if anything can go wrong...

...it will go wrong!

Sound familiar? MURPHY'S LAW??!!

Bi-polar brother in law is not doing well. Not well at all. He's in jail. He has no job. He has no transportation. He has a pretty rugged criminal history. And because of that now no one will listen to him or believe him (on the legal end).

He's half Finnish and half Irish... not that that's a bad thing in and of itself... but, he's a MURPHY!

So is "The wife".

Their mother, my mother in law (God bless her soul)... a MURPHY!

So, when bi-polar brother in law called yesterday from the county jail I don't know why I expected better news. You see, I had spent a good portion of the day waiting at his parole officer's office lobby to take possession of bi-polar brother in law's pickup truck keys that he left with her when he was arrested. In the lobby... ignored for over an hour and a half... no returned phone calls... no keys...

No keys to the truck from hell that bi-polar brother in law's wife stole from the parking lot after he was arrested.

Get the picture so far?
NOT lucky. Not lucky at all! Well, I guess it's Murphy type luck... Murphy's law! Simple as that.

So why would I expect anything with a shine on it? A glimmer of hope? Why?

...when he called from the jail.

The phone rang. I answered. The recorded voice on the other end explained to me that the call was being placed from a correctional facility.

I chatted with the recording a bit. I always do that with recordings... argue with them. Interrupt them. Talk rude to them. You know, generally try to trip them up.

I guess one could say that I'm not "recording friendly".

Anyway, I go through the "hoops" of the recording like the good little dog I am and eventually get to bi-polar brother in law... keeping in mind that anything we say is being recorded.

"Hey" I grunt to him.

"Hey" he grunts back.

"What's up?" I had to start somewhere.

"Nothing. Did anyone get my keys?"

"Nope. That place is a friggin' zoo. There's no one there that will talk to me. Do you go through that every time you go to see your parole officer?" He got me going on this now. I was venting.

"Did you have to wait?" I heard the chuckle!

"Wait? Hell, I never got to see anyone!" I was getting animated... loud.

He laughed... bi-polar brother in law laughed! Not a quick, one laugh type of laugh but a long, rolling, fun, happy laugh.

"Why's that funny?" I wasn't laughing.

"'Cuz you're the cop and I'm the bad guy. You got a little taste of my world... the past 30 years of my life."

He had a point.

Every time he gets around "The Wife" and I he takes us a bit further into his little corner of this world.

...by association if no other way.

So then he tells me the news.

It seems he had to go to the doctor. His feet were numb. He filed a "kite" and the corrections folks took him downtown to a doctor that sees inmates. The doc looked him over, did the blood pressure thing, checked his pulse, peeled off his shoes and socks, checked his feet... his toes. Poked them.

"No pulse" Doc told him.

"What?" Bi-polar brother in law asked.

"You have no pulse in your feet and you have gangrene between your toes." Matter of fact, no bedside manner doc said.

"What?" Bi-polar brother in law asked.

"How long have you been smoking?" Doc again.

"40 years" Bi-polar brother in law answered.

"It caught up with you. You're going to lose both of your feet. Your right foot is already dead." He told bi-polar brother in law as he slid his stethascope further up his leg.

"I don't get any pulse on you from mid thigh down. You'll most likely lose both legs."

As bi-polar brother in law was recounting his doctor's visit I was listening in awe. I couldn't believe this crass doctor giving him the news this way.

"Who was the doctor?" I asked him.

Bi-polar brother in law gave me his name.

"Well, before anyone does any cutting you're going to get a second and third opinion. And that's after they try saving what you still have!" I was a bit pissed now.

"Yah. I know. But I'm scared." ...Hell, I'd be too!

I couldn't blame him.

His luck sucked horribly!

He asked me what he was going to do with no legs. He told me he didn't want to live if that happened.

He was definitely in need of a change of luck... good luck... from somewhere, somehow.

He brought most of his life ordeals on himself... his challenges with the police, etc. He knows that and he admits it. He always did admit it but a helluva lot of his "criminal behavior" can be directly attributed to his bi-polar and manic depressive disorders.

"Bill. We'll do what we can. You just keep it together. I'll put together a little shop in the garage and you can have my tools. You can make things. We'll make it work. You make things and I'll take them to the farmers market."

"Yah... Yah. I can do that I guess." He was still uncertain but was talking again.

"Yes, you can. You will. What we have to do is get you out of there. They'll get to the truth. Once they do you'll be released and we'll make things work." I was trying to sound convincing, strong, positive.

But, how do you do that?

How?

I hate luck!