Medi-owie procedures

I suppose I should revel in my heart cath results, and do not get me wrong, I do, but since my pressures are not higher, the mystery deepens. I know a reason for the SOB lies somewhere, just not in the usual spots.

The baby nurse (everyone looks like a baby these days) had a hard time getting the IV going. She poked, then wiggled the needle awhile atop my left hand. I told her the right arm/hand held betters veins, but she said the docs preferred the left because of the way the cath lab was set up. She ended up putting the IV in the right hand.

The doc decided since I enjoyed lying flat on an ice cold table in an freezing room, he would do a left heart cath as well. The left side looked good.

Procedures changed a bit since the last cath I had. This time I lay flat for just an hour. Spanish Inquisition and the rack come to mind, complete with sand bags. My lower back, across the area of the kidneys, felt as though it would break. The pain wracked my bones, not just the muscles. Another smidge of Versed would have helped about then.

When the baby nurse cranked me into a sitting position, my back screamed for a solid minute. She diverted me with a sandwich and some coffee. Yeah, coffee, finally. Thirty minutes later I signed papers and the baby nurse wheeled me to Connie's car.

Yesterday morning after my shower as I got ready to go, I had a panic attack. As attacks go, this one ranks on the lower end of the scale. I lay on the bed and panted for awhile and reminded myself dying probably was not on the books that moment. This incident did feature some old standards: nausea, hot flashes, cold sweat, gasping. The symptoms ceased pretty quickly and I finished getting ready. I am taking Xanax for the attacks and up to yesterday, it worked pretty well.

***

I want Spain to beat Germany today. Since this World Cup offered some bizarre situations, you never know. One element this WC did not lack was excitement. I can almost hear you now. "Shit! What was he thinking?" etc., etc.

Dude.

Later.

Health, mental and physical

I met with a counselor yesterday. I think we will be a good fit. After the initial intake questions, she says I am clinically depressed and do indeed have panic attacks. We decided on some goals together and set up another appointment. I am hoping this helps.

* * *

I discovered I was wrong about the date for the RHC; the doc will do his thing this morning. I am having a hard time writing my blog without coffee. Ha. I am not too nervous since I have had one before, so I know what to expect. I am nervous because of what he might find. On the other hand, I have felt SOB lately and hope that this will lead to answers. Only time will tell.

* * *

Dude, thanks for being there.

Later.

Yuck

I woke up cranky and my body, particularly my lungs, feels cranky, too. The medicines that chronically ill people take cause all sorts of out of sorts bodies. Feeling well takes a delicate balance. One small change causes the whole load to shift dangerously. Sometimes the mind joins in to shove the whole kit and caboodle over the edge. I am not there yet, but moving cautiously.

My apartment shows signs of my mood. Right now I do not find joy in cleaning the litterbox or washing dishes. Pogo and Satchmo irritate me with their whines for food. Routine drives cats and they let me know if I fail to follow theirs. My bad, boys.

Right now I am at the point I just don't. I don't go out, don't clean, don't anything. I hope to get a little push to get me going again. Connie tries hard to nudge me. Her life holds enough complications without adding more of mine. She calls or asks me to run errands almost every day when she could be at home herself, resting.

* * *

Dude, this one's for you.

Later.

Surprise

Every now and then I try to put my eye out. Before you freak out, not intentionally. Seems I have cut my eyeball at least four times with a fingernail. Don't ask.

Eyes get infected quickly. Twice I ended up at an emergency clinic. (I choose weekends and holidays to injure myself.)

The doc puts in some soothing stuff from a tube and then looks at the eyeball under ultraviolet light. "Yep," he says, "you scratched your eyeball." Duh. He writes a prescription for some sulphur mixture. Two hours wasted because I am a klutz.

* * *

The mail brought me two surprises. While not expecting either of them, after all they were surprises, one sender was not a surprise and the other was. So I guess one surprise was actually two suprises in one or a surprising surprise.

Cheryl sent me a thank you note. Though totally unnecessary, it brightened my day. Remember the little things often mean more than the elaborate, expensive ones. As that commercial that ended up in the American lexicon for 15 minutes says, blah, blah, blah, priceless.

The surprising surprise warmed my heart as no other could. The note represents so much to me, but maybe most of all, acceptance. Recognition of my minuscule role. Acknowledgment that I even had a role. And some amazement on my part that I am worthy. No matter. Tears of happiness mix with the bittersweet.

* * *

Well, dude, Spain pulled it off. What a match! They get the Germans next. Uh oh.

Later.

Boom!

Holidays. You stopped celebrating them.

We spent four major holidays together online. On July 4, a song popped up on the IM. Not hello, not happy 4th, just a song. Nirvana. I had not really heard any of their songs, but I had the impression I would not like them. But I was game and played it. The melody itself grabbed me and the words delivered a not so subtle message. (I have not checked out any other of their songs, btw.)

Where do bad folks go when they die
They don't go to heaven where the angels fly
Go to a lake of fire and fry
See them again 'till the Fourth of July

July 4 also marked another milestone -- you invited me to read Transplantland and Friends of Pepe. And sent me a conversation you had with Honda Engine Goddess.

You trusted me less than a month after I had met you. I am not sure why, but I am thankful.

* * *

I ate a whole bag of cherries in two days. I love summer because I love cherries. The farmers market opened Thursday. I look forward to tomatoes that taste like tomatoes. And near the end of August, black-eyed peas.

* * *

Had a great time yesterday with Boopie and the youngin's. Poor Brittani. For her, 11 a.m. seems the middle of the night. You could see life gradually returning to her by the time she reached the bottom of the coffee cup. For Alex, life presents an opportunity for adventure. You want Alex on your side. Brittani decided to join the lunch bunch. How fun!

* * *

Dude, don't want the love to fade away.

Later.

Bye, Brandon

Brandon died last night. Though not unexpected, he suffered mightily his last nine months or so, I still mourn his passing.

Brandon came to chat for the first time the night after Mason died. (Must have been that perfect storm, after all.) He jumped right in with both feet. He added a bit more sass to a group of sassy mostly older women. He teased and generally got conversations stirred up in no time.

He had a man thing about souped up cars and actually raced at the local dragway a few times. By the time we met, his disease had progressed enough that he could not do much of anything. Brandon's family lived on his military retirement. (Brandon had a heart defect in addition to the pulmonary hypertension. Makes you wonder about the competency of the military if they accepted him.)

Brandon had a son and a daughter who never got the chance to know a regular dad. Though not infants, their memories of their dad likely will be few. He told the kids he was going to heaven to talk to God. How hard that must have been.

The last nine months of Brandon's life were spent in the hospital. His heart worked less and less and he had fluid issues constantly. The few times I actually talked to him, he still was upbeat and sassy.

Brandon and I spoke on the phone a few times. Mostly about food and restaurants. He loved to eat, maybe because he had lived in Copperas Cove and had a Texas-size appetite.

All of us who have PH hate what it does to people. The potion to keep us alive offers some nasty side effects. I am fortunate that mine is mild. Others suffer with extreme headaches, vomiting, foot pain, jaw pain. Some of my friends have to take some pretty powerful pain meds just to be able to get up.

Most often another disease rides along for fun. Connective tissue diseases, lupus, and a whole slew of others.

* * *

I have my first visit with the counselor Monday. I am going into this with few expectations and at the same time many. The past couple of years have been tough. I pretty much lost my identity when I lost my job. I found new friends online. Now it seems, I am losing them one by one.

* * *

Dude, not a day goes by that I do not think of you and miss you.

Later.

Walled in

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M_bvT-DGcWw

I hope you enjoy. Great photo, huh?

* * *

All the above came about while thinking about the wall I put up around myself. Few people know the insecure, shy me, which lies just beyond the protective wall of my public persona. Another wall, merely feet away, hides the me I allow no one to see. That wall looks more like the one below.

Walls keep out, but also keep in.  

* * *

Dude.

Later.