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.
