now Marshall Fields has completely taken over all Hudson's stores. Another bite out of Detroit history, particularly painful after they imploded the beautiful but decaying flagship store downtown in 1999. My aunt, a 30-year Hudson's veteran, refers to the "new" stores as "those M.F. stores..." Hee. —Denise (December 20, 2001 4:40 AM) E kala mai! Comments have been disabled due to overwhelming abuse by spammers. Please click through to any of the video hosting services linked above to leave a public response, or feel free to send an e-mail. Mahalo! < November 07 · November · November 23 > © 1997-2008 Ryan Kawailani Ozawa · E-Mail: imr@lightfantastic.org · Created: 13 November 1997 · Last Modified: 14 January 2008