"The Worst Case Reality"

As the news became more and more ominous out of New Orleans, I was in overload and had to turn off the TV. It is hard to explain, but I'm having some strange sense of survivor's guilt. There's only so many times you can hear the broadcasted words: "It just keeps getting worse in New Orleans." This is storm garnering comparisons to the devastating tsunami event of late last year. As in that massive tragedy, NASA is giving us pictures from space showing the change in the landscape of south Lousisiana.

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PETS-911...Animal victims of Katrina need your help

LATEST CONDITIONS IN NEW ORLEANS

Widespread looting is being reported in all areas hit by the storm. It is in times of turmoil that we see the two faces of humanity: those who want to save lives and those who want to take advantage of others misfortune. The area just east of downtown New Orleans and the French Quarter, you may heard it referred to as the 9th ward, houses some of New Orleans poorest citizens. In a state of anarchcy, those who did not have the means to evacuate the city and are nowing seeing worsening conditions will resort to any means necessary to sustain their lives.

Where does New Orleans go from here? Where does the Gulf Coast go from here? The scope of this diaster is just beginning to emerge. This was no Hurricane Camille or Andrew (devasting storms in their own right.) 1969's Camille, effecting extreme costal Louisiana with eventual landfall in Pass Christian, Miss., was a tightly wound, compact storm. 1992's Andrew, although slightly larger, devastated parts of southern Florida and a modest blow to central, coastal Louisiana. Ironically the most damage in Andrew's Louisiana landfall was to my hometown of Laplace (25 miles west of New Orleans) which was hit by an F2 tornado from a feeder band as the storm approached. It cut an 11 mile path through this "River Parish" community.

Katrina will be a storm by which most future storms will be compared. Maybe it's time to turn the water against itself, use it to the advantage of the city. How about docking several cruise ships at the Port of New Orleans. They do it during Mardi Gras when hotels are at full capacity. At best, they can aid in transitioning the displaced to more permanent shelter. As far as the flooding of downtown, it's a reality now. It's time to realize that man is up against a force greater than itself. In other words, it's time for plan B.

In my opinion, rescue is still priority one. Bare in mind there are areas southeast of the New Orleans metro area such as St. Bernard and Plaquemines parishes that are only now starting to see rescue efforts. Using the New Orleans Superdome to centralize the evacuation effort is a sort of a "Catch 22." At this time, efforts should be well underway in surrounding, DRY parishes west of New Orleans (St. John, St. James, Ascenion, Assumption, etc. to set up temporary shelters.

As far as the New Orleans metro area, it is now what "ground zero" was in the aftermath of the September 11th attacks. It must be cleared of all survivors and secured for search and recovery. I hesitate to use the comparison as the events of 9/11 are almost sacred in the minds of most Americans. The fact is this: a major, metropolitan city in the United States has been struck by an event of epic proportions. It is ridiculous to place a time line on anything at this point. Water cannot be hauled away in trucks or cannot be cleared by industrial vehicles. It is going to take a mammoth effort even after the flood waters have drained or have been pumped out.

For our neighbor to the east in Mississippi, it is evident that extreme damage extends miles inland, further inland than the ravages of Camille. I take pause to wonder whether this storm will be reclassified as a category 5, if that even matters. Katrina will go down as one of the worst natural disaters to strike the U.S.

"All Hell Breaks Loose"

It is quite unsettling and very humbling that in what I call the "super age" of technology, Mother Nature trumps all. As some of you have read, I am a native of New Orleans and called it home for 39 years.

The images coming out of the city in the wake of hurricane Katrina (trust me, they'll retire this name along with all her evil counterparts: Camille, Betsy and Andrew to name few) are sad and unsettling. This is a city that welcomes so many from around our country and the world to live life a little slower and escape. Often referred to as "The Big Easy"(not by locals) and "The City that Care Forgot", New Orleans now needs your help. as well as our sister states of Mississippi and Alabama that were hit hard by this "Storm of the Century."

LATEST CONDITIONS IN NEW ORLEANS

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As the days and weeks unfold, speculation and random news reporting will give way to the reality of what Katrina has left behind: shattered lives, homes and businesses. Many reports put New Orleans on the "good" side of the storm. Forgive me, but there is NO good side to a storm of this magnitude.

If you have evacuated out of town from any of the hard hit areas, STAY THERE until further instructions. The first lines of rescue and accessments of damage are just beginning, returning home in droves will only hinder these vital efforts.

Our support and prayers are needed now for all effected by Katrina. It's time to rally around the "wounded" and forget the whole "RED STATE/ BLUE STATE" thing and start thinking about the "SAD STATES." Get out there and donate blood, support the Red Cross, Salavtion Army or any relief organization. There are many heroes out there saving lives and offering hope. God bless them all.

For those of us who were VERY fortunate to have been out of harm's way in other states, hug the ones you love a little tighter, look up to the sky and thank almighty God that you are being spared the misery so many will have to endure in the days, weeks and months ahead.

"Do not look forward to
what might happen tomorrow.
The same everlasting Father
who cares for you today
will take care of you tomorrow
and everyday. Either He will
shield you from suffering
or He will give you unfailing
strength to bear it.
Be at peace then put aside all
anxious thoughts and imgainations."
-St. Francis de Sales

A deafening silence....

It's been a difficult day. I dropped my partner off at the airport early this morning and returned to our very quiet apartment. My cat "Skutty" can sense when I'm down and tends to follow my every move and will take any opportunity to lay next to me. She was a godsend while I was caring for my father. Close to the time of my Dad's passing, it was not unusual that I was in and out of bed at all hours of the night tending to his needs. Skutty slept with me, but no matter how many times I got up, she would follow. She would patiently sit by my father's door, wait for me to do what I needed to and follow me back to my room. She will even come running to me on command when I call her in a certain manner. God bless these wonderful animals that provide this immense unconditional love.

I entitled this blog Decisions mainly because our lives are shaped by what we feel is logical reasoning when faced with a certain situation. I've wanted to maintain a chronological order to my entries so those of you out there reading (if there are any), may see a series of decisions I've made in my life that have brought me to this day. I'm very proud and fortunate to have made the decision to address my addictions and demons, but even the emergence from some pretty dark times have had a high price, one I am especially feeling today.

I lost a partner of ten years to addiction and also my family. There have been times in my life where I feel I've made selfless decisions to force change. I am not one to "feed the pink elephant" so to speak. I was there for my family when they needed me to care for my father only to abruptly leave after his passing. The reason is not important now and far to complicated to go into in this entry. I left Greg, my partner of ten years in 2003, a decision I fight with almost everyday. My current partner JD, is well aware of this and has incredible patience when I have a "Greg" moment. Leaving Greg was the only way for Greg to grow, to move on. There is this great Sarah McLachlan song, "Full of Grace." It's lyrics define my realtionship with Greg at it's end:

The winter here's cold, and bitter
It's chilled us to the bone
We haven't seen the sun for weeks
To long too far from home
I feel just like I'm sinking
And I claw for solid ground
I'm pulled down by the undertow
I never thought I could feel so low
In all the darkness I feel like letting go
If all of the strength and all of the courage
Come and lift me from this place
I know I could love you much better than this
Full of grace
Full of grace
My love

So it's better this way, I said
Having seen this place before
Where everything we said and did
Hurts us all the more
Its just that we stayed, too long
In the same old sickly skin
I'm pulled down by the undertow
I never thought I could feel so low
Oh darkness I feel like letting go
If all of the strength
And all of the courage
Come and lift me from this place
I know I could love you much better than this
Full of grace
Full of grace
My love
It's better this way..

It's agonizing that some of us have to be the one to make a painful decision that brings about change. Sadly, sometimes a silence comes along with these decisions, a deafening kind of silence.

We interrupt this regularly scheduled blog.....

I have for the past two days. as most natives of New Orleans, watched endless feed and updates on "Hurricane Katrina."

I am in Texas now, but know how incredibly vunerable New Orleans can be in a situation like Katrina. Past threats of lesser tropical monsters have always made that "miraculous" last minute turn. It's like you could hear this huge "WHEW!" after each dodge of the bullet. It's seems there is no escape this time.

As I write this Katrina is a Category 5 storm with winds of 175 m.p.h. (gusts to 216.) Imagine a huge F3 tornado headed your way except hurricanes do not retreat into the sky above you. I know my family has evacuated to safer destinations. The city of my birth will overcome anything that is tossed it's way and Katrina is no exception.

As heard in so many Catholic masses I have attended as a child and yound adult, I deem it appropriate to say: "Through the intercession of Our Lady of Prompt Succor may New Orleans and all the surrounding areas be spared the forcasted devastation of this horrible meteorlogical event."

-Matt

Trading one pain for another

I needed to obtain my M.R.I. images. I was notified it would cost me $125.00 to remove them from the hospital. Because my appointment had been moved up, I would need to have them with me as it would be faster than the system. Getting them would also include a painful call to Greg at his office to drive me. He was bogged down in meetings and could leave, but it would have set him back. I tearfully understood. I drove myself. I was completely manic. I was crying one minute, calm the next.

I reached the hospital and stooped waiting for the elevator. I was stared at a great deal. I had bloodshot eyes from crying and my heart was racing. I got on the elevator exhausted. I exited on the wrong floor. I had to use the restroom. On my way, I passed a very attractive doctor (hey, I wasn't dead.) He nodded hello and smiled as I walked by. The doctor surprisingly appeared in the restoom. I was not ready for this. My heart began to race faster as he took the urnial next to me. He was not there to relieve himself but to get relief. This would end up as a random sex act in a restroom stall. He orgasmed quickly and asked if I was okay. We quickly went to an open area of the restroom. His caregiver side took over. "What are you here for?" I explained the reason for my visit. He calmly whispered: "Follow me." He lead me to radiology and flashed his badge and said: "I need the a file for Matthew Cortez." The clerk handed him the large envelope for which he signed. Dr. Jeff put his hand on the back of my neck motioning me to walk. He handed me the packet with a wink and a hug. I was teary-eyed. "Take care of yourself and good luck." he said with a smile. I would never see him again.

Finally, it was appointment day. Greg kissed and hugged me before heading to the office with a "Good luck." I was in for another long wait at Charity Hospital among the many in the "system." I just thank God I had any care at all. I have no pretense. I was sitting with others like me, no where to go but Charity. Every now and then a shackled criminal from New Orleans Central Lock-up would appear. If spoken to, I chatted up others. I felt I had something in common with everyone: they all had a story, usually one of hard luck. Tell me about it.

My name was finally called and I was ushered to an examing room. I had my M.R.I. images which I had uniquely obtained. The neurosurgeon entered the room with a resident intern. He intoduced himself along with Dr. Brad. He quickly remarked: "My God, a skinny one. How did this happen? I've seen obese folks ALL day." I told him it was an accumulation of incidents. He told me to remove my pants and lay on the table. He chatted with intern Brad as he pulled out some tools that he would roll in all areas of my leg and foot for sensitivity. He then lifted my left leg cupping his hand on my knee to keep it straight. He couldn't even raise it more than half before I began to wince in pain. He took the M.R.I. films and thumb trough the images. He put up the one he needed and turned on the imaging light. "Wow!" "Poor little guy. You must be in serious world of hurt." I just began to sob. I was so embarassed. It was just his words. Finally, someone said it.

The doctor ask me to sit up and put his hand on my leg. "I know, it's gonna be okay." "Matt, you're pretty bad. You already have progressive nerve damage. I want to operate next Thursday." I agreed. He explained it would be an out-patient procedure: early in with discharge in the evening, barring no complications. "Heavier patients usually require an overnight stay" he explained. "The incision will be about 2-1/2. Keep in mind, back surgery procedures like this have evolved. I'm not promising an end to ALL your pain, but we should be able knock out a good bit of it, especially the sciatica, which is most painful."

I made my way to the reception desk to set up labs, etc. The Dr. passed me as I left. "See you next Thursday, Matt" he said confidently. This was a good day.

-Matt

SONG-"I'll Stay With You"- Beth Hart

For anyone who has not discovered the incredible talent of Beth Hart, give her a listen. Her songwriting is straight from a soul that has seen it's own share of darkness. Her songs offer hope, questions, and tears. Click her link to the right. This song is from her current CD titled: "Leave the Light On" Thank God for the gift she shares with so many. "I'll kick down Heaven's door?" It doesn't get any better than this:

Close your eyes and I'll hold you here
It's all right if you're feelin' scared
It's just the sound of your aching heart
You've hurt for so long inside the dark
Now you can cry for the world out there
Come inside and I'll kiss your tears
It's still the sound tearing you apart
Loving out loud with only half a heart

Yes I'll stay with you
I'll stay with you
I won't leave you alone
I'll stay with you yes I want to
Make your pain my own
And if you need me all night or until I grow old
No you don't have to ask me to
I'm gonna take good care of you
Yes I'm gonna stay with you

I'll be right at your fingertips
(yes I'll be right there)
Just hold on tight and we'll get through this
(Hold on, hold on, hold on)
Angels are calling from all around
(I can hear them sing)
Lifting what's broken comforting what is bound
(gonna break these chains)
Now you can rest in your time of need
(put it all aside)
I am here when it's hard to breathe
(gonna be there, I'm gonna be there)
If you can't remember what is good anymore
(if you can't remember)
I will surrender and kick down heaven's door.

Yes I'll stay with you
I'll stay with you
I won't leave you alone
I'll stay with you yes I want to
Make your pain my own
And if you need me all night or until I grow old
No you don't have to ask me to
I'm gonna take good care of you
Yes I'm gonna stay with you

No you don't have to ask me to
I'm gonna take good care of you
Yes I'm gonna stay with you

"And the envelope please..."

It was now early July and the results of my M.R.I arrived in the mail. Through all the radiology terms one statement in the findings jumped out: "There is a very large extrusion at L5-S1 level which almost appears to be a free fragment in some imaging. There is a severe compromise of the thecal sac (a membrane containing fluid and nerve endings) at that level (L5-S1.) Translation: I was screwed. I had a ruptured disc and surgery was inevitable. When given the news, Greg in his usual calm demeanor offered: "Well, we kind of figured it was something like this."

SIDEBAR:
In all my writing, I may have given you the impression that Greg was this aloof, walking robot. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I need to reiterate that in 2001, Greg and I had been together 8 years. Greg is a wonderful man capable of amazing compassion and patience. You'll see this as I put him to the ultimate test in later postings. Greg's love was unconditional. Sometimes we want our partners to react a certain way in a particular situation and are disappointed when they do the opposite. We both failed miserably in communicating our needs during this crucial time. Looking back, someone needed to be the calm one. Greg was still hinging on the hope that the surgery would be the "fix all", so was I.

A line from the 1980 film "Ordinary People" comes to mind. At the end of the film, Donald Sutherland's charcater, Calvin Jarrett has decided that he can not tolerate his wife Beth's (a chilling turn by Mary Tyler-Moore) distant and icy behavior after the death of their son and the attempted suicide of their other son due to survivor's guilt. He decides he no longer loves her. Through his tears, Calvin explains: "Everything would have been okay if there hadn't been any mess. Because you can't take mess Beth. Everything has to be neat and tidy."

The internet became my best friend. I began corresponding with a neurologist at Texas A & M. I emailed him my M.R.I. results. He suggested I see a surgeon in my area immediately. I must make mention of a certain doctor friend of mine who worked within the system in New Orleans to make sure my wait time was cut to days instead of months. Dr. Jon G., thanks for your friendhip, concern and a shoulder to lay my head. A week after getting my results, I would see a neurologist.

If the pain and waiting were not enough, I had to deal with annoying bill collectors. I had no patience for the numerous calls asking when I would return to work not to mention work calling asking when I was returning to work. The biggest fund-raiser for the NO/AIDS Task Force, their annual walk, was just a couple of months away. Greg helped as much as he was capable. Greg's amazing mother called me a few days before my appointment. In confidence, she offered to loan me a substantial sum of money for bills. I appreciated her offer, but politely declined. I began to sob when I hung up the phone. Greg's mother was and remains a rock of kindness and sympathy. I love you M. It was back to the "Lifetime" channel.

-Matt

INSPIRATIONAL-How do you answer "NO?"

Confronting Closed Doors
ACTS 16:6-10

God has the power to open any closed door--no circumstance is too difficult for Him to overcome. And yet He may decide to let things that seem important to us remain blocked. Why does the Lord allow doors to stay shut? Protection. Perhaps He is trying to keep us from making a mistake. On our own, we may not have adequate knowledge to make right choices.

REDIRECTION: God could be sending us on a new path. His plan might include bigger opportunities for us, deeper satisfaction, a wider area of service, greater productivity, a season of tests, or an opportunity to give Him credit.

TESTING: When God says "No," our faith is tested, and we discover what we really believe about Him and His plans.

PERSERVERANCE: In these roadblocks, we have opportunity to develop steadfastness, a vital quality for believers. (Romans 5:3-5)

TIMING: Our Father places stop signs along our path in order to work out the correct timing for His will.

DISOBEDIENCE: Past waywardness can affect future experiences and blessings.

When our way is stopped, we must look to God and seek His purpose for the interruption. HOW DO YOU RESPOND TO "NO"?

Thanks Jeffre! God Bless-Matt

"Just Another Manic Movie"

The day arrived for the long awaited M.R.I. I drove myself to Charity Hospital in New Orleans and waited 3 hours among the many in the waiting room. I finally heard my name and made my way to THE room. It was a closed M.R.I. machine (the nearest you'll feel being in your own casket.) The test would take about 20 minutes. As I laid down on the "launch board" my legs were sligtly angled downward. I immediately felt pain and told the tech. that he would have to raise my legs as the pulling was well...hurting. He put a pillow under my feet and the pain subsided. I was given earplugs and warned of the loud noise and clicking. The test began and I started moving into the machine.

I had no idea how I would react to the confinement. I would 10 minutes into the test as I began to panic and hyperventilate. I asked the technician to stop. He asked me to close my eyes and recite something over and over. It worked as I began to pray the rosary. We completed the test and I headed home. The results of the test would be mailed to me.

With Vicodin, Paxil, and sedatives, I also lost my rabid sweet tooth and a good bit of weight. I am 5 ft. 10 in. and at the time weighed 156. I rarely had an appetite. Looking back, I can understand the abuse of painkillers as a means to weight loss. I exercised my upper body in bed with tension bands. I hardly left our house. It was not possible to stand for more than 5 minutes without sitting or stooping and then have people gawk at you wondering why you were stooping.

I decided to get out of the house one night with Greg, my brother and his partner to see a movie. I was now on Xanax, but hated it's effects not to mention how highly addicting it was. I took it as needed. Waiting in line to see the movie, I had to stoop several times. Ten minutes into the movie, I got up suddenly: another panic attack. I did not have any medication and just sat by a wall outside our screen.

Passing folks and employees asked if I was okay. Greg would emerge 15 minutes later from the screening arena. He looked irritated and asked: "What's wrong." I told him I was having a panic attack. He just didn't get it. We drove in one vehicle and Greg was concerned how we would get home. I told him to go back and watch the movie that I would take a taxi home. He agreed and went back in to watch the film.

I called the taxi and rolled down the window on the ride home. I stuck my head out and let the wind hit me in the face. I hated that medication had begun to rule my life. I cannot stress enough how frightening these attacks can be. Please, if prescribed medication, TAKE IT AS DIRECTED! If you are a loved one living with someone experiencing panic attacks, please be loving, caring and understanding. Panic attacks are NOT a fake cry for attention. They are real, debilatating, and fucking scary.

I later found out Greg only sought me out in the movie lobby after my brother David told him: "Matt's been gone for a while." Greg replied: "He went to the bathroom." David shot back: "Trust me, that was not a "bathroom" exit. I've seen that look before." As mentioned in an earlier posting. David was so sensitive to my condition. As I felt the attack come on, I could see him in the corner of my eye looking at me. He just knew. Greg seemed lost and confused. From his very organized office at Tulane, to the very neatly stacked magazines on our coffee table at home, for Greg everything had it's place. He did not know what to do with this. Sadly, neither did I.

-Matt

QUOTE-Take care of you....

"To truly love yourself is the key to greatness. This love is the belief in yourself after all your failures have been pointed out to you. Practice for this greatness by smiling when no one is looking, laughing when nothing is said, and living as if nothing will stop you. Your dreams may never seem so far away as when they are close at hand."

QUOTE-Nothing Rhymed...

"Nothing old, nothing new,
nothing ventured. Nothing gained
stillborn or lost. Nothing greater
than youth, nothing wiser than truth,
nothing older than time, nothing
sweeter than wine, nothing hoplessly,
wrecklessly, breathlessly blind. Nothing
I couldn't say, nothing why,
cause today nothing rhymed"

- Burton Cummings

"Between Here and Gone" (conclusion)

I awoke in the morning having to go the bathroom. The thought of getting out of bed horrified me. I did not want to feel the pain of the hospital or the night before. David came into the bedroom to check on me and asked if I wanted breakfast. I was not hungry and told to him I was afraid to get up. He said he would help and I very gingerly scooted to the bedside and slowly stood up. I didn't feel any pain except the usual sciatica. I don't need to relate what painkillers can do to the digestive system. There was a five car pile-up on the "Hershey highway" and I would be awhile in the bathroom. Still, THAT pain was gone which brought it's own relief. I figured the nurse hit a main support muscle in my back, leaving my lower left back (the bad side) completely vulnerable and the shot had wore off.

That evening I decided to join David and his partner to watch some televison. As I sat in the recliner, I suddenly felt a rush of twenty thoughts, cold, disconnected from reality or in short: felt like I was dying. David's partner remarked immediately "Something's wrong with him and it's not good." David looked at me and asked what was wrong. I couldn't give them an answer. I just felt paralyzed with fear. I felt like I couldn't breathe and started to hyper-ventilate. It was a full blown "panic-attack." Until you experience the hell of one of these, you cannot articulate what it is like to have one.

It is at this point my brain had enough: enough of pain, thoughts of bills, no money coming in, did I need surgery, and most of all missing Greg. I would not sleep that night and would have another one the next day. I was in bed watching TV and BAM, it hit me. All I knew is that I had to move. I would later find out that this is called: "fight or flight" very common with panic attacks. Whatever this shit was, I wanted it gone. I made another call to a doctor friend and was prescribed "Klonopin." This drug is an anti-convulsant, but is also commonly used in the treatment of anxiety and panic. It worked and that's all that matters, or does it? I had so many medications going in my body and worse very addictive medications.

I finally got some good news: through another doctor friend I had my M.R.I. date moved up from three months to two weeks. I was calling in all favors and friends who could help. I was also happy Greg was coming home from Germany. I've learned never expect a certain outcome or assume how someone will feel in a situation like this. Greg returned and seemed even more disconnected. When I saw him I just cried. I wanted him to hold me and tell me that everything was going to be okay. His reaction was more like: "Why are you crying?" He had no idea. Looking back I should not have been so selfish. He had just come off a hellacious flight, was tired and had to deal with this. By his own admission, Greg was never a coddler.

I started sleeping in our guest room for the firm mattress and getting up to take medications. Greg would get a better night's sleep without all the disruption. This was a huge mistake as it only drove a bigger wedge between Greg and myself. Our lives quickly became a series of "Good mornings" and "Good nights." I can't blame Greg, the Paxil along with all the other medication had completely changed the person he'd met. There we were, both of us not knowing how to fix the other. I guess Greg assumed the outcome of my back problem would take care of things, but remember what I said about assumptions earlier in this posting. The damage was only beginning.

I thought a light went out, but now the candle shines.
I thought my tears wouldn't stop, then I dried my eyes.
And after all of this, the truth that holds me here,
Is that this emptiness is something not to fear.
Yeah, I'll keep wondering how we know where we belong,
After all the journeys made, and the journeys yet to come.
When I feel like giving up instead of going on,
Somewhere in between.

Yeah, I'm just wondering how we know where we belong.
Is it in the arc of the moon, leaving shadows on the lawn?
In the path of fireflies or a single bird at dawn,
Singing in between here and gone.

"Between Here and Gone" (part two)

Memorial Day 2001 was well.... memorable. The rain, the tears and most of all the fear. By this time I had already sought out my doctor for an anti-depressant (Paxil) and a family friend who was also a doctor for pain medication, muscle relaxants and something to sleep (Restoril.) I had to stop the crying and hit the Restoril in double dose. I awoke the next morning with a "Benzover" (a benzodiazapene hangover.) I was listless and had a major headache. My chest hurt from all the crying. I would cry off and on for the next three days.

Greg returned from Michigan and he could see a change. Looking back, the Memorial Day breakdown was a huge red flag of what was to come. Greg was not equipped to deal with the "new" Matt. He could deal with the physical, but the mental part he wouldn't face. Greg was always happy with the status quo, not rocking the boat. He was VERY good at what he did at Tulane, but sometimes I wish he would have left the objectivity of being one of the chief judicial officers of a major university at the office. In the mean time I was spending what seemed like endless cash on whether to opt for ortho or neuro. The orthopedists were leaning to less invasive treatments. The still unaffordable M.R.I. would only tell. Greg had more travel lined up in early June with Tulane alumni affairs to host a group of alums on a two week trip to Germany.

A week into the Germany trip, I would awake one morning to get out of bed only to hit the floor. I had lost the feeling in my left foot. I dialed my brother David then 911. My brother David was my grandmother incarnate in situations like this. He beat the ambulance to our house and got me back to bed. He rode with me as I was taken to University Hospital in New Orleans. I was now in the state hospital system. David called to update my folks. During this visit I was injected in my lower torso with something that was to numb the pain in my back.

I was informed by the doctor that they could not order an M.R.I. as I did not fit the criteria (uncontrollable bowel movements being one.) David with his usual biting wit exclaimed: "Oh he CAN shit on himself if it will help facilitate the process." The doctor was not amused. She would schedule a follow-up M.R.I in three months. In the process of being discharged, I got out of bed to use the bathroom. I was suddenly hit with a stabbing pain down my leg that felt like a bear was clawing at me. It was ten times worse than anything I'd ever felt. I suddenly realized it had to be the earlier injection. I was crying and jolting when I returned to the bed. My brother was furious as the doctor emphazied she had done everything they could. She offered a shot of Benadryl. WHAT THE F*&K???!!! I was being sent home in more pain than I had when I arrived. I was wheeled out to David's vehicle with a script for Vicodin.

I cried in pain as we drove back to David and his partner Warren's home. I would stay with them until Greg's return. It was moments like this that I missed Greg the most. I began to have a sinking feeling that everything was changing and I had no control, like being swept away by a raging flood. I was in the water and Greg was no where in sight. It is here I have to give credit to my brother David who played the ultimate nurse, brother and friend.

I couldn't sleep and got out of bed to use the bathroom. THAT pain hit me again. I made it back to bed but was convulsing and whimpering as I did not want to wake up David and Warren. David would appear through the doorway. "Oh Matthew." he said in sympathy. "Why didn't you call me?" I couldn't even speak to give him an answer. I had the bottle of Vicodin in my hand. He went to get a glass of water. I took five of the pills. David would stay with me. He would later remark: "I looked like a fish flopping on land." As the medication took effect my movement slowed, the fish laying on the dock with only it's gills moving.

A new demon would visit the next day and this one would had nothing to do with pain.

David, despite everything that has happened, I will never forget this. I love you and always will!

-Matt

"Between Here and Gone" (part one)

For many, the year 2001 is defined by the horrible events of September 11th. For me, 2001 would begin a chain of events that would change my life in ways of which I'm still recovering.

Starting in February 2001, I lost a job, not just any job, but one I felt I could finally call a career. I had just gotten a promotion and was flying between coasts from San Jose', CA to Fort Lauderdale, FL doing tech research in an attempt to eliminate our outdated database. Too bad I was following the car headed for the cliff. The company was growing too fast and ended up in bankruptcy in October 2001. Luckily I took an early severance, but $2000.00 is not much considering what was in store.

By this time Greg was now the Associate Dean of Students at Tulane and served on the board of an AIDS non-profit in New Orleans. There was an opening for an "events coordinator." I had been encouraged to take this job in the past, but it seemed to close to home with Greg on the board. I saw it to be a political nightmare in the making. I would be right.

I took over the position in April 2001 diving right into old files and familiarizing myself with the organization's annual events. I did like the creative side of this position. I should have seen the red flags when everyone came in to congratulate me and warned me about my boss and that there were four previous people in my position in less than a year. A card would have been enough. My boss would be the least of my worries.

I had a bulging disc in my lower back from years of pressing forklift tires for an industrial machinery company (butch huh?) I still think it was the whole uniform thing that Greg liked (you know the "Garanimals" type pants with the matching shirt that had a little patch with my name embroidered) that, and the fact I drove a truck. Anyway, one weekend while eating out with my folks, I tripped in the restaurant parking lot and my back absorbed all the shock. I should have just fallen and took the hit to my pride. As the days progressed, the pain in my lower back seemed to get worse, but I worked through it.

By early May 2001, I developed a limp and sleep had become almost impossible. To stand to shave and shower in the morning brought tears. Here I was with no insurance (I had not reached the 90 day window at my new job and elected to take no temporary coverage) and I was in serious pain. I desperately needed an M.R.I. I was running some paperwork downtown for the task force one evening. I fed a parking meter and walked a few blocks. When I got back to my truck I was in tears. I felt stupid and embarassed as people walked by and asked if I was okay. The body ALWAYS wins. I would be forced to take an unpaid leave of absence from NO/AIDS.

It was Memorial Day 2001. Greg headed to Michigan to visit family. I stayed behind and would visit my mom and dad on what was a rainy holiday. The pain began to manifest itself into my mental state. I remember sitting on the couch at my folks and I felt a crying attack coming on. I held it back as best I could, but my mom saw the tears. I brushed it off as the pain, but it was far more than that. Greg seemed strangely distant, I was now without a job, and the sciatica had become so bad it felt like a razor running up and down the back of my left leg.

I returned home with the rain still pounding my windshield. I was parallel parking in front of our house and busted a rear tailight (the third) on a tree. I got out of my truck in the rain and picked up the red, jagged pieces and suddenly it felt like someone knocked the wind out of me. I made my way to the front door sobbing. I got inside and sat on the couch, the house quiet and dark. This was not usual crying. It was the hiccup, heartbroken, someone rolled over my cat type crying. Never in my life did I feel so alone. The rain continued to pour. Stay tuned.

"Tonight, the moon came out, it was nearly full.
Way down here on earth, I could feel it's pull.
The weight of gravity or just the lure of life,
Made me want to leave my only home tonight.
Now I'm just wonderin' how we know where we belong.
Is it in a photograph, or a dashboard poet's song?
Will I have missed my chance to right some wrong,
Should I find myself between here and gone?"

"Now I could grab my keys, peel out in my truck,
With every saint on board bringing me their luck.
And I could drive too fast, like a midnight thief,
As if there was a way to outrun the grief.
Now I'm just wonderin' how we know where we belong.
In a song that's left behind in the dream I couldn't wake from.
Could I have felt the brush of a soul that's passing on,
Somewhere in between here and gone?"

Up above me,
Wayward angels,
A blur of wings and grace.
One for courage,
One for safety,
One for "just in case".

-"Between Here and Gone"- Mary Chapin-Carpenter

"Be frutiful and multiply..."

I was the first to "come out" to my folks. In a previous post: "These thing come in threes..." I talked about helping in the care for my grandmother. After her passing, and still living with my parents, I met a man that I would spend the next ten years with. Our first meeting was during the madness of Mardi Gras 1993 in New Orleans. There was a disgreet courtship, and well, I was hooked. I did have a problem being dishonest with my parents. It's the Catholic in me.

Oh yeah, we're Catholic. My sibliings are as follows: Jerry Anthony, Mark Joseph, David Michael, Matthew John (me) and Mary Grace. Being the first to come out meant the pressure was on for my gay brothers (we'll discuss my sister later.) They were older and dateless. My mom was already on the scent of the possibility of multiples.

The new man in my life, a tall, quiet New Englander didn't know what he was getting into. His introduction to my family would be a visit to my folks on a Saturday (a weekly ritual.) Greg had no idea that in one room, three converstations could be held at once, complete with hand gestures and everyone keep up, except Greg. The drive back had him in the passenger seat (fully reclined) radio off, and an arm across his forehead. This would still not scare him away.

After months of dating, Greg asked me to move in with him. This would not be easy as I was big presence at home. I cooked, took care of the yard, and was pool boy. However at 26 years old, I had to leave. Things were going great with Greg and I wanted to be more present in his life.

Greg was on the fast track with Tulane University as a student affairs administrator. It was quite or should I say quiet transition living with him. Greg grew up on a dairy farm in Vermont. His mom, a wonderful woman, was at one time the town librarian. Greg was from "good stock." We complimented each other well. He the playing the "serious" one while I was the eccentric clown complete with little voices and quoting lines verbatum from the TV series "Bewitched."

For Greg, 1993 was a good year. He was just promoted, was now a home owner, and had a new boyfriend. It would take me a while to say the words Greg wanted to hear. We had been invited to dine with a couple of female friends we introduced and were now dating. The dinner was at the girl's apartment in the French Quarter. As desert was being prepared, Greg and I were alone. I took his hand and told him I loved him. He began to tear up and repeated the words. It was special night I'll always remember.

Now that I had settled in at 2327 Constance Street with Greg, we began a tradition of cooking for family and Tulane staff with no plans for Thanksgiving. It was 1998, and this dinner would be one to remember. Anytime you gave my folks a time to show up, they would always be two hours early. We had to establish what was referred to as "mama time." If a function was at a certain time, you just moved it up by two hours. My mom was really applying the pressure, nagging me with questions about my single brothers. "Are they gay?" she would ask. To which I would reply: "You'll have to ask them." She of course would come back with the: 'Well, you're not saying no, so they must be." I headed to the kitchen and open the first of many bottles of wine.

Everyone arrived and we sat down to dinner. In between courses, my dad and one of my brother's boyfriend, Warren, headed to our front porch to smoke. When they came back in my dad exclaimed: 'I think Warren should join us every Thanksgiving." That would be my drunken cue as I blurted out: "It's about time ya'll said something!" The blood drained from my brothers in colossal fear. Greg kneed me under the table. As I slurred and was "Killing Them Softly" with my words, I turned to my mom and said: "There, ya' happy now! It's all in the open." The next thing you know brothers starting crying trying to explain, parents were consoling trying to understand, it was one big "Oprah Winfrey Show" and not the one where she gives away all the free crap. Greg remained true to his New England upbringing sitting in silence. With a big yawn, I got up and went and passed out in the bedroom. Greg would have to serve dessert and clean up in more ways than one.

The next morning Greg awoke me asking: "Do you remember dinner?" "Yes." I told him. "No more secrets." Boy was I wrong. My sister would show up that Christmas Eve with a girlfriend wearing a tie. Suddenly, whispering began and my biggest fear was realized: there were FOUR of us. This was INDEED biblical.

Matt

"These things happen in threes..."

With the passing of ABC news anchor, Peter Jennings and actress Barbara Bel Geddes ("Miss Ellie" from the long running CBS TV series "Dallas") from lung cancer along with the announcement of Dana Reeve and her diagnosis of the disease, this week has hit too close to home for me.

I lost my father, Jerry "Toby" Cortez, (a long-time smoker) to this horrible disease last September. He was 70 years old. My dad was diagnosed and underwent surgery in October 2002 to remove a small mass from the lower right lobe of his lung. The doctor's informed us that dad was "stage 1" and his prognosis good. No chemotherapy would be necessary. His recovery was difficult, but he would make it home for Christmas that year. That was a great gift to us all.

Fortunately, myself nor any of my siblings smoke. I know celebrity deaths to any disease or condition often bring more awareness. So many loved ones are lost to lung cancer. Ironically, my former partner of ten years, lost his father to lung cancer a month after the death of my father.

I cared for my dad in the months prior to his passing and know how debilatating the disease can be. I slept on the floor next to his bed the night my dad died. Before I laid down, I whispered in his ear that I was right next to him if he needed anything. I began to pray as well asking God to have mercy and spare him any further suffering. Dad awoke me at 12:10 a.m. as he was having difficulty breathing. I prepared a masked breathing treatment and another dose of morphine. As I went to put the mask on his face, his eyes opened the widest I'd seen in days. Something came over me to whisper in his ear: "It was okay to let go." With a nod of his head he took his last breath. Just as sad a moment, it was a beautiful one as well.

My dad lived to make others happy no matter the cost. His love was uncondtional with no bounds or device. I try to live more like him these days. He graciously took what life tossed at him which included four gay children. He knew what could not be changed had to be accepted. He never forced us to take up any sport or live his dream. My fondest memory of Toby Cortez was when I was a small boy and while my mom did the grocery shopping with my grandmother, dad and I would head for the dime store. One Saturday he bought me a set of dishes. When we got home my mom was mortified: "Toby, that is not something you buy for a boy." My dad simply responded: "Rosemary, it's what he wanted." THAT was my father.

Now as for the title of this posting; my maternal grandmother, Katie Diguardi, a wonderful woman, was very superstitious. She believed in births and deaths in "threes." You never walked over someone as you were "walking over their grave." If you did this you had to repeat the process hence avoiding bad luck. A pregnant woman has one foot on the ground and one foot in the grave. Any dog or cat moaning down at the ground at your residence meant a death was immenient in the household. She stood firmly on the notion that a dog moaning at her front door days prior to my grandfather's death was proof of her claim.

I helped care for my grandmother in her final days as well. Grandma also said that the dying call out in their sleep to loved ones who have since passed. The night before she passed away, she awoke me calling out the name of my grandfather and others. I went to her bed to find her awake and proclaiming she was going to die. I assured her she was okay and asked her if she wanted anything. She asked if I had to go to work the next day and if so could I stay home. I replied "no." The next morning I went through the our usual ritual of a breathing treatment, diaper change and clean. I kissed her goodbye saying: "I love you." and headed to work. I called my folks at noon to check on her and the phone just rang. I then called my aunt and uncle who lived a few doors down and my uncle answered. I asked was everything okay at home. He told me my mom and dad were at the funeral home. My jaw dropped as I replied "funeral home?" My uncle suddenly realized I was hearing the news for the first time: "I'm sorry baby." he replied. "Your grandma died an hour ago." I found myself in tears and wondering who would be the next two?

Matt

Can Texas get any HOTTER?

You know you have to consider relocating when it's so hot, the plants on my second floor patio are hurling themselves over the railing in foliage suicide or the dog would prefer "holding it" till winter rather than go outside and relieve himself. At least the heat inspired me to create this blog.

For those of you that have spent countless hours at the local bookstore in the "Self-Help" section thumbing through such great titles as "Mommy, Why Are There Mean People?", or "It's Not My Mirror, It's My Reflection", or my favorite: "Clocking School Bullies For Dummies", save your time and money and buy the mega-chunk, chocolate chip cookie in the bookstore's coffeeshop. You'll get more satisfaction. I promise.

In the coming days, months or whenever I can sit down and collect my thoughts, I'll muse about my past 41 years in what has become a very interesting life. I'll cover just about every topic from growing up with multiple gay siblings (that alone should keep you visiting) to back surgery, prescription drug addiction, alcoholism and its effects on the ones you love, being a primary-caregiver to my terminally ill father and the sad fallout that can occur. I'll write about hope, which saved my life. I'll also chime in on current events, and not topics such as: "Is Nick and Jessica's marriage really in trouble?", or "Will we ever see Ben Affleck in another feature film?"

Stay tuned and thanks,
Matt