Damaged Merchandise

By James Beeson

Damaged merchandise is a euphemistic term applied to a flawed person. The flaw may be physical, emotional, mental congenital or acquired. This book is about such people.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 7, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503531161

James Beeson

Dr. Beeson was born in 1926, the son of an Indiana farmer. He skipped the 12th. grade, was accepted in to the Navy College Training Program, and sent to Notre Dame University. He graduated from Indiana Medical School at 22. He is a board certified anesthesiologist who practiced his profession for 42 years in Jacksonville, FL. He was a caregiver for his beloved wife for six years. He married his late wife's best friend (widow). who was, is and ever will be beloved. He has five children, several stepchildren, grandchildren, step grandchildren, and a growing number of "greats" whom he loves with all his heart. He is chronically happy. How could he be otherwise?

Book preview

Chapter One

Brittany Boyce was seventeen and a new mother. Except for the rite of passage called morning sickness, she had experienced an uneventful pregnancy and delivery.

Her young math teacher had been the father. Granting that it always takes two to tango, she was the aggressor in the single coupling.

Bryce Boyce was in the minority when he stepped up to the plate, a.k.a., married her. There is still a core of the citizenry that construes bastardy to be stigmatizing.

The good beginning (after the beginning) was that the two of them liked each other. Brit was four months pregnant when a mostly private ceremony made them man and wife. The girl had become a woman.

After the initial shock wore off, both sets of parents were supportive and not judgmental. When you break eggs, make an omelet.

Brit had been a moderately pampered only child who had usually done what she wanted when she wanted. Her goals had been hazy and indistinct. The living body within her living body altered her focus. The overworked word epiphany appeared to have transpired. She would not have an abortion, and she would embrace motherhood.

She had always made good grades without half-trying, so she successfully finished the eleventh grade as an honor student as her pregnancy advanced.

The early clucking about her growing problem melted away as for varying reasons most everyone was supportive. She wished for acceptance but did not require it.

Her previous promiscuous ways had not been pathological. She had viewed the matter as recreational and not all that mysterious. The baby changed all that. Society favored monogamy—on paper anyway—so she would too.

Bryce’s parents were affluent and willing to subsidize the young couple and their upcoming offspring as needed, including whatever it took to get Brit through her senior year in high school—and beyond, if she wished.

Brit’s father had always said, among his many platitudes, that your friends will stand with you, and your enemies didn’t like you anyway. That sounded right to her.

Chapter Two

How much the newborn son contributed to the growing love between Brit and Bryce might be debated. The two of them were happy with each other and with the miracle of a being of their own creation.

Bryce had expected to be fired from his teaching position. The subject had come up for considerable discussion, but with a wedding in the offing, the officials decided not to terminate him.

Did he wish to return to the same classroom next year? He was considered to be an effective math teacher, as his students’ SAT scores had attested. Had he committed a court-martial offence? More debate.

Bryce had no other blots on his escutcheon, so the school board left the matter of his tenure up to the principal of his school. She opted to offer him a contract for the coming year, which he accepted with surprise and appreciation.

He was a dedicated teacher, more interested in awakening young minds to the wonders of mathematics than to the advancement of the Teachers Union.

Chapter Three

Brit’s obstetrician liked nearly all his patients, not the least of which was Brit. She helped to make up for the occasional sullen somebody-else-was-at-fault teenagers he might have as patients. She followed instructions and was appreciative.

She had asked him late in her pregnancy when relations could be resumed after delivery.

Will you be in a private or semiprivate room at the hospital? was his reply.

The little boy weighed in at an even eight pounds at birth and came out lusty and hungry. Brit, upon hearing his cry and with a very effective epidural anesthetic in place, decided to cry also. Isn’t it interesting that the tears of joy and the tears of sadness have the same salinity? Then again, maybe not.

Bryce’s parents had hoped for a baby sister for him. It hadn’t happened, and now being in their midforties, they no longer aspired to the addition.

Brit’s obstetrical experience reminded her mother-in-law, Candy, that she was overdue for a routine physical exam.

Bryce’s parents lived in North Carolina but were strongly considering moving closer to their son and grandson.

Chan Boyce had created a little dot-com electronic company that a larger company had thought enough of to offer him ten million dollars to part with it. Part with it he did at the age of thirty-nine. The elder Boyces led the good life. They were not profligate, but they did pretty much whatever they wanted.

Candy’s tardy physical indicated that she was not menopausal as she had anticipated. There were other causes for amenorrhea, she was told, such as pregnancy.

No! she blustered.

Oh yes! he blustered back.

Chapter Four

What did your gynecologist have to say about you? Chan Boyce asked his wife.

Calmly she said, He said you were going to be a father.

He was stunned. You mean … ?

Smiling, she replied, Yes, I mean.

Concerned, he said, Shouldn’t you be lying down or something?

She smiled more. Apparently, I already did that.

After all these years—do we know the gender?

No. I told him we’d probably keep either kind.

That’s very motherly of you. Hey, if it’s an uncle, he’ll be younger than his nephew!

You have a firm grasp of the obvious, Chan. He says I’m fine. Just do the usual things with vitamins and not gain too much weight. He did point out there was an increased possibility of a Down baby. He’ll do an amnio later on if we want it.

Odds are still way in our favor. Also, I read that fathers over fifty have offspring with a twofold increased incidence of schizophrenia. Thank heavens I’m only forty-nine.

A fairly active forty-nine, I’d say, all things considered, she said.

Bryce will be surprised, Chan said.

So who won’t be? she concluded.

Chapter Five

Mr. and Mrs. Hatfield, formerly of Newport, Kentucky, had the nasty habit of pushing their children in front of moving cars in an effort to extort money from unsuspecting drivers. The second time they tried that caper, Mr. Hatfield was apprehended and sent to prison. He wouldn’t implicate his wife, so she was not indicted.

Matilda Hatfield was pregnant at the time of her husband’s incarceration, and human services saw to it that this third child was taken away from her immediately after delivery.

Both of the adult Hatfields died on the same day. He was stabbed by a testy fellow inmate, and she had pneumonia as a complication of measles.

Lieutenant John Broome, formerly Sergeant John Broome, was consulting with Sheriff Jay Hutchinson of the Jacksonville, Florida, police force not long after the Hatfields had their exiting duet.

You heard about the dreams the two of them had, didn’t you? John asked.

Yes, something about gifts from their deceased sons, wasn’t it?

That’s what Newport told me. They took her baby away from her as soon as it was born, before that. How would you like to blindly adopt a baby from that murky genetic pool?

That’s a scary thought, John. Sometimes those recessive genes ride to the rescue, but no, I wouldn’t be adopting that kid. Come to think of it, I’m not in the market for any kids, except grandkids. You, on the other hand, have not done your part to increase the world’s surplus population. I keep reassuring the troops that you’re not gay, just overly selective in women.

Interesting that you brought that up. I just got engaged.

Great! That schoolteacher of yours?

That’s the one. My favorite assertive female.

Timetable?

Wedding in about three months or so, and I’ll be needing a best man. Do you know of any local sheriffs who would be able to accommodate me?

I can think of one. Wonderful, John! I’ve had two great marriages. I’m a big fan of it.

Wasn’t she put off by your police job initially?

A bit—the usual jeopardy thing. My dazzling personality overcame her reluctance.

Dazzling? Too strong? John asked.

Maybe not, maybe not, Jay said.

Chapter Six

Ray Parker had been retired from the Jacksonville Police Force for several years. He had done a lot of things right in his lifetime. Coming down with diabetes was not one of those things.

He had developed end-stage renal disease, which necessitated a kidney transplant. A homeless veteran whom he salvaged and helped to turn into a productive citizen contributed the kidney. Ray and his late wife had in turn legally adopted Manny Morris, being without issue themselves.

Ray had lived alone after his wife died. He considered himself to be damaged merchandise, as he put it, so he made no effort whatsoever to seek out any female companionship.

Manny and his family kept tabs on Ray, and that, along with an occasional lunch with former cohorts, sufficed for a social life.

He awakened one morning with a nagging headache and some dizziness. He was a bit wobbly, but he could get from point A to point B successfully. He wouldn’t be driving a car in that state. Symptoms of what? He wasn’t overly concerned about it. He’d had a couple of similar episodes in the past year, and they had resolved quickly. Just another part of being damaged merchandise, he concluded.

He made himself his customary simple breakfast and ate it, more from force of habit than appetite.

His prostate enlargement allowed him to exercise a few times each night. More damage.

He had some difficulty reading his morning paper and gave up on it to await the passing of his vertigo.

The phone rang. His caller ID indicated it was a probable solicitation from the Police Benevolent Association. He smiled. It was a random call. They wouldn’t know him. He picked up the phone to say hello. The bidden word didn’t come. He tried again—same result. He could make an unintelligible guttural sound, and that was all.

He was savvy enough to realize that he was having a TIA (transient ischemic attack) or an overt stroke. He closed the phone connection and dialed 911. Fortunately, he drew a seasoned operator on the other end of the line.

Yes, what can we do for you?

Ray grunted—words would not come.

Are you in trouble, sir?

Two grunts.

Can you speak?

One loud grunt.

Your phone number is listed under a Raymond Parker. Is that you?

Two grunts.

You live at …, she gave his house number.

Two grunts.

We’ll be sending help right away. Can you unlock your front door?

Two grunts.

Lie down, sir. Someone will be there within ten minutes.

Three grunts!

Was that a thank-you, sir?

Chapter Seven

The ambulance arrived at Ray’s house eight minutes after his 911 call.

He was sitting in his chair, facing the unlocked front door, as the EMTs entered quickly and came directly to him.

Can you speak, sir?

Ray shook his head in negation.

We need to get you to the hospital immediately. You may have had a stroke.

Ray nodded his agreement and acceptance.

Stay put. We’re getting the stretcher.

Ray considered offering to walk to the ambulance but decided they knew best. They looked strong and healthy, and Ray was only 160 pounds.

He handed them his key ring, with the front door key presenting. One of the EMTs ran to the door and locked it after Ray was safely ensconced in the ambulance. Then they were off to the hospital, with the siren in full wail.

They had advised the ER that they were bringing a probable stroke victim, and that would energize the troops and expedite his care.

The ER nurse, echoing the EMTs, asked him, Can you speak, sir?

Ray tried to speak, and he could! Yes, I can—now.

His headache and dizziness had also departed.

The ER doctor did a cursory neurological exam on Ray and could elicit no abnormalities. Ray had no trouble speaking whatsoever.

It appears you’ve had a TIA. Do you know what that is?

Yes, a warning instead of a full stroke.

Then you likely know that we’ll need to do some tests right away to clarify the problem. Have you had any other episodes like this in the past?

Twice. Didn’t last this long.

Recently?

Yes, maybe a month ago.

Do you have a neurologist you would like us to call?

No. Whoever’s on call is fine.

Dr. Synapse, the neurologist, was at Ray’s stretcher side fifteen minutes later. He said what he meant, and he meant what he said. Straight talk. Ray liked that.

Twenty-four hours later, after a flurry of scans, labs, and tests, Dr. Synapse told him they had a handle on the problem.

Your left carotid artery is 90 percent occluded, and the right one is 60 percent. You need to have the left one reamed out and soon.

Okay, what about the right side?

Nothing urgent there.

Let’s get on with it then, Ray said.

You have a favorite vascular surgeon?

Don’t know any of them. You pick one, Ray said with a smile.

I often use Sam Myrick. I’ll call him.

Fine.

Meantime, no heavy lifting, straining, or motorcycles.

Will I be able to ride a motorcycle after the surgery?

Yes, you will.

That’s great because I couldn’t before that.

The jocular element belied his inner feelings. He didn’t fear death, but disability terrified him.

Chapter Eight

Sheriff Jay Hutchinson went to visit Ray in the hospital as soon as he heard he was there.

I know it’s an overworked phrase, but why do you keep doing things to draw attention to yourself?

I live alone. We recluses tend to be weird.

You’re having surgery?

Tomorrow. They’re going to Roto-Rooter my clogged carotid artery.

So you didn’t have a stroke?

Nope, just an early warning. Thankful for that.

Manny know?

Sure, he’ll be here shortly. He’ll want to be sure his kidney is being well treated.

Jay just shook his head. Ray could find humor in the strangest places.

Manny and his wife came to Ray’s room just as Jay was leaving.

He doesn’t seem any more unusual than normal, Jay said in passing, being sure Ray could overhear it.

Well, if I am abnormal, it’s because of the kidney I got from that security fellow, Ray called out.

"Hey,