Wiseacre

If one can physically feel anxious, I do today. Not sure what this indicates, but I do not like the feeling. My chest and throat seem heavy. Almost a tickle in my throat, but not really that either. How do you describe a symptom to a doctor when you cannot describe it to yourself? I have hit extra lasix two days in a row and still swelling plagues me. (Of course, those chips do not help the situation.)

All this focus on health irritates me. Enough already. "The new reality" "Better get used to it, that is the way it will be." Stop being a whiner. Check out the grace of others who are far worse than I. I hope to heck when the end comes I will not think of my life as a total waste.

Here I possess all this wisdom and my body refuses to let me apply it. Generally you gain wisdom by living, not by osmosis. Then at the end of your life, what do you do with the wisdom?

I wonder if the great thinkers realized they were wise and decided to share or did they just write it down like a giant doodle? I wonder about their emotional lives. Does mental pain produce genius? Or does genius guarantee emotional baggage?

My curiosity about your early years stirs. Now I want to learn as much as I can. I hope you left enough clues for me.

Later.

So you will know

Yesterday I accomplished quite a bit. I washed a large stack of dishes, swept and mopped the kitchen, dusted part of the living room and vacuumed the living room. Oh yes, I also cooked onions and hamburger meat, then divided that. With one portion, I made spaghetti, which I had for lunch. I had enough to freeze a meal's worth and still have two meals left in the refrigerator. With the other half, I will add potatoes, cream of mushroom soup and maybe corn. Oh yes, and the best part -- cheese. Voila! At least two more meals.

I am proud of my accomplishments, but today I am drained. Maybe I can get a couple of drawers cleaned out or some files.

The emails I got from a couple of people yesterday brightened my day considerably. My soccer team beat everyone, even Mr. Unknown but Clobbering the Rest of Us. Ha! I got a FB inbox reply which both intrigues and scares me. Scares me in a way that I know I will have to share myself, too. Am I willing to go there? Am I ready?

I also got my feelings hurt. (Figures, that always seems to be a part of my life.) I wish people on FB chat would be upfront. If you are too busy to talk, please just say so. I will understand. That is easier to take than not getting any reply. That I do not understand. The message there says I am third rate and not as important as what you are doing. I feel that way anyway. If you care, please do not compound the way I already feel about myself. The slightest slight sends me over the edge for days.

I know, I know. I should not let others determine how I feel, but somehow it does not work that way.

I am working on myself. I suppose our lives always are works in progress. Sometimes a wall we need to break through to see more clearly proves, in our minds at least, inpregnable.

That calls for help. We need Mighty Mouse to show up to save the day.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6sXtGbcc4y0

Or we need to break out of our Clark Kent mode and head for the phone booth. For you youngin's, I provide a picture of a phone booth in Great Britain. Cell phones pretty much killed phone booths.

What do you think, Dude?

Later

Blood from a turnip

Got a notice from the hospital yesterday. Essentially the paper showed me how much the hospital asks from my insurance company for my week's stay. Gosh, my health does not come cheap. $40,815.21 is the grand total. $7,576.09 from the pharmacy and $12,951.42 in self-administrated drugs. Zowie! When it all shakes down, I will owe about $4,000 or so. Ha!

I slept from the time I got home yesterday until my alarm went off for my 7 o'clock medicines. I promptly went back to bed and finally got up for good about 2:45 when Pogo shut off my CPAP. I seem to have some energy today. I will spend it cleaning the kitchen so I can mess it up again with Sunday meals.

Hey Dude, I am leading the soccer league for this week, so far anyway. Even your mom beats Pete. I will have to razz him about that. I had better enjoy this time in the spotlight because I soon will fall off this pedestal.

I dreamed about Jack Nicholson, of all people, last night. I think Matt Hutchison also was in the dream. Strange.

I asked a friend who has a degree in English literature if all the authors of the classics were tortured or had drug or alcohol problems. What do you think? First you have to argue the term classic. Then you have to consider sales or standard college reading lists. Then just fiction or all genres. But really the question is simple. I mean the Poes, Vonneguts, Blakes, Dumases, etc. I wonder if a majority had issues of some sort.
Chime in those who have an argument either pro or con.

♥ Dude.

Later.

Saturday stuff

I fear we had an incident in the bathroom this morning. I observed Pogo looking guiltily from behind the shower curtain. He fusses and fusses. Then he tries to bury something near the litterbox. Even if you are not Sherlock Holmes, you can figure this one out.

Connie and I plan a trip to the grocery store, the bank and to have lunch. Then she will brave Wallyworld. Me, I will probably take a nap. Neither one of us needs to overdo.

Today seems better. I am tired and the tops of my feet are swollen as are my legs to the knees. I need to take extra lasix, but I really do not want to do it today since I am going out. So tomorrow.

I appreciate our mutual friends, dude. They give me strength when I am weak, they give me reason when I am confused, they give me hope when I have none. Thanks for sharing.

Later.

Diagnosis

I am depressed.

Here, let the Mayo Clinic explain:

Depression is a medical illness that involves the mind and body. Also called major depression, major depressive disorder and clinical depression, it affects how you feel, think and behave. Depression can lead to a variety of emotional and physical problems. You may have trouble doing normal day-to-day activities, and depression may make you feel as if life isn't worth living.


More than just a bout of the blues, depression isn't a weakness, nor is it something that you can simply "snap out" of. Depression is a chronic illness that usually requires long-term treatment, like diabetes or high blood pressure.

My friends tell me I need to get out more. Therein lies the problem. Getting out gets harder and harder for me. I just plain do not want to ______. Thinking about getting out makes me cry.

Observation: If Connie or Boopie did not come to pick me up, I probably would not leave the apartment. Oh I realize groceries and drugs are necessary. I can do that. I put on my sweet little old lady face and smile my way through the store.

Physically, I am doing pretty well. I can do a couple of stores without being SOB. However, add a third one and I am wiped out the next day.

I know I do not exercise like Doc wants me to. I guess I expect him to perform miracles while I do as I please. I am sure that must frustrate him. If I did what he thinks I should, I could probably add a few years to my life. Do I want that?

I miss you something fierce, Dude. Do I have that right? Actually, I do. No one except you has the power to take from me the relationship we had. You left me. And you left with a lie. I will always wonder.

Later.

You think one up

*sigh*

Later.

Epic fail

I am so tired of  roller coaster emotions. One day I may be fine, and the next few I get my feelings hurt or I do not feel loved. Why do I allow others the power to rule my life this way? Why does my day depend on who I hear from and if others ask my opinion?

I am an adult, a senior adult at that, with the maturity of a preteen. Did I miss something in my life that I cannot seem to get now? I just want to cry. I am sad and I am hurting.

I also feel used and abused. I just want to be a friend and have friends. It seems I am a failure at that, too.

Later.

Wasted days and wasted nights

I asked the doctor for a copy of the report on my right heart cath. I get a piece of paper that details the cath in four sentences. Three of those sentences say the reason for the cath, the explanation of risks, I was prepped and the doc had trouble placing the catheter and had help. He offers one number, the right ventricular systolic pressure, which was 80. This, the doc says, is severe PH.

My main heart doc did not do the cath. A new younger guy did. At least he called for help. The main hd said my cath and echo numbers were almost identical. So maybe I should ask for a copy of the last echo I had.

No matter what my numbers are, I need new meds. My SOB has worsened and I can do less and less.

No yelling at me for not taking my own advice, OK?

* * *

Amid the purple weeds, an arrant shingle or two, some Styrofoam cups and patches of grass, a hidden beauty struggles. Creeping through the fence, indigo morning glories stretch their reach almost to the gate. Closer to the fence, wine red flowers join their brethren, their leaves bushlike against the fence. Reigning above all, a coral rose, its velvet beauty unmatched.

The elm tree the owner cut down last summer stands well above the fence line. A buddy joins it this year.

I need to have the jungle mowed, but that would mean sacrificing beauty on the altar of common sense. Beauty nourishes the soul.

* * *

In my head, I work hard again. So much to do. Sometimes I get 'whelmed by the list. Then nothing gets done. I lie on the couch and fret.

* * *

What do you think about it all?

Later.

Cold, hard truth

Last night I lay on the couch and watched my toes perform a Vulcan salute. First one foot, then the other. Toes can handle that, calves not so much.

I tried my best to walk it off. I even drank a glass of oj and ate a handful of raisins (as if the combination would be enough potassium to fend off the attack).

Today those same muscles scream at me every time I get up for something.

* * *

The inevitable caught up with me.

I had a heart cath a month or so ago (time no longer seems to matter) and never had the consult with the heart doc who did the procedure.

I canceled the appointment twice for a couple of reasons. The most important reason: Doc got the results a couple of days after it was done and told me the results. Heart doc seems to be overbooked (ha), and I dreaded the two-hour wait in his office to see him for five minutes.

My conscience would not allow me to cancel for a third time, so today I get to go watch people in his office. I am an avid people watcher.

First I will sit in a large lobby area that features two televisions, one of which spews Fox News (shutter). The other one you never know. I will sit there for at least an hour. I will listen to a man who is hard of hearing tell another man 1) about his glory years 2) about his son, wife, cousin 3) his medical condition.

Then I will move to an inner lobby. One TV. The room has the look of a storage area converted to a holding pen. From there I will head to the examining room.

Doc will say I need to get those pressures down. I will say yes, I know. He will ask if I have questions, I will say no. He will say come back in six months. I will tell him he is working too hard. He will tick.

Thus will go almost one-third of my day.

* * *

I discovered this morning my opinion counts for nothing. I guess I had blown the whole situation out of proportion in my mind. This morning, I found my place. When you care, you leave yourself open to the hurt. Today the hurt burns a hole in my heart. Like chattel, used and tossed aside.

Now I am sad again. Happy, happy, sad. Sad, sad, happy. When is it my time? When do I get to win?

* * *

Pogo eats like a bear preparing for winter. Two cans before 6 a.m. We may be in trouble.

* * *

Wish you were here.

Later.

Demons and ravens

Did Edgar Allan Poe sit at his desk and think, "Once upon a day bright and cheery. Humm. How about Once upon a cloudy day dark and dreary. Nope, that is not it either." Course old Edgar A. had his muses. He managed to create a genre of writing which has withstood time. Pretty heady stuff.

Poe had his demons. Seems many of the great writers did. Tortured aptly describes many of them. Not being a great student of literature, I do not know if there are "normal" writers of classics.

* * *

I fear our world spins out of control. Pandora did her thing. No, I am not one of those sign carriers. You know, repent, the end is near. But I do fear for the world.

* * *

♥ I miss you.

Later.

Sunday morning coming down

The problem with cooking: dishes to wash afterward. Like Mickey in the Sorcerer's Apprentice, dirty dishes seem to multiply on their own. Get two together and before long they claim the surface of the counters. Crackers and diet DP get old though. Let's face it, healthy eating requires lots of dishes.

Got some peaches at the farmer's market yesterday. The fruit had no peachy smell, but boy they got the tastebuds' attention. I also picked up some summer squash and purple onion.

Every time I go to the market, I think about the poor farmers and how important they are to us and how little they make. Sure, some farmers sport the Cadillac of harvesters, etc., but the farmers in the Panhandle area depend on the good years to carry them through the bad. The hours are long, the work hard.

* * *

I find the situation ironic. Ted, who said he knows nothing about soccer, hangs with the big boys. J. and I hang in the cellar. Ha.

* * *

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mTa8U0Wa0q8

* * *

I received a couple of letters from my insurance company this past week. I am not sure what they say. I went to college and worked for more than 30 years. Why do the insurance companies bamboozle us? Why cannot they communicate in plain, simple English. Therein lies the answer. They want us confused.

* * *

Sometimes I need a reminder that I am really better off than most.

* * *

I miss you Dude.

Later.

Catch 22

The kids displayed their angelic sides yesterday and the time with them went quickly. Aidon even cleaned up a chocolate milk mess he made on the patio.

I came home and slept the rest of the day. I ate supper, stopped in PHA chat for a bit and then called it a night. The day before wiped me out. With PH comes spurts of energy. Most of us want to make hay while the sun shines and tend to overdo. Then the next day you do nothing. Sometimes that leads to frustration. We need a meter that tells us to cool it on energy days so we can have some the next day.

Then the mental issues come calling. The gloom and doom, the eventual outcome ever looming. We blithely say we cannot avoid the inevitable. So many things left unsaid. So many issues unresolved. Maybe that motivates us.

I saw a picture of your grave. I hope you have found peace.

Later.

Pap

Today I may have to kill a 5-year-old and his brother.

Yesterday I went with Connie to pay a few bills. We also went by the ReStore (a Habitat for Humanity store) to see if I could find a couple of small tables and a glider rocker.

Aidon transformed overnight from a sweet child who minds into a jerk. Zane, who had been shy and sweet, became a cry baby. After about an hour with them, I was ready to dump them beside the road. We had talked about a movie, but the kids were not interested and neither were the adults (that is suppose to be me).

After errands, etc., Connie and I got wings. We came to my apartment and the boys chased the cats while Connie and I ate. Actually, the boys fascinated Pogo. His kid meows differ from his big people meows. He got right down there with the kids but after awhile he fled to the window. Satchmo fled right away. As time passed, he came out and eventually let Aidon pet him. Aidon played with Satchmo when they both were less than a year old. Maybe it made an impression on both of them.

Today Connie pays a visit to the vampire. I volunteered (I never learn. haha) to stay with the kids. I can do this.

After days of eating very little, I overate yesterday. Today my body punishes me. The combination of fried and sugar takes a toll.

I just want to sleep.

I miss you Dude.

Later.

For me

Connie told me yesterday I am eating her lunch. She said she cannot keep it up. She worries about me. She says when she calls and I am lying on the couch, doing nothing and can hardly talk because my mouth is so dry, it hurts her. She told me that I have to want to help myself, not do it because of her. When she asked why I slept alot, I told her maybe it was to kill time or hide.

I lack motivation. I always have thought I am unworthy. How do you change more than 60 years of thought? Even if you could, it would not happen overnight.

I am blessed to have friends who like me despite my weird thinking. They like me in spite of myself.

On the CF forum, participants discuss compliance. Though specifically about CF, compliance goes along with most chronic diseases. I just took my sats. 70 percent. Of course, that is without o2. That is lack of compliance. Exercise -- the golden, all-purpose fix it. Not many people I know love to push themselves physically. Another compliance issue.

I dreamed last night of pulmonary rehab. Many of the people I did not know. We all brought our cats. Pogo did well and did not run off. I remember saying it would take me awhile to get back. I had issues with my clothing, too.

Dude. I. Miss. You.

Later.

:_(

I made an early morning run to Wallyworld and the grocery store. I got the ingredients to make a bean soup, pork ribs and a meatloaf.

I also washed dishes. I am pooped.

I am sad. I apparently made someone mad.

Later, Dude.

Not alone

If I had not slept so much already, today would be a perfect sleep day. The skies blessed us for a few hours. I love rain. Rain, though not totally scarce here, does fall into the treat category. A book, a chair or couch, a blanket and a feline companion make for fine times. Forget the spa.

I looked on the insurance drugs site for Tyvaso and they do have it on the list. It will cost $140 for three months. So I guess doc needs to persuade the company I need the med.

Sorry.

Later.

Future past

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q7RPCFfudmU

The middle of August. Already daylight comes a bit later. The urge to build a hideaway persists. I want a glider rocker and a couple of end tables. Why does my mind come up with all these glorious ideas and my body says, "Yeah, right."?  I do want a place to hibernate this winter. When it snows, I can be warm and enjoy.

Did you have a hard time living up to others' expectations? Were you aware how others looked up to you? I know you prized independence. You also relished being an older, wiser CFer. I remain puzzled about you. After all, you lived 44 years without me. What were you like? Would we have been friends if I had met you at Colby? I doubt our paths would have crossed in Chicago. I am not one to hang out at any bar/music venue. Even in my 30s, I was not one to go out after work.

I wonder about your friends, though all of them to a person, have been nothing but nice to me. With maybe the exception of K, they all have gone on with their lives. I knew you six months and I do not want to forget you. Am I doing you or me an injustice by keeping your memory alive in my heart? Am I clinging to gossamer?

Regardless, I miss you, Dude.

Later.

Hard times

Dude, I am angry with you. How dare you leave me?

A new season of Champs League begins today. EPL yesterday. I made an effort to join the guys for a memorial league. I roped your mom into playing as well.

Getting her to play was not hard. Teaching her will be hard, not because of who she is, but because of my lack of knowledge. I left all the important stuff undone. No research. No learning from my mistakes. My heart simply is not into it. Why? Because I miss you. How unfair. Not even a full EPL season. I cannot help but feel cheated.

Is that selfish of me? You bet. How dare you let me walk into your life, give a piece of myself to you and then leave me with scant memories and a heavy heart.

The past few months flew by in a blur. At first, I coveted all the scraps of you I had. In the space of six months, I learned about your pain, I learned about your heart, I learned about your soul.

I question myself. Doubts kill as surely as knives. Doubts taint the purest of memories and motives.

Do I think if I put you in a box and hide you away, eventually I will forget entirely? Memories comfort and hurt. I trusted you. You trusted me. How can that be?

Last year I eagerly awaited each match. I am sorry Dude. You need to be here.

Later.

Wasted days

If you wait to live life, you never will.

An old college friend came up from Plano yesterday. He needed a fix of the Panhandle and Palo Duro Canyon. He spent the past 25 years or so first in Vermont, then in D.C. He works for the government and makes a comfortable living.

I dislike disappointing others. I hope I do not claim to be something I am not. Do I put too much emphasis on relationships? Do I take responsibility for failures that is not mine to bear?

I feel as if I am observing life from inside a transparent bubble. I can see and hear, but I am somehow apart.

I do my friends a disservice by hiding all the time. They remain in my thoughts.

I miss you.

Later.

Huh?

Why do former journalists seem to drift into teaching? Many, many of my former colleagues teach.

Angst does not limit itself to teenagers. Age does not matter; it resides in your head.

I feel as if I have abandoned everyone. I want to help, but I cannot help myself right now.

The world moves on without me. Will I get so far behind I will never make it up?

Is going through the motions better than nothingness?

Just when does it become my business, if ever?

Do I fear change?

Body heat

I find comfort in Pogo's body lying in the tinest space imaginable pressing next to my left lung and heart. When I am not feeling well, his heart beats steadily. The rhythm and the warmth of his body help soothe my frazzled thoughts and bring peace. Oh, he can irritate me with the best of 'em, with his insistance on food, now. But the unfettered love and adoration more than make up for the whining when you do not want to be bothered.

O2 and I are having issues. Actually, I am having issues. I tend to sit at the computer without the tubes. My sats are in the 85-6 range without supplemental o2. Not good.

I have been hasseling with the o2 company and insurance. My portable o2 regulator is not working properly. I guess it was dropped one time too many.

So I learn my insurance will replace DME every five years. After about three years of renting the equipment, I asked when I would own it. The o2 folks said done. Well, now a technicality prevents me from getting a new regulator. Since I have "owned" it for three years, I have to wait two more years. The o2 folks failed to tell me this when they said I could own it.

A regulator costs about $400. To be fair, the o2 folks are helping me try to get new DME. One of the women is working with the insurance company and hopefully will contact me today or early next week. In the meantime, I use tons of o2 when I am out because I cannot regulate the flow properly.

* * *

This season of EPL should be interesting. Six of us are playing. Two rookies who do not know soccer. The original three of us. and someone I do not know at all. I told J. I would help her and I will try. I fall far short of your expertise, though. I hope I do not disappoint her. We continue to feel our way along. She graciously has included me in your list of friends for which I am thankful.

Your passing has left a hole in my psyche. Just when I think the wound heals, something comes along to chaffe and the bleeding begins anew.

Later.

Yuck

I seem to be running in neutral. Not going anywhere, not serving any purpose. I hate that. I awoke with a stomach thing. Like heartburn only not.

Enough of the old lady stuff, already.

Later.

1. 2.

Lists serve me well. Lists can offer tangible proof when I meet objectives. A satisfied feeling that comes when you mark through that chore. While making the list weighs heavily, the actual doing takes a conscious effort.

Today's list looks like this:

• wash dishes
• sweep kitchen floor
• buy catfood
• vacuum

I bet there is a cat and a half worth of hair in the carpet. Those bagless vacuums work really well. You see the proof with your eyes of what your unseen environment is like. Also suspended in the vortex, fine gray dust. Not dirt dust. It appears to be cement dust or some other such hard-on-the-lungs particles.

EPL. Saturday. Dude.

Later.

Shadows

I slept all day. Now my mood matches the skies which cried all afternoon in a quiet, funeral way.

A purpose escapes me at the moment. I cannot decide what to eat for supper. I own no motivation. I feel closed in and neglected. Lonely and stifled. My house still unsettles me. Like a fishmonger's wife, the chores nag at me. I have no strength of will.

I failed to learn a lesson of life that many others face early. My health always has been great. Never one to expend energy, I carried extra weight and smoked. After 40 years, my body started the rebellion. The process was gradual, so I paid little heed to the signs.

Then the years of neglect came on with a vengeance. Modern medicine keeps me moving, but at what price? Often a tradeout. Less this for more that.

Past indiscretions haunt us all. Now they sit eye-to-eye with me, never wavering, always reminding.

Later, dude.

This side up

The visit with the doctor yesterday showed my crackles and wheezes almost gone. I will continue to neb the Tobi and Dexamethasone for five more days. I blew some more for him and numbers were up again from those taken at the hospital.

He showed me a brochure about Tyvaso. If I have not heard anything in the next 10 days, I am to call him. My next appointment falls in October.

I took mental inventory of what I had eaten the past week as I washed each stack of dishes.

My day culminated in lunch out and a trip to the grocery. The excursion exhausted me and I lay down; got up briefly to neb and eat and then fled to bed.

Emotionally I am numb. I cannot seem to generate any. Did I put a clamp on them in that hospital room?

Bootleggers, Dude.

Later.

Under my skin

Lying around for the greater part of three weeks cut my incentive to do much of anything. Finding the oomph proves a challenge. With my mind sunning in the Seychelles, my body grows lax.

Scars of the health war mar my arms and legs. Every bump, every tiny tip of a cat claw causes a blood blister. In the crook of my right elbow, the sea of color includes red, blue, purple and a bit of yellow for contrast. My right shin stays discolored, the bruise a permanent one. The deep purple of the Lovenox sites creates a belt that holds nothing up. The big toe on the right foot sported a bruise that at first I thought was dirt. How I managed that one, I will never know.

Whether from the meds or lack of hydration, my body, especially my arms, itch continually. Get one itch scratched and another lines up behind it. A few more doses of prednisone left.

You hover at times. I am grateful.

Later.

Night and day

Today marks the last day of extra meds. I believe they did what they should and I am on the road to a more normal me.

My brain, however, went on vacation a couple of weeks ago and seems reluctant to return.

The days smush together. Feed the kittys, feed me. A stack of dishes threatens to spill over onto the stove. The refrigerator growls with hollowness. The cabinets echo when the doors shut.

Fortunately, my appetite dwindles, too. Somewhere beyond the fog, the hunger waits to break those bonds of restraint.

I spend the days doing what? I took a couple of naps. Escapism? I watched some ESPN. *yawn* I farmed on FB. In fact, I farmed my mouse to death. Hard to farm with a flabby mouse.

More than 30 years of my life I desired to know all about current events: "news." Imagie watching Headline News for fun. I quit the addiction cold turkey. One day I severed my newspaper subscription and quit TV news. A big disconnection there. Does lack of knowledge of current events make conversations trite?

I do know the Right vs Left thing compells me to grab the disinfectant and run. Pitchmen with terrier personalities spew half-truths and the gullible pass it along as gospel. Us vs them. A monster of greed and corruption that feeds on itself. Neither side offers solutions just recriminations. Agendas line the hallways of government from large to small. Blame falls on all.

* * *

Hey Dude. I miss you.

Later.

The A Team

A surprise awaited in my FB inbox this morning. Your mom sent a nice, personal message.

Your mom ranks among the best. I know you knew this, but you were independent, and stubborn as well. There were pressures from within to be a man's man though your body sometimes had other ideas. That urge must have been the dominant one, because you worried about the man things.

I also know a big, big part of your mom landed in you. The curiosity, the thirst for knowledge, the empathy.

How difficult this year has been for her. Each month flying by, each month an anniversary. I told her I had been thinking about post-tx and what a nightmare yours turned into. She said she had been thinking of that as well.

Your mom and I share the love of cats, too. Each of us has two boys.

Hey Dude. You remember that talk we had about destiny, etc., etc., etc.?

I also got another note from K, which surprised me. I figured he would slowly fade away. He asked whose turn it was on shares.

Well, the EPL kicks off soon. A Paul Mooney Memorial League is in the works. I asked Kirsop to join, but he is so full of life, I doubt he does. Joe takes on the organizer role this year.

Still missing you as much as ever.

Later.

Life's order

The events of the last couple of weeks blurr in my mind.

I felt awful pretty much the whole time and did not realize just how bad until I went into the hospital. I need to pay more attention to my body. Or does denial dog me?

Do I want to go back to the counselor? The last time I saw her, I left early. Then I canceled the next week. So now three weeks have gone by. I will make a decision by Monday.

Once again I learned the importance of friends and how isolation can play tricks with your head. Friendship comes from expected and unexpected sources. Our paths intersect and either we continue along our separate ways or we travel together. In this new direction, our life changes yet again. A cosmic brew.

The urge to clean taunts me, so I may try to ease back into it by washing a few dishes. Then target the pharmacy on my bedside table. Time for new DME as well, so a call to BritKare.

* * *

Dude. I miss you.

Later.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zWXcjYNZais

Things I saw and learned

Though I am so glad to be home, I want to detail a bit of my seven-day hospital stay.

Being the nosey Rosie who I am, I left my door open most of the time. I could hear the nurses talking and watch the ebb and flow of life on the fourth floor, which serves as the cardiac unit.

Doc had two patients on this floor including me. The other person was in another wing. Doc worked the whole seven days I was in. You cannot imagine how blessed I am to have Doc. Every nurse I talked to, and I had new nurses almost every night, knew about pulmonary hypertension. The hospital pharmacy actually had my PH meds. Four years ago when I was admitted for pneumonia, they did not. I feel strongly that Doc goes about educating all.

I truly know now about nursing shortages. They work 12-hour shifts, which can extend some. I had one nurse who usually works on the oncology floor. Two of the nurses on the floor were men. Joseph and Toby had a great way with the elderly patients.

Doc had me up and walking as much as possible so I wandered the hallways. I fetched my own water and ice. I caught glimpses of the other patients I could hear talking with the nurses.

Mrs. X, in the first room, was in isolation with infectious diarrhea. Her door frame featured all sorts of warnings and stickers. Mrs. Y, across the hall from Mrs. X, appeared to have some mental problems. She threw Jell-O and other things at the techs and nurses. Across the hall from me was Mr. X. He wanted to be transferred somewhere and got cussingly upset when he thought he was leaving but did not.

In the room next to me, I had two blowhards. The first man thought everyone should know who he is and told anyone who came into the room about his exploits with the city commission. The other man apparently had a wreck and then defibbed. Someone came to check on him and the session went on forever with discussions about who to call for what.

One man down the way signed papers to have his toe removed because of diabetes. Another elderly man's daughter told the nurse to keep that Mrs. Z out of the room. She wanted no visitors expect an aunt who is a nurse and would come spend the night with her father.

Something I learned, no matter how many safeguards there are, sometimes mistakes are made. When I first went into the room and settled in the bed, a flock of nurses came in to do their thing. One young nurse started hooking me up to a heart monitor. I wondered about it at the time. Shortly I noticed it had another woman's name on it. Poor Mrs. C got hers a few minutes later.

Check your meds. The pharmacy sent up 250 mg of Tracleer instead of 125. Some of the hospital meds were in two pills rather than the one I usually get. Take your time to count them or check them.

Carry a list of meds with you. The man next door had no idea what he takes and he was a heart patient.

I feel better and hopefully will continue to improve.

I cannot finish this without mentioning the many visits and calls that cheered me and kept me sane. Connie called every day though she vacations in California. Dorsey, Rick, Boopie, Alex, Brittani and Tanya brought a bit of the real world with them. Tanya scoured my bathroom at home and fed my kitties. Colleen and Sylvia called. Nan sent a wonderful card. Though I did not have a computer, when I got home I saw all the FB posts. Each of you warms my heart. Thank you.

* * *

Dude, I gained something priceless in the hospital this time. I now understand more fully how the steroids affected you. I still am pretty naive about CF, but what I learned makes you all the more special in my heart.

Later.

Home at last

Home at last. The saga of sick Cindy changes venues. I trade some fine, caring, funny nurses for the furry variety.

Toby, one of the first nurses I met, was training a new nurse. I was one of her first patients. She was sweet and shy but caring. She will make a good nurse. When I asked for a Diet DP, Toby spent a dollar of his own money to get me one.

Then there was Joseph. He was onery and funny. He is a picker and teaser.

To be continued. Time for rest. <3