Other testosterone-related updates

Getting back to my usual life, there's a few things going on with the other men in my life.

Aspen called me a couple of days after Christmas. He was on his way back from California. Apparently, the week before Christmas, he got fed up with the stress at work, and he wasn't going to see his daughter for the holidays, so he set out driving to see relatives on the West coast. I'd left him a "How are you doing?" message when I hadn't heard from him for a couple of days. Last time I didn't hear from him like that, he'd come down with a mystery infection in his arm, was on IV antibiotics, and nearly lost his arm. So, I was concerned.

He apologized for not calling sooner. He said, "When I heard your message, I thought, 'Oh, shit! I forgot to call her before I left!' So, I called as soon as I could." Better than nothing, I suppose.

He asked how the weather was. I said, "Well, it's warmer here, but a little windy."

"Oh yeah! You're not in Colorado either!" he exclaimed, remembering my holiday plans.

He asked me how Texas was treating me, and I told him what I could...obviously omitting dear Greg, as he winked at me while I was on the phone. I promised to call when I got back, but have yet to do so.

South Carolina texted me an early Merry Christmas, letting me know he was headed to his parents' farm to go hunting for the holiday. I heard from him again on New Year's Day, when he came back to civilization and sent me New Year's wishes in a text. He'd gotten four deer and had gotten some much-needed rest, and a break from the situation with his ex. I told him about being stuck in Denver. He let me know when he'd be back in the office and returning emails, which is when he finally saw my Christmas gift to him. He loved it -- I e-gifted him an album called "The Story of the Blues." Excellent album, and he thanked me for my thoughtfulness.

The biggest news is from Fella. We'd played phone and text tag for a couple of weeks before Christmas. His messages didn't sound good, which worried me, but I chalked it up to the trouble with his son.

I can't recall if I blogged this, but I spoke to son after he'd returned from his swearing-in for the Army. Yes, it's official. He goes at the end of this month. He wanted to chat when I called, and so did his girlfriend. However, I think they'd been drinking a little. They were just a little too silly, you know? He told me about his swearing-in, and about breaking his hand, and about the surprise party for his birthday that he wasn't supposed to know about, but did. Fella was ticked at him for knowing. When I got off the phone, son stopped and said, "Hey, Blogget. I love you!" It was sweet, if a little sloshy.

I finally saw Fella the night before leaving for Texas. We went to dinner at a new barbecue restaurant here. I went to his house and his kids were excited about a little gift of bread and jam I'd left at the door the day before.

"[Girlfriend] was so excited to see her name on the card," son said.

"Hell," said daughter, "WE were excited to see our names on the card!" And they laughed.

Fella didn't say anything about it at all. "Do you mind driving?" he asked. I didn't mind. He likes the seat heaters in my car. He calls them "bun warmers."

He told me in the car that he's had a hard time lately. He wanted me to drive because his eyesight has gotten bad lately. By the time he gets home each night, he's so completely exhausted that it's all he can do to fall into bed. And he's drinking so much water that he has to pee every hour, which makes it hard to get good sleep. It's a vicious circle. Then, leg cramps wake him up all the time.

He yawns. And a bell starts going off in my head.

We talk more while waiting for a table. We have an hour's wait, since the place is new. He orders tea and sets to creating the perfect tea concoction. There's a science to this with him. Four "pink packet" sweeteners. Two lemon wedges. And whatever you do, don't take his glass for a refill and come back with a whole new glass. That's an insult to his concoction.

But that's exactly what the bartender did. The resulting cascade of apologies was hysterical, as all of three servers rushed to blame each other for dumping out his finely-tuned tea.

He got the next glass just right, leaned an elbow on the bar, rested his chin in his hand, and tilted his head to look at me. It was one of those looks, that I haven't seen from him in awhile. Affection in his lovely green eyes, a small grin. He can look at me with such intensity that I have to look away.

Our table is called. The waitress has to do an elaborate demonstration of the variety of sauces they offer. He hassles her playfully, messing up the tidy little picture she's supposed to make with the sauces. We're laughing and things are good. Then, he goes to the restroom for the fourth time. When he comes back, I say, "You know you've seen that sometimes I wear my glasses for the movies, and sometimes not. That's when I'm having blood sugar trouble. I wonder if that's going on with you?"

He seemed to consider it. "Hmm," he said, chewing thoughtfully. "Maybe I can get that checked during the break." I hope he does. His symptoms are alarming me. The bell in my head is loud.

The rest of the evening is delightful. We laugh at the kids in the booth next to us. We tell humiliating peeing-outdoors stories on our sons. He takes tastes from my plate, and I take some from his. I couldn't finish my plate, but he didn't let the waitress take it away, so he could take my leftovers. It's a comfortable familiarity. But he's worn out already.

At his house, he says to give him a call when I get back. We'll get together and do something the next week. He says to call when I get to Denver, on the 30th. He might be in town that night, to pick up his youngest son the next day. It's a small kiss goodbye.

I called him on the 30th. No answer. I texted on the 31st, to see if he made it through the weather to Denver. He hadn't. He was stuck in a town called Dillon, waiting for weather to clear. They had a friend near there to stay with, or they'd have been in a Red Cross Shelter.

Yesterday, I called and finally spoke to him. He sounded rough. He said it had been a tough Christmas. "What's going on," I persisted. He seemed reluctant to talk about it, but I'm a little tired of tip-toeing with him.

"They found the source of the trouble I've been having," he said. He left it hanging.

"And?" I said, pressing ahead.

"It's diabetes," he said. He sounded like he was pronouncing a death sentence. Well, if he doesn't take care of it, then it is. But there's a lot to be done.

"That's what I was thinking it was," I said. "What medication are you on? An oral?" He told me about the medication, that it makes him feel bad, but he's only been on it a week. Damn, he sounds depressed.

"Are you checking your sugars?" Yes, he is, but.... "Yes, I know," I said, "It's a pain in the ass." He told me about Christmas night, when his numbers were off the charts and his kids almost took him to the hospital.

"That's scary, I know," I said. "Sounds like your medication needs adjusting." He sees the doctor again this week. I'm of the opinion he needs to call the man, but I don't want to push that hard.

"Fella," I say. "I've been on insulin for close to ten years."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." And I tell him my story, of knowing the fatigue from when I had gestational diabetes, to knowing I'd have full-blown diabetes someday, to managing it now. "There's a lot they can do right now," I said. "A lot of new medications are on the market. We just have to find what works for you."

He says he'll get this settled at home, then call me. I told him I'd call him to check on him. When will we go out again? I just don't know. I know he has to drive his son back to Denver soon, but he's worried about even making it through a full day of work. I'm concerned, to say the least.

It's tough to say, but his son going into the Army is probably best right now. He needs a break from that stress and pressure. It's certainly not helping his condition any.

Once again, we'll see....