The 600 Club

Tonight I became a member of an elite group: The 600 Club (or "DC+").

I'm obviously not talking about home runs, but I'm feeling kinda kindred to some special folks nonetheless...

762  Barry Bonds*
755  Hank Aaron
714  Babe Ruth
660  Willie Mays
630  Ken Griffey Jr.
609  Sammy Sosa**
600  Lee Mazzola**

(* alleged use of steroids, ** confirmed use of steroids)

I'll be checking in on my head-to-head race with A-Rod this season as well.

Anyway, I've decided to celebrate my milestone achievement by providing a list of my own highlights-- wait a sec, what exactly are we talking about here?!! Tonight I self-adminstered my 600th weekly injection of A****x in treatment of my very own chronic illness. The entries are chronological, and contain supplementary drug info keyed below:

α = sleeping pill, β = narcotic pain reliever, γ = anticonvulsant, δ = steroid

Injection #3 - Days Inn, Youngstown OH 10:30pm
α = ●●
Only my second full-dose injection and the first travel night of a national tour with B** *****. Had intense double vision while watching Law & Order; I understood that there weren't really two Carey Lowells on the screen, but I somehow convinced myself that they didn't know that on the show, and worked the "twin" characters into the storyline. Woke up with intense flu-like symptoms and horrible headache.

Injection #43 - President St, Brooklyn NY 8:15pm
α = ●●●●
This could have been any weekend in fair-weathered 1999 (actually, that summer was hotter than hell!)... I fell into a wonderful and mysterious pattern of taking hallucinogenic dosages of pills and going to movies, usually by myself. What a time for trippy films: eXistenZ, Julien Donkey-Boy (late year), The Blair Witch Project, Fight Club, The Matrix, Bringing Out the Dead, Go, Election, Eyes Wide Shut, Limbo, Deep Blue Sea, Three Kings, American Beauty,  . Anyway, I picked this particular date because I'm pretty sure it was the night I went to see Run, Lola, Run at Angelika, and then stumbled out after about 15 minutes to sneak into South Park: Bigger Longer & Uncut. I know I saw Deep Blue Sea as part of some insane self-produced double feature somewhere, but I haven't the foggiest what the other movie was (maybe Lake Placid???). The old Worldwide Theater was another of my favorite haunts around this time ($3 admission and easiest place to sneak around ever).

Injection #47 - Summer Rental Cottage, 1000 Islands NY 9:15pm
α = ●●●●
I injected near the beginning of our nightly Trivial Pursuit match, featuring me, my parents, my grandmother, uncle and three cousins. My behavior became erratic around the fourth pie, when I accidentally shouted out the answer "Cheops!" during an opposing team's history question. Badly slurring, I spent the last 30 minutes of the match alternating between laying my forehead down on the table and maniacally cackling every time my grandmother gave a final answer. The next morning my cousin says, "Man, you were pretty fucked up last night."

Injection #50 - President St, Brooklyn NY 8:00pm
α = ●●
Milled around the old Tower Records w.4th area downtown. I was providing guest percussion with Mascott at The Fez Under Time Cafe later that evening, so I figured I'd stay in the area until "show time." Drugs seemed to be kicking in when I finally got on stage, or perhaps it was the three NA St. Pauli Girls I nursed. My assignment was alternating whole notes on a tamborine, but I treated my part like royalty. The sound at Fez was always so beautiful on stage for quiet bands, and I really got into the decay of the tamborine picking up ambient reverb from the vocal mic's (which I was not granted permission to use at this show). Likely that I sat there like a simpleton with a silly grin, but who the fuck cares?! Someone told me after the show that it was the greatest tamborine performance they'd ever seen live, and I'm still not sure if they were kidding or not.

Injection #70 - President St, Brooklyn NY 8:00pm
γ = ●●●
A bit stressed out, so I decided to just stay in for a change. Either I hit an artery or missed completely because my leg swelled up like a grapefruit, and got all purple and shit. First (and definitely not the last!) time this happened, so I decided to call the hotline number I had in my notebook. Nobody answered, so I left a message and kinda forgot about it.
I probably forgot about it because I smoked a big old joint to "take the edge off." The swelling started going down anyway, so things got better pretty quickly. My pager started dancing at around 10:30, with an official-looking callback number (I'm not sure exactly what that means). Anyway, I called the number, stoned out of my swollen gourd. It was the injection hotline!!! Duh!!! I told 'em "Everything's cool, now. Really. Everything's totally cool..." but I still had to run a gauntlet of difficult questions like "How old are you presently?" and "Describe the exact shape of the swollen area." I was absolutely sure there was a team of paramedics outside the front door ready to carry me off in a giant ice pack. I never heard from the hotline people again, but continued to smoke pot semi-regularly after injections for several years.

Injection #119 - Home, New York NY 4:00am
β = ●●●
You'd think I'd have this injection thing down pat after 2+ years, no? Rule #1: always wash your hands before spiking (no problem). Rule #2: NO ALCOHOL! Rule #3: (something about raw shellfish, not entirely clear on this one). But the no booze thing's never been an issue for me at all.
So I went out and got completely shitfaced on a Friday night after a hard week's work, which I absolut(e)ly had the right to do. I wasn't injecting until Saturday anyway, so pour it up! I got home around 3:30, barely coherent, and decided that I'd just "sneak in" a shot before I passed out. I mean, I was obviously gonna sleep in, so I'd just zzzz my way right through the nasty side effects, right? I pounded the 1.5" needle into my leg, slugged a few pills and hit the sack.
I woke up three hours later in excruciating pain, sweaty and freezing. I puked like a frat pledge for about 5 straight hours, muttering self-deprecating phrases over and over like fucking Jake LaMotta. I was severely hung over for at least 40 hours, but still made it to work Monday morning. Life's a bitch. 

Injection #299 - Yankee Stadium, Bronx NY 12:00pm (injected at home)
α = ●, β = ●●●, δ = ●
For a couple of years I bought what I believe was called the "mid-week pack" or something like that from the Yankees. You got six or eight games, all at weird times during the week against weird teams, for only $5 each. I usually called it the "Slacker Pack." I decided to just buy a single seat for each game, and go whenever I could.
Perfect kind of game to shoot up for. I chose a Thursday 1:00 game against the Colorado Rockies, for which I actually had a decent seat. Who cares if Jose Contreras was pitching? I was heading up to the Cathedral with a sophisticated high.
I think I took the bus to the game, which is pretty weird in itself. I also spent quite a bit of time on the Thursday Times crossword, which might explain my confusion when I noticed Contreras was still pitching in the 7th inning, even though he seemed to be giving up home runs every time I lifted my head up. The Yanks crushed the Rockies 10-4, winning their 4th in a row. I staggered out of the Stadium at around 4:30 with a huge bucket of popcorn and a nasty case of double vision. I wisely took the D train home to the safety of my own living room.
Interesting to note that only two players on the Yankee scorecard that day still play for the team: Derek Jeter and Alex Rodriguez (Posada was rested for John Flaherty, who bashed a grand slam in the 6th).

Injection #319 - Home, Manhattan NY 8:15pm
α = ●●, β = ●●●, δ = ●●
I was just finishing up a particularly rough cycle of I.V. Steroids over these two weeks, and this night was my last oral taper. It also happened to be game 7 of the 2004 ALCS between the New York Yankees and the Boston Red Sox.
As I said, I was dealing with some major health issues at this point. I had a catheter/port put in my left arm so I could perform the steroid infusion in the privacy of my own home. I actually went to game 2 of the ALCS (the "Who's Your Daddy?!!" game) with the catheter sticking out of my arm, wrapped in a sock and under two jacket layers. I was white as a sheet.
Nowhere near as sickly looking as I'd be a week later, as the Yankees proceeded to piss away a 3-0 lead to the dreaded "1918" Sox. The game 7 loss was such a foregone conclusion that my only response was to medicate and wait. I complemented my injection with what I used to call the Full Count: 3 painkillers and 2 sleeping pills. My buddy and I tried this just for kicks at another Yankee game one time and nearly got lost in another dimension, or at least another section of the tier reserve.
So I watched the game at home lying in a puddle on my green couch, with my wife sitting to my right across the room. I remember her taking advantage of my extremely vulnerable state by making some suggestions for new habits I might begin practicing over the next few months, like watching less TV, talking about things other than sports, not taking so many pills, eating better, etc. I also remember slurring back to her, "But what about watching the Knicks..." to which she never responded. It was the end of a devastating week, and the beginning of an entirely new existence for baseball fans.