Part 1, Episode 22: "New Rules"

The tests went on for hours. An MRI, an X-Ray, and more EKG’s were the major ones, and enough blood was drawn to make Conrad feel like a buffet for vampires. Through this tedious process Conrad noticed two things; Freddie never left and no one would give him anything for the pain.

Finally, shortly before noon, another doctor came in and told Conrad, “Good news, Mr. Kondratowicz. We’re letting you go home.”

“So what did you find out?”

“The good news is that you did not have a heart attack,” the doctor said. “We’d like you to follow up with your cardiologist and get a stress test and an echo-cardiogram taken to make absolutely sure, but we’re confident you won’t walk through the doors and keel over.”

“That’s good. So what’s wrong?” Conrad asked with a trace of impatience in his voice.

“You’re blood pressure is troubling, and your cholesterol is almost 270 and it needs to be around 200,” the doctor continued. “You’ll need to cut out fats and greasy foods, like say, Galaxy Burger. Caffeine is also a no-no.”

Conrad gave the doctor a dazed look. “So what’s making my shoulder hurt?” he asked with a clearly impatient tone.

“We’re not really sure,” the doctor shrugged. “It could be a pinched nerve or something muscular.”

“Well, what should I do to stop this damned pain?” Conrad asked, his voice growing louder with each word.

“I would take about 800 milligrams of ibuprofen. That should help in a few days. The nurse will check you out,” the doctor said as he left the room.

Freddie stood quietly waiting for the outburst. He didn’t have to wait long.

“They kept me in here and ran up my bill for over nine hours and all they can tell me is to take some freakin Advil?” Conrad began. “I’ve been TAKING the freakin’ Advil and that doesn’t seem to have helped much, does it?”

Freddie fought the urge to answer, knowing that this was a rhetorical question.

“These nitwits scare the hell out of me, suck my blood out a vial at a time, don’t do anything for me, and then tell me I can’t go to Galaxy Burger when it’s all over!”

“If you have a pinched nerve, I can get you in with my chiropractor tomorrow,” Freddie said. “I’ve taken a few nasty spills and he really helped me out.”

“I should have gone to you for medical advice,” Conrad said. “That’s the most constructive thing I’ve heard since I got here. There might be somebody who would actually do something! What a concept!”

When Conrad had finished venting, the nurse came in to discharge him. Along with her instructions, she game him a copy of the hospital’s recommended low-cholesterol diet plan. Freddie then walked with Conrad out to the parking lot.

“Are you sure you’re ok to drive, buddy?” Freddie asked.

“Yeah, I can at least make it back to campus,” Conrad assured him.

“I’ll follow you,” Freddie said.

“Sure, whatever,” Conrad replied as he settled into the drivers seat of his Toyota Tercell.


Once they were back in their suite, Freddie flipped on the television to catch the Redskins-Rams game while Conrad staggered into his room and reprised his collapse into bed. This one took better than the one last night, as his sleep-deprived body finally gave in to exhaustion. He slept until the early evening, got up long enough to nibble at some pizza that Freddie had ordered in, then went back to bed and slept through the night.

When Conrad woke up on Monday morning, there was a note from Freddie, who had already headed out to an early class. He had an appointment at 11:30 with Dr. Smithson, a Midville chiropractor. Where doctors let you down, Conrad thought, friends step in to pick you up.


Dr. Smithson spent a few moments feeling around the back of Conrad’s neck while he laid face down on the examining table. “Yep, right here. I don’t think this nerve is pinched, but it’s severely aggravated. This hurts when I press down, doesn’t it?”

“Owww!” Conrad involuntary screeched.

“I’ll take that for a yes,” Dr. Smithson said. “Let’s get to work on it.”

The doctor proceeded to attach several electronic stimulus wires to Conrad’s neck and upper back, then fiddled with settings on the machine they were hooked into.

“We’ll leave you hooked up for about ten minutes and see how you do,” the doctor said as he stepped out of the treatment room, closing the door behind him.

Within moments, Conrad felt something he had not experienced in days-relief from the stabbing pain in his shoulder. It was still there, but had already approached tolerable levels. After the ten minute period had passed, Dr. Smithson reentered the room and asked Conrad how he felt.

“It’s amazing, doctor,” Conrad replied enthusiastically. “It’s still sore, but I can notice a significant reduction in the pain.”

“Good,” Dr. Smithson said, apparently not at all surprised. “That’s all we should do for today. Can you come back in tomorrow?”

“Hell yes!” Conrad said. “I’ll do this as long as I need to.”

“Good. My secretary will set up a time for you. We’ll probably need to do this up through Friday, then we can reassess. By the way, be careful how you use that arm. The best thing is to use it as little as possible for the next few days. Can you lift it up?”

Conrad, still lying down on the table, noticed he couldn’t even bring it up to the height of the table, much less raise it above his head. “No, I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Not to worry,” the doctor assured him. “There’s likely been some nerve damage. You’ll have to work to regain the movement and strength in the arm after we’ve healed it up a bit.”

“I can live with that, doctor, as long as the pain is manageable and I can get some sleep,” Conrad replied.

“You should see steady improvement in that, starting tonight,” Dr. Smithson said.

“Great,” Conrad said, filled with relief. “Thanks a lot for your help.”

“My pleasure,” the doctor said as he again left the room and closed the door.


Conrad returned to his suite and took a nap, the most restful sleep he had enjoyed in a week. He set his alarm to wake him up around suppertime. At the scheduled time, he arose and, while carefully protecting his still tender shoulder, took a badly needed shower. Feeling refreshed, he threw on some sweats and entered the living area.

He didn’t think much could surprise him any more, but he was taken aback with what he saw when he headed toward the kitchen. There was Freddie wearing an apron and a chef’s hat, both adorned with his official logo. He was baking some chicken in the stove. Before then, Conrad didn’t know for sure that the stove actually worked. On the burners sat two pots, one with carrots, the other with green beans. Conrad stood and took the scene in for a moment, at once both amused and touched that Freddie would go to this trouble for him.

“Hey Freddie, what’s going on,” Conrad asked with a smile. “Is the Queen of England coming for dinner?”

Freddie chuckled and turned toward Conrad. “No,” he replied with a smile, “just the King of Farnsworth sports. Glad you’re up and around. I guess my man did some good work on you.”

“Oh boy, he sure did,” Conrad enthusiastically responded. “I feel a lot better.
You didn’t have to go to all that trouble cooking dinner, man. Thanks.”

“Happy to do it, buddy,” Freddie said. “You’ve got to get that cholesterol down so you don’t go from the emergency room to the cardiac wing.”

“I just hope they don’t close down the Galaxy Burger in the student union as a result,” Conrad said.

“I’m sure it’ll still be there,” Freddie said. “They just won’t be able to give bonuses to the employees now.”

“Yeah, they’ll have to find someone else’s orders to mess up,” Conrad added. “I do have a wicked headache, though, probably because I haven’t had any caffeine in a day and a half. Let me reach around you here and grab a Diet Coke.”

Freddie moved over to allow Conrad to open the refrigerator.

“Hey, where’s my case of Diet Coke?” Conrad asked.

“I dumped them out,” Freddie said calmly. “Remember, the doctor said you couldn’t have any caffeine.”

“I know that, but I just need something to take the edge off,” Conrad said.

“Nope,” Freddie said. “No means no.”

“Aw come on, man! I need some caffeine,” Conrad whined.

“No, Conrad,” Freddie insisted. “Remember, you said you were going to quit feeling like a victim.”

“I’m going to make you feel like a victim if I don’t get some caffeine!” Conrad said.

Suddenly, he lifted Freddie up and threw him up against the wall, grabbing him firmly beneath each armpit, ignoring the pain running down his left arm.

“Where’s my Diet Coke, you overgrown rodent,” Conrad said through gritted teeth, shaking Freddie as he spoke.

Before he knew what had happened, Conrad found himself lying face first on the floor with Freddie on top of him with a knee buried in Conrad’s back, twisting his right arm behind him.

“Damn, Freddie, how’d you do that?” Conrad asked in amazement through gritted teeth.

“I wind up in a lot of places where they might not look so kindly on a guy wearing a ferret suit,” Freddie said. “I had to either learn how to defend myself or rest in pieces. By the way, I know 15 different ways to kill you from this position. I thought you might want to know that.”

“That is very interesting,” Conrad agreed. “Thanks for sharing that.”

“Now, I hope I have motivated you to apologize for the ‘overgrown rodent’ remark you just made,” Freddie said evenly.

“Highly motivated, my friend,” Conrad replied enthusiastically. “Highly motivated. I am truly sorry for losing it, Freddie. Please accept my sincere apology.”

Before Freddie responded, Junior burst through the trap door from Freddie’s room, not wanting to miss any of the action. He positioned himself in front of Conrad, still prone on the floor, and began chewing on his nose.

“Well,” Freddie said, “if Junior’s cool with it, so am I.” Freddie took his knee off of Conrad’s back and released his arm. He then lent a hand as Conrad slowly staggered to his feet.

“By the way,” Freddie added, “did you notice that I did not twist your bad arm?”

“Mighty decent of you,” Conrad said. “Hey, I’m really sorry for calling you a rodent and throwing you up against the wall”

“You called me an overgrown rodent,” Freddie corrected him. “I resented that because I work hard to stay in shape.”

“You look lovely,” Conrad said. “Can we sit down and enjoy the nice dinner you were kind enough to make?”

“Even without caffeine?” Freddie asked.

“Well, I guess I need to get used to it,” Conrad said, “so yeah, I’ll just have some water.”

Freddie reached in the refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of spring water, and handed it to Conrad.

“Thanks,” Conrad said. “You’ll make someone a wonderful wife someday.”

“Yeah,” Freddie said, “don’t you wish you could have some of this fur for yourself.”

“There’s a mental image I’ll spend the rest of the night trying to get out of my head,” Conrad said as they sat down to eat a peaceful dinner.


After dinner, Freddie handed Conrad an envelope. “Gretchen called me this afternoon and asked me to give this to you,” Freddie said.

Opening the envelope, Conrad found a copy of a page from Sports Illustrated. It was from an advance of the issue coming out the following weekend, a page from their front section, called “Scorecard.” The magazine included several short noteworthy items, and one of this issue’s carried the heading “Scoreless.”

“Oh holy crap,” Conrad said ruefully as he read the item, slowly annunciating each word. “We are officially an item of curiosity on our way to becoming a laughing stock.”

“You mean Farnsworth got mentioned in Sports Illustrated?” Freddie asked with amazement.

“Yep,” Conrad replied. “They did a short piece on our now infamous water polo team.”

“That can’t be good,” Freddie said.

“No, it isn’t,” Conrad said. “They pointed out that not only have we not come close to winning a game this season, we haven’t even scored a goal.”

“Well,” Freddie added, “at least they got their facts right.”

“They closed with a cheap shot I don’t think you’ll care for,” Conrad added. “To quote, they wrote ‘apparently, Ferrets aren’t very good swimmers.”

“Those bastards!” Freddie said contemptuously.

“We can expect to get some press coverage for our next game because of this,” Conrad said. “If the streak continues, it will just build up over for the last two games.”

“Yeah, and without a sports information director, that’ll fall onto you to coordinate it, won’t it?” Freddie asked.

“Yep,” Conrad replied with resignation. “I needed this like I needed another freakin’ hole in my head.”

Conrad began to eat the meal that Freddie had served up while they were talking. “This is great, Freddie! The chicken is moist and very pleasantly seasoned. How did you get to be such a good cook?”

“Well,” Freddie said, “you’d be amazed at how ladies love a man that can function well in the kitchen. It’s a skill that I practiced and that’s come in very handy.”

“You furry gigolo,” Conrad said. “You know, the last time a woman fixed me a nice sit down meal, I had to sleep with her. I’m assuming that’s not part of the deal here, right?”

“You’re a nice guy and all that,” Freddie said, “but I’m afraid things might get weird between us afterward.”

Conrad stroked his goatee and nodded. “Good point, my friend. We wouldn’t want things to get weird around here, would we? So, what’s for dessert?”

“You are a greedy little bastard, aren’t you?” Freddie asked. “This is it pal.”

“Oh, you’re such a tease,” Conrad said with mock disgust. “Hey, wasn’t today the reading of Father Ferret’s will?”

“Yes it was,” Freddie replied.

“So whatcha get, whatcha get?” Conrad asked.

“A horse,” Freddie answered.

“Aw, that’s sweet, the little ferret boy got a horsie,” Conrad said in baby talk. “No, really, what did he leave you?”

“A horse,” Freddie reiterated. “A race horse.”

“Really?” Conrad said with astonishment. “Wow, how cool is that?”

“It could be pretty cool,” Freddie agreed. “He’s stabled at Happy Trails Racetrack, you know, about 30 minutes from here. He’s running a race next week and I was wondering if you’d like to go with me and check him out.”

“Would I?” Conrad shrieked. “Of course I would. Just remind me to leave my credit cards here. If I remember correctly, they’ve got slot machines there and, well, I’ve got a bit of a problem in that environment.”

“Sure thing,” Freddie said.

“Oh, by the way, what’s the horse’s name?” Conrad asked.

“Ferret Face,” Freddie replied.

“Perfect,” Conrad said with an approving nod.

Part 1, Episode 21: "A Dab of Reality, A Pinch of Mortality"

As Conrad walked toward his office the next morning, he could hear growling from Gretchen’s cubicle, an early warning sign of trouble. He felt his pace, already slower than usual after another restless night because of his sore shoulder, reduce to nearly a crawl. After the emotional ringer he had been through the last few days, he just didn’t need to start the day with a new problem.

As he reached his office, Conrad saw that this was not a new problem. Rather, it was a new episode of an ongoing concern. “Conrad, I really, really need to see you,” the water polo coach, Biff Fishwell said as he stood to greet his boss. Conrad stopped, took a deep breath, and escorted the coach into his office accompanied by the background noise of Gretchen’s barking.

After plopping into his chair and grimacing when it felt that a hot knife had been stuck through his shoulder, Conrad engaged the obviously troubled water polo coach. “What’s on your mind, Biff?”

“I can’t take this anymore, Conrad,” Fishwell blurted out. “I just can’t freaking take it!”

“I’m assuming you didn’t win yesterday,” Conrad said.

“Are you kidding?” Fishwell screeched. “We don’t win. We lose and lose and lose, and then you know what? We lose some more. I can’t take it!”

Conrad sighed and gingerly sat back in his chair. “How bad was it yesterday?” he asked.

“14-0,” Fishwell spit out. “14-0! You just can’t lose a water polo game 14-0. This is an embarrassment. My reputation will be ruined! I can’t take it anymore.”

Conrad pulled his chair up to the edge of his desk, sat up straight, and locked into direct eye contact with Fishwell. “Look, Biff,” Conrad said, measuring his words in a very firm tone, “you talked Mr. Farnsworth into starting this program. You told him you could put together a decent team when common sense would tell you otherwise. Now you have failed miserably and you want to bail out!? Are you really that much of a weasel?”

Fishwell looked at Conrad for a moment and softly said, “I’m afraid I am.”

Conrad, not for the first time since coming to Farnsworth U, fought the urge to jump over his desk and strangle the person sitting in front of him. After again successfully resisting that urge, he looked at Fishwell and said, “I will not allow you to bail out on those poor kids that have tried their best to represent this school. They’ve been put in a no-win situation, literally, and I will not let you sneak out the back door. You make sure your ass is at practice today working with those kids and trying to salvage something out of this disaster. They deserve your best effort, and you had better give it to them. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” Fishwell sheepishly said.
“Good. Now get out of my office,” Conrad concluded and turned toward his office window.


Another Saturday meant another exciting afternoon of Fighting Ferret football. For this game, Conrad and Troy Flemstone had to make the three and one-half hour trip to Charlesport, Pennsylvania to broadcast Farnsworth’s game against the Charlesport College Charley Horses.

The Ferrets entered this game at 0-8, having suffered two blowout losses since their last-second defeat vs. Key College. Charlesport’s season was heading in the opposite direction, with only one loss in their eight games. Conrad and Troy both expected to watch another bad beating vs. the Horses, and agreed that the only thing worse than watching your team get slaughtered was having to go so far out of your way to do so.

Conrad and Troy correctly anticipated the outcome, a 45-3 thrashing. Perhaps the most discouraging thing about it for Conrad was the fact that the Ferrets had not made many mistakes. They had drastically reduced their tendency to turn the ball over deep in their own territory and set their opponents up for easy scores. That should have been encouraging, but instead the Farnsworth team was physically pummeled on both sides of the ball.

Charlesport did not need turnovers to dominate the Ferrets. They totally controlled the line of scrimmage and methodically marched downfield nearly every time they had the ball. Stump Williams’ team seemed helpless to do much about it. The defense had kept them in games early in the season, but that unit appeared to have nothing left in the tank at this point.

Troy noticed Conrad was unusually quiet on the trip back from north-central Pennsylvania, passing countless bars and adult bookstores on the winding and hilly country roads. Conrad mentioned how sore his shoulder was and asked Troy how his collarbone was healing. The news from his doctors was good and he was healing at a rapid pace. He was now nearly off the painkillers and feeling a lot more like himself.

“Do you have any of those with you?” Conrad asked.

“You mean my painkillerth?’ Troy replied.

“Yeah, you got any on you?” Conrad reiterated.

“Why?” Troy asked. “You aren’t thopothed to take thoth without a prethrcipthun.”

“I know, but one would hopefully take the edge off and let me get some sleep tonight.” Conrad said.

“Well, I gueth tho,” Troy acquiesced. “You really thould eat thomething with that, though. Let’s thtop at the next gath thation and get a thnak.”

“Okay, whatever,” Conrad agreed. “I don’t need to get sick to my stomach on top of my shoulder throbbing.”

“Ith none of my buthineth, but have you thought about theeing a doctor?” Troy reluctantly inquired.

“Yeah, but I hate to take the time,” Conrad said, trying to blow off the suggestion. “I’m sure I just slept on it wrong or something. I just need to get some sleep and give it time to heal up.

“I hope you’re right,” Troy said, feeling he had nudged Conrad as hard as he was comfortable doing. About 15 miles outside of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, Troy saw a gas station with a food store and pumped gas while Conrad went in to select snacks for them both. Back on the road, Conrad quickly downed his Twinkies and a bottle of water along with one of Troy’s pain pills and managed to doze off before they crossed the Mason-Dixon Line back into Maryland.

Troy drove Conrad to his suite on campus and refused the gas money offered to him. “You’ve got the next trip,” Troy said, “jutht try to get thome retht. If you don’t get any relief, pleath go and get your thoulder looked at.”

“I will Troy,” Conrad lied, “thanks again for the ride.”


It was still before 9:00 PM on a Saturday night, but Conrad had eyes only for his bed. He went to his room, closed the door, and plopped on the bed without bothering to take his clothes off. He had figured he still had some buzz from Troy’s pain pill and wanted to get the maximum benefit.

Conrad slept until nearly 1:00 AM when he awoke to a burning, searing pain now shooting down his shoulder through his left arm. Still not fully awake, his clouded mind told him he might get some relief by going out onto the couch, where he could get some support for his shoulder. He tried that for a while with no noticeable relief. Nearly crazed with pain, he got up and paced around the suite. Junior popped out of Freddie’s room acting like he wanted to play whatever game he thought Conrad was playing, but all he succeeded in doing was nearly being stepped on. Finally seeing the little ferret at the last second, Conrad avoided squishing Freddie’s adopted son.

That momentary distraction from the pain provided a moment of clarity in his foggy thoughts. Shooting pains down the left arm, he thought, that sounds like a heart attack, or at least some type of heart problem. Oh my God! I’ve got to break down and get this checked out, he thought. I’m not going to just stand here and keel over like my dad did.

Since the hospital was less than two miles away, Conrad decided to drive himself to the emergency room and not disturb Freddie. He knew late Saturday night/early Sunday morning was the worst time to go, since he would get mixed in with victims of bar fights, shootings, and other alcohol related mischief, but he was too afraid to wait until later in the morning. Maybe at least they could give him something for the pain while they diagnosed what the cause was, he hoped.

It was after 2:30 AM when Conrad walked through the emergency room door at Central Maryland Hospital. Apparently there was not the usual amount of Saturday night mayhem, or else it had occurred earlier and been cleared out, because he had only a short wait before being called up to the admission window.

Trying to get an asian-american nurse to spell his polish-american name probably kicked his blood pressure up at least another ten points, but the effort finally proved successful. His blood pressure checked in at a disturbing 180/110, which probably accounted for the warmth he felt in his face and ears. This usually happened when he was angry or frustrated, so it was a sensation he had become all too familiar with the last few weeks.

The beds in the emergency room were not known for comfort, and try as he might Conrad could not get himself positioned in a way that did not exacerbate the nearly overwhelming pain in his shoulder that was steadily making its way down his arm, now passing below the elbow. His blood pressure was checked again, now registering 185/113. The obligatory “just-in-case” IV tube was inserted into a vein just above his left wrist, a normally unpleasant feeling that tonight was agonizing.

After only a few minutes of waiting, an attendant showed up with an EKG machine. The leads were quickly attached, and the test was run. “Apparently I’m not the only one who thinks I’m having some type of heart episode,” Conrad thought. He received further confirmation of that a brief time later when a doctor came in holding the printout.

“Mr. Kondratowicz, there is an irregularity in your EKG,” the doctor, with “Patel” on his nametag, told Conrad. “We’ll be sending you down for an MRI shortly to check it out some more.”

Before Conrad could ask any questions, the doctor was gone and replaced by a nurse who was setting him up with oxygen. “Can I get something for this damned pain?” Conrad asked her.

“No sir,” she answered, “not until we run some more tests. Now just lay back and rest until we take you downstairs.”

Seeing no other options, Conrad did as he was told. He laid back and tried to take his mind off the pain still shooting down his arm and the possibility of a life-threatening event actually going on inside his body at that very moment.
He was scared, and he was alone.

Conrad had never felt so alone in his life. There had always been his parents there as a kid, his mother, at least to some extent, as a young adult, and then Camilla. But now, both his parents had passed on and Camilla was 3,000 miles away. When asked who should be contacted in case of an emergency, he had given the nurse his own home phone number and Freddie’s name. She gave him a strange look, apparently not familiar with Farnsworth U.

Conrad’s life had reached the point where the person closest to him in the world was a guy in a ferret suit. His best friend for over 25 years, Nick Petrocini, had apparently lost his phone number. Even the last couple of times Conrad had given in and called him, Nick got him off the phone as quickly as possible. How in the hell could things have come to this, he thought.

Suddenly, he heard a commotion down the hall and saw several members of the emergency room staff dash by his bed in a blur. The noised continued for a few moments until it was replaced by an eerie quiet, almost as if the oxygen had been completely sucked out of the area. A short time later, he saw a couple he believed to be husband and wife shuffle by his bed on the way to the exit. The woman was walking with her head buried in her husband’s shoulder, and Conrad could hear her quietly sobbing. Walking a few feet behind them, with a very somber look on his face, was a priest.

“Father, what happened?” Conrad called out to him without thinking.

The priest stopped and walked toward the foot of Conrad’s bed. “That couple just lost their four-year old son,” he said. “He had run out into the street and been hit by a car.”

“Geez, that’s terrible,” Conrad said.

“Yes, it was a very painful loss,” the priest agreed.

“I’ll offer a prayer for them, father,” Conrad said.

“Bless you,” the priest said. “I should be going.”

“Of course,” Conrad said, “Thanks for stopping by.”

Conrad began to drift off into sleep, still awaiting his MRI exam, when he heard a familiar voice. “Hey, Conrad, what’s goin’ on?” He didn’t even have to look to see the furry face that voice belonged to.

“They think I may be having a heart attack,” Conrad said.

“No!” Freddie said in astonishment. “Is that tied in with the pain you’ve been having in your shoulder?”

“They think so,” Conrad confirmed. “They said I had an abnormality on my EKG, whatever that means. I’m supposed to be going for an MRI to check it out further.”

“Damn,” Freddie said, clearly shaken. “You still in a lot of pain?”

“Oh yeah,” Conrad said ruefully. “I guess they don’t want to knock me out until they come up with a diagnosis.”

“You know,” Conrad continued, “I saw something pretty tough before you came.”

“Oh yeah?” Freddie replied. “What was that?”

“I saw a couple walk by that had just lost their four year old son,” Conrad said.

“He got hit by a car and died just a short time ago down the hall.”

“Man, that is tough,” Freddie agreed. “That’s about your daughter’s age, isn’t it?”

“Yep,” Conrad said. “It sort of puts things in perspective.”

“What do you mean?” Freddie asked.

“What I mean is that,” Conrad said, “even though my marriage is over and I’ll probably seldom see my daughter in the future, and I might be having a heart attack, at least at this moment I’ve still got a chance. I’ve already had chances that poor little boy never even dreamed of, and even though I’ve pissed those away, I’m still here. I can still get it right. I’m tired of feeling like a victim, Freddie, and if I walk out of this place, I will NOT be one going forward.”

“I hear that!” Freddie said as he watched tears stream down Conrad’s red cheeks.

“I mean it man!” Conrad shouted through sobs. “Whatever’s wrong with me physically, I’ll get it fixed and get on with my life! I can’t make up for the 43 years I’ve piddled away in bad relationships and working for ungrateful bosses, but I can make damned sure I stop that cycle right now!”

“You the man!” Freddie said, pumping his furry fist in the air.

“First, though,” Conrad concluded, “I need to find out what’s going on inside of me.”