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THE MONSTER CREEPS

  Inside the house, Sissy’s alarm could hardly be heard by the intruder. He moved on down the hallway toward Liz’s bedroom. In the silence, he could hear her breathing evenly in deep sleep.

  But, somehow, even in deep sleep, the unwanted presence permeated the darkness and drifted into Liz’s unconsciousness and she began to stir. Her eyeballs began to move beneath the lids. REM, rapid eye movement which accompanied her dreams. The monster began to tug at Liz’s soul and she stirred with visions of shadows, demons and monsters; shaking her out of her slumber and jolting her wide awake with the pain and terror the monster always brought on. Shards of pain shot through her entire body. Her back pained and her legs were on fire. Her arms were heavy and wooden, paralyzed and useless.

  Her eyes came wide open, but they ached and even in the darkness, she knew her vision was blurred. Only vague shades of blacks and grays loomed above her, but she knew there was movement in the darkness. A blob of black moved from the hallway and blocking out the grey of the bedroom doorway; a large, hulking shapeless shadow moving slowly and quietly toward her.

  ***

  Monsters and Lollipops

  by

  Franklin D.Lincoln and Elizabeth Wall Poray

  * * * * *

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Monsters and Lollipops

  Copyright © 2009 by Franklin D. Lincoln

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  * * * * *

  For

  Carol Hambleton

  Don’t forget us.

  We won’t forget you.

  In Memorium for

  Ruth & John Wall

  *****

  Prologue

  The monster was there all the time. It lurked in my shadow and waited to attack. It was there at my high school graduation. It was there at my wedding and when my son was born. It followed me to work and watched silently, patiently; ready to spring its full fury and wrath upon me. But it was a patient monster, slowly creeping up on me; slowly whittling away at my strength, gradually moving into my bones and muscles so subtly that I didn’t see it coming.

  The monsters initials are M. S. Multiple Sclerosis. It is a disease that strikes only the central nervous system, consisting of the brain and spinal cord. It affects the movements and functions of the entire body. The brain sends and receives signals and the spinal cord directs them throughout the body through a network of nerves. These nerves are surrounded by an insulating fatty material called myelin which forms a protective coating for the nerves during the first ten years of one’s life.

  When this myelin breaks down, it is replaced by scar tissue which slows down and blocks signals to and from the central nervous system to the rest of the body, severely impairing vision, strength, and coordination.

  This monster crept so slyly into my life and took up a deep seated residence without my awareness. Then as time wore on, it gradually became obvious that there was something wrong with me. It first started in the eighties. I would get blurred vision in my right eye, which I blew off as staring at a computer screen too much. I didn’t worry much about it.

  The summer of 1989 brought numb legs and mild pain that came and went spasmodically. I ignored these symptoms too. I was in my mid thirties by then and had gone back to school to become a paralegal. I then went to work for my nephew, who had a busy, if not somewhat questionable practice. I was a go getter in those days, always working hard and putting in long hours. I blamed the onset of continuing fatigue to the stress and pressure of the job.

  The early nineties brought additional pain, numb fingers, leg weakness and a tight band like feeling around my stomach. I thought all of this was strange, but I found it hard to explain to doctors. I thought I had somehow, hurt a nerve from all of the work I was doing.

  In January, 1995, I was having lot of pain in my legs; not the kind of pain that goes down the back of the leg, but the whole leg. I thought this was very weird and was finding it more and more difficult to ignore what was happening to me. In April of 1995, I could not walk at all from paralysis in my right leg and numbness from the waist down. I finally had to face it, that something was very wrong.

 

  My primary care provider sent me to a neurologist, who sent me for an MRI of brain and spinal areas. Finally, I had come face to face with the Monster. I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.

  I was given steroids by infusion. I would go to the hospital in the city, early in the morning before work, everyday for a week. I would be placed in a recliner chair in a big open bay area with about twenty other patients who were receiving intravenous treatment of some sort.

  I would have a bag containing steroids, hanging from an apparatus that would drip the right amount of medication steadily for about five hours each day. The steroid infusions took a tremendous toll on my body. It caused my arthritis to worsen and my blood pressure skyrocketed. If one part of my body hurt, it would affect everything else too.

  They would leave the needle in a vein in my hand all week, so they could refasten the apparatus each day that I reported to the hospital. I would have to be careful of my every movement, for if the needle bent in the vein, it would hurt with a stabbing pain. It would be sore all week and I would have to sleep on my back in the night, by keeping my hand on my chest. If I rolled over on the hand, it would hurt so bad that it would wake me up. Nights of fitful sleep left me tired and exhausted.

  I went through this hell every six months for years, just so I could go to work. I really should have stopped working years ago, but I kept on dancing with this monster inside of me. Time and time again, I went back for more infusion treatments. I gained weight each time I went through the process. I would then become depressed, followed by periods of excitable giddiness appearing happy and talkative off and on for two months following each treatment cycle. Over time, the steroids seem to help. The strength in my legs came back somewhat, and I was able to walk, however the numbness and pain remained, making it necessary to limit my activities. Paxil was prescribed to help with the pain and the depression. The doctors put me on a Hydrocodine 750 daily regimen so I could continue working.

  My right leg gave out whenever I walked too much in a day. Foot drop became a fact of life for me and never went away. The pain pills, however, helped me to continue on with not only work, but just life in general.

  As the nineties progressed, my multiple sclerosis also progressed. The monster upped the stakes and the dance became more horrific. My doctor sent me for more testing to determine if anything else was contributing to this unrelenting pain. I returned to the hospital for spine L/SAP+LATmyelogram. The tests found degenerative disease in the lumbar spine, L4, L5 encroachment, and Spondylosthesis. I was then sent to a pain management clinic. They administered a series of facet joint and epidural steroid blocks, none of which worked. I then began a regimen of stretching exercises and learned many physical therapy methods that I have since made a part of my daily routine, along with electrical stimulation from a tens
unit. I even tried acupuncture for awhile. It was very painful and proved to be a very bad experience. I was stuck on the acupuncture table, unable to move. My body rejected the needles. It was a very rare reaction.

  The monster was still becoming stronger. More and more it was in control of the dance. Severe pain in the leg continued and my hip continued to give out on me on an almost daily basis. I became dependent on a cane and eventually bought a wheelchair to help me through the day. I had bad fatigue which required me to take two naps a day. Blurred vision in my right eye started to come and go on a regular basis and my bowels began to have a mind of their own. I could no longer work and it became necessary to stay home most of the time.

  I began to watch television a lot and read novels. I reread my collection of Nancy Drew books, which I had saved from my childhood and became enthralled with mystery stories. I became addicted to Turner Classic Movies. There was something reassuring about the old black and white movies and the stars that had been part of my life so long ago when I felt good. Especially, Bette Davis. She was my favorite. I especially liked her performance in Jezebel and her famous line;” Better fasten your seat belts. It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.” For some unknown reason, I always identified with her and tried to emulate her mannerisms and the clever way she had with words. I tried, but I don’t think I ever fully succeeded and with the onset of the monster, I think I failed miserably and I fell into a habit of bitter and sarcastic witticism. Bette Davis was actually born Ruth Elizabeth. I always found it interesting that my mother’s name was Ruth and mine was Elizabeth.

  I acquired the cutest little pug puppy that I named Sissy Boom-Boom. She was great company when my husband was off to work as Chief of Police of the little town of Mandalyn. She was great company and very possessive of me. She would sit on my lap while I watched the old movies. Eventually, she became so used to them that even when I was not with her, she would curl up in her chair and watch the movies without me.

  In the spring of 2002, I suffered another devastating blow. This time it was not my monster that brought it on. Everyone seems to have their own monster in their life and this time my husband, Joe Porelli, met his. I suppose everyone in the law enforcement business has to acknowledge the dangers that exists and the monsters they must face, but I don’t think Joe ever thought that a fate such as what befell him that day in May could have ever happened in a quiet small town where the most dangerous things he had to contend with might be a violent drunk or an out of control domestic squabble.

  He had been found, barely alive, in the abandoned rock quarry north of town. The back of his head had been bashed in and a bloody rock was found next to him.

  There were no suspects and no clue as to the assailant or assailants. There was no clue as to why Joe was there in the quarry. Joe eventually regained consciousness but his dementia was such that he was no longer cognizant of his surrounding or any one around him. It had been necessary to commit him to a nursing home ten miles away, just south of Buffalo.

  Along with my own illness, the added burden of nursing home expenses, threatened to bankrupt us financially. Unbeknownst to me, Joe had fortunately, had the foresight to set up a trust fund to take care of me in case of something happening to him. My nephew Michael, the attorney that I had previously worked for had helped Joe set it up with money that Joe had supposedly, won at the local racetrack. Neither Michael nor Joe had ever told me about this, for they knew how I felt about gambling and about Joe’s brother, Vinnie, who was reputed to be a gangland boss and heavy into the gambling world.

  I was now alone and the Monster took advantage of it. I became more depressed and despondent. I could barely function and could no longer care for myself. It soon became obvious that I could no longer live alone.

  The answer to my loneliness came in the form of a wild, fun loving, bundle of dynamite named Deb Raymond. She came whirling into my life astride a Red Honda Rebel Motorcycle, having just discarded her third husband and looking for a new life.

  I had known Deb all my life. Actually she was my aunt, even though she was a full five years my junior, but that’s another story, in itself.

  She came to live with me and became my helpmate. She got a job as a waitress, serving the counter at a local restaurant, ‘The Gossip Grill’. And when she wasn’t working she was helping me.

  In time my life began to stabilize and I learned to deal better with the monster. Deb was an adventure all to herself and her whimsies began to rub off on me. It soon became obvious; it was time to fasten the seat belts. I knew from then on, it was going to be a bumpy ride.

  ****

  OCTOBER 1989