Milton (Part 2) And Lamar

It's taken me more than a year to get back to this.

More avoidance than a matter of being too busy.  But Milton deserves to be remembered.

When we arrived in Beaumont, we had rented a house sight unseen. It was billed online as 2 bed, 2-bath with a master bedroom.  Well the "master suite" only had a toilet. No tub, and the doors were too small and narrow for Milton to get his wheelchair or even walker through.

We wound up having to make the add-on "sun room" our bedroom. That was a nightmare in itself.  It dropped down from the living room, so I had to build Milton a ramp.  The room had obviously flooded at some point, mud on the floor had merely been painted over.  The landlord had taken coffee grounds and smeared them all over the cabinets. They looked like shit stains.

Honestly, when I realized what we had stepped into, I wanted to cry.  I apologized profusely to Milton. Milton, as he always did, merely said we'd make the best of it for as long as we needed to.

The station I worked at in Beaumont was a mixed bag.  A lack of technology and manpower; but nearly everyone there was amazingly kind and hard working.  I pretty much got to be my own executive producer, for all intents and purposes.  One major downside, it was a Sinclair station, which meant we were expected to run right-wing propaganda. 

For the first few months, he was still recuperating from his lung resection.  But after that, he was able to get out with just his cane.  He was always so strong, and strong-willed.  I worked long days, but Milton and I had plenty of time to spend together on the weekends. 

About 10 months after I started, I got a call from a Florida station, flew down for an interview, and decided to take the job. Milton's doctors had told him a warmer climate would do him good.  In some ways, I wish I hadn't left Texas.  In other ways, perhaps it was the best thing that could have happened to me.  But not for Milton.

We had not been in Florida long, when Milton started having stabbing pains in his back. So severe, he couldn't even turn in bed.  I called an ambulance, and they took him to the nearest ER.  As it turned out, it was full of incompetence, bigotry, and the doctors lacked interest in finding causes, merely treating symptoms.   As we'd later find out, the latter was a problem throughout the hospital system.

Long story short, Milton went in for a back ache, and wound up in coma because the doctors thought a CPAP was just as good as a BiPap.  Then, they sent Milton home long before he was physically ready.  It wasn't long before he was back into the hospital again, just the beginning of a long, tiring journey for Milton that alternately brought us to peaks of hope, and dipped us into fountains of despair.

He spent much of the last 3 years of his life in the hospital.  After he got out the second time, and was doing well with physical therapy, I met Lamar.  Lamar had been having trouble in his own relationship, but he and I hit it off. It was unfair to Milton, I admit.  He was jealous, but I needed not only physical relief, but someone to discuss life and all that was happening to us with.  Milton, you see, wasn't much of a talker, especially when it came to his illness.  Plus, I needed someone willing to help me care for Milton, and Lamar was.

Lamar and I had so much in common, thought so much a like.  He was so kind and giving, as well.  He moved in with us.  Lamar worked as a paralegal; he referred to himself as our parahusband.

Like I said, it was difficult for Milton, who wasn't himself after his coma. He was suspicious, thought we were trying to hold him down. Thought we were deliberately doing things to make him feel bad.   None of that was true. But Milton did not have to worry for long.

Not six months after Lamar moved in, he found out he had liver cancer. It had spread to his lungs.  He was devastated.  Why did this happen to him, he asked, when he was finally happy?  He went downhill quickly.  Rapid weight loss, weakness, pain.  About this same time, we got word from our landlord, he was selling his place and needed us out.

The stress of the move was horrible for all of us, on top of the health issues.  Lamar's friends did come to help, and so did his brother and sister-in-law.

Three months after Lamar was diagnosed, and just a couple of weeks after we moved; I was going to a dentist appointment, when I noticed Lamar was very groggy looking and unable to speak.  I thought it was the painkillers he'd been given.  That was the same morning his brother and sister-in-law were leaving back home.  I asked him if he was okay. He nodded.  So I went.  When I returned, he was looking better, but speaking nonsense.  That's when I realized he'd had a stroke.  We got him to the hospital, and testing showed he'd had multiple "micro-strokes" over the past month or so.  There was no way to treat his current stroke without risking more bleeding in his brain. 

Lamar spent weeks in the hospital. Milton (who had just started to soften to Lamar) and I visited Lamar as often as possible.  He was optimistic, just like he was sure he'd beat the cancer, even as advanced as it was; he was sure he'd recover from the stroke. He kept talking about going back to work as a paralegal.


One night, a nurse called me at 2:00 am.  Lamar wanted to talk to me.  She said she tried to dissuade him (Why would she do that)?  I had her put him on. He asked me to go see him right away.

I rushed over.  As I arrived, we spoke a little. He asked me what was happening.  I didn't know what he meant.  Then the nurse came in and said his O2 was crashing.  They rushed me out as they put him on oxygen.  When he was stable again, they let me in.  Lamar couldn't speak.  He never opened his eyes.  But he counted out 1, 2 3 on his fingers, made a fist, and burst his fingers outward.  It was a sign he and I had developed, to show our love for each other without upsetting Milton.

Minutes later nurses were rushing in, attempting to resuscitate him.  Lamar had made me his medical power of attorney though.  I knew that's not what he wanted. I asked them to stop. 

I called Lamar's mother. She told me Lamar had spoken to her the night before; when she said she'd talk with him tomorrow, he told her "No, mom. I'm not going to be here tomorrow."

Our friends, Chuck and Keith had come up the day before Lamar passed. They had only met him once before, but wanted to come down and offer support. Unfortunately, it was the final crack in an already stressed relationship with them. 

While I was trying to mourn, they were watching Green Acres or Andy Griffith or something inane like that.  Loudly.  I asked Milton to have them turn it down, so instead they decided to have a jovial conversation instead.  I couldn't handle it.  Fortunately, my friends Juan and David offered to come rescue me; taking me to a quiet restaurant where we could mourn together.  Milton was upset that I left him with Chuck and Keith.   "I cared about him too," he told me.  I know he did at that point, but he wasn't feeling the depth of loss that I did. And if he came, Chuck and Keith would as well. I couldn't deal with that.

So Milton and I were alone again. He was angry with me most of the time.  Or angry at the world. It was hard to tell which.  He sat at his computer most of the day watching youtube, British soap operas, and listening to music.  Sometimes, his mood would brighten up, and he'd let me hug and kiss him, or hold him in bed.

But he was getting sicker.  He was weaker. Couldn't get around without his wheelchair.  Could hardly make it in and out of the shower.  I was afraid to leave him alone.

Earlier, before Lamar, we had a home health nurse come in. But it wasn't covered, and it was thousands of dollars out of pocket we no longer could afford.  But my friend David wasn't working. He volunteered to come stay and help.  Milton accepted, begrudgingly.

But that was the best thing for all of us. David had experience dealing with loss, experience in care-taking of loved one, and he and Milton really enjoyed each other's company.   Our relationship bloomed.  A sexual and emotional one for David and I; merely emotional for Milton and David.  Milton shared things with him he'd never share with me; and he gave us his blessing to continue on, when Milton was gone.