Mystery of the Suspicious Packets: A Frank March Adventure

It's been a while since I reported on any of my cases, quite a while; years I think. Here is a recent mystery. I was hiking about in Rockford Museum Park, a regular morning routine, when I noticed beneath a stone bench some kind of packet tucked back in the showdown of the support stone. He, I though, someone forgot their lunch. But on reflection I figured someone sat there, ate their meal and hid the refuge beneath the bench.

A litterbug!

I continued on. This was the Northern Delaware Freeway Trail that ran from the Brandywine Creek State Park through Alapocas, Rockford, Rockwood, Bringhurst Woods, Bellevue and Fox Point State Park. Where I saw the packet was the beginning of the long and winding hill, up into the woods and to the highest point within these grounds.

At the top I turned right onto a dirt trail up to that very highest point where a gazebo sat overlooking the
Southern vista. There, to the rear near the gazebo seating, was another packet. These consisted of a plastic storage box, one of those you might stick a sandwich in. The top sealed down very tightly. This, in turn, was inside a clear ZipLoc bag.

Since this was not so tucked away I could take a closer look. You could see through the baggie right on through the lid of the box. Inside were two vials, similar to those you are given with your prescription pills. There were no pills here. The contents inside the vials appeared to be a white powder. Ut oh!

What in the world was the purpose of these packets and was there something nefarious in the works.

I went down the steep side of the hill and eventually wound my way around into the Kitchen Garden behind the Carriage House. This area is surrounded by a stone wall. To one side are trees with thick drooping branches, evergreens of some sort, that form a canopy. They sometimes hold weddings in this courtyard and the bride will enter from beneath this canopy, so obviously you can walk beneath the branches. It is much like walking through a cave. In the center inside there is another bench. I walked through the tunnel of nettled branches and stopped to stare at two more of these mysterious packets under that bench, one to each side.

I went to the Mansion and saw the lights were on in the upstairs office. I rang the doorbell. Shorty a man came down and opened the door. His name was Phillip. He was the Park Director. I inquired if he knew anything about these packets. He did not.

I wrote about these discoveries later on Facebook.

I received several comments all advising me to contact the police.

I emailed the New Castle County Police, enclosing the photos I had taken of the various packets. Next morning I received an email in return. It informed me my original notice and pictures was being given to an officer. It then spend some time telling me I should have phoned the police rather than send an email.  I though an email was more effective since I could include photos. Oh, well.

I then got a phone call from this same police contact, who spent more time telling me I should have called rather than emailed. I'm sorry. She said I would hear from an officer. I heard from a Police Sargent about two hours later. He asked several questions.

"Are you at the park now?"
"No, I'm home. But the packets are still there. They have been there two days. I actually found another one this morning. It is down on the porch of what is called the Porter Lodge."

"Did you collect the packets?" he asked.
"No," I said, "I wasn't touching those things."

He paused as if forming his next question, which was, "Is the Park Direct there?"
"No," I said. "I'm home. He is probably in the park. But I spoke with him and he knew nothing about them."
"Okay, I'm going to drive over to the park and talk to the Director."
"Fine, but he doesn't know anything. The easiest one to find is at the Porter Lodge." I figured the cop could stop on his way in, he would have to drive past where the Porter Lodge was in order to get up the hill to the office.

The next morning all the packets were still in place, except the one on the stone bench was pulled out from underneath partway. As I went on the route about the paths and drives I saw the Manager of the Carriage House arrived just as I was about to leave. I hurried across the lot to speak to her, leaving my walking stick behind in the car, which meant I really didn't hurry very fast. Still I caught her.

Her name is Barbara, but it turned out she knew nothing of the packets either. She said she would call the police, but I told her I had already done so and also reported them to the Park director. Barbara said she would follow up with the police. My goodness, we are getting quite involved here and still don't know what these mysterious packets are. Or what was in the vials each packet contained.

The next day, no change, except the Stone Bench packet was now on top of the bench. Another day passed and the packed was again tucked in the showdown beneath the bench.

On the next day, this packet and the one in the Gazebo were gone, but the two under the tree canopy remained, only one was outside the bench and both had been flipped over.

Now on what, the seventh or eighth day, all the packets had disappeared as strangely as they had appeared. I still had no clue to what they were for. This was driving me crazy. I hate not knowing. Especially, since on the next day after they all went away, they came back.

However, the content was different. There were no vials. Instead they contained a rock and paper. I looked closely at the one on the stone bench. Yes, this packet was atop the bench, not under it. The paper inside looked very much like folded up money. The ploy thickens or the mystery deepens or some such saying.

Okay, so this morning, after over a week of mysterious packets, all were gone, except one. That's right, there was a packet sitting atop that blasted stone bench where all this first began for me. I sat down next to it and opened it up. I had a great deal of difficulty opening the lid of the box inside the ZipLoc bag, but persisted. Inside beneath a rock were the cut up pieces of a photograph, but no money. There was also a piece of paper. Typed upon this strip was, "Mr. Salisbury once lived here."

Mr. Salisbury had been Joseph Shipley's gardener and when the wealthy merchant banker retired and built Rockwood, he brought Salisbury with him as his landscaper. But the cut up photograph was of the Porter Lodge, not the Gardener's Cottage. At any rate, I tucked everything back away and left it where it was.

The mystery was about to unfold.



Up at the high point, within the Gazebo was no packet found this morning; however, the rock that had been in the second set of boxes was there as was a long strip of paper it had contained.

Those were direction that took one from this gazebo down to that infamous stone bench.

I ran into the Park Director as he arrived this morning and asked him if they had found out what the packets were. He told me, "Yes. The police were out to investigate. They checked out each site."

So what were they?

There had been some organization that held a scavenger hunt for children this past weekend. They had planted the original packets as a test run. Nobody informed any authority at the park. It was just a harmless game. Still, I was thanked. I did the right thing on seeing suspicious packets laying about. It could have been something no good. Never be afraid to report strange packages or odd behavior, especially in our current age. Risk the embarrassment of looking a fool, better that that a tragedy or crime because you ignored such things.

Case closed on the Mystery of the Suspicious Packets.

I've Fallen and All that Jazz

I had to urinate. I was back in bed and fallen asleep watching TV, but I woke and felt I better get up and go to the bathroom before really settling in, except I couldn't get up.

Simple act, isn't it, to hop out of bed and patter off to the facilities. You just roll over a bit, slipped the legs off the edge and stand.

Except I couldn't move. I tried kicking my legs over, but there was no kick in them and I couldn't do a sit up for anything.

I was stuck on my back like the poor proverbial turtle.

I finally decided maybe I could slide off on my knees and push myself up from that position. It was the wrong assumption. I just ended up sliding off the bed to fall flat on my face upon the floor. I had fallen and I couldn't get up. I began crawling toward the bathroom, pulling myself inch by inch very slowly toward that place.  I didn't make it. I was part way through the bathroom door when I felt my shorts grow very wet.

I began screaming for help. Eventually, my wife heard my cries and came to investigate and between she and my daughter, got me up on my feet.

Somewhat later, perhaps the next morning, I get confused on the exact timing of all that happened, but I did get into the bathroom. Even though this was another urination situation, I thought I better sit on the toilet to be safe because I felt so shaking. I sat down and immediately slid off the seat to the right.  Part of my lower half remained part way on the seat, but my upper half went into the bathtub. I was now in this jackknife position with the top of my head resting on the tub floor.

And I couldn't budge. I could not push myself up.  I began my plaintive cries for help again, unfortunately I had locked both bathroom doors and my wife could not get in. I could not reach the locks from my odd position. It seemed as if doom was lurking.  With a great effort, and I am sure the help of God, I somehow managed to get myself out of the tub and on to the floor where I could crawl over and unlock a door.

So we called the Doctor and he said to go to the emergency ward.

Just as we were ready to leave we hear some growling and realize Sara is out, but Flacco is, too. Flacco goes after Sara. I step in and try to move Flacco back to my daughters room, but he reaches up and grabs my right wrist with his paws and kerplop, he pulls me right down to the floor. You have to realize this is one big cat, a Siberian Forest Cat. He is huge and he has me down and is attacking my arm, which he tore up pretty well.

My wife, with the help of a broom, manages to get him back into my daughters room, but now we are faced with getting me off the floor again, where I'm flopping about like a newly landed fish. While she is backing our wildcat down the hallway, I somehow get a hold of a kitchen chair and manage to climb up its legs to a seated position.  Yay! I actually have gotten upright, maybe the worse of all this is behind me.

I to to my feet, grabbed a walker and we shakily went out to the car. The walker had been down in the storage room, expecting not to see it again. It had come our way earlier in the year when my wife had a knee replaced. I wasn't having any knee needs, but my legs had deserted me and I thought this would steady me.

Little did I know, as my wife drove out I-95 toward the hospital, that the  worse lay ahead.

Ya Shouldn't have Kicked that Last Stone -- It Musta been Kryptomite

Those shorts are gone. Burned to ash and buried under lead in a secret location, but that is a later tale; a rather gross, disgusting horror tale at that.

But on this bright day in late May there was nothing gross or disgusting, and it didn't begin with anything frightening, like waking up to goblin under he bed.  I was just out for my usual early morning walk, something I have done for years now. My main way for keeping fit. I begin when the sun dawns and stroll for five miles or so and feel ready for the day.

I had completed a third of my route. I was going down the long sweeping path that surrounds the meadow at Rockwood. Everything felt good and fine and no different than any other morning jaunt.

Then someone, somewhere, threw the light switch.

What in the world just happened? All the power just left my upper legs. It was as if my thighs were tires and they just went instantly flat. I could barely wall. My legs were hard to lift and I felt like I was walking through sand in iron shoes. Believe it or not, I actually considered continuing my usual route, but the further I stepped, the more weary my leg muscles seems to get.  No, I might be lucky to reach my car and drive home.

What could this be? Less than a week earlier I had my regular physical at the Doctor's. Ha!, physical is sort of a misnomer anymore. There is far less physical than chemical. The Doctor hardly ever touches you. Ha! Doctor, you seldom actually see the doctor. You generally see a Nurse Practitioner, who takes your blood pressure and your temperature with devices that work automatically. No more old time thermometer with Mercury; no more cuffed sphygmomanometer with the squeeze ball. (Do they even call it a sphygmomanometer anymore? I think it is just a Blood Pressure Meter.) Mostly, though, they give you a scorecard (this is where the chemical comes in) breakdown of your scores from a lab. Most of these are blood tests, a couple are from urine.

Anyway, I had passed with flying colors (red and yellow?). It was one of the best physicals I ever had. Everything was in good balance. My creatine was a bit raised, but it had been at that elevation for over a year and I had a nephrologist keeping an eye on it. I had a follow-up appointment with that guy coming up in June. Of course, my cholesterol  were higher than they liked.

No reason not to continue of long morning walks. In fact, the NP was surprised and delighted I  took these and she encouraged them. You got to keep moving for good health. The only complaint I had was a slight running of my nose and stuffiness. She thought it was just a spring allergy and she prescribed some antibiotic called Cefdinir along with OTC Allergy Relief tablets.  I dutifully followed her direction and faithfully took these.

And then someone threw that light switch.

I was a good boy, I went the doctor about it. Yeah, I waited a bit because I had two doctor appointments lined up in June, one at the Rheumatologist and one at the Urologist.  I decided to go to those appointments and see what they might say. Thy both said I was doing great, come back to see them in 6 months. Sp then I called Dr. Fears office and sang them my tale of woe and they booked me in right away. (Dr. Fears is not his real name, but it is what I am going to call him.)

Lo and behold, Dr. Fears came out of the secret Bat Cave and saw me himself. I don't consider that a good thing. He always acts impatient, like his time is so valuable and you are interrupting whatever it is he does back in the Bat Cave.

I told him first of all I had followed the nurses proscribed medication and direction, but it didn't work, I still had that throat clearing, nose-running. He grabbed a proscription pad (actually his tablet) and did an order for more Cefdinir.

Hmm, I am already on a medication that lowers my immune system, but treats my Arthritis.

Meanwhile, Dr. Fears is already out of his chair headed toward the door. He hadn't even addressed my main concern and why I came. I quickly stopped him, "I can't walk," I blurted.

He cam back and sat down. "What do you mean you can't walk."

So I explained to him orally all of what I wrote about above.  He grabbed the trusting proscription pPrednisone belongs to a class of drugs known as corticosteroids. It decreases your immune system's response to various diseases to reduce symptoms such as swelling and allergic-type reactions." 

ad again and ordered me some Prednisone. "

He then gave me an order for two, not one, but two MRIs and a bunch of Cardiology Tests.

I was told to make an appointment with a Neurologist, who name he gave me. 

So, let the fishing begin!

I Could Be Dead: Slowness of the Medical Industry

It is frustrating to have something mysterious going on with your health and you can't get an answer. It is a bit ridiculous. By the time someone, somewhere decided to get around to your problem, you could be dead.
Maybe that is the plan.

"The Patient died, doc."

"Okay, problem solved. Make out a bill to the estate."

I have been going to the doctor regularly, more their idea than mine. They say these try-annually thumping and tappings are to keep me healthy. So what went wrong?  I kept following the doctor, or nurse-practitioner because that is whoo you get more times or not, instructions and advice. They are supposed to keep me ticking.

I don't smoke. I don't drink. I don't snort, ingest or smoke anything I shouldn't. They told me to cut down on sugar and boost the fruit in my diet, and I did. Exercise, of yeah, I went out and moved these bones. I worked out at a gym three times a week. I spent time on a rowing machine at home. I shed any excess weight I was carrying, reducing down to 165 pounds, which looked thin on my six foot frame. And I kept that weigh at bay by walking. Bright and early every morn I was up and out into the parks walking five or miles.

It was on one of these jaunts the weirdness hit me, like an evil wood sprite struck me with a magic spell. I was walking along at my usual clip. Now at 75 I admit I've slowed down a smidgeon. I was averaging a mile every 18 minutes now. Still I was generally passing other walkers, except the youthful athletic type. I didn't huff and puff up hill or down and sometimes I went further than the 5 miles, occasionally stretching it to 8 or 9 miles. I preferred to do this on the rougher trails, especial;y in the Brandywine Creek State Park or the First State Monument National Park (Boy, that's a mouthful!)

I was at Rockwood. It was the first quantum of my jaunt and I was walking downhill around the big meadow fronting the estate. Everything was as it always was until...pow...my whole world changed, like someone threw a switch. My legs felt odd, like they didn't want to make the bends necessary for walking. They felt like overstretch rubber band, worn out and tired. They were instantly weak and the further I walked the weaker they got.

Now I'm not big on doctors, but when I know my body is misbehaving, I go see one. I didn't know what this was, but I didn't like it.  On top of this walking thing, I also had developed a stuffed up head, with the annoyance of a constantly running nose and a hacking cough.

Now my legs betrayed me sometime in the last week of May. I was just to my primary physician for an exam on May 24 and everything was great at that exam. I had two doctor appointments scheduled in June. I waited to see what they might have to say, but they gave me passing grades as well. In late June I called my Primary and made another appointment. He could see me on the 6th of July.

I saw him and he told me to get tests. I was to get two MRIs and make an appointment with a Neurologist, and then several tests at a Cardiologists.

I got the MRIs on July 7, the day after seeing my Primary' however, the soonest the Neurologist can

see me is September 6, almost two months. Two months, I could be dead!

The Cardiologist couldn't do the first test until July 28. The next test is August 11 and then August 16. This are fairly short tests, ultrasound, so I asked why they couldn't all be done during one visit. They can't because Medicare says they can't. Is this how we cut medical costs, forcing three visits where one would do?

Nonetheless, I know no more than I knew the day this strangeness hit me. It'll be over three months before anyone will tell me anything. Meanwhile this affliction has affected everything in my life. It isn't just that I can't walk very far, but my hands aren't working right either and I have lost much of what little strength I had in my arms for lifting anything. I can't keep my balance and I walk into walls. My brain has been scrambled somehow. I can't get any organized and I have trouble focusing and concentrating. Write this Blog post took a great effort.

I don't get the delays. My grandson was just in for an MRI.  He is 2. They have said it might be water n the brain or he may be autistic. His parents have had him for testing, but haven;t heard a peep from the medical staffs on results. Is this fair? Do these people have any idea how worrisome such things are to parents? It isn't right to not say something.

But the medical world appears to be stuck in glue any more.