While other people were busy shopping and going to holiday events, I've been sick. Another ghastly flare-up of Crohn's disease has knocked me in the dirt again. It started over a week ago, and I felt I could keep going and maybe it would subside. After all, it has before.
Not this time. Monday morning, I went to the local VA outpatient clinic and asked to see a doctor. When asked what was wrong, I gave the clerk at the desk a sanitized version of what really ailed me, and she was horrified. Heavens! I'll have to go confer with the nurse. Five minutes goes by, and she returns to tell me that the clinic here cannot help me at all, I should go to the ER. Meaning the ER downstairs. Now, I don't have any insurance, so I asked if the VA would pick up the tab for my visit to this local ER. She said that would have to be evaluated by the VA. I then asked if the nurse here could call the GI clinic at Memphis to possibly get me priority to be seen in the ER there. She said whoever does that would be in around 8:30 am, so have a seat. This was barely past eight.
I waited until a quarter after nine, then asked what was going on. Seems that they "couldn't reach anyone". I thanked her and said I would try something else. I just went home, because I didn't feel well enough to drive myself to Memphis.
Tuesday, I caught the DAV shuttle van to Memphis, and reported to the ER at eight. About nine, I was called to triage, and taken straight back to a bed in the ER proper. This is quite speedy, so it told me I did have some serious issues. A nurse came in to put in an IV port and to draw blood, with a promise of the doctor to see me soon.
I spent until almost 11pm on that uncomfortable gurney, but I did get seen by several doctors, had a CT scan done, x-rays, and more blood tests. The conclusion was that I had another fistula in that small portion of rectum I still own. Well, duh. When I am bleeding from two different orifices (orificii?) at the same time, I think I know what's wrong, since this is not the first time.
A note here: the ER staff was very good to me, and stayed up on my case while I was there.
A room was finally ready upstairs, and around 11pm I was transferred there. More people trooped in to see me, and I slept less than a couple of hours total. I was told I would be having a flex-sig in the morning. Oh joy.
Every time I end up in the hospital at the VA, I become a case study that they bring EVERYBODY in to see. I would reckon that would be due to the fact they seldom get to treat females there? I do have a somewhat unusual case history, and get to recite it many, many times over the course of a hospital stay. The Memphis VA uses the University of Tennessee Medical Branch to staff its residency, and there are plenty of med students to go around for the various departments. This time, I got the surgical team, the internal medicine team, AND the gastro-intestinal teams in on the party. Fun, fun, fun. No way I could complain for lack of attention.
The flex-sig was done, and they mercifully gave me a good dose of demerol before the exam. They found what they expected to find, and there are three options: treat me with increased dosages of the meds I already take, plus an antibiotic; treat me with another line of medications; or, surgically remove the offending piece of anatomy. We discussed it, and the way we will proceed is to medicate me for now, with surgery scheduled after the first of the year.
Not that I love surgery (which I most certainly do not), but this seems to be the best thing to do. I've gone through this a couple of times before, and do not want to wonder when the next flareup will send me back to the hospital. I want to be done with the problem. Or at least THIS part of the problem. There is no real cure for Crohn's.
I've had to wonder how they would do this, and the answer was that they will take the section out anally if at all possible to avoid cutting me down the center once again. I foresee a future of sitting on a donut pillow for a good while.
Wait a minute; if I don't have an a**hole, can I still be anal retentive? Will I still be able to have opinions? Questions to ponder in the universe...
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Sunday, December 09, 2007
A good read
As noted a couple of posts ago, a friend has managed to have her first book published. It's now available at major booksellers, so go order one! Northlander, by Meg Burden. A really good fantasy book suitable for young readers, and don't take my word for it, read the review here.
I went into the local Barnes & Noble and as I was ordering the book, casually mentioned that this was a new author/first published book, and that, btw, she is a friend of mine, and her editor has already asked her for the outline of the next in the series. This piqued the interest of the lady behind the counter, who then said she would order a couple extra for the shelf in the store. Yay!
So, my copy has arrived, and the book is fascinating. I've never been a huge fantasy reader, but I find myself at the end of a chapter at three in the morning and must make myself go to bed. The characters are very believable, and the storyline keeps twisting around enough that you don't second-guess it.
Highly recommend this book. Meg Burden might be the next JK Rowling.
I went into the local Barnes & Noble and as I was ordering the book, casually mentioned that this was a new author/first published book, and that, btw, she is a friend of mine, and her editor has already asked her for the outline of the next in the series. This piqued the interest of the lady behind the counter, who then said she would order a couple extra for the shelf in the store. Yay!
So, my copy has arrived, and the book is fascinating. I've never been a huge fantasy reader, but I find myself at the end of a chapter at three in the morning and must make myself go to bed. The characters are very believable, and the storyline keeps twisting around enough that you don't second-guess it.
Highly recommend this book. Meg Burden might be the next JK Rowling.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
A little fan art
This was put together in Photoshop from a photo I took of one of my action figures silhouetted in front of my computer monitor. I erased the monitor, dropped the silhouette in the layer in front, used a photo of the moon from a NASA website, on which I used a watercolor effect filter. The background is one I worked up as a paper for a scrapbooking kit. A slight bevel on the silhouette gave it a bit of definition from the background. Fun!
Thursday, September 06, 2007
A monster a day...
I'd like for you to take a look at Feeping Creatures, created by a fellow I met first at Wizard World Texas a couple of years ago, and have seen at the past two CAPE (Comics And Pop culture Expo) events in Dallas. Dylan is a wonderful guy, and does the most amazing little sculptures that never cease to make me smile. I own a couple of the cat feeps myself.
Great stuff. Check it out. You need one. You know you do.
Great stuff. Check it out. You need one. You know you do.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Good news from someone else!
An online friend of mine has a new book coming out! Her first, and I'm terribly proud of her for it. It's scheduled to ship on November 30th from amazon.com. Yay, Meg!
Meg is also a fellow cat person. In fact, she has her own cattery, Ravenpaw, where she raises purebred Siamese. Take a look at her beautiful Meezers.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Tales of the VA, again
Because I know how entertaining my blog is, I give you: a new VA report! Or, how I spent time between the DAV van dropping me off on Tuesday morning, and taking me home on Thursday afternoon.
I had my blood tests drawn Tuesday morning, then found that the procedure had been moved to Thursday morning. That meant I had nothing to do at all on Wednesday, other than listen to the cds of The Da Vinci Code and play computer games. Tuesday, I managed somehow to get the laptop back to operating in normal mode. I had it going in safe mode Monday night, and decided to take it with me and work on it when I had nothing else to do. I booted it up in safe mode, took some old software off it, and restarted it. It actually came up normally! Only bad thing was that I had no Wi-fi access in hospital, and I no longer have any dialup software. So I played some computer games I had downloaded onto a cd, and that kept me entertained when I got tired of reading about making altered books and selling on ebay. (Other things I checked from the library.)
The hoptel facilities are spartan, but nice. The rooms are on the top (fifth) floor of the bed tower, in a wing to themselves. I was lucky enough to get an end room that did not share a toilet/shower with another. These rooms are the same as the patient rooms, except there are electronic key locks on the doors, and no one bothers you (nursing staff) all night long. If there were a need for overflow rooms, these would be pressed into service. They are available for veterans who have tests that take several days, or who depend on the DAV vans to get them to the facility and come back for them another day. The room I had was a double, having a regular twin bed and one hospital bed in it. Usually, that would have some old man and his wife there. ; ) But since there were no singles open, I got it. There was a view of the courtyard below, and the rooftops across from me. Not too exciting, but you could see sky, and it was quiet. I cranked the air conditioning down to about 68 degrees and enjoyed my solitude.
The hoptel also gives you meal tickets redeemable in the hospital kitchen. There is no choice to what you get, but there is plenty of food, and it's balanced. There was a pint of very cold milk with every meal, and that made me happy. About the only thing I didn't eat during the three days was the potato/corn chowder. It was terribly bland. Otherwise, I was fine with the choices. Food is food!
I had to be at the ambulatory clinic at 0630, freshly showered, the notice said. ; ) I had gathered all my things up the night before, packed away the computer and had everything in my handy-dandy Roots rollabout bag and was down there at 0615. No one else around, and the sign said: Clinic opens at 0630, take a seat in the waiting area. I did.
About 0640, someone opened the door, and we all queued up to hand in our papers for the day's event. We received our plastic wristbands, and were told to go back out to the waiting room. Tick. Tock. We all waited. Old men swapped war stories. Their elderly wives slept or played their word games in little books. I watched the morning news about the big steampipe explosion in New York City. Yawn.
Eventually, some of us were called back to the staging area. It was 0830 when I was summoned, and told to strip completely and put on that typical flaptail gown. I was shown to my bed, layered with the sheet and blankets. I immediately threw the blankets to one side, being as hot natured as I am. Three people tried to put them back on me, insisting I MUST be cold. I insisted right back that I was not; the sheet was plenty of cover for me. The nurse came to check my vitals, then put in the IV port in the back of my hand. She got it on the very first try. I was very grateful, and told her so. She said she had veins just like mine, and she knew how badly she hated it when people go fishing around.
Within about ten minutes, the escort came to roll me and the gurney to surgery. We took the service elevator down, but then we went to the first floor where I was rolled down some of the main corridors. I had forgotten that this would be done in the main x-ray lab, under the big fluoroscope machines. I was parked in a back corridor, outside the x-ray room. The equipment looked foreboding; I have never been back in this part of the lab before.
I got very anxious. Usually, I hold my own, but this time, I was shaking. Not because I was cold, because I was anything but. The nurse came out to talk to me, and said the doctor was not there yet. (Surprise, surprise.) She tried once again to put the blankets on me, but I was actually sweating. She reassured me that this was a common procedure, and I acknowledged that I was sure it was for them, but it wasn't for me, and I was a bit scared. Shortly the doctor came out, and he was fabulous! Not only nice looking, but extremely good at explaining the procedure to me and why certain things are done certain ways. It made me feel somewhat better, but I could not stop myself from shaking.
They transferred me from the gurney onto the table, which had a place for the shoulders and head that made the head a little lower than the shoulders. The nurse put a paper cap on my head, then explained to me that they would need to tape my head so that I would be looking slightly to my left to hyperextend my neck. She used an ultrasound to determine if my carotid artery was clear (it was), and then put the blood pressure cuff on my left arm. Time for the show.
The doc came in again, he told me it would take about an hour, but it wouldn't seem that long because I would be out most of the time, but only with a local because he would ask me to hold my breath at some point when he was inserting the portacath, and I would need to be responsive enough for that. I said pour that crazy sauce to me, and let's do it.
I remember just a little, and mostly it was some pain when they were putting pressure on my chest. I also remember the doctor telling me to breathe deeply, because I was sobbing, and he was having a bit of trouble getting the sutures in me. Oh, well, it was over by that point.
The escort was called to take me to chemo where they do my iron infusions every week. I'm one of the few people who come in there that doesn't have cancer, and that fact is never lost on me. I got my iron, and lunch was brought in, and I was taken back down to ambulatory surgery when it was all done. They kept me until 2:30PM, and got me ready to go back on the DAV van. Everyone was ready to go when I arrived at the bed tower lobby.
The van driver took me to the dealership and dropped me off there because Dan is there by himself this week. (His co-worker is off to Hawaii to get married.) We got home around six, and Dan ordered a spinach alfredo pizza that was wonderful. By then, the local anesthesia had worn off, and I had to take a Percocet. I propped myself up in bed so the cats wouldn't lay all over me, and crashed.
I woke up around 0300 and had to take another pain pill. The cats were all lined up on the bed, and were being very nice about staying out of my face. I went back to bed, and didn't wake up until nearly noon Friday. The pain was back, and I repeated the treatment, and went back to bed. I woke again at nearly five, and got up to watch a little tv and eat a little something. I wasn't up too long until I needed more pain meds and back to bed I went. I've been good for nothing all day Saturday as well. At least I did get a shower and wash my hair today. That is a bit of comfort.
Next appointment is Tuesday, so I will find out how things are going then.
I had my blood tests drawn Tuesday morning, then found that the procedure had been moved to Thursday morning. That meant I had nothing to do at all on Wednesday, other than listen to the cds of The Da Vinci Code and play computer games. Tuesday, I managed somehow to get the laptop back to operating in normal mode. I had it going in safe mode Monday night, and decided to take it with me and work on it when I had nothing else to do. I booted it up in safe mode, took some old software off it, and restarted it. It actually came up normally! Only bad thing was that I had no Wi-fi access in hospital, and I no longer have any dialup software. So I played some computer games I had downloaded onto a cd, and that kept me entertained when I got tired of reading about making altered books and selling on ebay. (Other things I checked from the library.)
The hoptel facilities are spartan, but nice. The rooms are on the top (fifth) floor of the bed tower, in a wing to themselves. I was lucky enough to get an end room that did not share a toilet/shower with another. These rooms are the same as the patient rooms, except there are electronic key locks on the doors, and no one bothers you (nursing staff) all night long. If there were a need for overflow rooms, these would be pressed into service. They are available for veterans who have tests that take several days, or who depend on the DAV vans to get them to the facility and come back for them another day. The room I had was a double, having a regular twin bed and one hospital bed in it. Usually, that would have some old man and his wife there. ; ) But since there were no singles open, I got it. There was a view of the courtyard below, and the rooftops across from me. Not too exciting, but you could see sky, and it was quiet. I cranked the air conditioning down to about 68 degrees and enjoyed my solitude.
The hoptel also gives you meal tickets redeemable in the hospital kitchen. There is no choice to what you get, but there is plenty of food, and it's balanced. There was a pint of very cold milk with every meal, and that made me happy. About the only thing I didn't eat during the three days was the potato/corn chowder. It was terribly bland. Otherwise, I was fine with the choices. Food is food!
I had to be at the ambulatory clinic at 0630, freshly showered, the notice said. ; ) I had gathered all my things up the night before, packed away the computer and had everything in my handy-dandy Roots rollabout bag and was down there at 0615. No one else around, and the sign said: Clinic opens at 0630, take a seat in the waiting area. I did.
About 0640, someone opened the door, and we all queued up to hand in our papers for the day's event. We received our plastic wristbands, and were told to go back out to the waiting room. Tick. Tock. We all waited. Old men swapped war stories. Their elderly wives slept or played their word games in little books. I watched the morning news about the big steampipe explosion in New York City. Yawn.
Eventually, some of us were called back to the staging area. It was 0830 when I was summoned, and told to strip completely and put on that typical flaptail gown. I was shown to my bed, layered with the sheet and blankets. I immediately threw the blankets to one side, being as hot natured as I am. Three people tried to put them back on me, insisting I MUST be cold. I insisted right back that I was not; the sheet was plenty of cover for me. The nurse came to check my vitals, then put in the IV port in the back of my hand. She got it on the very first try. I was very grateful, and told her so. She said she had veins just like mine, and she knew how badly she hated it when people go fishing around.
Within about ten minutes, the escort came to roll me and the gurney to surgery. We took the service elevator down, but then we went to the first floor where I was rolled down some of the main corridors. I had forgotten that this would be done in the main x-ray lab, under the big fluoroscope machines. I was parked in a back corridor, outside the x-ray room. The equipment looked foreboding; I have never been back in this part of the lab before.
I got very anxious. Usually, I hold my own, but this time, I was shaking. Not because I was cold, because I was anything but. The nurse came out to talk to me, and said the doctor was not there yet. (Surprise, surprise.) She tried once again to put the blankets on me, but I was actually sweating. She reassured me that this was a common procedure, and I acknowledged that I was sure it was for them, but it wasn't for me, and I was a bit scared. Shortly the doctor came out, and he was fabulous! Not only nice looking, but extremely good at explaining the procedure to me and why certain things are done certain ways. It made me feel somewhat better, but I could not stop myself from shaking.
They transferred me from the gurney onto the table, which had a place for the shoulders and head that made the head a little lower than the shoulders. The nurse put a paper cap on my head, then explained to me that they would need to tape my head so that I would be looking slightly to my left to hyperextend my neck. She used an ultrasound to determine if my carotid artery was clear (it was), and then put the blood pressure cuff on my left arm. Time for the show.
The doc came in again, he told me it would take about an hour, but it wouldn't seem that long because I would be out most of the time, but only with a local because he would ask me to hold my breath at some point when he was inserting the portacath, and I would need to be responsive enough for that. I said pour that crazy sauce to me, and let's do it.
I remember just a little, and mostly it was some pain when they were putting pressure on my chest. I also remember the doctor telling me to breathe deeply, because I was sobbing, and he was having a bit of trouble getting the sutures in me. Oh, well, it was over by that point.
The escort was called to take me to chemo where they do my iron infusions every week. I'm one of the few people who come in there that doesn't have cancer, and that fact is never lost on me. I got my iron, and lunch was brought in, and I was taken back down to ambulatory surgery when it was all done. They kept me until 2:30PM, and got me ready to go back on the DAV van. Everyone was ready to go when I arrived at the bed tower lobby.
The van driver took me to the dealership and dropped me off there because Dan is there by himself this week. (His co-worker is off to Hawaii to get married.) We got home around six, and Dan ordered a spinach alfredo pizza that was wonderful. By then, the local anesthesia had worn off, and I had to take a Percocet. I propped myself up in bed so the cats wouldn't lay all over me, and crashed.
I woke up around 0300 and had to take another pain pill. The cats were all lined up on the bed, and were being very nice about staying out of my face. I went back to bed, and didn't wake up until nearly noon Friday. The pain was back, and I repeated the treatment, and went back to bed. I woke again at nearly five, and got up to watch a little tv and eat a little something. I wasn't up too long until I needed more pain meds and back to bed I went. I've been good for nothing all day Saturday as well. At least I did get a shower and wash my hair today. That is a bit of comfort.
Next appointment is Tuesday, so I will find out how things are going then.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Another fun filled week
Today was my annual checkup at the dentist. I had the bite-wing xrays, a cleaning, and an exam by the the dentist, who informed me that one of my old fillings in the back has decay next to it, and will have to be reworked. That will not happen until next month, thank goodness. Just the visit today was $116. I have no dental insurance, and the VA won't work on your teeth unless you have a 100% disability rating.
Tonight I wash clothes and pack my bag for a three day stay at the Memphis VA. Tuesday, they will do the preliminary tests like the INR for my clotting levels, and to make certain I don't have any infections. Wednesday, they will do the outpatient procedure to put in the portacath. Thursday, they will give me the next iron treatment. This will allow me to ride the DAV van over on Tuesday and stay in the hoptel room two nights and come back on the van Thursday. Anything to spare me the gasoline and the nightmare of parking once I get there.
I have gone to the library and checked out the cd abridged version of The Da Vinci Code because I am too lazy to read it. I also downloaded some games to play on the laptop, and have a real book to read. Anything to keep me occupied. I'll report all the wonderfully boring details Friday or so.
~~~~~
Meanwhile, Bogey continues to make himself more and more at home. He seems to like everyone else, and he doesn't get hissed at anymore. He and Harley are really close, and I noticed last night that he was making the same sort of gutteral sounds Harley does. Sort of a low mmmmrrrrrt. Really sweet to see him get comfortable.
Tonight I wash clothes and pack my bag for a three day stay at the Memphis VA. Tuesday, they will do the preliminary tests like the INR for my clotting levels, and to make certain I don't have any infections. Wednesday, they will do the outpatient procedure to put in the portacath. Thursday, they will give me the next iron treatment. This will allow me to ride the DAV van over on Tuesday and stay in the hoptel room two nights and come back on the van Thursday. Anything to spare me the gasoline and the nightmare of parking once I get there.
I have gone to the library and checked out the cd abridged version of The Da Vinci Code because I am too lazy to read it. I also downloaded some games to play on the laptop, and have a real book to read. Anything to keep me occupied. I'll report all the wonderfully boring details Friday or so.
~~~~~
Meanwhile, Bogey continues to make himself more and more at home. He seems to like everyone else, and he doesn't get hissed at anymore. He and Harley are really close, and I noticed last night that he was making the same sort of gutteral sounds Harley does. Sort of a low mmmmrrrrrt. Really sweet to see him get comfortable.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Black and Blue and tired all over
This has been a long week. Monday, I took Bogart for his second round of shots at the vet, and by the time I got back, I was exhausted. He was just about the best behaved cat I've ever taken to the vet, never hissing or spitting, and not even flinching when the vet gave him the injections and that stuff that went up his little nose. He didn't even cry that much on the ride home. Good boy, Bogey.
Monday night, I went to bed early (before midnight)because I had to be up early to catch the DAV van to the Memphis VA. I twitched. I tossed. I rearranged the cats on the bed. I was miserably hot, and my back and legs hurt. The air conditioning was on its normal 72 degrees. I heard one of the cats throw up in the other room. I checked my watch. It was three AM. I got up to go to the bathroom, then rearranged the cats again. I have no idea how much sleep I really got, because it seemed very shortly after that the timer went off in the kitchen and I was off to the shower.
The visit on Tuesday was back to the neurologist. I was wondering who I might get on the luck of the draw because my former doctor left the system for his new practice. Turns out that I am pleasantly surprised to have a female resident this time, a tall slender young woman who seems not only to know her business, but have compassion as well. I didn't feel like just another number on the board, and she was very thorough in her exam and follow-up. She told me that the recent MRI shows some problems that are starting to show in my neck, and some additional problems in the L-5 and S-1 region. She listened to what I had to say about my pain problems, and actually got me something stronger than an aspirin to alleviate some of it. She got me a consult with the neurosurgery department, and hopefully they might have something they can do for me. No promises, but at least some action. I am grateful.
Tuesday night, I was worn out from the day on the road, even though I didn't have to drive. I went to bed early again, because Wednesday I had to drive myself to a hematology appointment. I had a better bit of sleep, most due to the new meds I got.
Wednesday morning, I hit the road around 6:15 and stopped at Hardee's for a biscuit and some coffee to make sure I stayed awake. I have no intention of rolling another car through the cotton fields on my way to the VA. I made good time, finding a decent parking place by the Women's Clinic entrance, and checked in. First stop was the lab, where I thought they would never quit changing those little tubes out.
Orange juice sounded like a good idea, so I headed up to the cafeteria since it was just past 8AM and my appointment upstairs was 9:40. I killed a little time in the canteen, buying a cool weatherband radio that you can crank if the power fails, then went on up to the fourth floor clinic and turned in my paperwork.
I watched the end of the Today show on the tv in the waiting area. Then the local Memphis morning show, and watched the other patients come and go. My name was not called. The Price is Right, which I totally detest, came on. It was now 11AM. I went back to the window and asked the person there just how far down the line was I, anyway? Oh, seems he had shelved my paper in the wrong spot. Wonder if the doctor might have left had I not said something? Was he apologetic? Hardly.
Dr. S is my hematologist. She is nice enough, but a bit cold. I spoke with her for maybe five minutes tops, including a very quick listen to my heart and lungs. She told me that my iron levels are down again, and that she wanted me to come in once a week for the iron infusions for the next four weeks, then every other week after that. No end time in sight for the moment. She also said she will be absent during August, so my next appointment with her will be mid September. Hooray.
She dismissed me to go back to the chemo room where I took my place on one of the recliners. The young man next to me, who had already lost his hair and most of his eyebrows to the chemotherapy, was very pleasant for someone in his state. He didn't appear to be much more than early twenties at the most, probably back from a tour in Iraq. I didn't ask, and he didn't say.
Another woman was curled up facing the wall at the far end of the room. I found out later that she was a former oncology nurse, and was now on the receiving end of the treatment. My situation doesn't seem near so bad to me when I meet these others in the chemo room.
That was little compensation, however, because I have become increasingly hard to stick for the IV treatments. Usually it takes a couple or three tries. Wednesday, no one seemed to get lucky. I have small, crooked veins, and they tend to disappear just as the nurse goes to insert the needle. I feel like I am fairly tough, but when it comes to someone digging around trying to find a vein that has moved, I can't help myself. I whinged about it hurting. Seven or more tries, and three nurses later, success! I got my treatment, and it was decided that I need to have a portacath put in to avoid these problems. That means another trip up the road next week just to have that done in the ambulatory surgery clinic, then once more to have the iron treatment. It can't be done the same day.
I really felt sorry for the nurses there. They all tried their best, and my veins just were not cooperating. They apologized to me for the hurt, and I apologized back for the inconvenience. They really are a caring bunch in there.
It was past 4PM when I got home. I was exhausted once again, and felt like crap. I feel so damned useless right now. Every little thing wears me out, and I have no stamina whatsoever. It sucks, and I know it frustrates the hell out of Dan. Sure frustrates the hell out of me.
So, Thursday, I slept. Dreaming some outrageously stupid dreams, one about going to a costume party wearing a Hello Kitty costume (never!), and one about being in the wrong place when another company was having a drill for fire control (yes, another "back in the Navy" dream). I was trying to get out of the way and back to my own company, but the smoke began to fill the room. I woke up, glad to find there wasn't any real smoke choking me. Just a bed filled with cats. ; )
I'm useless these days. What can I say?
Monday night, I went to bed early (before midnight)because I had to be up early to catch the DAV van to the Memphis VA. I twitched. I tossed. I rearranged the cats on the bed. I was miserably hot, and my back and legs hurt. The air conditioning was on its normal 72 degrees. I heard one of the cats throw up in the other room. I checked my watch. It was three AM. I got up to go to the bathroom, then rearranged the cats again. I have no idea how much sleep I really got, because it seemed very shortly after that the timer went off in the kitchen and I was off to the shower.
The visit on Tuesday was back to the neurologist. I was wondering who I might get on the luck of the draw because my former doctor left the system for his new practice. Turns out that I am pleasantly surprised to have a female resident this time, a tall slender young woman who seems not only to know her business, but have compassion as well. I didn't feel like just another number on the board, and she was very thorough in her exam and follow-up. She told me that the recent MRI shows some problems that are starting to show in my neck, and some additional problems in the L-5 and S-1 region. She listened to what I had to say about my pain problems, and actually got me something stronger than an aspirin to alleviate some of it. She got me a consult with the neurosurgery department, and hopefully they might have something they can do for me. No promises, but at least some action. I am grateful.
Tuesday night, I was worn out from the day on the road, even though I didn't have to drive. I went to bed early again, because Wednesday I had to drive myself to a hematology appointment. I had a better bit of sleep, most due to the new meds I got.
Wednesday morning, I hit the road around 6:15 and stopped at Hardee's for a biscuit and some coffee to make sure I stayed awake. I have no intention of rolling another car through the cotton fields on my way to the VA. I made good time, finding a decent parking place by the Women's Clinic entrance, and checked in. First stop was the lab, where I thought they would never quit changing those little tubes out.
Orange juice sounded like a good idea, so I headed up to the cafeteria since it was just past 8AM and my appointment upstairs was 9:40. I killed a little time in the canteen, buying a cool weatherband radio that you can crank if the power fails, then went on up to the fourth floor clinic and turned in my paperwork.
I watched the end of the Today show on the tv in the waiting area. Then the local Memphis morning show, and watched the other patients come and go. My name was not called. The Price is Right, which I totally detest, came on. It was now 11AM. I went back to the window and asked the person there just how far down the line was I, anyway? Oh, seems he had shelved my paper in the wrong spot. Wonder if the doctor might have left had I not said something? Was he apologetic? Hardly.
Dr. S is my hematologist. She is nice enough, but a bit cold. I spoke with her for maybe five minutes tops, including a very quick listen to my heart and lungs. She told me that my iron levels are down again, and that she wanted me to come in once a week for the iron infusions for the next four weeks, then every other week after that. No end time in sight for the moment. She also said she will be absent during August, so my next appointment with her will be mid September. Hooray.
She dismissed me to go back to the chemo room where I took my place on one of the recliners. The young man next to me, who had already lost his hair and most of his eyebrows to the chemotherapy, was very pleasant for someone in his state. He didn't appear to be much more than early twenties at the most, probably back from a tour in Iraq. I didn't ask, and he didn't say.
Another woman was curled up facing the wall at the far end of the room. I found out later that she was a former oncology nurse, and was now on the receiving end of the treatment. My situation doesn't seem near so bad to me when I meet these others in the chemo room.
That was little compensation, however, because I have become increasingly hard to stick for the IV treatments. Usually it takes a couple or three tries. Wednesday, no one seemed to get lucky. I have small, crooked veins, and they tend to disappear just as the nurse goes to insert the needle. I feel like I am fairly tough, but when it comes to someone digging around trying to find a vein that has moved, I can't help myself. I whinged about it hurting. Seven or more tries, and three nurses later, success! I got my treatment, and it was decided that I need to have a portacath put in to avoid these problems. That means another trip up the road next week just to have that done in the ambulatory surgery clinic, then once more to have the iron treatment. It can't be done the same day.
I really felt sorry for the nurses there. They all tried their best, and my veins just were not cooperating. They apologized to me for the hurt, and I apologized back for the inconvenience. They really are a caring bunch in there.
It was past 4PM when I got home. I was exhausted once again, and felt like crap. I feel so damned useless right now. Every little thing wears me out, and I have no stamina whatsoever. It sucks, and I know it frustrates the hell out of Dan. Sure frustrates the hell out of me.
So, Thursday, I slept. Dreaming some outrageously stupid dreams, one about going to a costume party wearing a Hello Kitty costume (never!), and one about being in the wrong place when another company was having a drill for fire control (yes, another "back in the Navy" dream). I was trying to get out of the way and back to my own company, but the smoke began to fill the room. I woke up, glad to find there wasn't any real smoke choking me. Just a bed filled with cats. ; )
I'm useless these days. What can I say?
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Wired
I've decided to try a new type of art: bending wire to make goofy stuff. This is my first piece, which I think I'll call "Ninja Fresh". I have to work on my technique a bit as I'm not great at making the wire wraps with this heavy a gauge. Looks like another trip to the hardware store for some lighter wire.
My ASPCA cat photo entry
Here's my entry in an ASPCA cat photo contest.
Harley was born to a feral mother who I had been feeding outside my apartment. She had disappeared during the birth, and about six weeks later, she proudly marched up to my door with three kittens in tow. This was May, 2006.
I could not catch them at first; being feral, they would just hiss and run away. After a couple of days, I did catch two of them, but the little black one ran like the wind under a storage building out back. I surrendered the two I caught to my veterinarian, who gave them their medications and put them up for adoption in his office. They found good homes.
The little black kitten remained with his mother, and even though they would stay on my porch and come to me to be fed, they were still evasive. One day, I noticed that the kitten was by himself. The mother had evidently moved on, and I never saw her again. He lived under my car in the driveway, and I lived in fear of him getting run over.
I was diligent in trying to get him close enough to nab him to bring him inside. I set up a little device using a mesh laundry hamper, and put the cat food inside it. After several days, he was accustomed to it enough to go inside to eat. I managed to sneak around from the back and grab him. He let out a wail that I'm sure the neighbors heard! I ducked inside with him, and gave him a bath and cleaned his eyes. He was not amused, and terrified.
He was placed on a towel in the bathroom, and I brought in a small litter tray and a food dish. I kept him separated from my other two cats for the first couple of days, and he eventually began to respond to my petting. I named him Harley, because he had such a distinctive purr. He's still quite the talker.
Harley's favorite game is to fetch the cotton glove fingertips that I cut off my white gloves I use for crafts. Who would have guessed ten free kitty toys for each pair? His fetch record is forty-nine times in a row, where I toss the finger off the bed, and he comes back with it, dropping it by my hand. I was tired by that time, so who knows how many times he might have gone for it?
Harley is not a lap cat at all, but he is a love, none the less. He sleeps at the foot of my bed, after a nightly round of fetch. He does not jump up onto high places, and he still goes the long way around to get on my bed, having been so small when he first came inside that I trained him to use a little step ladder to get onto my bed. Instead of a ladder now, he jumps first onto a side table, then up onto the bed. He's the one cat I do not have to worry about getting on the counter.
One of his funniest habits is "burning out" before he takes a drink of water from the dish. One of my other cats always puts a paw in the dish to test the level of the water first, and I suppose that move has been reinterpreted by Harley to mean a quick pawing at the floor in front of the dish before he drinks.
I'm still amazed at how this big black cat who loves the foot of my bed was that scared little thing I rescued from the street.
This photo was taken in indirect sun coming in through the curtain on the window at the left of the picture. I love it because Harley is a real dust magnet, and you can see the fuzz on him in great detail. It also shows the parts of him that are not true black, which you can't see except in bright natural light.
Thank you, ASPCA, for everything you do.
Harley was born to a feral mother who I had been feeding outside my apartment. She had disappeared during the birth, and about six weeks later, she proudly marched up to my door with three kittens in tow. This was May, 2006.
I could not catch them at first; being feral, they would just hiss and run away. After a couple of days, I did catch two of them, but the little black one ran like the wind under a storage building out back. I surrendered the two I caught to my veterinarian, who gave them their medications and put them up for adoption in his office. They found good homes.
The little black kitten remained with his mother, and even though they would stay on my porch and come to me to be fed, they were still evasive. One day, I noticed that the kitten was by himself. The mother had evidently moved on, and I never saw her again. He lived under my car in the driveway, and I lived in fear of him getting run over.
I was diligent in trying to get him close enough to nab him to bring him inside. I set up a little device using a mesh laundry hamper, and put the cat food inside it. After several days, he was accustomed to it enough to go inside to eat. I managed to sneak around from the back and grab him. He let out a wail that I'm sure the neighbors heard! I ducked inside with him, and gave him a bath and cleaned his eyes. He was not amused, and terrified.
He was placed on a towel in the bathroom, and I brought in a small litter tray and a food dish. I kept him separated from my other two cats for the first couple of days, and he eventually began to respond to my petting. I named him Harley, because he had such a distinctive purr. He's still quite the talker.
Harley's favorite game is to fetch the cotton glove fingertips that I cut off my white gloves I use for crafts. Who would have guessed ten free kitty toys for each pair? His fetch record is forty-nine times in a row, where I toss the finger off the bed, and he comes back with it, dropping it by my hand. I was tired by that time, so who knows how many times he might have gone for it?
Harley is not a lap cat at all, but he is a love, none the less. He sleeps at the foot of my bed, after a nightly round of fetch. He does not jump up onto high places, and he still goes the long way around to get on my bed, having been so small when he first came inside that I trained him to use a little step ladder to get onto my bed. Instead of a ladder now, he jumps first onto a side table, then up onto the bed. He's the one cat I do not have to worry about getting on the counter.
One of his funniest habits is "burning out" before he takes a drink of water from the dish. One of my other cats always puts a paw in the dish to test the level of the water first, and I suppose that move has been reinterpreted by Harley to mean a quick pawing at the floor in front of the dish before he drinks.
I'm still amazed at how this big black cat who loves the foot of my bed was that scared little thing I rescued from the street.
This photo was taken in indirect sun coming in through the curtain on the window at the left of the picture. I love it because Harley is a real dust magnet, and you can see the fuzz on him in great detail. It also shows the parts of him that are not true black, which you can't see except in bright natural light.
Thank you, ASPCA, for everything you do.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Bogey boy and more VA adventures.
I came home after an entire day of waiting around at the VA hospital to find my internet service down. Blast, said I, among a few other choice words. I spent my evening then watching something on the History Channel, then flipping around, found a show called "Miami Ink" about a tattoo parlor. I had company in my lap, see below.
They say that having a cat can reduce your blood pressure and mellow you out. Man, did I need mellowing last night. We had a guy catch the DAV van to Memphis who wanted to go to the ER because he had broken his hand. Well, that was fine, but we later found out, after he had sat in the ER waiting room for nearly eight hours, and the rest of us had been in the lobby for the same eight hours, that the nimrod had broken his hand falling off his dirt bike TWO WEEKS AGO! No wonder they made him sit there while the REAL emergencies were being seen. He did manage to wrangle the narcotics (oxycodone) out of them, however. Bastard. And wimp.
I've dealt with chronic pain for the past twenty-five years, and they will not give me "the good drugs". Why is that? I don't complain of #10 pain all the time? (That would be the worst on the scale of 1-10.) Generally, I'd class mine as a 6 or 7 with an occasional 8-9. To me, when it gets that bad, I'm IN the hospital. Only once has that pain been really a level ten, where I begged for them to put me out somehow. That was when they were inserting a drain tube into my side, under my liver, to drain a staph infection after surgery. I was awake, and did not want to be.
Back to our story. I did see the neurologist yesterday. Unfortunately, my test results had yet to be delivered to him. He spent a good fifteen minutes trying to run them down in the complexities of the VA system, but they were not there. It seems that the contracted service has not had them couriered over to the hospital yet. Now why in heavens name could they not have handed ME, the fecking PATIENT, my OWN RESULTS to hand carry to the neurologist last Friday when I was on my way over to see him directly (Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $200) after the testing? Because they cannot trust me with my own diagnosis? What the hell was I going to do with the cd-rom? Go operate on myself? Judas Priest on a pogo stick.
All I got yesterday for my time was the last visit with Dr. M, whom I will miss. He's a great doctor, and leaves today for Cleveland, Ohio, and a new practice. He told me in short to be careful, not do anything that might damage my back or neck (I promised no rollerblading or hang gliding), because there might be something they could do surgically for my neck, even if my back is probably beyond most help. I wished him fair seas and following winds. My next appointment will be as soon as they find my fecking MRI scans.
After waiting on the whiny kid all that time, we were all tired. He gets in the van, and the driver says, routinely, "Everybody buckled up?" Kid says "I don't wear no seatbelt. Things get you killed." I turned around, and said "That's the rules here, wear it or don't get a ride home." I continued the lecture. "I'd be dead already if I hadn't been wearing mine." He counters "Mine got hung up once". I said "I'd take my chances of being hung up rather than tossed out of the vehicle. Besides, you can cut the strap." He says, "You carry a pocket knife?" I said, "Yeah, a big sharp one."
He put on the fecking seat belt. Idiot.
End of rant.
They say that having a cat can reduce your blood pressure and mellow you out. Man, did I need mellowing last night. We had a guy catch the DAV van to Memphis who wanted to go to the ER because he had broken his hand. Well, that was fine, but we later found out, after he had sat in the ER waiting room for nearly eight hours, and the rest of us had been in the lobby for the same eight hours, that the nimrod had broken his hand falling off his dirt bike TWO WEEKS AGO! No wonder they made him sit there while the REAL emergencies were being seen. He did manage to wrangle the narcotics (oxycodone) out of them, however. Bastard. And wimp.
I've dealt with chronic pain for the past twenty-five years, and they will not give me "the good drugs". Why is that? I don't complain of #10 pain all the time? (That would be the worst on the scale of 1-10.) Generally, I'd class mine as a 6 or 7 with an occasional 8-9. To me, when it gets that bad, I'm IN the hospital. Only once has that pain been really a level ten, where I begged for them to put me out somehow. That was when they were inserting a drain tube into my side, under my liver, to drain a staph infection after surgery. I was awake, and did not want to be.
Back to our story. I did see the neurologist yesterday. Unfortunately, my test results had yet to be delivered to him. He spent a good fifteen minutes trying to run them down in the complexities of the VA system, but they were not there. It seems that the contracted service has not had them couriered over to the hospital yet. Now why in heavens name could they not have handed ME, the fecking PATIENT, my OWN RESULTS to hand carry to the neurologist last Friday when I was on my way over to see him directly (Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $200) after the testing? Because they cannot trust me with my own diagnosis? What the hell was I going to do with the cd-rom? Go operate on myself? Judas Priest on a pogo stick.
All I got yesterday for my time was the last visit with Dr. M, whom I will miss. He's a great doctor, and leaves today for Cleveland, Ohio, and a new practice. He told me in short to be careful, not do anything that might damage my back or neck (I promised no rollerblading or hang gliding), because there might be something they could do surgically for my neck, even if my back is probably beyond most help. I wished him fair seas and following winds. My next appointment will be as soon as they find my fecking MRI scans.
After waiting on the whiny kid all that time, we were all tired. He gets in the van, and the driver says, routinely, "Everybody buckled up?" Kid says "I don't wear no seatbelt. Things get you killed." I turned around, and said "That's the rules here, wear it or don't get a ride home." I continued the lecture. "I'd be dead already if I hadn't been wearing mine." He counters "Mine got hung up once". I said "I'd take my chances of being hung up rather than tossed out of the vehicle. Besides, you can cut the strap." He says, "You carry a pocket knife?" I said, "Yeah, a big sharp one."
He put on the fecking seat belt. Idiot.
End of rant.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Downer Diva part deux
I said I'd put an update after the MRI, so here's what I know so far.
Nothing.
I got up Friday at an appropriately early time to drive myself to Memphis to get the MRI at a facility that has an open MRI machine. I tend to be claustrophobic in regular MRI machines, probably because the first one I had, the techs wrapped me up in a constraint like a big burrito, and I had an extreme hotflash during the procedure. I had to squeeze the little bulb and have them get me out of there. They administered some sedative, and I snored through the rest of the procedure. Subsequent MRIs have been nightmarish, too, because once the fan was not working inside the machine and I got extremely hot. Beam me up, Scotty.
That's why I had to drive to the far side of Memphis for this test. I arrived fifteen minutes before my appointment, because the traffic was a bitch on Friday, and the directions to the office were not exactly right. There is no sign on the front of the building to indicate where this office might be, and I parked in the wrong lot the first time, and had to go back and move my car over to the next building. Not great for my mood in 94 degree morning heat.
The office was very plain, and the patient ahead of me was having difficulty understanding what he was supposed to do before he had whatever test it was. Something about a preparation he had to drink, and he was wanting to know if he could drink it with a Coke, because it tastes bad. The technician was trying to explain it to him why that wouldn't work, and he was becoming more agitated the more they talked. Finally, they got him sorted and sent him on his way, and called me to the desk to fill out the obligatory paperwork.
Don't you love doing that? I should carry a list of the medication I am taking. Seems like I'm asked that information at the drop of a hat. This paperwork even had a little MAN drawing fore and aft for me to point out "where does it hurt". (Where's my WOMAN drawing? What if it hurts in a spot men don't have?) After telling them my life by a series of yes or no questions, and the occasional "additional information", I signed beside all the huge X's and returned the clipboard (and the pen!) to the desk person.
I didn't have to wait long after that. The young girl sitting next to me was playing her Nintendo DS, waiting apparently for her grandmother to have her test done. Just as I reached in to get my book to read, the technician called me back to the testing area. She told me to strip and take off my watch, so the machine wouldn't ruin the batteries. (I didn't bother to tell her my watch is self-winding, so it has no batteries. I love this watch!) She asked me if I had brought something to change into. I said no, and wondered just what people brought to change into? She handed me a gown that actually had ties on it, and was big enough to wrap around me. (The VA always has you put on two gowns, one frontwards and one backwards, so your ass doesn't hang out. They are the skimpiest damn things I've ever seen.) She told me to lock my clothes and valuables in the locker, and bring the key with me. I chose #5, because I seem to have decent luck with that number. Whatever.
She directed me to the restroom first, and I complied. Then for the test. She asked me if I had taken any sedatives, and I said no. The machine was different from the last open MRI I had, but still very open compared to the VA machines, meaning you could see out the back side, and most of your person was not inside a tube. It more resembled a CT scan machine. I was relieved at that.
The bad part came when they told me that the orders were not only for a lower back scan, but for a scan of my neck. That meant they had to put this cage thing on my head. She asked if I was claustrophobic. I said, yes, somewhat. She advised me to keep my eyes shut. I should have asked for a blindfold. It's really hard to keep your eyes tightly shut for twenty or so minutes, but I did manage.
They rolled me out after the first test was complete, and had to shoot some dye into me because I have had previous back surgery. I had bruising from the last time I had an iron infusion, and from the big jab of the phlebotomist who can hit a vein where no one else can find one. They remarked about the bruising, and I wondered if they believed my explanation. They jabbed me near the same spot, and squirted in the dye. I tried to imagine good drugs, to no avail.
The next series took a little longer. MRIs are so noisy! I always feel like I'm in a barrel with someone pounding a sledge hammer on the outside. I went to my "relaxing place", which is the beach on Tokashiki Island. I visualized the blue waters, the fine sand mixed with coral, the lush tropical vegetation along the ridge above the shore. The cool water on my feet, and the gentle lapping of the water on the shore of the inlet. That took me away enough to keep me busy during the test.
As soon as I was done, I asked about the results. The technician told me the doctor would get the results, but they had to have a courier take the disk over to the VA. They would not release it to me. I got dressed and headed over to the VA hospital where I was supposed to talk to the doctor about the results.
No one seemed to know anything about my appointment with the neurologist. I was shuffled from pillar to post because no one could figure out what to do with me. I was becoming increasingly flustered. About that time, the doctor I was looking for happened to come out of a room down the hall and saw me sitting there. He told me he would see me next. Just then, one of the nurses came up to me with my appointment paper and told me I'd have to come on Tuesday next, because that was the appointment on the books. It was delightful to have the doctor tell her we had it all straightened out, and he would see me next.
Dr. M is, by my estimation of his accent, from the Czech Republic or somewhere in that region. I have never asked him, because it makes no difference to me. He is a thoughtful man, and very patient. He asked me how my new medications, prescribed to me two weeks ago, were doing. I told him I had only received them the day before, so I had no idea. He shook his head, and said that there should be no reason for things to take that long to be mailed out. I agree wholeheartedly. He went out to see if the reports were back, and was gone about five minutes. No, he said, they were not in. He apologised, even though it was well beyond his control. There was little he could tell me until he reads the MRI.
It was a good thing I have that appointment on the books for next Tuesday, because I can ride the DAV van over instead of driving myself. Parking is horrendous at the VA. I even have a gimp tag, and I can't find a place to park, because nearly everyone there has one, too. It's one place where I will use the far parking lot and wait for the little golf cart to come around to pick me up, rather than park in the reserved spots. The lot is so large that I am exhausted by the time I walk into the building, and my heart rate is out the ceiling, along with my blood pressure.
If you have read this far to find out what I know about the results, you still know as much as I do. Such a long post for such little reward. Ho hum. I hope to have a more informative post soon.
~~~~~~~~~
Meanwhile, the new kitten, Bogart, is doing wonderfully. We call him Bogey, of course. He is still not allowed full run of the house, but we let him out during the day when we are able to supervise him to an extent. He follows us like a puppy, and loves to spend time curled up on Dan's chest when he's watching tv. Too sweet for words.
The other cats are getting acquainted. A little hissing at times, but usually that occurs when I put kitten chow in Bogey's bowl in the bathroom, and someone else comes in to munch. Bogey puts on a little hissy show, and they back off. Nothing like seeing a 2.5 pound kitten bluff a 15 lb tomcat. Gotta love it.
Nothing.
I got up Friday at an appropriately early time to drive myself to Memphis to get the MRI at a facility that has an open MRI machine. I tend to be claustrophobic in regular MRI machines, probably because the first one I had, the techs wrapped me up in a constraint like a big burrito, and I had an extreme hotflash during the procedure. I had to squeeze the little bulb and have them get me out of there. They administered some sedative, and I snored through the rest of the procedure. Subsequent MRIs have been nightmarish, too, because once the fan was not working inside the machine and I got extremely hot. Beam me up, Scotty.
That's why I had to drive to the far side of Memphis for this test. I arrived fifteen minutes before my appointment, because the traffic was a bitch on Friday, and the directions to the office were not exactly right. There is no sign on the front of the building to indicate where this office might be, and I parked in the wrong lot the first time, and had to go back and move my car over to the next building. Not great for my mood in 94 degree morning heat.
The office was very plain, and the patient ahead of me was having difficulty understanding what he was supposed to do before he had whatever test it was. Something about a preparation he had to drink, and he was wanting to know if he could drink it with a Coke, because it tastes bad. The technician was trying to explain it to him why that wouldn't work, and he was becoming more agitated the more they talked. Finally, they got him sorted and sent him on his way, and called me to the desk to fill out the obligatory paperwork.
Don't you love doing that? I should carry a list of the medication I am taking. Seems like I'm asked that information at the drop of a hat. This paperwork even had a little MAN drawing fore and aft for me to point out "where does it hurt". (Where's my WOMAN drawing? What if it hurts in a spot men don't have?) After telling them my life by a series of yes or no questions, and the occasional "additional information", I signed beside all the huge X's and returned the clipboard (and the pen!) to the desk person.
I didn't have to wait long after that. The young girl sitting next to me was playing her Nintendo DS, waiting apparently for her grandmother to have her test done. Just as I reached in to get my book to read, the technician called me back to the testing area. She told me to strip and take off my watch, so the machine wouldn't ruin the batteries. (I didn't bother to tell her my watch is self-winding, so it has no batteries. I love this watch!) She asked me if I had brought something to change into. I said no, and wondered just what people brought to change into? She handed me a gown that actually had ties on it, and was big enough to wrap around me. (The VA always has you put on two gowns, one frontwards and one backwards, so your ass doesn't hang out. They are the skimpiest damn things I've ever seen.) She told me to lock my clothes and valuables in the locker, and bring the key with me. I chose #5, because I seem to have decent luck with that number. Whatever.
She directed me to the restroom first, and I complied. Then for the test. She asked me if I had taken any sedatives, and I said no. The machine was different from the last open MRI I had, but still very open compared to the VA machines, meaning you could see out the back side, and most of your person was not inside a tube. It more resembled a CT scan machine. I was relieved at that.
The bad part came when they told me that the orders were not only for a lower back scan, but for a scan of my neck. That meant they had to put this cage thing on my head. She asked if I was claustrophobic. I said, yes, somewhat. She advised me to keep my eyes shut. I should have asked for a blindfold. It's really hard to keep your eyes tightly shut for twenty or so minutes, but I did manage.
They rolled me out after the first test was complete, and had to shoot some dye into me because I have had previous back surgery. I had bruising from the last time I had an iron infusion, and from the big jab of the phlebotomist who can hit a vein where no one else can find one. They remarked about the bruising, and I wondered if they believed my explanation. They jabbed me near the same spot, and squirted in the dye. I tried to imagine good drugs, to no avail.
The next series took a little longer. MRIs are so noisy! I always feel like I'm in a barrel with someone pounding a sledge hammer on the outside. I went to my "relaxing place", which is the beach on Tokashiki Island. I visualized the blue waters, the fine sand mixed with coral, the lush tropical vegetation along the ridge above the shore. The cool water on my feet, and the gentle lapping of the water on the shore of the inlet. That took me away enough to keep me busy during the test.
As soon as I was done, I asked about the results. The technician told me the doctor would get the results, but they had to have a courier take the disk over to the VA. They would not release it to me. I got dressed and headed over to the VA hospital where I was supposed to talk to the doctor about the results.
No one seemed to know anything about my appointment with the neurologist. I was shuffled from pillar to post because no one could figure out what to do with me. I was becoming increasingly flustered. About that time, the doctor I was looking for happened to come out of a room down the hall and saw me sitting there. He told me he would see me next. Just then, one of the nurses came up to me with my appointment paper and told me I'd have to come on Tuesday next, because that was the appointment on the books. It was delightful to have the doctor tell her we had it all straightened out, and he would see me next.
Dr. M is, by my estimation of his accent, from the Czech Republic or somewhere in that region. I have never asked him, because it makes no difference to me. He is a thoughtful man, and very patient. He asked me how my new medications, prescribed to me two weeks ago, were doing. I told him I had only received them the day before, so I had no idea. He shook his head, and said that there should be no reason for things to take that long to be mailed out. I agree wholeheartedly. He went out to see if the reports were back, and was gone about five minutes. No, he said, they were not in. He apologised, even though it was well beyond his control. There was little he could tell me until he reads the MRI.
It was a good thing I have that appointment on the books for next Tuesday, because I can ride the DAV van over instead of driving myself. Parking is horrendous at the VA. I even have a gimp tag, and I can't find a place to park, because nearly everyone there has one, too. It's one place where I will use the far parking lot and wait for the little golf cart to come around to pick me up, rather than park in the reserved spots. The lot is so large that I am exhausted by the time I walk into the building, and my heart rate is out the ceiling, along with my blood pressure.
If you have read this far to find out what I know about the results, you still know as much as I do. Such a long post for such little reward. Ho hum. I hope to have a more informative post soon.
~~~~~~~~~
Meanwhile, the new kitten, Bogart, is doing wonderfully. We call him Bogey, of course. He is still not allowed full run of the house, but we let him out during the day when we are able to supervise him to an extent. He follows us like a puppy, and loves to spend time curled up on Dan's chest when he's watching tv. Too sweet for words.
The other cats are getting acquainted. A little hissing at times, but usually that occurs when I put kitten chow in Bogey's bowl in the bathroom, and someone else comes in to munch. Bogey puts on a little hissy show, and they back off. Nothing like seeing a 2.5 pound kitten bluff a 15 lb tomcat. Gotta love it.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Downer Diva
I was reading an e-newsletter that I get called The Professional Quilter just now, and in it found a sad note that Gail Broadwater died today, June 21, 2007, after a long battle with cancer. I'd known Gail and her mom for many years as part of the same quilting clubs and she was undoubtedly one of the best longarm machine quilters anywhere. It struck me as how out of touch I have become with the quilting community. I had no idea she was even ill. To think I read the news online about someone who lives the next town over. I feel terrible about it.
I suppose this goes to show how isolated I've let myself become. Seldom do I go anywhere that is not necessary, like to the grocery store, UPS store, or to Memphis to the doctor. I'm not leaving a huge "carbon footprint" because my driving is down to the minimum; in fact, I might buy two tankfuls of gas a month, but only if I've had to drive myself to Memphis. I'm more often than not riding the free shuttle van that the Disabled American Veterans chapter provides.
Maybe this is all due to my feeling like crap most of the time. Tired is my middle name. The smallest effort seems to spend all of my energy. My back is giving me a really bad time of late, and in fact, tomorrow I go for an MRI to see what is going on there. The plan is to meet with the neurologist right after the MRI to determine if there is anything that can be done, or if I am totally out of luck. Guess I will know something this time tomorrow.
I suppose this goes to show how isolated I've let myself become. Seldom do I go anywhere that is not necessary, like to the grocery store, UPS store, or to Memphis to the doctor. I'm not leaving a huge "carbon footprint" because my driving is down to the minimum; in fact, I might buy two tankfuls of gas a month, but only if I've had to drive myself to Memphis. I'm more often than not riding the free shuttle van that the Disabled American Veterans chapter provides.
Maybe this is all due to my feeling like crap most of the time. Tired is my middle name. The smallest effort seems to spend all of my energy. My back is giving me a really bad time of late, and in fact, tomorrow I go for an MRI to see what is going on there. The plan is to meet with the neurologist right after the MRI to determine if there is anything that can be done, or if I am totally out of luck. Guess I will know something this time tomorrow.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Play me again, Sam
I am a sucker. There is an unwritten law that says I must fall in love with homeless kittens. Here I go again.
Meet Bogart. At least that's what we are calling him right now, because we are fairly sure it's a male. Bogie was found a couple of days ago by my friend under the fenderwell of her dad's Mustang. He was hiding, scared, but friendly enough to let her snag him and get him into the cat carrier. She called me, distressed because she couldn't keep him, and wasn't able to find any of the neighbors who might have lost a kitten. Bring him on over, I said.
He's a delight. We've been keeping him in my bathroom, with a blanket of his own and a litterbox, water and food. I'll take him to the vet to be checked out in the morning, to make sure he's not got anything to spread to the other cats.
Dan had him out laid up on his chest while he watched tv this evening. The little guy just curled up and purred like he's been here all along. Melt my heart, why don't you, guys?
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Ham-fisted?
| You Are a Ham Sandwich |
 You are quiet, understated, and a great comfort to all of your friends. Over time, you have proven yourself as loyal and steadfast. And you are by no means boring. You do well in any situation - from fancy to laid back. Your best friend: The Turkey Sandwich Your mortal enemy: The Grilled Cheese Sandwich |
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Monday, April 30, 2007
A good, long life.
A little time has gone by now, and I feel I can write this about my mother.
She hadn't been feeling well on and off.
Here's what the scenario seemed to be. She was ill with the nasty stomach virus (nausea and diarrhea) that had swept through the nursing home on the Saturday before Easter. She was fine on Good Friday night, and when my sister and brother arrived Saturday morning for a visit, we found her sick in bed. She was rather unresponsive that day, because they had given her phenergran to combat the nausea, which made her sleepy. So my brother didn't really get to talk to her. He turned around and went back to Texas after we all went to lunch. My sister and family stayed until Monday, and we all went to see her that morning. She was up and sitting out in the lobby in her usual spot, but I could tell something was off.
My sister and her family visited for a while, then left, and I went home, too. The next day, I had an infusion treatment in Memphis, and was so tired when I got back, I didn't go by to see her.
Wednesday around 11am, the nursing home called me to say she had a change in her condition; she seemed confused about why they were giving her the insulin shot, and that she hadn't eaten breakfast nor drunk her usual morning coffee. I told them I would be there as soon as I showered. When I got out of the shower and was brushing my teeth, the phone rang again. She was on her way to the ER. I got there-- almost still dripping--the same time they brought her in. She couldn't talk, and her eyes were a bit odd. I called Dan, he rushed right over. He and I took turns sitting with her, talking to her, holding her hand, all day in the ER until they got her a room around 9pm Wednesday.
I knew what she wanted, and didn't want. I was firm with the docs about no invasive procedures. For everyone's peace of mind, I did let them run tests that told us she had a massive stroke AND a heart attack afterward. All that entailed was a CT scan and a blood enzyme test. I knew what was going on. I'd seen it before. And the CT scan confirmed it to me. I decided right there for pallitive care only. The ER doctors told me that they would give her patches on her skin for sedation/pain, and to help dry up the secretions to keep her from getting aspiration pneumonia. I slept off and on at her bedside all that night, and Dan stayed up with me.
During the day Thursday, the doctor came in to examine my mother, and told me that he didn't think she would make it through the weekend. He explained to me, outside in the hall, that her cerebral hemorrhage was in both sides of her brain, and that she had indeed also had a heart attack. He said that many times, an illness of the type she had earlier in the week would elevate blood pressure and bring on a stroke in someone of her advanced age. He said that he would have hospice care contact me, and that we should move her back to the nursing home that evening. I called my brother and had the doctor explain all this to him so there would be no miscommunication this time. He said he would probably not leave until Saturday morning to come up here.
My sister had left early Thursday morning, arriving around 9 pm at the hospital. We all sat up until around 2 am, when Dan went out to sleep in his truck, and my sister and her daughter slept in their car. I slept fitfully in the recliner in my mother's room.
During the day Friday, the ambulance crew came to transport my mother back to her room at the nursing home. I had called ahead to tell the staff what was going on, and they said they would try to move her roommate out so we could have privacy. That was a good thing, as her roommate has Alzheimer's, and doesn't remember short term things very well.
I met Friday afternoon with the hospice team, and they gave me some great information about the dying process. They explained some of the signs, and what to expect.
My brother didn't arrive until late Friday night. He was going to wait until Saturday to come, and I had told him point blank that he should be there sooner. It was probably not my insistence that changed his mind. When he and his wife arrived, they were shocked to see our mother's state. They stayed a little while, then went off to find a motel room.
Dan stayed there all night with her while I went home to sleep a little. He called me around 8 am and said... I leaned over and told her I loved her, and she SAID "I love you too."
I almost fainted. My mother had not been able to speak since Wednesday. Saturday, she seemed to recognize me and the staff who came in to check on her, and she was smiling. My sister came in, and she recognized her, too. Later, around 9am, my brother came in and she lit up again. I recognized this as probably the last rally, but could tell that the rest of the family was getting their hopes up. My sister-in-law went out and bought some birthday balloons., because Sunday was her birthday. My niece was with my sister. She's really only about a 6-7 year old mentally, and so she rattled on and on, and my mom seemed to enjoy it for a time. After about an hour or so, I gently told R that Grandma needed to rest a bit. I could see her ebbing away again.
Around 2 pm, Mama fell asleep, and would rouse only when the CNAs would come in to turn her. She seemed to be distraught every time they would handle her, so I asked for them to give her some medication. Dan stayed the night with her over to Sunday, when he called me around 8am and told me to hurry over, things were not looking good. We went through this with his dad, and were with him when he died. So we knew what the labored breathing was. But since she had rallied on Saturday, the head nurse had told my brother that they would call in the speech pathologist to determine if she could swallow enough to try to eat. When I arrived, they were attempting to get her to take a bit of thick liquid, but she was unresponsive. We spent the day there with her, singing "Happy Birthday" to her (in the key of R flat, according to my brother), reminiscing about stuff that happened to us as kids, and I worked on an altered book to put some of these silly things down on the page. We all decided that we would try to go home and get some sleep that night, as Dan had to get back to work.
On Monday, my brother and sister still had that hope that there was a turn, but by noon, it was getting obvious (to me) that it wasn't. They decided to go back to TX to get the kid back in school, and so my brother could go back to work. I had been with her that morning, telling her that I loved her, and softly humming a few of her favorite hymns to her. I know I can't carry a tune very well, but I know all about that "joyful noise", and by now she had a very weak pulse and labored breathing.
My brother came in and we held hands while he whispered his goodbyes to her and told her it was ok to let go. My sister came in for some time by herself, and then I suggested that we all go out to have lunch before they got on the road. We did, and my brother dropped me back off at the nursing home.
When I stepped into her room, I knew she was gone. She waited until we were all gone.
Honestly, I had said my goodbyes a long time ago. I have no regrets.
I immediately called the nurse, and she and the administrator came to check. I was right. I called my brother, who hadn't even gotten out of the city limits, and my sister was maybe 10 minutes ahead of him. They came back, and I handled all the duties of calling the funeral home and such, arranging the burial. I even wrote the obit, faxing it before a 4pm deadline to my hometown newspaper. I asked that memorials be made to the local animal shelter. My mama did love her kitties.
Tuesday, my brother stopped on the way up to the funeral home to visit the old home place in Missouri, and he happened to catch the postmistress on the way out the door of the post office. He asked her if she had lived there long, and she said no, only about twenty years. That was long enough that she did know my mom. So the town did find out shortly.
The local paper comes out in the afternoon, and didn't make print until after the service and wouldn't have been delivered until the next day to her hometown anyway.
I also went into The Flower Barn in West Plains where my sister and I picked out the casket piece. The flower shop people were so nice to just let me step in and make a little nosegay for inside the casket right then and there. It was sweet: alstromeria, baby's breath, some daisy poms and some purple stuff I forget the name of. They did an extra nice job with their piece picking up the same flowers and ribbon, adding in some beautiful pink roses, which I have a few in some borax and cornmeal and will preserve in small bottles for my sister and brother and me.
I had to talk to the sexton of the cemetery Tuesday night before the visitation, and had to wait for him to come home from taking a horse to the vet. He had his cell phone out walking the plots trying to find where to show the gravediggers where to dig the next day. Half the people out there were related to my mother, so he had to go get the old plat mat to find the site. He was reading off names on headstones to me. Sort of funny in a way. Nope...a cousin...nope, an uncle...just a bit surreal. He wanted to make certain they didn't dig up the wrong plot, because he said that happened once when they misread the plat map.
Anyway, we had a beautiful day for the service, sunny, warm, and the cows were quiet for the graveside service in a rural cemetery...waaaaaaaaaay out in the boonies. A good four miles of dusty gravel roads. You know when you live in the Southern half of this country, when EVERY vehicle that meets the funeral procession pulls off to the shoulder of the road and stops out of respect. That happened all the way to that little country cemetery, some fifteen miles from the funeral chapel.
I know that my mother would expect me to get on with things and go have a little fun. After the responsible stuff is done, you get to play, was her credo. She was one tough cookie when she needed to be, and had a heart of gold. I should hope to be half the woman she was.
My mother was aged eighty-seven years, and one day. A good, long life. I will still miss her.
She hadn't been feeling well on and off.
Here's what the scenario seemed to be. She was ill with the nasty stomach virus (nausea and diarrhea) that had swept through the nursing home on the Saturday before Easter. She was fine on Good Friday night, and when my sister and brother arrived Saturday morning for a visit, we found her sick in bed. She was rather unresponsive that day, because they had given her phenergran to combat the nausea, which made her sleepy. So my brother didn't really get to talk to her. He turned around and went back to Texas after we all went to lunch. My sister and family stayed until Monday, and we all went to see her that morning. She was up and sitting out in the lobby in her usual spot, but I could tell something was off.
My sister and her family visited for a while, then left, and I went home, too. The next day, I had an infusion treatment in Memphis, and was so tired when I got back, I didn't go by to see her.
Wednesday around 11am, the nursing home called me to say she had a change in her condition; she seemed confused about why they were giving her the insulin shot, and that she hadn't eaten breakfast nor drunk her usual morning coffee. I told them I would be there as soon as I showered. When I got out of the shower and was brushing my teeth, the phone rang again. She was on her way to the ER. I got there-- almost still dripping--the same time they brought her in. She couldn't talk, and her eyes were a bit odd. I called Dan, he rushed right over. He and I took turns sitting with her, talking to her, holding her hand, all day in the ER until they got her a room around 9pm Wednesday.
I knew what she wanted, and didn't want. I was firm with the docs about no invasive procedures. For everyone's peace of mind, I did let them run tests that told us she had a massive stroke AND a heart attack afterward. All that entailed was a CT scan and a blood enzyme test. I knew what was going on. I'd seen it before. And the CT scan confirmed it to me. I decided right there for pallitive care only. The ER doctors told me that they would give her patches on her skin for sedation/pain, and to help dry up the secretions to keep her from getting aspiration pneumonia. I slept off and on at her bedside all that night, and Dan stayed up with me.
During the day Thursday, the doctor came in to examine my mother, and told me that he didn't think she would make it through the weekend. He explained to me, outside in the hall, that her cerebral hemorrhage was in both sides of her brain, and that she had indeed also had a heart attack. He said that many times, an illness of the type she had earlier in the week would elevate blood pressure and bring on a stroke in someone of her advanced age. He said that he would have hospice care contact me, and that we should move her back to the nursing home that evening. I called my brother and had the doctor explain all this to him so there would be no miscommunication this time. He said he would probably not leave until Saturday morning to come up here.
My sister had left early Thursday morning, arriving around 9 pm at the hospital. We all sat up until around 2 am, when Dan went out to sleep in his truck, and my sister and her daughter slept in their car. I slept fitfully in the recliner in my mother's room.
During the day Friday, the ambulance crew came to transport my mother back to her room at the nursing home. I had called ahead to tell the staff what was going on, and they said they would try to move her roommate out so we could have privacy. That was a good thing, as her roommate has Alzheimer's, and doesn't remember short term things very well.
I met Friday afternoon with the hospice team, and they gave me some great information about the dying process. They explained some of the signs, and what to expect.
My brother didn't arrive until late Friday night. He was going to wait until Saturday to come, and I had told him point blank that he should be there sooner. It was probably not my insistence that changed his mind. When he and his wife arrived, they were shocked to see our mother's state. They stayed a little while, then went off to find a motel room.
Dan stayed there all night with her while I went home to sleep a little. He called me around 8 am and said... I leaned over and told her I loved her, and she SAID "I love you too."
I almost fainted. My mother had not been able to speak since Wednesday. Saturday, she seemed to recognize me and the staff who came in to check on her, and she was smiling. My sister came in, and she recognized her, too. Later, around 9am, my brother came in and she lit up again. I recognized this as probably the last rally, but could tell that the rest of the family was getting their hopes up. My sister-in-law went out and bought some birthday balloons., because Sunday was her birthday. My niece was with my sister. She's really only about a 6-7 year old mentally, and so she rattled on and on, and my mom seemed to enjoy it for a time. After about an hour or so, I gently told R that Grandma needed to rest a bit. I could see her ebbing away again.
Around 2 pm, Mama fell asleep, and would rouse only when the CNAs would come in to turn her. She seemed to be distraught every time they would handle her, so I asked for them to give her some medication. Dan stayed the night with her over to Sunday, when he called me around 8am and told me to hurry over, things were not looking good. We went through this with his dad, and were with him when he died. So we knew what the labored breathing was. But since she had rallied on Saturday, the head nurse had told my brother that they would call in the speech pathologist to determine if she could swallow enough to try to eat. When I arrived, they were attempting to get her to take a bit of thick liquid, but she was unresponsive. We spent the day there with her, singing "Happy Birthday" to her (in the key of R flat, according to my brother), reminiscing about stuff that happened to us as kids, and I worked on an altered book to put some of these silly things down on the page. We all decided that we would try to go home and get some sleep that night, as Dan had to get back to work.
On Monday, my brother and sister still had that hope that there was a turn, but by noon, it was getting obvious (to me) that it wasn't. They decided to go back to TX to get the kid back in school, and so my brother could go back to work. I had been with her that morning, telling her that I loved her, and softly humming a few of her favorite hymns to her. I know I can't carry a tune very well, but I know all about that "joyful noise", and by now she had a very weak pulse and labored breathing.
My brother came in and we held hands while he whispered his goodbyes to her and told her it was ok to let go. My sister came in for some time by herself, and then I suggested that we all go out to have lunch before they got on the road. We did, and my brother dropped me back off at the nursing home.
When I stepped into her room, I knew she was gone. She waited until we were all gone.
Honestly, I had said my goodbyes a long time ago. I have no regrets.
I immediately called the nurse, and she and the administrator came to check. I was right. I called my brother, who hadn't even gotten out of the city limits, and my sister was maybe 10 minutes ahead of him. They came back, and I handled all the duties of calling the funeral home and such, arranging the burial. I even wrote the obit, faxing it before a 4pm deadline to my hometown newspaper. I asked that memorials be made to the local animal shelter. My mama did love her kitties.
Tuesday, my brother stopped on the way up to the funeral home to visit the old home place in Missouri, and he happened to catch the postmistress on the way out the door of the post office. He asked her if she had lived there long, and she said no, only about twenty years. That was long enough that she did know my mom. So the town did find out shortly.
The local paper comes out in the afternoon, and didn't make print until after the service and wouldn't have been delivered until the next day to her hometown anyway.
I also went into The Flower Barn in West Plains where my sister and I picked out the casket piece. The flower shop people were so nice to just let me step in and make a little nosegay for inside the casket right then and there. It was sweet: alstromeria, baby's breath, some daisy poms and some purple stuff I forget the name of. They did an extra nice job with their piece picking up the same flowers and ribbon, adding in some beautiful pink roses, which I have a few in some borax and cornmeal and will preserve in small bottles for my sister and brother and me.
I had to talk to the sexton of the cemetery Tuesday night before the visitation, and had to wait for him to come home from taking a horse to the vet. He had his cell phone out walking the plots trying to find where to show the gravediggers where to dig the next day. Half the people out there were related to my mother, so he had to go get the old plat mat to find the site. He was reading off names on headstones to me. Sort of funny in a way. Nope...a cousin...nope, an uncle...just a bit surreal. He wanted to make certain they didn't dig up the wrong plot, because he said that happened once when they misread the plat map.
Anyway, we had a beautiful day for the service, sunny, warm, and the cows were quiet for the graveside service in a rural cemetery...waaaaaaaaaay out in the boonies. A good four miles of dusty gravel roads. You know when you live in the Southern half of this country, when EVERY vehicle that meets the funeral procession pulls off to the shoulder of the road and stops out of respect. That happened all the way to that little country cemetery, some fifteen miles from the funeral chapel.
I know that my mother would expect me to get on with things and go have a little fun. After the responsible stuff is done, you get to play, was her credo. She was one tough cookie when she needed to be, and had a heart of gold. I should hope to be half the woman she was.
My mother was aged eighty-seven years, and one day. A good, long life. I will still miss her.
Monday, April 16, 2007
A very sad day
My mother died today. She was eighty-seven years old yesterday. A long life by most standards, and until last Wednesday, she was in relatively good health.
We travel tomorrow to make her arrangements in a small Missouri town. I'm tired. I have a long way to go before this is done. I will write a more fitting tribute in the days to come.
I love you, Mama.
Monday, March 12, 2007
The Short List
Rather than write an entire blog entry about this debacle, I will defer to a well-written blog here.
I'm involved in this marginally, because I was once contacted by Rick Olney to "appear" at his MightyMiniCon comic convention back in 2004. That con never happened, and neither did the one he tried to perpetrate on me by asking me to make him a custom embroidered Spider-Man quilt. I kept telling him I needed a 50% deposit up front for the materials, and to this day, have not seen one thin dime. I never got past a preliminary design phase, because I don't buy the materials for a custom until I get that deposit.
I've designed a little logo for the cause, which you see above, that links to the site that was created to help those who did get the shaft from Mr. Olney.
I also have an item up for auction for the benefit of these folks on ebay here. Take a look at the other items, and something might grab your interest. Please bid, as all the proceeds, every dime, will go to help out those creators and artists stiffed by a bad apple in the publishing industry, TightLip Entertainment.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Post-Valentine's Day
Checking back here, I didn't realize I had not posted for well over a month. Time flies when you are trying to restart your life.
There are still cardboard boxes everywhere, just in a different location. D is not able to help me a lot with it for two reasons: a) he has recently gotten a heart pacemaker, keeping him from heavy lifting, and b) I have to know where all this stuff was put up, or I will never find it! So, slowly but surely, things will find a place here again.
I keep wondering where did all this "stuff" come from? The bulk of it is fabric and sewing and craft supplies, along with inventory of patterns from my business. Getting it all back into the house is a huge dilemma. Before I can put things in the large walk-in closet in the master bedroom, I must first clean it out and rearrange it. I have repaired the broken clothes rod in there, and gotten a lot of things moved around, although there is a long way to go.
Once the closet is ready, I can move boxes of fabric into there, along with containers of craft supplies. Then I can clear out the sewing room, and arrange it to be work-friendly once again. I feel like I am dealing with one of those puzzles that have the numbers in the wooden frame, where you have only one empty slot, and must move every other number to start lining them up in order. You get halfway through, then find out you can go no further until you move what you just carefully placed in order. This is very tiring.
RANT FOLLOWS:
And tired is my middle name at the moment. I had another trip to the Memphis VA emergency room in January because I was again gasping for breath at every small exertion. I was severely anemic again, and even though they took me right into triage when we arrived around 10 PM, I sat out in the waiting room until nearly 5 AM. There was literally no room in the ER for any patients. There were several others in the waiting area, one who claimed he had been there since noon the previous day. He finally gave up around 3 AM and threw his coat on the floor and slept there. (I later found out that he was a "regular", and that he was there because it was freezing outside and he was homeless. I guess it was better than the underside of a bridge.)
I was finally brought in, my blood type cross-matched, and at 7 AM, they began a transfusion. After that one ran out, they found that the night shift doctor had left orders for two units of blood, but had only signed the release for one, so they had to send more papers to the blood bank to get another unit. It came around 11 AM, and as soon as that finished, they disconnected the IV lines and sent me home. There were six people in more serious condition than I that needed the beds (only four became available while I was there). They only kept me long enough to ensure that I didn't have a reaction to the transfusion. I was just grateful that they could DO the transfusion. I certainly don't blame the system for me showing up when the inn was full.
This was a temporary fix at best. I had been through several tests before Christmas, and was waiting to find out the verdict of why I cannot keep from being anemic. At least, the trip to the ER got me in to see gastro sooner. It turns out that the Crohn's diagnosis is now confirmed, and I am having a big flare-up. The section of intestine right below my stomach is inflamed, as is another section farther down. The doctors prescribed mesalamine (Pentasa) for me, at a dosage of a whopping eight 250mg capsules a day. They told me that if that didn't work, the next step was Imuran, an immunosuppressant, which I have taken before, and I was more ill than ever on that. Failing that, they said I might have to come in at prescribed intervals to be infused with Remicade, and possibly iron, since my body is not absorbing it like it should. Oh, joy.
One week into the Pentasa, and I was nauseous and having extreme cramps and diarrhea. I had an appointment with the local VA clinic physician, and when I reported this problem (and I had lost five pounds due to it), I was advised to quit the medication. Oddly enough, I feel at least better in the sense that I no longer am dizzy and nauseous. I'm still without any energy.
Next week, I have two appointments. Both, unfortunately, for clinics that only meet on days the free Disabled American Veterans van does NOT go to Memphis. That means I have to drive myself, burning more than a tank of gas, and hoping that I have decent driving conditions (not foggy or rainy, when I have problems seeing the lines on the road). The first appointment is Wednesday, for labwork and hematology. This is a new clinic, and I'm not sure exactly what they are looking for or going to do. The second is with GI, a follow-up to the gut problem where I will get to tell them that I can't tolerate the medicine they prescribed. None of this is making me happy.
RANT OVER. (Aren't you glad?)
Next time: Saga of the new glasses, when they get here.
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