Still Not Home

I talked a nurse into weighing me by piggybacking on another resident's trip to the weight room.  I am off the iv, and the head of nurses came in yesterday and removed the stand.  I was glad to see it go, but a bit concerned, as I was not weighed as part of the decision making process.  The time before that, I was 205.8, up from 204.5.  Today, I  was 202.8.
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Tempest in a Teapot

After the first week here at the Osage Rehab, some of the aides helped me change my bed around.

When I first got here, the head of my bed was in the corner.  Half of the room was behind me.  People passing in the hall could see most of me, but I had no clue anyone was there if they were quiet.

Before they moved me from the gurney to bed, I had them swap my head for my feet, which threw off the bed control.  When I wanted my head raised, I pushed the foot icon.

Somebody complained (not to me).

One wall had a light with three settings, the width of a hospital bed.  Looking at a beige wall 24/7 is soooo energizing!  Some of the younger girls helped me reposition the bed under the reading light.

The professional gripers began showing up, furious that I had rearranged the room.  More people arrived, and all were shouting at others.  Finally, I woke up my Marine drill sergeant bellow.  "Quiet!"

"Since I am the only person who will be here 23/7, my opinion is the only one that counts.  Without people like me, you people would not have jobs here."

Long Time Gone

I should have gone to the doctor's office back in November when my first symptoms appeared, but my youngest sister, who used to be a nurse, talked some very good logic and allied my fears.

Before I got to the scheduled mouth to groin look-see surgery, my body just gave out.  I wear one of  those lifeline buttons around my  neck, but, seriously, I never thought I'd actually USE it.  I wore it mostly for mom.  Since I live alone,  as she was at that time in her life, and it only ran $35.00 a month, it was worth it to keep the peace.  Her next comment, instead of being the praise I'd expected to hear, was a snide "Mine only costs $25 a month."  The company claims that, since I live so far from town, they had to charge more.  Everything they've ever sent me came by US mail.

Several of my "horsey" friends found me after going to great lengths, and, of course, family and friends.  I did not tell anyone…I could not…I was in a coma.  The tail end of that arrived May 5th, when I could (after uncomfortably long pauses between words) answer, mostly nonsensically.

I'd start to explain what happened, but couldn't keep events in sequence, much less finish a thought.  When my think time took too long, a less taxing question was posed.

Sample: (Nurse, doctor, friend, family) "What's your name?"

Looonnngg wait.

"Is your name Sandra?"  

Onward and Upward

Yesterday, I made a +.2 tenths of a pound gain.  This morning, I was + 1.2.  Changing ONE THING at a time...

The result was painful.  Tomorrow, I'll learn if no pain/no gain is part of this condition...

(no subject)

I weighed 196.8 this morning, down another .8#, down 1# yesterday, and spent two days at 199.6, my only stable weight day since the colonoscopy.  I take a prednisone tablet night and morning until I get to the GI specialist in Ottumwa on Thursday.  The pain in the lower GI tract has stabilized on the right side, about 2-3" up, on down to my anus.  Some spotting, but no blood-filled stool like happened two days after the colonoscopy and instigated an emergency room visit.

Yesterday, I added a pudding cup of tapioca, but fed the last half to the outdoor cats, who were suspicious of it at first, but I sprinkled some blobs on top of the Special Kitty outdoor cat mix, then left the rest of the cup.  This morning, they’d gotten all but the 1/4” outer ring of recessed material from it.  Chicken breast boneless/skinless chunks with 1/3 Giorgio’s mushroom stems and pieces continues to be a good fit.

I’ve decided my next book title (glommed from my copious notes on med consumption, intake/output results, changing only one food at a time, keeping intricate, annotated records; My body is sending practically NO signals (like go urinate, push to expel…)  will be THE COMPLETE POOP SCOOP.  Sure to be a winner, right?

Colonoscopy DONE

The dread colonoscopy is done.  I have “irritated bowl” syndrome so severe that he only went up a little way, as from there on up, it was too torn up to safely pass the scope.  He took biopsies, and in a week, we’ll get the results.  He thinks it is ulcerative colitis or Crohn’s disease, but we won’t know for sure until the results come back.  The good news is that there should be medicine eventually.  (More blood tests next week, then…)

My sister LBHH's reaction: Good.  Not cancer.
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Braggin' Rights

Found on the Web site of a local farm seed/fertilizer business who WOULD NOT BILL ME for seed/fertilizer because I was NOT A CUSTOMER.

MFA Agri Services ... Corydon is located in South Central Iowa in Wayne County. We are a small city of 1585 persons, the largest of 9 cities in the county.

Now, that’s what passes locally for braggin’ rights.

RC, the man from Allerton who does my hay, called me yesterday after placing a $3000.+ order for fertilizer/seed with them for 40 acres on my farm.

When I called this morning and asked if I could mail them a check, the fellow, sounding perfectly friendly, put me on hold, came back on the line and said, “Rick [the farmer haying my ground] evidently took both the copies for my order."  He then got my number and will call me back later today.

Worded Just Right

Sometimes I'll be reading along and hit something an author has worded just right to explain something true to me, but that I never thought to put into words, or did a clumsier job of writing.

Reading along in Renegade's Pride: A Cahill Ranch Novel by B. J. Daniels, I hit just such an idea on page 87.  Two workers in a hair dressing shop suddenly find themselves alone unexpectedly, their appointments late/no show.

"Mine's late, too," Daisy said.  "Maybe there's a traffic jam."  They both chuckled at that, since they didn't even have one stoplight in town and most people felt stop signs were just suggestions.

Nailed it.  When I see a car going south at the same time as one going north, or one about to turn out onto the road as I pass, (even if it is a tractor), I am fond of saying/thinking "traffic jam".  Seeing/being part of a threesome = rush hour.

 I've also noted a potentially unhealthy tendency to pull out to the mail box, expecting oncoming traffic to be able to swing wide if my vehicle doesn't quite fit before the paving begins.