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.

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.

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.

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.

Arbor Mist Melon and me

I am surrounded by towers of cardboard boxes, stacked nearly to the ceiling. The packing people have finally finished their arduous task of packing out the world's worst packrat, me. I could see fear in their eyes when they entered the Inner Sanctum of the Domestic Goddess, aka the sewing room. It took them a good four hours just to pack all the stuff in that one room.

Tomorrow, I return to the house I left two and a half years ago. I was asked to return by my ex. He knew I was struggling to get by on my government dole, and would never ask to come back after I had been the one to initiate the divorce. It was true. I have eaten far too many ramen noodles and cans of tuna to be healthy. I've lived on cheap macaroni and cheese and other delicacies from the Dollar Store. There were nights that the meal was homemade bread and a cup of tea. I didn't let on to most people that was how it was.

It's been rough. I've watched as my business has gone steadily downhill, because I have no capital with which to fuel new product. I fall in between the cracks of the system, because I live in a decent place that is not Section 8 housing. Due to that, I could not get food stamps. I refused to live in an unsafe, unsavory neighborhood, just to put more food on the table. The veritable rock and a hard place.

I'm exhausted tonight. The tv is now disconnected from the cable (but not my precious internet!) and my cookstove is obscured by the stacks of boxes in front of it. My phone has been transferred back to the house. The only thing left to do is to pack up what is in my desk, and disconnect the computer. That will happen in the morning, along with corralling three felines who will not be happy about it.

For now, I'm kicking back with the remnants of a bottle of cheap Arbor Mist Melon wine, and am going to adjourn to read some comics. After all, the new Daredevil came out today. ; )

Memphis blues

A little late in reporting, but Tuesday was another day spent in Memphis at the VA Hospital. I caught the DAV van at 0630 down at the old shopping mall (now very deserted since the new one was finished). I had three appointments scheduled: the nutritionist at 11, neurology at 2:40, and ophthalmology at 3 pm. If you ride one of the volunteer vans, usually you can get in to see the doctors early. I went into ophthalmology first, and they took me right in.

Lucky me! The department has a new toy, and I was the very first patient to be scanned with it. The technician had to use her cheat notes, and although I have no idea what the machine is called; it does a scan to check if there is swelling around the optic nerve. I suppose all was well back there, assuming she did the test correctly. She would say look at the green dot, and sometimes there WAS NO GREEN DOT. Then she'd adjust things, and a fuzzy green dot on a bright red background would flash and little lights would buzz across the viewing area in angles or circles. Weird.

The ophthalmologist shined a lot of bright lights in my eyes, and said he couldn't see anything really new going on, but my chart tests indicate they should prescribe new glasses. Of course, they had just dilated my eyes, and I will have to go back in two months to get that done. :P

I was out of there before ten, so I wandered over to the nutritionist's office and signed in early for that appointment. I got right in because someone else was a no-show. Evidently, when I can afford to buy food, I eat fairly well. I've lost five more pounds, have no idea why. She seemed satisfied that I knew how to eat properly, did NOT give me a huge lecture on being overweight, and sent me on my merry way.

I decided to eat lunch before I went to the fifth floor neurology because I know that clinic only meets in the afternoon. I shopped a little in the canteen, didn't buy anything. I still made it up to the fifth floor before the receptionist went to lunch. She told me which box to put my paperwork in, and I took a seat in the waiting room. I had asked if I could see the doctor early. She made no promises.

Monday night, I could not sleep. I tossed, turned, and sweat all night long. So by noon, I was dead on my feet. I dozed off and on in the waiting room, too tired to even try to read the Agatha Christie mystery I brought along. The room filled up, and before long, everyone else seemed to have been summoned for vital sign checks but me. I kept pacing to keep awake, without much luck. It was after 3 pm when I finally saw the doctor.

I like Dr. M. He's a fairly new resident physician at the VA, and must be from the Ukraine or thereabouts. He is very straightforward, and I like that. He actually read my charts, which so often doesn't happen with the VA, and he said he was concerned about a couple of the results of the many tests I had last week. He didn't tell me everything, but I did get out of him that my sed rate is high, and another test that has to do with autoimmune system problems, the C-Reactive Protein was also high. According to WebMD, A recent study suggests a link between increased CRP levels and the development of age-related macular degeneration. Well, hello?

So, after all this, the doc gave me a refill on some meds for restless leg syndrome, which was one of the reasons I didn't sleep the night before. In order to get it filled, I had to go to the other end of the campus to the outpatient pharmacy, take a number and wait to see the pharmacist before the prescription was even turned in. I appealed to a volunteer who was at the information desk to help me get in touch with the van driver, who had been looking for me. The volunteer got me in to see a pharmacist without waiting, and he in turn had a few of the pills filled for me right then so the van wouldn't be delayed any longer. By the time we got out of there, it was well after 4pm, which meant it was dark when we got back to Jonesboro. Too long of a day.

Best part? I have to go back NEXT Tuesday for another of those unspeakably awful GI tests.

All this, and I've spent the last two days ripping out the carpeting in the house before I move back in. Oh, and I've sold several braille tshirts in the past few days. Maybe things will look up, just a little.

The Hurrier I Go, The Behinder I Get

The harder I try to get ahead, the farther behind I slide. I've been trying to sell things on ebay for well over a year now, and with the increases in fees and the way the structure has changed, I'm beginning to think it's not worth my time and effort. A good third of what I brought in last month went right back to ebay in listing fees, store fees, and final value fees. Of course, I know that I listed probably three times as many items as I normally do, but it's really hard to justify the effort if someone else is raking in most of the profit.

My income is not keeping up with my outgo. I am on a rather fixed income, dependent mostly on my veteran's compensation check each month. By the time I pay rent, insurance, utilities, phone, and cable(which is mostly my internet ISP since I only subscribe to the minimum basic tv cable channels), it's the fourth of the month, and there is nothing left for food. I try to eek out a tank of gas a month for the car. Most of the time, I stay home, only going out to the post office when I have to send parcels, and to visit my mother at the nursing home. I don't eat out, except to take my mom lunch on Sundays. It's not like I'm a wasteful spender.

Last month, I broke down to the point of applying for food stamps. Well, guess what? I don't qualify. I have no children, live by myself, and do not live in squalid HUD housing. I own a seven year old car that I paid for entirely on my own. I don't do drugs, drink alcohol or smoke. I don't have a live-in boyfriend or illegitimate children. But I'm not far enough down the ladder to get any assistance. Go figure.

Therefore, I am taking up on an offer that my ex-husband has proposed: move back in with him. We have really continued to be friends even after the divorce, and it's not like I'd have to break in a new roommate. We are known quantities, so things will work out. At least I won't starve this way. ; )

Another happy day in paradise

Time to face the music and go to the VA hospital again to have more testing. I spent three days in hospital here in town the first weekend of November with another bowel obstruction and raging kidney infection. Blah! Humbug!

This was a big part of the lack of blogging recently. Nothing great or good to tell. I've become sick and tired of being sick and tired. My anemia problems are back; I have zero stamina these days for any sort of strenuous activity. That brings me to the last day of November, and the next round of tests.

I rode the DAV van over to Memphis, thank goodness for the volunteer drivers! My appointment with the GI lab was for 0800, and I was there on time. Alas, there were others scheduled for the same time, and they took them in first since they all were having a single procedure, and I was there for two. The handsome Latino RN was very nice, but he could not get an IV to run after two tries. He called over another nurse, and she tried twice with no success. Finally, they called in Miss Gussie, whom I have seen before in the GI lab, and she got it on the first shot. I seem to recall they had to call her in the last time to stick me for the IV port. She is such a nice lady, and so calming in this sea of chaos that is the VA system.

I lay on the stretcher for nearly two hours before my turn came to go in the procedure room. I joked with the nurse who was going to do the anesthesia to please make me plenty stupid because I was very nervous. She asked if I had undergone this procedure before. I replied I had, that was why I was nervous. They gave me some foul-tasting stuff to gargle and swallow to numb my throat; she popped me with the Demerol and I vaguely remember gagging on the endoscope as they put it down my throat. I began to come round when they were going at the other end with the sigmoidoscope, and whined enough that they asked if I wanted more drugs. I most certainly did! Next thing I knew, I had been asleep for an hour or so.

The doctor came in to tell me what they found. Sometimes, I wish they would just give me a written statement, because my head was still quite fuzzy. I know he said that they found that I had reflux problems, and some ulceration in my small bowel due to Crohn's. They had also checked what is left of my rectum and said there is a possibility of a fistula there. Biopsies were taken, and I suppose I will find out within a week or so. Waiting for the definitive is the hardest part.

I have no idea how they are going to treat all this. I am going to be asking a lot of questions shortly. At least we now know where the blood I'm evidently losing is coming from and that, I suppose is good news.

The van ride home was a blur, and I made it home from the shopping mall where the van picks us up without incident. I came home, fed the cats, and we all curled up in bed for about the next five hours. They know how to comfort me, the little fuzzy buddies!

The weather has turned cold now, from 66 degrees F when I got on the van this morning, to 35 degrees with a 25 degree wind chill out right now. It rained all day, and I hope that it doesn't ice up overnight. We might get past that. Snow, I can deal with that. Ice? No.

Looks like a three cat night. Brrr.

Just a little white lie

Something I have never been able to do is lie to my mother. Actually, I'd make a sorry poker player, because I just can't lie with a straight face to anyone. It's just not in my nature. (Maybe my name, which according to a few sources I've looked up means "truth", is an appropriate one?)

Today, I looked straight into my mother's face and told her a fib. I felt so guilty. This one won't hurt anyone, and today, my mother needed to hear something cheerful. She fell last week and broke her arm in two places, right above her right wrist. She's been in a good deal of pain, and the worst part is that it's her dominant hand. She can't do her needlework that she loves so dearly.

So, God forgive me; I told my mother a lie. I told her she won a blue ribbon on the little redwork sampler I entered in the fair for her, when in truth, it placed third.

I think maybe, looking at the other entries placed around it, that it got judged in the wrong category. It was a stamped cross-stitch, not a counted one like the others around it, and by comparison, it did look a little sad. My mother is eighty-six years old, and when many people are just sitting around complaining about what they can't do, she is stitching away at something. Maybe it's not twelve stitches to the inch linen, but it's precious to me. It's the Best of Show in my book. Grand Champion.

The look on her face when I told her about the ribbon was priceless. It was really the first time I'd seen her smile genuinely in a couple of weeks. For the first time in my life, I was really bragging on her. Why did it take me so long? She has always been the one to brag on me.

When I pick up the ribbons and entries next Sunday, I will carefully take one from some of my own items (I entered seven, and they all placed first), and will pin it to her sampler and take it to her. She will be thrilled, and so will I.

I love my Mama, and she's a winner in my eyes.

A Laborious Weekend

Since I work at home, holidays don't mean as much any more. I have an unusual schedule because I like to work late at night when the phone won't ring and I don't have a lot of interruptions. This Labor Day weekend, I had hoped to get back into the sewing room and finish a couple of projects. It didn't happen. The best laid plans of mice and me.

I haven't been feeling very perky now for some time. Not that I ever run marathons or go to the gym, but just general malaise. It had been getting worse over the past week, and by Friday, I was totally exhausted by the time I changed the catbox. I worked on some PhotoShop stuff for some patterns I'm reworking, and around 4PM got ready to go to the post office. It wasn't as hot as it has been in recent weeks, only upper 80's, still very steamy due to the humidity.

After collecting my mail (which included a hilarious Devil Duck from a friend in Canada), I thought I'd swing by the Deals dollar store to pick up a few frozen food items. I went in, got my $15 worth of cheapie stuff, and headed out the door. The heat hit me in the face like a brick. I have a gimp tag on my car, so I wasn't parked that far away. By the time I reached the car, my head was spinning. I tossed the bags into the car, fell onto the seat and started up the ignition to get the air going. I had a bottle of cold water in the car, and I drank most of it right then, letting a little of it splash onto me to cool me off. I felt like I could barely catch my breath. I was having visual disturbances. I almost panicked, because I had forgotten my cell phone at home.

I sat in the car, face in the A/C vents, for a few minutes until I got cleared up enough to drive. I made my way home on some less busy streets, since it was now Friday/holiday/rush hour traffic. When I got home, I gathered the bags, locked the car and by the time I got to the front door to unlock it, I was almost stumbling. I fumbled with the lock, had to shush the cats to get them from making an exit, and I could hardly boost the bags onto the kitchen counter. I was breathing heavily, my pulse pounding in my ears. I knew what was going on. My hematocrit levels were bottoming out.

There was frozen food in the bags, so I began wildly stuffing the contents into the refrigerator. I felt like I was about to black out, as the visual disturbance once more loomed. I sat down on a kitchen stepstool lest I fall right over. I scared the cats. They circled me like they didn't know exactly what to do. Then Ringo came up and began to administer fuzz therapy in the form of rubbing on my feet. He meowed at me, and rolled over on his back for a tummy rub. I didn't have the strength.

My now-famous hives began to emerge, adding insult to injury. I grabbed my cellphone and retreated to the bathroom to disrobe and take a cool shower to help ease the itch. Taking off my clothes was such an effort and sent me into more labored breathing that I decided I better call for help. I called my ex, and he came over while I was in the shower. When he got there, I was still sitting on the edge of the tub, barely able to stand. I got dressed, and we headed for the VA in Memphis, an hour and a quarter away.

The ER at the VA has moved, and the entrances are different than the last time we were there, causing us to have to walk further than planned. I signed in, stating shortness of breath and fainting, and was taken directly to triage. Immediately they ran an EKG, and in a very few minutes, had me back in a cubicle in the ER proper. It was now about 8PM.

Now for the blood draw. No fewer than three people came in to try to get blood out of me. My veins had done a disappearing act. Usually they can find SOMEWHERE to stick me, but no luck. The ER nurse called the phlebotomist on the hosptial floor for assistance, and she refused to come down, saying they should stick me in the leg. I was not for that, and neither was Ralph (seriously, he was great!), the ER nurse. He finally found a place where they could draw blood, and off to the lab it went, and I waited. And waited. And waited some more. I heard the exasperated comments of the staff, trying to get beds for us patients, and there were none. One man had been in the ER for forty-eight hours, because there was no bed in cardiac care for him, and the only other heart monitor systems are in the ER. I was going to be a problem, too, since they can't put female patients in the male wards, and they would need a private room to vacate.

I waited. A doctor came in to check on me, and told me that he would bet I was "a quart low" and would need blood. We would have to wait for the lab results. Meanwhile, I was having quite an attack of the restless leg syndrome, and that made my already painful back even worse. I asked for some pain medication, and was rewarded with a Percocet. Unlike a lot of people, that drug does not make me euphoric in the least, and gives me a nasty hangover when it wears off. I was miserable and it was now 1 AM.

My ex was falling asleep in the chair. He needed to go home, and I worried about that long boring drive with him so sleepy. (Same stretch of road where I fell asleep at the wheel and totaled my car nearly six years ago.) Almost 2AM, no sign of whether I was going to be admitted for sure. I told him to go on home; I'd call him in the morning. Well, later that same morning to be precise.

The nurse came back round and told me that one of the vials of blood they had drawn was "no good". WTF? Since I don't have knowledge of how that could happen, it just makes me wonder how the others were. I had already been stuck seven times in attempt to put in an IV line, and for blood drawing. I was already black and blue all over my arms. I looked like a battered woman, and was in a sense. Nurse Ralph told me that he could probably do best by drawing out an artery on my wrist. This is how they draw blood for arterial blood gases, and it can be really painful. Been there, done that. I was nervous about it, but it has to be better than taking it in the leg, so Ralph assured me that he once worked in a prison hospital, where the junkies had no veins left to stick, and he was good at hitting this artery, carefully feeling for the pulse. Bingo! One shot and he was in there, no fishing around for this guy. I wanted to kiss him, almost. ; )

Another group of doctors, the attending physician, the resident, and a med student, all female, trooped in to evaluate me. Poke, prod, look at the rims of my eyes, etc. Questions, questions, more questions. They decided to check for blood in my stool. (With an ostomy, that's easily done.) The occult test was positive. I'm bleeding somewhere, albeit slowly, since nothing was visible. They order the blood for sure.

Four AM. The word comes from above that beds are opening up. A little scary, because no one gets formally discharged in the middle of the night on a holiday weekend. The gentleman who had been waiting forty-eight hours was taken up to a room. The man gasping in the next cubicle was carted away. Then it was my turn. The staff was so short-handed that Ralph had to roll me upstairs on the gurney. I've never seen a nurse do that before. There has always been someone on duty to transport patients to the floors.

They take me to the fifth floor, generally the neurosurgery floor. My room was a double, but both beds were empty. It was a negative pressure room, one that is used for isolation. The door had to remain closed, or an alarm would beep. I heard plenty of beeping over the next few hours. The tech came in to take my vitals, and shortly two nurses came in with the promised blood. They determined that the IV port I got downstairs would not do for transfusion. They stuck me again. At least they didn't go on a fishing expedition, either.

There is a new procedure at the VA for transfusion protocol. It's like a missile launch; two people have to be there to confirm it. While I was down in the ER, I had been tagged numerous times by different people and now had four armbands. One of them was the crossmatch band, with little biohazard red stickers for the blood match. The two nurses had to check my name, social security number, blood type, and a couple other things before they could think about starting the infusion. Actually, I have no problem with check and recheck in the least. Especially when it comes to something like this.

It took some time to get the lines ready, as there is a filter on the line, and it has to be routed through another IV line. I watched in a way I don't think I have before. The dark crimson blood is cold when they bring it in. It takes a few moments before it begins to make its way down the tubing and into your veins. It's still cool as it gets to the entry point, although you can't feel the coolness past that. I idly thought about how this was the colour they settled on for Daredevil's movie costume. Blood red.

By now it was nearly 5AM. I was exhausted to the point of dozing, but was awakened at ridiculous intervals by the automatic blood pressure cuff inflating, or someone coming in to ask more questions. It took until almost 8AM for the unit of blood to finish, then they brought me another one. I tried to sleep. The shift had changed, and a new group of people began the parade into the room. I turned on the tv. There was a movie channel in the hospital, and I sort of watched "The New World", only because it had Colin Farrell in it. Beautifully photographed, but boring as hell. Best part of it was the way they cast the Native Americans. Some beautiful people in this movie.

All this time, I had been NPO, no food or water. The docs had told me I couldn't eat until the GI doc came in. He finally showed up, and that gave me the go ahead to eat, since they couldn't do the testing yet (that will be outpatient, later). I reminded him on the way out the door to tell the appropriate people, please. I know I've waited hours for food before, when a doctor forgot to issue orders that I could eat. At 5PM on Saturday, I got a meal. Real food, too! A barbequed pork chop, baby lima beans, turnip greens, tea, milk, a slice of whole wheat bread and a chocolate chip cookie. I have never eaten turnip greens in my life, but I did then, and they tasted pretty good. Add another item to Things I Thought I Didn't Like But Will Eat Now.

No rest for the wicked. The gaggle of med students, interns, and docs wandered in, and all the questions were asked again, along with poking and prodding. This is the bane of being at a teaching hospital, but in reality I am glad for it, because you really do get some cutting edge care. And then you get the poor little medical student who has to do the dirty work, like checking stool samples. I struck up a conversation with her in the ER, and she was back on Saturday to give me a "tilt test", which checks your blood pressure lying down and standing up. Bless her. This was her very first time to use the new automated blood pressure cuffs, and she had to read to operate it. She was very sweet, and I hope that attitude can stick with her through her schooling and serve her well as a doctor. I told her so.

I was told that I would be transferred when a bed became available down to the cardiac care unit for a twenty-four hour heart monitoring. Seems that when your hematocrit levels drop like this, it can stress your heart. Once again, I was shuffled around, this time to a private room overlooking the loading docks of the hospital and the fire station across the street. It was better than the previous room, where I overlooked the roof of an adjoining building.

A nurse came in to attach the heart monitor, which has six leads to it, but is wireless as far as being tethered to the wall. A great improvement over the old kind. We had a laugh about certain parts of the female anatomy that eventually succumb to gravity, and it was quiet for a while. I watched something on public tv, and don't even remember what.

The medications that I normally take were brought to me, along with some new ones, and I fell asleep sometime after 11PM. At 3AM, the phlebotomist appeared for another draw. I got up to go to the bathroom, noticing that I wasn't feeling wheezy now, and then went back to dreamless sleep until the breakfast tray came in shortly after 7AM. French toast and bacon, orange juice, milk, Special K cereal, and undrinkable coffee. Except for the coffee, I wolfed it down.

Dozing on and off, I got a phone call from my ex, letting me know he was going to see my mother in my stead, and that he would come over when he left the nursing home after lunch. I tried to watch another movie, but it was just too boring. Instead I looked at some public tv stuff, and kept trying to sleep. I couldn't call anyone because cellphones were prohibited on that floor, and all my numbers were in the cellphone, not my head. One bad thing about flash dialing.

The GI doc came in and told me that it appeared that I do have something going on in my gut that is probably causing the anemia. I'm going to have to have a scope for them to find out. I am not amused. They will have to go from the top, as there is no way in from the other end. He suspects Crohn's disease in my small bowel, which can cause a slow leakage of blood. Hoo boy. He also said they would cut me loose Sunday afternoon. I was overjoyed by that.

Lunch arrived: roast pork, parslied potatoes, broccoli with cheese sauce, and a slice of apple pie. Not bad. I could have eaten the platter they brought it in on, so the food tasted good.

My ex called, and handed the phone to my mother, who could not understand a word I said (being now quite hard of hearing). She was confused as to what was going on, and I smoothed it over saying I was coming home, they had just kept me "overnight". I did not say two nights.

I told him that they were going to discharge me that afternoon, but had no idea what time. He said he'd be up around 2PM. I tried to watch another movie, and fell asleep.

He got there about 1:30PM and the only thing on tv halfway interesting was the women's world championship beach volleyball finals. Note I said halfway. The nurse came in and unhooked the monitor and told me that I could get dressed. We cleared out around 4PM.

We stopped at Wendy's for a hamburger, and got Frosties to take to my mother and Mrs. Harris, her roommate. Sunday was Mrs. Harris' ninety-second birthday, and the doctors told her last week when she was in the hospital, that she probably wouldn't see another one.

My mother is not eating again. This is not good. I feel that when Mrs. Harris goes, my mother will not be far behind. They have come to really rely on each other.

I should go out to see her today. I don't honestly have the energy to do it, and if she has "a bug" that is making her ill, I do not need to be exposed any more. It creates quite a dilemma. Calling her only upsets her. I've found that out from my brother calling her. Another rock and a hard place.

If you have made it to the bottom of this, congratulations. Just recalling it all makes ME tired. Wake up! You have better stuff to do than read my blog! ; )

Junk mail, the other spam

I hate junk mail. My mother used to call it "dog mail", because it might as well be addressed to the dog as "Resident". Today was a whole dogpile of dogmail.

I don't ever check the mailbox in front of the house because I have a post office box. Anything that is of importance comes to that address, not here. I had forgotten just how long since I opened it, until the doorbell rang today, and the postman stood there in his little postman short pants, with an armload of dogmail. He was checking to see if anyone was living here, because not another smooth postcard would fit in the box.

He was very nice, and I explained that I had a post office box and didn't really look for mail here, and I'd be more attentive to cleaning out the "boxholder" mail. That's the postal term for stuff addressed to "Resident" or "Boxholder", adverts, flyers, pitiful pleas from people trying to sell you Christmas cards for the poor little children on the Indian Reservation or whatever. He said it looked like there might be a few envelopes mixed in, so be sure to go through it before I tossed it. I assured him I would do that.

I dragged up a wastebasket, my letter opener (the one with the loaves and fishes on it that I got for a year's service teaching Sunday School to Episcopalian brats) and the paper shredder. First I went through and pulled out all the catalogs for Casual Male and trashed them. Next came all the adverts for pizza, tire rotations, oil changes, and Walgreens. Slam dunk! Then I opened and shredded at least fifteen offers for "pre-approved" credit cards. How can they pre-approve ME? I have no real job, and my ex took me through bankruptcy a couple of years ago. About half of them now come with a little faux credit card (see pic) that says on the back "This is not a real credit card." Duh.

The shredder stalled. I had to compact the paper in the basket to continue.

Then there was Sears telling me that the warranty on my dryer had expired. Last February.

About a dozen dunning notices from a firm in Ohio that is trying to get me to pay a chunk of money that the VA did not pay to a HEART SPECIALIST who must have been cruising through the ER about the time I landed there with a bowel obstruction. If the man even talked to me, I have no proof, just a bill for $550 that I refuse to pay. I've also gotten threatening phone calls from this same firm who has probably bought the debt for pennies on the dollar from the original office. They can eat my shorts. What are they going to do? Ruin my non-existant credit?

The best junk mail today, though had to be this thing:


First of all, it's addressed to DR. Alice (last name I used to have). It's congratulating me for being outstanding in my field, and that makes me eligible to have my name in their Who's Who book. The last field I was outstanding in was the cotton field I wrecked my last car in when I fell asleep at the wheel. They assure me that this is a great honour and that I will certainly be proud to tell my friends that I am listed in Who's Who. Oh, c'mon. This is more like What the Hell than Who's Who. In what field do I have a doctorate? Yes, I have a B.S., although I'm probably just full of that most of the time. Oh, and Strathmore's Who's Who is not to be confused with Someone Else's Who's Who, according to the minute print at the bottom of the letter. It was so small I literally had to get the magnifier out to see what it said. What a crock of horsecrap.

Rip. Shred. Slam dunk.

Sweating the small stuff

I had an "interesting" experience today. Went to the mail box at UPS and got a boatload of mail and my drugs from the VA. Also, a check for $25 for some patterns. Yay! Then I decided to go to Sam's club for some essentials, like toilet paper, freezer bags, milk, cheese, deli meats.

Got home to find my landlord had mowed the yard and was weedeating the drive. This was around 3:15, and it was scorching hot. I took in the cold items, grabbed a couple bottles of water out of the fridge and took him one. We talked in the shade of the house for about 5 minutes, then I went back to take the rest of the stuff in from the car. I had begun to break out in my normal prickly heat rash already. This happens everytime I get a little overheated.

By the time I was making the third trip from the car to the house, I felt like I was about to pass out. I had already downed most of that half-litre of water, so I chugged the rest, and sat down. I've had heat exhaustion before, so I knew the signs, I thought. I stripped and took a cold shower, then sat down on the edge of the tub to towel off, because I was feeling lightheaded. I went into the bedroom, put on clean undies and a tshirt, and fell onto the bed for a few minutes. I was noticing that everything looked to me as if I had just stepped out of the bright sunlight. Weird.

So I got up and nearly had a vertigo spell. This was not good. I stumbled into the living room, drank another half-litre of water, and it occured to me that I hadn't eaten today. Maybe I was also having a blood sugar drop. I grabbed a piece of this peppermint sugar stick candy that I love, and ate it, hoping that might also help.

The funky thing was what my vision was doing. Everything looked sort of splotchy, like looking at the ground under a tree where it's dappled with sunlight. I could barely read the computer screen, but I looked up heat exhaustion on WebMD, and found that I had done all the right stuff so far, except go to the ER. I seriously contemplated calling 911, but decided that I wouldn't because I didn't seem to have a fever, and I was still sweating. (If you stop sweating, it's heat stroke...get to the ER.)

I threw some cheese tortellini on to boil and sat down to answer emails. My vision began to clear, and I began to cool down. After I had the tortellini, I decided to lie down and take a nap. I didn't wake up until almost 9PM. I just can't take the heat at all any more. I probably wasn't outside a total of more than fifteen minutes out of the air conditioning. Another reason I don't go out during the daytime heat.

Twice before, I've had a collapse from the heat. Both those times were in Navy boot camp, where we were marching in the 97 degree heat of the Orlando sun. The first time, I made it back to the barracks, where I collapsed on the way to the bathroom. Next thing I knew, they had stripped me down and put me in the cold shower and were forcing me to drink water.

The next time, I was running the 2-1/4 mile run, and on the next to the last lap, I fell out. I remember people jumping over me. I got some water down me, and the drill instructors informed me that I was now joining "Special Training Division" because that made me fail the run. I spent three months in boot camp, when most people only spend two, or go home. I didn't want to be a bad statistic. I also spent my thirtieth birthday in "special training". The instructor asked me one day why I just didn't give up and go home. I told them that day I turned thirty, and I wasn't going to quit until I was out of there. The next day, I passed the drill.

Reworking the scrapbooks

It's been a long time since I stuck all this stuff into one of those horrible "magnetic pages" albums. Last week I found a really nice photo album with those archival slip in pages that was marked down to $4.99. Bargain! It also has the Navy emblem on the front, and twenty empty pages!

This particular page isn't going into that particular album, but buying THAT album got me started pulling things out to do a rework of the old albums.

The origami paper doll and the paper are some things I picked up when I first got on island. I am such a packrat! Still have UNFOLDED origami paper I bought in 1984! One of the coolest things I discovered when I got to Okinawa was the brush pen. I'd never seen one before, and I just loved writing with them, and the title strip was one of the first things I did with that new implement.

Looking through my scrapbooks, I now know that there is a whole lot of material here to play with, and remember the good days I spent halfway around the world. I used to scrapbook before it was the thing to do. I can't believe all the stuff in the scrapbooking aisles of the stores now. To me, scrapbooking is putting the stuff you collected yourself into a book. Maybe I've just always been such a packrat that I have all kinds of cool stuff to use! My goal is to buy nothing except maybe some background paper and the page sleeves to store the pages. I want to keep the funky album covers I bought overseas. That's the charm of scrapbooks, to me.

Happy Flag Day!

Call me a flagwaver, because I am. No apologies whatsoever. I love my country, despite her flaws. I've served my country proudly. Long may Old Glory wave!

Kitten Kaboodle

I spent the weekend helping a friend move her houseful of rescued cats from Memphis to Nashville. She has bought a house, and it has the most wonderful playroom that I'm sure belonged to kids before, but will now make a great cat playhouse. There are cubbies for nearly everyone, and a great patio door that looks out onto the back yard with several trees. I would love help her build some catwalks to traverse the overhead space. Maybe that will happen someday soon.

When I came back from Nashville, the resident feral kitty, whom I call Pippin, met me at the door. She's a sweet cat, not quite tame enough to let me touch her, but recently has decided to rub on my pantleg. Suppose that means I'm ok.

Today, upon return from some errands, I got a surprise. Little kitty-heads popped up from behind the concrete border bricks along the porch. I had my camera with me, so I took a long shot, assuming they would bolt. I quietly walked up to them, and found three little guys cowering under the ledge. One is a mini-Pippen, one looked to be entirely black, and the third is orange and white, and a good bit fuzzier than the others. Two made a break for it, and the third stayed put, probably because its eyes were matted shut.

After I put up some things in the house, I came back out and gathered the little guy up and brought it in to try to wash the gooky off its eyes. Otherwise, the kitten looked fine. No matted hair, fairly clean ears for a feral, and no sneezing. Quite a voice, however, when I began gently soaking off the icky with warm water and some cotton swabs. As soon as I got it cleaned up, I took it back out and set it back on the porch, and it immediately retreated to the same corner. I peeked out later to see it munching on the moistened kibbles I put out. The other two haven't come back, but they ran toward my fenced back yard, and are probably hiding under the outbuilding.

Now, what do I do with more kitties? I can't bring any more into the house. If I can catch the mother cat, she is going to get spayed, and I will try to find homes for the kittens.

Net Neutrality

Do yourself a favor: take a look at what is going on with internet neutrality.

There is a lot we all stand to lose if legislation is shoved through on this, so do take a look at this issue. Please.

New bookshelves

Uffda! I've been working on these things all day long. Well, I have to admit that I work fifteen minutes, sit down for a few, then work fifteen more. Days like today are the ones where the mind is willing but the body is weak, and it takes way longer to do something that you thought it might. I know at the end of today, I might have these all assembled, but the place is a wreck from all the stuff I took off the old shelves.

It's midafternoon, and I'm beat. I might have to take a siesta and come back for round two. I already have bumps and bruises showing up where I have dropped a piece of shelving or banged against another piece of furniture. Grrrr.

What you see here is one set, with one more layer to add to the top, and the bottom layer of the second set.

Which side are you on?

In case you aren't familiar with this joke, Marvel comics has a new storyline called Civil War, where the superheroes are divided over a superhero registration act. Some are siding with Captain America; others take the same stance as Iron Man. Pictured here is Toby, dressed up to play Darekitty. I think I'll go with him. ; )

I've been working toward reorganising my library space with new shelving from Ikea. I bought their Effektiv storage units, and am presently building them in the living room, six feet to the right of where I'm sitting now. They are easy to put together, but heavy. I might have to call in some reinforcements to help me get this job done. Film at eleven.

Another Great Adventure

Wow, what a weekend! The Free Comic Book Day festivities at CAPE 2 (Comics and Popculture Expo) in Dallas, TX, were sponsored by Zeus Comics. We drove down from NE Arkansas to participate in an event we hadn't attended before, but had heard great things about it from others.

The first part of the trip was rather uneventful: nice weather, not too hot, not a lot of traffic, and didn't have to speed to make time because the roads are not under construction right now. We didn't get away from town quite as early as we first planned, but we had enough leeway built in that we didn't feel rushed to get going. My car was well-loaded down with the display rack for the quilts, tshirts to (hopefully) sell, my sewing machine, K's artwork, and what I now believe to be a lot of good karma.

We only stopped a few times, once in Texarkana, TX, to get gasoline and some sketchpaper and pens (ooooo! New Stardust Pentel pens!) and make a pitstop. K read Good Omens to me as I drove. That was so much better than listening on tape or cd! We decided to take a break one more time around dusk somewhere between Greenville and Dallas. It wasn't until we got to our hotel that K realised her wallet was missing.

For some reason, I didn't feel panic at all, probably because it was not MY wallet and life that wallets tend to contain. I called my ex, and asked him to pull up the Subway sandwich shops website and see where they were located along the interstate. He gave me the phone numbers, and we called all of them to see if the wallet had turned up. No one had seen it. I had a feeling that possibly there was a shop that was too new to be on the website, so we jumped back in the car and drove some forty-odd miles back across Dallas and out to look for where we had stopped.

It was not the first couple of places we saw, because we remembered it being connected to a service station/convenience store, although we didn't remember what brand of gasoline they sold. Finally, we spotted the right Subway/Exxon station combo across the freeway, and went to the next exit to turn around. The news was good. The person who spotted the wallet told the store manager that there was a wallet in the restroom, and she didn't want to pick it up, just report it. Everything was still in there. Good people still exist out there.

Breathing a collective sigh of relief, we went back to the hotel and decided not to try to attend the mixer on Friday night, because we had some things to do and were already tired. I worked on some braille t-shirts and K worked on some sketches.

We arrived at CAPE a little before 8AM for setup. They were just finishing the tent setup, and we waited a few minutes for the tables to be placed, and to find our spot. We were on the outside edge of this huge tent in the parking lot, near the power source so I could run the sewing machine. We had good neighbors with the guys from Stumblebum Studios on one side and Larry Dixon on the other. Very nice setup, very smooth, and the folks who put on the show from Zeus Comics had plenty of staff to help out with anything and everything. They had portajohns on site, lunch provided (really good pasta and salad!), table covers to make the show look more polished. They are quickly learning how to run a great show. And to think that this event is FREE to the public to meet the guests and to pick up comics, and FREE to the guests as far as setting up tables and attending the parties. You can't beat a deal like that all the way around.

More soon.

So close, but not quite.

I just couldn't do it. It's about 4:30 pm, and I just shut off the sewing machine after a marathon sewfest. I was down to the last bit of background quilting, but the borders needed to be put on, and they would need to be quilted, too. I went in to square up the quilt and my brain no longer functioned. I haven't really slept in about 36 hours. I tried to nap yesterday, but my brain at that point was in high gear, figuring all sorts of cool things to do on this quilt. If you look closely, some of those things are the three dimensional belt on Gunther and the archer chick, the 3D quiver with arrows, something you can't see in this shot...a 3D scabbard for a very cool dagger on the archer chick's calf.

The lesson to be learned here is...get your act together, Alice. Starting this thing one day earlier would have made the difference. I tossed in the towel knowing that I had less than 3 hours before FedEx closes to mail my photos for the jurying of the contest. Reality sunk in when I thought about the fact that it will probably take me that long to put the binding on, once I get it cut.

Face facts, girl. You might be Darediva, but you ain't WonderWoman.



I quilted a boatload of oak leaves into the background, rather than do all stippling. They aren't really yellow, that's just a highlighter effect to show you where a couple of them are.

At least, this will be done for us to take with us this weekend when we go to Dallas for Cape 2!