Late, tired and bitchy

It's some godawful hour, and sleep is eluding me. My shoulder is giving me more grief than usual. It's settling into new places it is not supposed to be, and is painful in any position I attempt to acheive. Not to get too graphic, but punch in the cigarette lighter from your car, and when it pops out, stick it in your armpit and squeeze. That's kind of what it's like, although more generalized than specific. I have been going against my rule of over doing on prescription medication. Believe it or not, I've still got some from my surgery over a month ago. And even that has refills, but I've always been able to tough it out. I am now, however; beginning to understand why in my last visit to rehab, there were so many people in there for oxycontin and hydrocodone addictions. Normal people with normal jobs, who had the bad misfortune to be injured. I can safely say that in the whole people I spent a week with in my ward are the same people I'd meet in any church service. No. Scratch that, they were better than most people I've ever met at any church service.

It must be heading toward early morning, the natives are getting restless. One sets off the other, and then I will have no peace untill they are fed. Black is still hanging in there. She no longer uses the litterbox. So we have adopted that chic New Jersey" style of covering her love seat with plastic and washing a load of towels every other day. She is so frail, half blind, and can barely move unless I build stairs for her to get onto "her" loveseat. Still she eats like a horse, and doesn't seem to be in any pain, so we just ride it out. I figure in the cosmic "Gottcha" mode, if she passes it will be while I'm back in the hospital. Just another thing to keep Terri on her toes and the end of her ever shortening rope. Ideally, in this sceario, Terri will be coming home from work to find a frantic phone message from the hospital saying that there was a problem with my anethesia, and then she will find the little cold, lifeless body. I'd say this was entirely in jest, but the way my life's been going the past year is a lot more Stephen King than Sidney Sheldon.

I watched a couple of movies on Hulu earlier. A charming German film, which was subtittled, and a film called "The Guys" with Sigourney Weaver and Anthony LaPaglia about the aftermath of 9/11 as told from the view of a fire captain who had lost eight men and needed help writing memorial speeches. It's a wonderful film, and I highly recommend it. The performances were restrained, and even given the subject matter, they resisted the urge to go over the top. I don't know what I'll watch next yet after I've fed the kids. It's certain I won't be typing until they're fed. Bubba knows that walking back and forth across the keyboard is a sure-fire way to garner my attention.

I've still been working on a twelve page story that I started for Terri earlier month. Problem is that it's 150 pages now, and shows no sign of ending yet. This looks like it's going to join my pile of three to five hundred page manuscripts which nobody wants to read. I have at least six of them now already. At least when I pass on, I will know that I took some trees with me. I'll undoubtedly have a chance to conclude the story while I'm in the hospital again. Won't be much else to do, and this time, I'm showing up armed for bear. Laptop, twenty or so each DVD's and CD's, along with some clean underware.

Talked to my friend today, who is stilll doing the last minute shit in preperation for his 8:35 a.m. pickup to the Airport tomorrow morning. I asked, but he assured me he had requested a non-flamable underware flight. I was kind of surprised that it costs more to fly to Cincinatti from here than it does to fly from here to Boston. And correspondingly (stay with me here folks) it costs more to fly from Cincintti to Boston than it costs to fly from here to Boston. Are all the airlines being managed by BP also?

Enough from the ether, he who cannot be denied has spoken. My best to all.

Drama's over

As usual, I went the drama queen route when I got my friend Alan's call last night, and anxious and killing time for an update acted too soon in making a post. All is resolved, and Alan is going to his conference as planned. That's a bit of a relief. I suppose with everything happening in my own life (and to my own body), I am a little more trigger happy when it comes to health issues than is sound. I'm sorry for the invasion of his privacy also, although I hope that it is mitigated by the facts that few people read my blog anyway, and out of my concern for him.

I did find out from my ortho doctor that the hoe physical therapist that was assigned to me, you know, the cheerful one, had been giuving me exercises to do which were totally inappropriate and indeed detrimental soon after the first surgery. At least the home visit nurses, while useless, did no harm. I suppose I'm like the rest of us to a point. We're programmed to believe in medical professionals. At the same time, we all watch the medical nighttime dramas dealing with flawed medical care or mis-diagnoses, eyc. Yet still, and believe me I watch all these dramas. It never even occurrs to me to ask for a second opinion. I mean truly, this last pronouncement of what they wanted to do, all I said was, "Well if it needs to be done."

He could just have well as said, "We need to replace this whole section with the upper A-arm assembly from an AMC Gremlin," and I would have said the same thing, "Well if you think that's best." It seems like when you're in the doctor's office or the Hospital your balls just dissapear. You say something like, "I'm worried about the pain when I.." and you're quickly treated with something like, "Of that's natural, just take some Alleve." And you accept it. I have so many 20-20 hindshight conversations in my head after having spoken to the doctor that I think I should bring my laptop, go back to the waiting room. Talk with my fingers, and then have them print it out for the doctor, or e-mail it to them directly. Does anyone else ever feel like that?

They (the hallowed professionals) tell me it is safe to get the scar wet now, so I am going to have myself as luxourious a shower you can have sitting in a mesh patio chair. I'm going to try and trim my beard and cut off most of my hair also. I've normally kept it between an inch and half-inch in length for years now, but it's about six inches long now and mangy looking. Accordingly, every morning I look like Albert Einstein. I think before I go back in for three or four days next week, with no shower or personal grooming options available, I'm just going to buzz everyting.

I was actually able to make dinner agian tonight. That makes two nights in a row! Hooray for me. I wish I had put more planning into my menu though. Draining a large stock pot full of water and pasta with only one hand is a feat, and one I could see ending in countless disasters, but I managed. I was actually able to eat a few of the stuffed raviollis and haven't thrown them up yet. Another big, attaboy for me.

We (Ter and I) are hoping to take a drive this weekend to take some pictures. Me from out of the car window, of course, having one hand immobilized by Mr. Sling, and the other gripping Mr. Quad-Cane, does not leave me with many hands to hold the camera.Still it's been well over a month since I've been outside the house, and a change of scenery would be pleasant.

That's it from the ether for now. My best to all.

Here we go again

Anyone who is a reader of this blog knows of my friend, Alan. He is set to leave this weekend for Cincinati for an acadeamic type of conference/school test score review thing that takes him away from home for about three weeks each year. Being the responsible adult that he is, he has his tickets paid for, travel arrangements made and airport shuttle all paid for in advance.

As anybody who knows me will also be aware, "can you top this," is my disfunctional family sport. Well aparently Alan wants to play also. Alan has been having trouble lately with for what in all intents and purposes diagnosees like sciattica, and has been being treated with steroids, painkillers, and the like. As a part of this, they require regular blood testing, which they did earlier this afternoon.

Alan got a call from the Hospital at about 8:00 this evening requesting his presence immediately, and they told him to pack a bag. He called me from the car as he was driving to the hospital. Apparently, when your white blood cell count drops to 3,500 it is time to immediately seek a doctor. His was 192.

I did some looking on the net, and I can't find any cause of this which is not, to use the technical term, pretty-fucked. I am hoping it's a false reading becuase of the anti-biotics and such that he's been on the last week. It probably is, but this is really going to alter his plans if it's not. He hasn't missed one of these conferences in ten years; he's got some standing there and a bit of a 'rep. Worse, since he's on Kaiser, we can't even share a room.I've always gotten a private room when I stayed at Palomar, but since my insurance wants me at Tri-City, that's where I have to go now. I was just fanticising that if I have to share a room with someone, who better than your oldest living friend?

Well anyway, I'm sitting here now awaiting a phone call and an update. Can't do much until we know more, but Alan did not sound happy when we spoke. This is not a phone call you expect in the evening, and it shook him for a loop. Believe it or not, the guy that called him was Dr. Holdcock (I swear I could not make this up). I ask you, how did he avoid Urology? This is like the very old joke about the oby/gyn named Seymore Snatch. I would think certain names bring about a cosmic enevitability. But I digress.

This is not a good time for him to be drastically ill. True, the fall semester does not start until August, but his mom is nearly blind, diabetic, can not drive, and his presence as a caregiver is rather needed. I don't blame him for being frightened, I'm scared for him also.

I'll try and update after I get more news.

Worried from the ether.

Just plinking the plastics

That's kind of like tickling the ivories, isn't it?  Nothing huge to report, but while I still can, I figured I'd best keep the momentum up until I have to take ny next break. I got kind of a break in the timing of my next surgery. So it looks like next week instead of this one as I has expected. They have to do some set up, and what with a Holiday weekend coming up, apparently they are trying to keep non-essential things on hold, expecting a Holiday rush of emergency patients so that want some free bed space. There were myriad other reasons, like having to find my new prosthetic implant on E-Bay or something, and the surgeons and staff selfishly planning thier own Hoiday weekends, but it's o.k. with me. My situation is not going to change much and a week will give me more time to set up  with having clean clothes, etc., and picking out the DVD's to bring with me. One good thing, the short story that I wrote for Terri awhile back is well over a hundred pages now, and I should have plenty of time to write while stuck in bed. I think I'm getting the whole experience down now.

Had a humorous moment this morning. I had been awake most of the night, and as I have taken to sleeping on the sofa, Terri's getting ready for work would wake me even were I asleep, so I laid back down with a book and nodded off for a couple of hours. Good plan, except that I hadn't been advised that our beloved Homeowner's Association had scheduled one of the semi-whenever-we-feel-like-it in home termite inspections for today. I got up, wearing only a pair of shorts and my new best friend, Mr. Sling, grabbed my cane, and hobbled to the door. The cats go apeshit when the bells go off, which helps, particularly when it is rung repeatedly.

I was none too pleased to see them, but what the hell, if I said go away, they'd just come back. After stomping around the house, opening every cabinet door, and generally "casing" the place. The youngest one was using his flashlight on my electronic gear for what? Do we have a new breed of high end audio/video termites now? And checking out my DVD collection? His boss, who was also his dad apparently as I learned from later conversation, sent him back outside to check the patio. They were pleasant enough, but I love the fact that the HOA can pretty much invite total strangers inside your house whenever they get a wild hair up their ass.

As much as I love Mr. Sling (he's like a part of me), I'm finding our realtionship a trying one. Blowing your nose one handedly, for instance, which only redistributes your snot into your mustache, opening jars or bottles, using toilet paper for it's intended purpose, even using q-tips on your ears, all these things are so much easier with the extra limb. I suppose I'll get used to it in time. Hell, I got used to having to sit to take showers. I'm developing some really fine ass muscles. You stick the soap bar between your cheeks and see how far you can shoot it out the other side. I'm going to start marking on the shower tiles to chart my progress. Do you suppose there is a Guiness Record category for this? How about cleanest patio chair?

Oh well, that's it for tonight I think, Good night from the ether all.

More Dr. Drama

Got to the Dr.s this morning for my appt. For reasons unknown to me, the appointment was for 9:30 a.m. Kind of a bummer time for me, But after much prompting by Terri, we left the house around 8:00 to travel the 12 miles to Vista. Turned out it was a good thing though, as Terri had painstakingly google maped our journey but had entered the wrong address. We still made it in time though,

They took x-rays of my shoulder, which were very entertaining for me to look at, Imagine this. You're the proud father of two little boys, matbe six and seven, and they see you working on a project in the garage and want to help, so you humor them and give them each a hammer and set a plank of 1x4 wood in front of them, and a whole bunch of nails for them to hammer in inexpertly from all angles.

That is exactlty what ny shoulder looks like. I was tired, having nausea, which has been my current state, and just wanted them to remove the staples so I could return to my church, "Our Lady of Sacred Sofa," and quietly pray. We did have to wait for a few moments for the ortho surgeon to review the x-rays. Then it started to get fun. The plate and screws are holding, but the shoulder on the whole is collapsing in on itself, and an implanted prosthetic joint is going to have to be put in. Oh joy. Another four or so day 'spa retreat.'

On the good side he warned me that this one will really hurt, and the recovery time is measured in years, not months. The thing that kind of yanks my chain, is that it was implied that this was going to eventually be necessary. So why cut me open twice? You could have just put in the prosthetic in the first place. Now, other than looking like a junkie from all the IV's and such, The enitre upper quadrant of my left torso is going to look like a street map of London.

Don't know when this is going down yet, but I expect sometime this week.The Dr. needs to check for OR avaiability and all that crap, and they'll have to get a size that fit's me from 'Shoulders 'R' Us." But it seems like they want to move on this as fast as possible. Take that, evil health care insurance provider, you've met your match. "Invalid Man" is on the job, along with his trusty side-kick and driver, "Question Girl."  We're taking you down. This should bring my 13 month total of hospital bills to nearly a quarter million. And who said I'd never make anything out of myself.

I did list myself at the last surgery as an organ donor in case something wonky happened with the anesthesia, or whatever. The admitting nurse and I had a good laugh. I'm borderline renal failure, so my kidneys are not a good choice, and then there's my liver...we had a huge laugh over that one. I do have one lung which isn't yet diseased though, and an iffy heart which had to be repaired when I was fifteen due to a congenital defect. We laughed some more. But she did thank me sincerely though, saying that skin, corneas, and other such harvestable things are always welcome. Maybe my genitals will end up on a fifteen year old victim of an unfortunate accident who will give them some use after a decade and a half of somnambulence. That would make me happy.

So anyway, now I'm just waiting on the 'when and where' call to help finish this month in a memorable fashion. I'll probably get that tomorrow. I really should be doing some laundry, you know, comfy shorts to wear under the the hospital gown which leaves little in way of privacy, and button shirts. Most of what I have are pull overs, and when you look at the logistics of this, those are just right out. probably be wisest all around to just wash sheets and wear togas.

So, more Spring cheer from the ether.

Dr.'s appt tomorrow, oh boy!

Early morning appointment with the ortho-surgeon tomorrow morning. They're going to be taking out about 45 surgical staples, which I am told by the visiting home nurse, they do with pliers. Does this sound like something to look forward too? Just curious. I'm getting tired of the whole injury thing. I'd normally say if it doesn't work, and I can't use it anyway, just cut it off, but there goes my dick too by that logic. I guess even though it hurts, it does help fill out a shirt. As for the other appendage, it helps keeps my pants up, I suppose.

I have honestly been so less than useless the past couple of weeks. Not just the lack of energy, although that is certainly a factor. but there is almost no movement which does not cause the pain to increase. I wish I had my friend Alan's low tolerance for pain medication. He's on oxycontin right now, and his instructions for use were pretty much the same as mine. 1-2 every four hours. He took one and was alseep for ten hours. I take two with vodka, and watch the clock. If there was ever a good time to be a lightweight, this would be it.

Don't have too much else to report on which would not just be a further complaint so I'll spare you.

My best, which ain't much, from the ether.

Thursday, thursday

Had a non-com afternoon yesterday. By that I do not mean I did a non-commissioned officer. Non-com in my lexicon means not comedic. Missed my Dr's. appointment which Terri had stayed home from work to take me, and then the fun stuff started. Seriously not a good day. I'm going to have to replace my bandages again this morning. All of the activity yesterday seems to have sprung a leak. Another shirt down the toilet, but hey, I could never afford any expensive clothes anyway.

My seriously cheerful therapist dropped by eary afternoon yesterday, as I was about to assemble the courage to get into the shower. I love the fact that he just drops by when he's in the area. Phone? What's a phone? You mean there is a device which allows you to talk to someone before you see them face to face? How extraordinary. I thought door bells were the ultimate answer, but now this new and astonishing device. Imagine telling someone that you'll be dropping by ahead of time. Can this be so?

You catch my drift. I like the guy, and except for his insanely cheerful surprise appearances, we'd have little trouble. It's true that every new exercise or routine hurts in new ways, but that is to be expected. When you put in new plumbing, for instance, you have to flush to make sure it's working properly. I have seriously come to the conclusion that I would make a perfect political prisoner. I don't eat, and am used to torture. I really love the, again cheerful tone of voice, "This hurt's doesn't it?" when we try and test my range of movement.

So now on to a new appointment to get the staples pulled from my arm. That's on Monday, I think. Can't wait to see how that is going to be arranged. There is rather seriously no way that I can drive the van. Shit, I wouldn't give me odds on being able to drive my old Buick now. With auto and power everything.

Am suspecting a full feldged hissy fit by this afternoon. No cigarettes anywhere in the house, and no way to go and get any. I realize I can do this, I just recently spent four days in the hospital where they don't exactly encourage such behavior, and didn't turn into an axe murderer. Oh, all right, there was that one 'iffy' moment.
It's just that I've been doing all the behaviors where you generally light up. I think it is easier when you get a shock to the system like being put away, because you have no habits as triggers.

Heaven's I'm just rambling now, aren't I. Take care all, my best from the ether.

And so it goes

It's late here to a point. Hard to tell for me anymore. When you can only sleep an hour or so at a time, you forget when you are pretty often. I Hav done my physical therapy for the day, and I feel relieved that it is over. Sometimes, like when it's time for the kids to start screaming at me that it is time to be fed, I will forget that I don't have a left arm for awile. and get to have lot's of embarrassing moments, when I am tryimg to do a simple task I have done hundreds, if not thousands of times before, I will get a surprise.

I'm going into the ortho surgeon tomorrow and then again this weekend to get the surgical staples out. I am SO hoping they are going to deaden this area first. I ddn't have much choice when they did the chest tubes, that was trauma surgery, but a little planing ahead when they do this one would be nice. The incision goes from pretty well from the base of my neck to my elbow, so I look ready to take on a Lionel Train. For the people who didn't get my eventual e-mail, I will re-cap a bit.

People, and health care worker's you can bet, have asked me how I managed to do this. Really, I wish I knew. All I  know was going into the E.R. for a heart attack and then being informed that I would need surgery a.s.a.p. om my arm. Apparently that was cauing the arythmia. I had apparently shattered, they actually used the word pulverized. my entire shoulder socket and it's connecting bones. So call me Steve Austin. "We have the tools, we have the technology," we can rebuild him.

Had kind of a rough day today. I think all the mixed pain killers on an empty stomach are making me a little more prone to nausea than I am used to. Somehow I don't think I'm going to get with a corporate sponsor like Jenny Craig though, even though I am losing weight hand over fist. Why spend $800 dollars on counseling and a diet pan, when for $40 I can have someone visit you with a baseball bat and accomplish the same goals? There goes the entire infomertial, although I would be happy to appear. Do you know they won't give you your x-rays or even copies? I think this is unfair. I love black and white prints.

My home health care nurse, who seemed a young, kind of hip type guy, doesn't catch my jokes. He had something written on his plam, and didn't catch my Sarah Palin reference.  And my cheerful physical therapist doesn't understand me either. My physical therapist was so stricken that I had a large rack of vinyl in my stereo rack. that he proceeded to tell me of how he admired the ancient ones. You know, the people I grew up with. He asked how I'd gotten all these off e-bay or something. If you want to feel old, I highly recommend this guy. I ask you, If your home health care workers don't understand you. is it reason to have an affair? This gives me all sorts of cripple jokes of a sexual nature. Don't worry, I'm not going down that path yet. I'm just tired and hurting, and my humor, while never celestial as it were, is even a bit more course than usual. I have months of this to look forward to, and I'll still never get back what I had. Sometimes that still sneaks up on my ass.

Nonetheless, as long as I sill have one middle finger to type, I can also communicate. What luck is that?

Flipping from the ether.

Yes, Yes, I know

It's been awhile, yes? There are myriad reasons for this. Let's start with the easiest. It is tremendously difficult to type one handed. I am genereally right handed, so the loss of my left arm could be worse than it is, but who knew that was the arm that new how to spell? Actually, it has apparently been so long that I had to jump through hoops just to log back on to this account. If you shut up for a couple of weeks, they call it suspicious activity, and you have to reenter with a new password and get a text message with a secret code, and it's all really very tiring. I'm reasonably certain that I have not been engaged in suspicious activity, but the again, I have new pain pills now, so who knows what Pais Hilton and I have been doing. I've been on the percosett and norco railway for awhile now. The visiting home health care nurse asked me if the pain pills were helping. I must say, either they've forgotten how to ask intelligent qyestions, or I've forgotten how to answer them. Are your pain pills working? Come on guys. Let's do some empirical study here. I stop taking them so I can answer? That falls under the not bloody likely category.

I'm going back to the orthpaedic surgeon again on Thursday afternoon. and then again this weekend to have my surgical staples removed. I counted them breifly when I was getting my dressing last changed and I think it's going to be an Office Depot type of afternoon. I don't know what type of staple remover they use, I generally only get sutures, but I have this concept in my mind of them coming in with a pair of staple removers and just having a go. It has the same musical soundtrack as the movie "Jaws."  I have a physical therapist also who comes to visit every other day or so. He is relentlessly cheerful. I know it is supposed to hurt, and this is not the first time I've been through the recovery process, but maybe I'm just getting too old for it any more. There must be some rational form of physical therapy where instead of making the pain greater, you simply curl into a fetal position and then merge from a cocoon months later with the use of your limbs back. No? There's not? Bummer.

I have yet to convince my home health care persons that I can use big words, or understand them. So my physical therapist, in an effort to head straight for the lowest common denominator, has drawn me pictures of the exercises I should be doing, rather than just write them out. Truthfully, and I'm not kidding here, why just say practice turning your wrist left and right to it's fullest extension when you draw a picture intead? One of my favorites are the ones of the stick picture drawings where he has included little bubble heads on the stick figure drawings, and he shows unhappy faces to go along with the happy faces. I get a big unhappy bubble head face on a lot of the exercises. Does this mean it will hurt? Ouch, so right you are. I am convinced that these are also mental healtth professionals on their days off. The major difference being with the old Marx Brothers joke, does it hurt when you do this? Then don't do it. In this case it's more like 'Boy that hurts like a son of a bitch doesn't it?' I'm going to need you to do that at least thirty times, three tmes a day. See? I've put an unhappy face here, so you can tell which exercises are going to hurt the most. This one? Oh that one has an unhappy face with a tear on it's cheek. You're really going to hate that one.

I keep getting new estimates of when I may have the use of my torso back again. Weeks to months, and now we're getting perilously close to seasons.  It is quite possible, if I'm a good boy, and do all the things that have an unhappy face on the drawings thirty times a day, I might be able to use my quad-cane to get out of the car and form a snowball on Mt. Palmoar come winter. I won't be able to throw it, of course, but I might be able to make one. I won't be able to do a proper snow angel though. With a possible 60% range of motion to hope for, I'll be one of those angels who can only make left turns.Good luck on me though. The only vehicle I have left for use is Terri's van, which being a manual shift, is about as usless as rubbing a vase and hoping a gennie will appear, so there's little chance I will face challenges like these often.

I don't generally get out of the house much anyway, so that's no real problem. On Dr.s appointments and such though, I do get this wild hair up my ass that it would be nice to be clean. But when I do attempt cleanliness, I am constantly accused of deliberately wetting down my wounds. Makes one wish for the old days when you had a team of bath slaves whose only mission in life was to wash and rinse a specific part of you. For the rest of us poor schmucks, there is no way to get clean without water touching your torso. Seriously, try it sometime.

I can't wait for next opportinity to be surprised by having to catch a plane now.  Having a fake knee you can generally get away with, but there's no way this much metal is not going to sound alarms. Air travel will be like living in Arizona, I fear, and I will have to take my entire medical papers with me where ever I go. Thank heavens I have a certified original birth certificate, although that doesn't seem to carry as much weight as it used to.

I will try and keep up a bit more regularly, if for no other reason, not to have to jump through hoops due to inactivity on the site, and have to go through text messaging and setting up a new password, which I will probably forget anyway.

Yours, in pain, from the ether.