by Dr. Susan Block.  

Capt’n Max had a stroke. I wish it could say that’s a joke. Or the good kind of stroke – a stroke of luck, a soft caress, a pleasure stroke. But no, unfortunately, Max had a stroke of seismic – or “ischemic” – pain… which is, in a way, a very bad joke that the body plays on the brain.

The technical term is cerebrovascular accident (CVA), but everyone calls it a “stroke” – though it’s really more of a strike – less a caress than a bullet to the brain, or, in Max’s case, an unexploded bomb that forms a blood clot blocking the flow of blood as well as oxygen to the cerebrum, causing (in Max’s case) sudden and severe damage.

What a stroke of madness, immobility and immeasurable suffering for my beloved Prince Max! Though it can always be worse; he could have had a stroke in Gaza.  I’m not trying to be flip; I am grateful for the life-saving medical care Max is receiving that so many other people – from bombing victims in Palestine to women in need of abortions in Texas – cannot get right now. Indeed, Max and I are *privileged* to have access to quality care.

Nevertheless, a major ischemic stroke like this takes you – body, shattered brain and soul – to what appears to be as deathly a place as you can go in life – short of death itself.

Intubation Blues. Photo: Author

Max’s stroke almost took his life; as it is, it has rendered him almost immobile, virtually paralyzing the entire right side of his body, and splintering much of his mind. Poor Max, so strong, right-handed, with such a powerful, creative mind, broken like a spilled jigsaw puzzle missing a few key pieces.

As for me, well, since the proverbial stroke of dawn, Sunday morning, May 19^th – when Max’s deep growl turning into a howl of cosmic agony shocked me awake – until now, as I write this next to his hospital bed – I’ve been by his side.

On the Journey with Capt’n Max. Photo: Selfie

According to Max, “The goal is the journey,” and – for better or worse – this is a journey we are on together.

So, every day, all day, and into the night, I’m in the hospital, the rehab, the ambulance, holding Max’s hand(s) – both his limp, stroke-stricken right hand and his *good* rambunctious left hand – trying my imperfect best to help my lover and friend of almost 40 years to survive, recover, communicate and somehow ease his incredible agony.

Capt’n Max and Me on this latest path of our Journey. Photo: Ana Quintana

There are moments of ecstasy in the agony – cute crooked smiles, big wide eyes, whispers of desire, joyous laughter, pithy phrases blurted like “spoken word” poetry, unintelligible instructions delivered with the gravity of a Mafia don, flashes of radiance, hope, healing, hugs, even eroticism, fun, flirtation, sensuous touch, precious kisses and bonobo love glowing like a fire in the darkness.

In a way, I have never felt so much love as I feel right now for Max in these awful, draining weeks –before and (now) after this show.

Happy Max surrounded by his Hospital Harem. Photo: Selfie

The Show Must Go On

Ah, this show. Yes indeed, on with the show. That’s what Max would say.

In fact, that’s what Max did say just before he had the damn stroke. Even though he wasn’t feeling well, even though I begged him not to (I myself have been cutting back on broadcasting live shows, and I thought he should too), he did a show. More than just about anything – except sex – Max loves doing the show. And I know if he could talk coherently right now, he would tell me to get on that mic and broadcast the truth. As it was, he nodded when I told him it was almost showtime. His big beautiful hazel eyes widened while a cute, crooked smile broke out across his face, before he emphatically exclaimed, “okay!”

And so, I broadcast this show about Max and his stroke – what happened, how he’s doing and what it means for all of us – for Max, for me, for our guests, for everyone in Bonoboville and for Max’s family, friends and fans all over the world. Of course, it’s just the tip of this iceberg of illness that has crashed into our Good Ship Bonoboville – not to mention our marriage! – but at least I’m (partially) facing the reality of *what happened* with Max by sharing the news.

On With the Show: Get Well Capt’n Max, Happy Birthday to Me & Group Therapy for All. Photo: Harry Sapiens

It’s also my birthday. What a lousy birthday present, huh? Though if ever there was something Max didn’t do on purpose, it’s being stricken by a stroke, and by the time my birthday rolls around, Max is unintubated (taken off the breathing tube) and seemingly out of the darkest part of the woods, meaning there’s actually something to – cautiously – celebrate and certainly support on this auspicious, musical, magical, emotional birthday show.

This is, in a way, the opposite of what our show is known for. Usually, we talk about sex, not strokes. But even stroke patients need to be stroked. Maybe especially stroke patients need to be stroked – mentally and physically – encouraged and caressed. Desire is at least as strong a motivator as fear.

Yes indeed, I always find a sex angle, even in a stroke, and after all, this stroke patient is my lover.

So, after spending all day Saturday giving Max the good kind of strokes, I gather our Bonoboville crew, a few guests and friends for my birthday and Max’s healing (thus the title) in the little Love Church of The Bonobo Way at the “Speakeasy,” our ongoing, always-evolving show where we “speak easy” about things that aren’t so easy to speak about, like sex, death and Max’s stroke.

Hugs & Group Therapy in Bonoboville.

Sitting to my left, fingering the strings of her glorious harp like Max’s own Angel of Healing, is our old friend High Priestess Regan, whom we’ve known since 1996 when she was a multi-talented 19-year-old “in search of kinky role models.” Memories of Regan as Venus/Aphrodite, strumming her heavenly harp, divinely naked on Eros Day 2004, at our old Speakeasy in the Soul of Downtown LA, flood my mind with feelings of pleasures past that heal the present hurt.

What amazing times we’ve had in the studios that Max built!

Sparkling Hopes for Max. Photo: Harry Sapiens

Also joining the “Birthday Healing” Speakeasy: John Barrymore, Ikkor the Wolf, Tuesday Conner, Oracle, Hollywood Jake, Fawnia the Naughty Realtor, Amy Real and my fabulous hairdresser Mark Brown, along with the Bonoboville crew – Abraham (also celebrating his birthday), Harry Sapiens, Mars FX, Gideon, Christina, Dre Day, Torin, Ana, Miguel and Chico the emotional support Spitz-Pomeranian – to ring in yet another *happy* birthday to me (I won’t tell you my age, but I’ll give you a hint: it’s a double header), and send our love and most fervent wishes for Capt’n Max’s recovery.

Birthday Healing Vibes for Capt’n Max.

Having gone through three harrowing, sleepless weeks since Max’s stroke struck our lives like lightning, I am still in shock, and so sad, scared, exhausted, crying through my memories and fears for Max. Yet I’m also so grateful for all the nurses, doctors and therapists who are helping Max, and for my guests on this show who sing, speak, touch and hold me in their communal embrace, as I clutch Max’s photo in one hand and our “Group Therapy” Speakeasy Bar sign in the other. It’s a funny bar sign showing hands raising drinks in good cheer, but on a very deep level, this show truly is Group Therapy – for me and everyone who cares about Max, or has a loved one struggling to recover from a stroke.

Kangaroo Court Report

We also update our FDR audience on our freedom fight against Zuck the Cuck and the fascist forces of META – an uphill David-and-Goliath battle, thanks to section 230, a law that was created almost 30 years ago to foster a free and fair internet now being used by tech moguls to protect their unchecked mega-powers at the expense of their users (that’s us!). We explain more about our Meta Battles on this show, though our legal situation has had a setback – in a nutshell, our case is so morally strong, Meta stooped to sabotage and got it kicked out of arbitration by a Meta-paid arbitrator before I could even testify! I will address in detail the freedom-crushing legalese – as well as our path forward –  when Max is a bit more stabilized at a later date.

Max would be proud that, setbacks and all, we’re continuing the fight against the rich and powerful tech moguls (Zuck the Cuck being biggest and worst, but they’re all awful) who exploit the rest of us to the point that they are squeezing the life out of the Earth itself, like a bullet (the rich) to the brain (the rest of us).

I’m a lover, not a fighter. So, thank you, Capt’n Max, for giving me the strength to fight for what’s right – like love!

Different Strokes…

We also take a few moments to mourn the victims of Zionism in Palestine (Free Palestine!), shout-out “My Reply to a Zionist Troll” (now in Counterpunch), and denounce Genocide Dementia Joe – though most say Trumpty Dumpty would be even worse.

Two old white men, both with lousy “mentation,” as they say in the stroke wards. One can’t think and the other can think only of himself.

What a shit show! It’s enough to give you a stroke.

Capt’n Max at the Helm. Photo: Author

Here’s a bit of presidential stroke trivia: U.S. President Woodrow Wilson had a major ischemic stroke (like Max) in 1919, but kept it on the hush-hush, as his wife Edith ran the White House to the point that some have called her the first female U.S. President. Wonder if that’s Dr. Jill Biden’s plan…

A bit of good news since this show: Julian Assange is free! It’s great he is out of prison (where he is said to have had a small stroke!), even though he was forced to plead guilty to the espionage act. A shining moment of hope in bleak times – another story I will talk more about later.

Aren’t we all damaged goods? In a way, a stroke accelerates the madness that is always just around the bend of our brains.

Not-so-good news: Noam Chomsky had a stroke, and it was kind of like Max’s, though Noam is 96.  Noam is convalescing in Brazil with his wife now, and we wish him a full recovery, though we, of all people right now, know how hard that is. It is sadly ironic that Noam Chomsky, an award-winning linguist before his political activism, is now rendered almost speechless.

I suppose it’s equally ironic that Max, a publisher and radio talk show host for over 50 years, can’t talk either. Like a bunker-buster busting its nut in the wrong Batcave, these cerebrum-bound dumb bombs wreaked a shit-ton of brain-cell-busting damage in both great men of words.

Well, aren’t we all damaged goods? In a way, a stroke accelerates the madness that is always just around the bend of our brains.

I take solace in the fact that Max is saying new words every day, in addition to his curious guttural utterances, stroke glossolalia, sound poems for our times.

There is so much more for me to say and write about Max, but I will stop for now and let you watch this amazing, heartfelt “group therapy” show broadcast live on my birthday at our beloved “Speakeasy.”

Unless something strikes me (more and more likely with each passing birthday), I figure I will be speaking (even if it’s not so “easy”) and writing about Max for a long time to come.

Hand-Dancing for 33 Years. Photo: Author

© June 10, 2024  Susan Block, Ph.D., a.k.a. “Dr. Suzy,” is a world renowned LA sex therapist, author of The Bonobo Way: The Evolution of Peace through Pleasure and horny housewife, occasionally seen on HBO and other channels. For speaking engagements, call 626-461-5950.

CAPT’N MAX POST-STROKE PHOTOS

“BIRTHDAY HEALING” SHOW PHOTOS