My First Poisoning: February, 1986

I was poisoned (again) for writing this piece.

BAD NEWS: No more (cheap) coffee at McDonald's, where this occurred.
GOOD NEWS: Someone who seemed to be a close associate of the McDonald's founding family stopped by to chat with me.

That's progress.

First, let's make this DICK NIXON "PERFECTLY CLEAR": Open season on murdering members of my family is over. What relatives of mine am I sure, or strongly suspect, were murdered?

JAMES LEONARD (Maternal Grandfather)
MARGARET LEONARD (Maternal Grandmother)
MARGARET HUGHES (Mother)
DORIS HEARING (Aunt)
ROBERT BLAND (Step-Grandfather)
HOWARD HUGHES, SR. (Paternal Great-Grandfather)

Why? Why were they murdered? Not sure, because as I like to say, I don't get too many intelligence briefings. In fact, I get none. But, I do know three of the aforementioned individuals died in a hospital, which might explain why I once walked out of a relative's ICU room saying, "This is too nuts," and I did not know who I was. Got evidence to the contrary? Let's see it in court, because maybe C-SPAN could sell some soap.

My one and only colonoscopy? Drama? We had it big-time, complete with very nervous relatives in the waiting room, a "missing" doctor, a lengthy pep talk from the anesthesiologist, a two-hour plus wait on the gurney with IV line in, an obvious .mil spook nursing staff in the procedure room, and America, what was my wisecrack? ANSWER: "The next one is gonna be at Walter Reed." Do I ever really know what is going on? Not really, but that adventure they say is an every ten year event for polyp-free me, yet maybe not when the spies ripped my colon so bad the very next year with a GI tract infection I don't want to talk about, or write about, particularly in polite company.

Bottom line? I survived. Medical care? Medical? Forget it, but "they" still want me to stop by a clinic to just chat that no longer serves homeless people on a walk-in basis. No way, but now you need an appointment in the "Homeland," which is coming to resemble the Fatherland a bit too much. Does the Department of Homeland Security limo idle at the curb in front of your bagel shop during a "convo" with the more law-based types? No, it does not, and do not lie to me.

Poisoning? There's just no counting-up the incidents of viral, bacterial, pharmaceutical, and downright deadly crap that has been put in my coffee. The old ones call it a "Mickey," whereas the stuff they give me probably has a very long molecular name. Not like a first love, that first poisoning. First love "they" turned into a Jesus Freak, and she disappeared, but I see there is a street in Ventura, California named after her. Coincidence? Don't think so, Jack.

Back to February, 1986, I had just eaten some leftovers, when clutching the gut, down I went to the floor with intense abdominal pain. "This is it," I thought, but why? (I am only 21 years from cracking the not-so-secret ID secret). I struggled to my feet, and two cats in the spy home I was housesitting started meowing and dancing on their hind legs. Weird! You bet, but hey, why do you think the Pharoes had a lot of cats around?

After the pain subsided, then I was scared, so I called home to share how I was glad to still be alive. Papa Hughes just laughed, which I thought was a kind of strange response, but then again, he's the guy who said, more than once, "I've almost died many times." I could never figure why he said that until now, a few dozen poisonings and near-death experiences later.

It's another Hughes thing, and if you wish you were me, you are truly a moron.