Growing Up In 1981

 (Note.  The series continues.)

This was a big year.  I had already moved from New Jersey to California 6 1/2 years earlier.  I had already graduated from law school, and was about to start my fourth year as an attorney.  On the personal side, I was already dating my future bride.  And, in 1981, I would be turning the big 3-0.  

1981 was also the year that I purchased my first home.  After working for the same firm for three years in downtown Los Angeles, I was transferred to a suburb about 30 miles away.  It was in that area that I bought a townhouse, for the grand sum of...$105,000.  It was a two story home, with the kitchen, a small family room, dining area and living room on the first floor.  There was also, thankfully, a half bath on the first floor.  The second floor had two baths, the master (a now politically incorrect term, which I have learned from watching House Hunters) bedroom, and a second bedroom/den/study that was open to the downstairs.  

In 1981, the average price of a gallon of gasoline was a buck and quarter.  A loaf of bread cost 59 cents, and a dozen eggs went for 95 cents.  If you wanted to send a first class letter?  18 cents.  1981 saw the beginning of seven seasons of "Hill Street Blues," with an ensemble cast of some rather eccentric characters.  As with many police dramas, Hill Street Blues became one of my favorite shows.  Regardless of my political leanings, I have always loved the shows where the good guys prevail.  I have always possessed a strong sense of right and wrong, even though my political beliefs, at times, might have resulted in my reaching incorrect conclusions. 

1981 was the year that Ronald Reagan, having defeated Jimmy Carter in 1980, became the 40th President of the United States.  However, as I was still a man of the left, I recall predicting before the election, that Reagan might be "too extreme" for the American electorate.  So much for that.  It was the day before Reagan took office, that Iran agreed to release 52 American hostages that they had kept in captivity for 444 days.  When Reagan took the oath of office, the hostages headed home.  One could not help but notice.

Then, on March 30, 1981, we had yet another assassination attempt on an American President, when John Hinckley shot, and nearly killed, the new President.  I remember being moved by Reagan joking with the doctor at the hospital when he said:  "I hope you're a Republican."  And I remember the doctor replying:  "Mr. President, today we are all Republicans."  I felt the same way.  I did not vote for Reagan either time he ran.  But I have always considered myself "old school" with regards to certain things.  When a bad guy attempts to assassinate a sitting president, and thereby change the course of history, I will always be opposed.  Plus, I hate bad guys.

One year later, my girlfriend/fiance and I got married.  In just a few weeks it will be 40 years that we have been married.  As the joke goes, some say I should get a medal; but many more say she should get the medal.  Forty years later we have three wonderful children, and finally one grandchild, a beautiful granddaughter who is now 13 months old. 

Two years later, in 1983, I would suffer another serious medical setback.  After being sick for two weeks with a low grade fever and vomiting and diarrhea (sorry), I lost 20 pounds.  Given the fact that I only weighed 140 pounds at the time, that was a substantial weight loss.  At the end of those two weeks I finally started to feel better.  But the following morning I could not get myself out of bed.  My legs simply would not move.  My now wife called the ambulance and I was taken to the hospital.  Nobody was sure as to exactly what happened to me.  However, in the hospital, they did a stool culture which showed that I was exposed to a food born bacteria called campylobacter.  

As it turns out, my family had been visiting my mother-in-law two weeks earlier, and she served what was likely some undercooked chicken.  (Was she trying to tell me something?)  No one else got sick.  But, I have an autoimmune disease called ankylosing spondylitis.  As I was later told (after this happened again in 1986) by the head immunologist at UCLA, my immune system often has a delayed reaction.  If the chicken we all ate was undercooked, other family members with a normal immune response, had their antibodies successfully fight any bacteria.  But with my delayed immune response, I was sick for two weeks.  

And the not being able to get out of bed?  That's when my antibodies finally kicked in.  And the autoimmune nature of the illness is that my antibodies attack me.  So, my muscle enzymes were elevated to such an extent that I could not move my legs.  My liver enzymes were also elevated, as was my alkaline phosphatase and my sed rate.  In medical terms, my entire body was out of whack.  My antibodies went on to attack my hips, resulting in my use of a cane, and the beginning of the destruction of my hips.  But it was my bride (before any doctor told me the cause) who went to the medical library at UCLA (what internet?) and found articles discussing the relationship between ankylosing spondylitis and campylobacter.  And, while there were more difficult times to come, my bride was there to take care of me each step along the way.