Not Feeling so good

today has been weird, health wise. Woke up groggy, when I finally woke up. Blood pressure pretty low on first two readings -- needs to be watched. Lowering bp was why they first adjusted the first diuretics dosages, and this may be (or may not) a repeat of that. It did come up and stay up once I was up and moving around a bit.
My sugar is higher than I'm used to, too, My metabolism is seriously out of sync. I can feel that every day. Watch the numbers, watch the numbers. (Now, my numbers aren't all that bad -- one of my sisters would like to have my numbers, and her doctor would congratulate her if she did -- but they are running high for me, for the most part since just before I went to dr last week.)
I already have two more dr appointments set up regarding these changes, and everyone should be on the same page. one never knows for sure about communication on the other side.
Anyway, I'm off to write on one of my four stories, at least, and maybe all four of them until I fall both asleep and out of my chair. Actually, there's only three Works in Progress -- number four is an idea that is just beginning to germinate. I do wish it wouldn't, at least until the others have blossomed a little more (and maybe the one 'out there' begins to bear fruit) But, hey, it's spring. And Spring is all about germinating and growth that leads to blooming and bearing, so I guess I can't complain too much. Not justifiably, anyway.
So that's me for today.
Hope everyone else is doing even better

                                                                                               

                                                            

I'm back -- I hope.

Apologies for yet another break.
I'm sorry.
Every day I have every intention to keep up with this and my other blogs, but then somehow I just lack the oomph to actually do it. I don't know what the problem is, except that it is within me. I dom't know if it's physical -- aches and pains and sneezes and hunger, or if it's psycological, or what. Just sometimes I. Just. Can't.

I'm hoping to push myself past that, especially as the year ends; as the season of darkness ends; as light creeps into our days I am hoping thast energy will creep into my backbone, brains and fingers. 
So that I can and will actually write.

Oh I write all the time -- in my head. Balancing sentences, constructing paragraphs, choosing words for their precision and their clarity.
I am never not writing.
In my head.

That doesn't get the job done, though, does it?

I'm not big on New Year resolutions, but I am big on trying again. I should be -- I do it often enough. Plenty of experience at it.

And so, I will once again try to apply myself. Try to be a "good steward" of the "talents" I have been given. 

Sick and Sad

I finally got a job, started it, was doing well enough to be offered extra hours and -- after I accepted the etra hours, I got sick. I went to the Emergency Room and got medicines and went back to work for those extra hour days.
Not the best plan, but I had said I would do it, so I did it.
But by the time the time was done, I was dragging, and went to the doctor.
Who put me off work for the next five days.

Who gets sick like that? Babies? Old people?
I am neither, although I often feel very, very old.
Being widowed, losing my caretaker role, being unemployed (maybe unemployable) are all aging factors.

Being free of caretaking, being employed, I hope will be freeing. Will restore some youth, some joy, some energy.

So, I got sick.
Boo!

Seems to be a family thing going on. A curse upon our house, or something bad written in the heavens. A  curse upon us!

One sister had bleeding issues back at Thanksgiving and ended up with a hysterectomy in April.
She is doing much better these days -- even has energy to take walks for fun.

Another sister, more recently, fell and hurt her back. It has just come to light that she actually broke a bone in her back. She's still walking and stuff, although it's been painful for her -- but the broken bone isn't even the cause of her pain and discomfort!
She is, ever so slowly getting better.

Bronchitis, even the ever-lasting kind, looks like a walk in the park (for fun) after those experiences.

I'll get better, too.

After all, it's in the stars.

Hopeless; Helpless; this cannot be me

I have been making my way through the world for a very long time. Sometimes successfully, sometimes not so much. But every day led me into a tomorrow and any time there were changes, I was there, doing my best to make the changes be the ones I wanted.
Or at least to go in a direction that somehow resembled something I wanted or could hope t turn into what I wanted.

It didn't bother me too much when I didn't find work right away when I first lost my job, three years ago this month. Oh, I still put in applications on a regular basis, even had a couple of interviews. No job.

No job, but I had plenty of work to do at home. Rex was getting sicker, and needed me there. The truth of this was borne out when he ended up in the hospital in February. When he came out, Tammy had moved out, Tracy was gone, and it was just the two of us, and we began the journey of returning him to reasonable health, and we had enough for the two of us.

With his medicines and all the changes, it was not enough for a while, and then I got a handle on it again.
And we were good.

Time and more changes, and Rex would get a little more sick and recover to a point of a little less well.
But he was here for me and I for him.

My computer crashed, was replaced, the newer one crashed. And was replaced. We lost Internet service and re-established a connection.

Tracy came back , left again, returned again. Tammy did well, had troubles, recovered and slipped again, but maintained her home. Tammy had another baby.

And the baby was born, and Tracy was here, and once every couple of weeks I would fill out job applications, and no one was interested in hiring me. That was okay, because we were getting by and spending time together.
It was all we could do and we did it.

And then he died, and the whole world stopped.
The income stopped, but the bills did not.
The presence stopped, but life didn't.

I have filled out job applications  at least twice a week. Most places do not take paper in person applications anymore, which works out well when you can't afford to buy gas to go from place to place.

I've never had so much trouble trying to get a job.

And I don't know what else to do.
I just don't.
What else is there? If you have any ideas, please let me know.

I am not helpless. I CAN work; I WILL work.
But someone needs to hire me.

I'm not helpless, but hope is dwindling fast.
Nothing in my life is as it should be.
Nothing.

And I don't know what to do.
Or how to do more.

This cannot be me.
I do not give in to circumstance.
I learn to work with it.

I CAN learn to work with it; I WILL learn to work with it.

Hopeless; helpless; This cannot be me. This will not be me.

Dying to Live, or Living to Die

I wonder if anyone of you realize how fast the end of this disease (COPD) can come upon you.
My husband went to hospital with pneumonia and an exacerbation because of it. He got worse, got better, got worse, got better. Then he tried to sit up unassisted in the bed and the doctor is saying, "This is end stage. Do you want kept alive by machine and stuck in a nursing facility, or not?" And, before we could even take that in, he crashed again and the goal was to keep him alive until his daughters came.
Of course, he lingered after that, even so still reluctant to leave us.

The point is, it all happened too quickly. We knew it would come, someday, and some day soon, and had discussed things in general -- health care directives and funeral 'plans' and such.
I urge you to get specific.
Do not make your loved one have to make the decision in the space of a few minutes or a couple hours.
Talk to your doctor about how it ends.
Talk to your family about how you want to end, and where.
Write it down somewhere.

Then go back to your business of living every day and enjoying every breath you take while you are taking it.

We all know that death is waiting for us. Those with chronic illnesses such as this know it more than the general population does. We know that we can have choices to make and there are choices our loved ones will have to make.
But do we want to put the burden of our decisions on their shoulders?

Know what you want, exactly, precisely.
Tell them what you want.
And now that this business of dying has been settled, go back to living.
.
Thoughtfully.
Gratefully.
Fully.

Benefit Bafflement.

Got new letters today from the Department of Jobs (hahaha) and Family Services today. I thought it would be about cutting food benefits, since that has been big in the news lately.
I  was wrong. We get a ten dollar increase.
How did that happen?

Rex also got a letter from the same place. He gets other/different benefits because of his disabilty, so he occasionally gets his very own letters. He's the only one in the family with any type of medical coverage.
His letter says that they denied his Qualified Medical Beneficiary application. The reason given is that his income exceeds the program eligibility standards.

Now, the QMB has been covering the cost of his Medicare payments, and his drug program. (Medicare parts B and D). The cost for the Part B was in excess of $100 a month. We don't know about Part D, because he never had that before we had to go for help after I lost my job.

So, I go online to see if I'm correct about the QMB being that program, and find that yes, I am right. It is that program. Okay, so that means $100 less per month.
That must be why we get $10 more in food benefits!

But I read on, on the website/page that explains all this and the page clearly states that  the income level for him to qualify is @ $200 more than he gets.
So -- what the hell is going on?

It's after business hours today, so there's no finding out anything.

But it makes no sense to me.
Did someone have a bad day?
Did someone make a mistake?


Oh, and about my other problem I had with Medicare Part B -- I got a letter Saturday that explained they would only pay once a month for the drugs, no matter what the prescribed dosage, etc. Now they tell us, after we'd figured it out and resolved the issue.

On the whole, it is what it is. We can live (survive) on less money. We can manage with no health coverage. We can pay his insurances because he does need/use/benefit from them regularly. Nothing financial is fatal, although the health care issues could be. Any help we are grateful for.

But I really think there should be more explanation than what was given.

Stay tuned for the next dramatic act in "If it's Not One Thing, It's Another," a/k/a My Life.

Fading Out

Rex is down to 84 pounds. He is better but not doing as well as the doctor thinks he should be, and has given him a prescription for prednisone. He told Rex about all the drawbacks with the daily prednisone. the most concerning is that it can cause osteoporosis. Rex already has severe osteoporosis. Oh, yay, Rex gets to choose between working bones or working lungs, when neither is working as it is, and never will work correctly ever again. At least the prednisone gives him a little bit of an appetite.

And Tracy tells him to "Get well." Like that is ever going to happen.
And she starts yelling at me when I tell her so.
Why?
Because she doesn't want to think about it.
I guess I do. It's my favorite reflection, I guess. How much more miserable he will get, how much frailer he will become, etc.
I'm already watching him disappear, one pound at a time. If he stays at a pound a month, that's 85 months before he disappears completely. @ 8 years. Of course he will be gone long before 0 pounds.
I wish I could go first, but then no one would take care of him.
Why not?
Because they don't want to think about it.

Smoother Sailing

Babies have gone home, heart-breakingly early, but for the best. Best for them, best for me, best for where we all are in this crazy life.

Supposed to be taking my ailing daughter to the hospital to apply for their financial assistance program so she can get her gall bladder out before it kills all of us. She hasn't wakened yet -- sleep is a  healer and a small cessation of pain.
Anybody wanna bet the first thing she says will be "Why didn't you get me up?"

I could, of course. Make her start hurting again, make her NOT have to take responsibility for her own needs, for her own health care.
I think not. She needs to learn independence, something that she has somehow failed to learn.
She also needs to make her own medical decisions, because that is the law of the land.

Did she not learn, or was she not taught? I've thought often about this and have no definitive answer. Not teaching would be my failure; not learning would be hers.
It doesn't matter, anyway. That's in the past, and we -- I -- must go on from here and keep trying to get those lessons across.

Not easy, with her daddy's nurturing helpful dispensing of the knowledge that "Your mom knows how to do that."
I learned by doing, as everyone must.

Dad has an appointment with his pulmonologist this week. We have questions about headaches and a tickle in his throat.
Anybody wanna bet I'll end up being the one who asks the doctor about these issues, because he won't speak up? (I'm going to try, if I must, just reminding Rex he wants to ask about these things.)

This issue annoys me because it makes me sound like a bossy managing dictator, and not in a good way.

Yes, I'm bossy. I'm the oldest of eight, and I know no one in that situation who isn't bossy. It's part of the job description of oldest child ( of a multitude.)

Yes, I'm managing. Someone has to take care of things.

A dictator? Possibly at times. Waffling on decisions has to stop somewhere; decisions need to be made.

But I only look like one of those militant fat-ass Battleship Broad!

That said, I have had some sleep and feel capable. I hope that I can remain so, even when the sailing once again gets rough. As it will.
As I well know it will.

I'll be ready.
I hope.

At least, for a while, I'll be rested.

Mourning this Morning

Today I look around my house and the many things I see bring a deep sense of mourning to me.

The baby's playpen, bought four years ago for Hailey, now in use again for another sweet baby. Will I see him again in there? Will I be around to see him stand and peep over its side and laugh at me? Will I hear him say "Mammaw, Mammaw"?

Hailey's doll house that I just bought for her, furnished, at a yard sale. Last time she was here, she played for hours sitting in front of the TV, but not even paying attention to the programming. Will I be around to enjoy her enjoying what Mammaw got her?

No, I'm not ill, and I have no current plans to do away with myself.
I don't want to do away with myself, just the mishmash disappointed and never ending duties duties duties my life has become.

I don't mind taking care of my chronically ill husband. But why in hell won't he do his part to take care of himself? He is NOT bedridden.
Is it my fault? Have I taken such good care of him that he no longer takes any responsibility for his own well-being? Have I put up with so much, too much, and has my caretaking crippled him more than his multiple illnesses? Have I solved so many problems and fought so many battles for him that he no longer feels any need to solve or fight?

Something has to change here, and I'm afraid that it will, once again, be me.
However, I will try.

For the sake of the beautiful babies that light up both our lives. They need the refuge that grandparents' homes  can be -- every child needs that.
They need grandparents -- a Pappaw as well as a Mammaw.
Mammaw needs Pappaw, too.

Will she ever have those things again?
Will she ever enjoy those things again?
Will anyone else cherish or change things?

What to do if the answer is "NO!"?

I wish I knew.

Oh No! FAT!

There's an obesity epidemic in the western world! Our overfed under-motivated sedentary lives are making us all fat! What can we do? What shall we do?

First, panic, and run screaming to buy up every diet book you can find and of course the must have "Lazy Person's Way to Exercise Without Doing Anything."

When reading and eating three or four lo-cal cakes instead of one (real) cake doesn't work, we can then go online and sign up and join in on mailing lists, guide blogs, support groups, "Your Diet Plan", and sit a little longer in yet another chair.

Next, go to the doctor and get pills that will make sure you exercise because you will have to run every time you need to go to the bathroom -- and that will be often!

Watch television programs like "The Biggest Loser."
Or even the race and survival shows and smirk at those who fail at feats when you can't tie your own shoes without panting. Not to mention the way that race to the toilet leaves you gasping.

Or, better yet, why don't we all quit pointing at other people, quit blaming this or that, quit eating super-size when large is more than enough.

Let's put down the phones and tablets, turn off the television and the computer, and go outside. Take a walk around the yard. (Maybe even push a mower instead of riding one while sitting on our fat asses.) If we have time to do it on a machine, we have time to do it for real.

Throwing worry and money at the obesity problem will not solve it.
Giving money away to publishers, to pharmaceuticals, to doctors, to manufacturers will not help.
If walking uphill is your exercise of choice, you can probably find one to walk up. The cost is nothing, the benefir is priceless. And the only people the process enriches is you and your loved ones.

catching up

I've been busy this week. Like most weeks (or days, months, years)p, it's been a mixture of good and bad events, actions, and emotions
The bad concerns medicines -- prescriptions. Another time, I will post details about this battle. The writings I have done on the subject are more like rantings and I sound like a lunatic. Never mind that that's a good description -- I mean something different. But first we can't renew my husband's meds, and then it turns out I can't get mine, either. No one will say why. I don't have a problem with complying. Someone just needs to tell me exactly what I have to do to comply.

The good thing was being able to help my daughter. Supplied some of life's necessities while she is off work. I took her to the doctor. I took her to the store.I took her to the school to get Hailey enrolled in school. Hailey was mad when she wasn't allowed to stay at school.

Our new little man got to go for his first ride in Mammaw's red car. While we were in the store, I was pushing the cart and holding the baby. Tam came and rescued him from me, saying I couldn't do both. I had to laugh at her. I got him a bouncy seat that sometimes he likes and sometimes he doesn't.

Hailey came home with me from that day out, and immediately had me get out the calendar and show her when it would be library day and she could go home.
When she went home, she went all through her house and came running back to the front room crying. "My baby brudder is gone! He's gone!"Mommy and baby had gone out with a friend. It didn't bother her that Mommy was gone, but what heartbreak that baby brudder was missing!

Today I am again getting ready to go into battle, with doctor's offices ( foe me ) and government agencies ( for Rex ) and pharmacies and their assistants or techs. These people have been the most helpful to me in my quest, but they are powerless without orders.
Bolstered by Hailey hugs and baby brudders bounces, Mammaw is battle-ready again

Let us hope that this battle can be one, short of death.

Meth Madness

Once again, the Authorities are going overboard. A recent news story reported the confiscation of meth making materials from a home with small children. No one was arrested, no one was charged (yet), and the report included the information that  no apparatus for making meth was found.
The news story concluded with a picture of the (presumed) confiscated goods. A plastic bucket with a brush, some plastic or rubber gloves, and a whole bunch of cleaning supplies.

My brother remarked that they wouldn't have confiscated anything for a box of Nyquil and a bottle of Drano. Maybe, maybe not. Small town police departments have a way of deciding guilt first, then looking for proof.

Anyway, anyone can have a lot of any or many things, depending on how or where and when they shop.
We get one check a month -- not welfare, if it matters to you. So, I try to buy everything I need, or may need, at one time. This includes 2 boxes of mucinex-d type medicines and 2 boxes of Alka Seltzer Plus. Both are dr reccommended for my husband, who has COPD. He can take the mucus tablets 4 times a day if needed, but 2 x seems to keep that problem at bay. The alka-seltzer plus helps, as well as helping with hydration. But that's relatively unimportant.

 I also buy Thera-flu and Benadryl and sometimes generic children's dimetapp.
Plus I buy toilet bowl cleaner and occasionally Drano.

I'm not making meth -- I'm budgeting.

Other budgeting strategies include buying in bulk, especially at shopping clubs. One of my niece-in-laws has been an intense couponer, which also can result in buying in bulk.

Is she making meth? Am I making meth?

No, but apparently, if the authorities come into my home, or hers, we run the risk of having our responsible spending confiscated and our names going into public record for suspicious activity. Because we shop smart.

Law makers are once again responding to lawbreakers by making it more difficult for the law abiding to just live their lives.

Perhaps the popular definition of insanity should be legislated, and then --THEN -- someone will have the legal right to say That Does NOT work.

Soothing Saturday.

What a day this should be. It's cooled off outside -- I'm actually wearing a sweater. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, with fluffy white clouds. There's food in the fridge and the cabinets, and there's a busy little girl with her colors sprawled on my living room floor. She's the sunshine inside the house.

It's been a busy week, and a fairly normal one, I'd guess. A mixture of good and bad, a look at some beginnings and some endings. Scary stuff sometimes, those glimpses into the future.

The most fabulous and the most  frightening was Hailey's birthday party. She turned 4, and such a big girl. She had an "Urel' (Ariel) cake, with Sponge Bob and 'Packrit' added to it -- don't tell Disney, they'll sue us. She had a lot of grown up family there, and the one cousin that we can provide her. He's nearly twice her age at this point. She has another cousin, on the other side, but she's too little as yet for celebrating at a party. Hailey would have been glad to see her, though. She fell in love with that baby while they stayed at Hailey's house.Hailey is definitely wishing for a sibling. (What does a 4 year old know?)

Tam had thoughtfully had the party at a facility so her dad could attend. The August weather, in a good year, is hard for him to take. This year, with all the heat and humidity, it's been impossible.


And it very nearly killed him. Not from attending the party, but by leaving. We opened the door to the parking lot, and the parking lot had been baking in the sun all day and especially all evening while we were inside. It took his breath away.

I am being very literal, and I am not exaggerating. Sheer willpower kept that man on his feet to the car and once in the car, barking like a seal, he used his rescue inhaler and gestured for me to just DRIVE! I wanted to drive to the closest hospital, but he just kept waving for me to drive -- get the air moving, that's what he wanted.

It worked. After a couple miles, we pulled over and I hooked him up to his portable oxygen tank and he made it home and hasn't had too much trouble since, but it was a frightening portent of things to come.


A sad commentary on things that are, as well. We had been talking a bit about taking a trip in September or October. A weekend trip, one day going, one day coming back. We had discussed who might go with us (as alternate drivers), how he could use his nebulizer on the road, costs, etc. The nebulizer, we thought, would be the big issue.

It's not. He may have saved his travels "Later" until they've become "Too late." But that's okay.

I'll enjoy him as he is -- that's the best way to love anyone. I'll enjoy him, and our daughters, and our granddaughter and any siblings-for-her that will someday make an appearance.


To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose... .
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance...
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;


For now we choose to laugh, and dance (metaphorically speaking), and we both speak and keep silence together. The time will come for the other stuff, but for now --


For now,  we DANCE.

Fear of Phobia

I'm becoming, I'm afraid, a borderline agoraphobic.
No, I have become a borderline agoraphobic.
The becoming I'm worried about is the full blown phobia.

I don't think that will ever happen. I have too many chores and a granddaughter. That should be enough to keep me getting out on a fairly regular basis. And there are doctor's visits for my husband, and going to the pharmacy, and grocery shopping.

Those things should all keep me going, keep me out and about. I'm not so sure they will. Even if they do, I'm not sure that some of those things count. I don't enjoy them. I don't relish going to Walmart after prescriptions. I don't stop at this store or that and peek and poke and just enjoy myself, just enjoy getting out, even though God knows I rarely get alone time except in the car. Maybe alone time isn't really that important, anyway. I can always be alone inside myself. Inside my computer, or lost in a book. (That's not really alone, though. There are people in those books, and some of them are stupider than the ones in real life. Who'd've ever thought that was possible?)

In some ways, I feel I've been heading that way -- this way -- for all my life. I've never been able to easily or naturally speak to other people, sometimes not even those I know well. I have had my electricity and my water shut off because I was unable to make the telephone calls to make arrangements to pay. (Many years ago; not recently.)

But now I leave reluctantly. Not even my writers group holds the same interest for me, because my life has so changed. For a year I had limited contact with the real world.
I had no telephone and no internet. Because of Rex's hospitalization, and his doctor's and medicines, and having to pay other people gas money, the bills got way behind. So there was little talking with anyone, except when I needed something. That doesn't encourage socializing from either party involved. At least I didn't feel that it did. .

No car -- I had to get rides, or arrange rides, everywhere and anywhere. Few trips were worth the trouble. My writer friends were the ones with the most available help, but my sisters were always there also. The writers happen to live and work closer.
But even with their help, I was isolated and alone, and there's too much to handle alone, but I did it.



I did it all, from the safety net of my home.

I'm afraid, often. I'm afraid to leave because I worry about Rex getting sick or falling when I'm gone. Some nights I can't sleep, because I'm afraid I'll wake up and he won't be breathing. I'm afraid to drive anywhere, because what if I'm involved in an accident and get hurt? What will happen to Rex when someone else brings him that kind of news? Who will take care of him while I can't?
My God, what if I get crippled?
What will happen to Rex if I get killed?

Rex, bless his heart, encourages me to go to my group, and to go to family events, if he knows about them. I usually don't tell him, because he won't /can't go. And I don't want to leave him alone for hours at a time. All the what-ifs come alive when that happens.

I can't let this progress. It must not be allowed to get any worse. Even I cannot live that self-contained. There are chores that must be done, errands that must be run. And what kind of example am I setting for Hailey if I turn myself into the Hermit Grandmother? It's bad enough that Pappaw is already that way.

Thank goodness for summer, for the season of picnics and reunions and weddings. Thank God for sisters and friends and other family who will coax me or bully me out of my little blue hole. They, more than anything I can do, are what keeps me straight, keeps me trying. Keeps me on the sane side of the line,

I can thank none of them enough. Ever.

Shower: A Blessing

One of the many, many things we take for granted these days is the ability to take a shower. Or a daily bath. Try to imagine your life without these amenities.

No big deal, you may think. One can wash in the sink, do a sponge bath, use plenty of deodorant and change clothes several times a day.
Yes, but how long will that be effective for the personal hygienic standards we have for ourselves?  How long before you just feel that these makeshift measures are overwhelmingly inadequate?
Because they are indeed inadequate in the long run.

My bathroom is being remodeled. Actually, the floor is being replaced. Everything had to be taken out, and new floor joists put in, which means the foundation had to be adjusted or braced in a couple of places. Nothing is being done quickly, all is being done thoroughly. In the meantime, the only source of water to eash with is the kitchen sink.

To make it worse, I live in town, with house to the right of me, house to the left of me, houses behind me. There is really little expectation of privacy, even with blankets covering the windows and all the doors locked. One doesn't linger over ablutions in those circumstances.
Can't even put up a camp shower because of too-close neighbors and too many out of school children. They like to inspect and question and look.

I never thought I was a person overly concerned with bathing. All the years I worked in fast food ingrained some things more deeply than I knew. One of those things was bathing regularly.

I'm embarrassed.
I don't want to go out.

My baby-est brother (they are all younger than me) is getting married this weekend. One of the reasons I'm not going is because I don't want to embarrass him (them) by being the most malodorous guest, These days I not only look like an elephant, I feel that I am beginning to smell like one.
I picture myself as Pigpen, with clouds of body-stink emanating from me, instead of good clean dirt.

Now, I know some of this may be exaggerated, but I've had persistent body-odor issues in my life. And I just plain don't, can't,  feel clean.

So, don't take your shower for granted. Hug it, kiss it, thank god for it. Add it to your list of things third world people would like to have, like broccoli. Microwaveable broccoli. Bathe with indulgence, just that you have water and soap, and more water to remove the soap, all the soap.

And, oh yeah, if you encounter someone smelly, spend some time conversing with them. It may not be their fault, and you shouldn't be a snob.

bone crushing

My husband had to go to the doctor Monday. The office called him and made the appointment. You can bet that set off alarm bells. He has so many health concerns we didn't even know which one to worry about. They did say something about his spinal x-rays, but that really didn't narrow it down a whole lot. Because we have had things show up in x-rays that are not what he was being x-rayed for. An enlarged kidney showed up in chest x-rays.

We were referred to a urologist who saw Rex once, sent him for some kind of test at a hospital that had to have cash before doing anything, and we never heard from that specialist again. Don't know to this day what, if anything, the test determined, in spite of calling and both asking and leaving messages. When our family doctor bulldozed us into this appointment, she felt the matter was urgent. Then, she left the group practice she was with and has apparently fallen off the face of the earth. Could it be his kidneys?

He fractured his spine forty years ago, could it be something from that?

Did something in his lungs show up in the background?

He has osteoporosis. Well, he's had that for a while, but this is advancing, which means getting worse. We've been referred to another specialist, this one out of state. His spinal column is collapsing and disintegrating. The T1 through T4 vertabrae are crumbs, with 'significant wedging' on almost all the rest.

Our doctor, who is new to us, says he has never ever seen anyone with such an advanced case of osteoporosis.  Especially not so young. Especially not a male.

We discussed smoking, we discussed heredity, we discussed childhood malnutrition. All factors. But, to figure out what to do, he needs to be seen by an endocrinologist. My guess is that they are considering he'll need the IV type treatments. (He was on Fosamax but began having too much bone pain in his hips and thighs, and we dropped that stuff like it scalded.)

So, we're again hanging in Limbo, and I'm bouncing from wall-to-wall maybes.

I'm also looking for information on what to expect if the deterioration continues. What do I need to be especially watchful for? How can I help? What needs to be reported to the doctors? I don't know, I don't know, I don't know.

And I can't find out. There are a few  million definitions of osteoporosis available on the internet. There are a few million treatments being sold, or advised, or encouraged. So far, there has not been one site that answers my questions. Apparently everywhere on the Internet is the belief that calcium, vitamin D and the magic of medicine cures osteoporosis, or at least halts it in its tracks.

Therefore, no one needs to know what advanced severe osteoporosis will do to a middle-aged severely emphysemic man with one big kidney.

I really hate that all the different websites say the same things over and over and over. Sometimes in different languages, but still the same-old, same-old.

In this great Information Age, can no one answer my questions?

As I lay dying (or so I thought)

Yesterday I thought I was entering my final illness, persistent cramping diarrhea. The pain was worse than childbirth (except for the actual birthing). The effects of dehydration were debilitating, as you can imagine. My sister and my nephew had both commented on bellyaches, so I thought there's probably just something going around, and it was nothing major.

As the day wore on, I changed my mind about that. If there had been gas in our car I would have had my husband take me to the hospital, even though I have no insurance and every test, every procedure, every help would have to be paid for by us. At that point (about 3 in the afternoon) even the IV for dehydration would have been worth the cost. Because I was afraid to drink anything, even warm water.

Instead, I went to bed.
While in the bed, I reviewed my life. It's the first time I ever did that when I wasn't contemplating suicide, so it was a novel experience in its way. The results of the review were more satisfactory this way, I have to admit, but there were some things not so satisfactory.
Of course.

I wished I had played more with my girls when they were young. More walks, more pushing on swings, more silly talk, more books read together, more time. Just more time to enjoy them. But pushing swings is boring after the first couple of shoves to get them going, and neither of my daughters had any great interest in books when they were young. We did walk, from time to time, and the walks nearly always had that 'special' air. I suppose that's a good thing. The regret over not taking enough walks is partly because it indicates a lack of special times, so if the times it happened were special -- well, there's just a balance there, so that one is probably okay.
I hope.

I wish I'd had more patience at some times in some of my jobs, but I have no big regrets over any of those. I gave every job I ever did everything I could, everything I had. Sometimes I didn't have much, and sometimes I hated the work, but I gave it my all. Sometimes my all was more, often less, but it was what I had and I put it into the work.

My writing? I have four completed novel manuscripts on top of the bookcases. I have three of those novels on floppies, which do me  no earthly good these days, but maybe somewhere, someday... someone. I have various writings here and there. It would be nice for my family if I could become posthumously famous, so that I'm not leaving my family nothing but a hole in their hearts.
I hope.

The good-bye letters I wrote a few months ago worried me a bit. I thought about tearing them up before I died, but decided I'd just leave a note with them. Don't remember if I dated them or not. Probably not. I wanted them to be generic, any time. I have letters written to Tracy and to Rex and, I think, to Jean. I haven't been able to bring myself to pout anything in writing for Tammy-and-Hailey. No good excuses for saddling her with my responsibilities, which she would be the one carrying the brunt of the load after the dust settles. No good excuse, no reason.
Anyway, I decided to just write a note, or maybe I'd get a chance to tell Jean before I expire in the hospital. "Hey, never mind those. I wrote them for Christmas last year, or maybe the year before."

It was a different thing to look back at my life this way, from this new angle. I didn't have no instant conversion to wanting to continue living in spite of all its pain, which I have seen happen. I wanted the pain to stop. I wished that I had done some things differently, but feel that I did the best I could at the time.

That's what we should all be doing. The best we can, with what we have. The what we have can be time, or energy, or even interest. Money of the lack thereof is a partial excuse, not a good one.

Be the best you that you can be.

Do the best you can with what you have.

Watch and work and learn and live.

Then,  you can contemplate death with equanimity. Is there any better way to live?

I Want Summer

I want summer! I want it to come. I am tired of rain and fog, rain and clouds, rain and … you get the idea. I want it to be summer, and I want it now.

I want the flowers; the roses and honeysuckle that sweeten the air. I want to see fields glowing with greens, from the first fuzzy yellow haze of beans to the grass green of corn. I want to watch the colors of the treetops deepen; from spring green to their deep summer shades.

I want it to be warm. No, I want it to be HOT. I want to sweat, I want the air to sweat, and bring closer all the sweet perfumes of growth.

I want the dry scent of dust to clog my nose and tickle my throat. I want to smell the ripening of tomatoes and blackberries. I want to open the window and know that some neighbor has freshly mown his lawn.

I want days that linger, even after the sun has gone. I want light to remain in the sky, coloring the white puffy clouds above me. I want long gorgeous sunsets that last for hours, painting the brilliant blue skies with petal pinks and vivid oranges. I want to listen to the children playing up and down the street, to hear the roar of the crowd at the Little League games behind the school. I want to go to sleep to the purr of a weed-eater, and waken to the roar of a lawn mower. I want to hear the gentle spitter-spat of water sprinklers and the splashings from swimming pools. I even want to hear the nerve-grating chorus of cicadas as I try to sleep.

Come, summer, with your warmth and your beauty. Chase away these rainclouds that cause the days to drag and the nights to blur. Bring to me your clear sharp colors, your clean, crisp scents, and your soul-awakening sounds. Bring me your warmth, your light, your joy.

Making it work

Sometimes it seems that the easier we make it to do things, the more complicated the resulting problems. I'm talking about machinery, like automobiles. Remember when any person with a hammer, a screwdriver, and a piece of baling wire could solve your problem? You didn't get to reach 70 miles in an eye-blink, and you didn't have refrigerated air freezing your eyeballs in that same time span, but you could get to where you needed to go, and repair was cheap, easy, and available. (If you couldn't do it yourself.)

My particular mechanical Nemesis is a riding lawn mower. We have a mower that won't start, turn over, cough -- anything. It's like trying to start a car in 'Drive'. Nothing happens.
We've done and checked the obvious stuff. The safety switches, at least those we know of. The battery has been replaced, and we paid to have the starter system replaced. It worked for us one time after that.

We have a push mower, but my husband can't push. He can barely walk from the front room to the bathroom, carrying nothing more than his own skin and bones. I can push the mower, but I'll be darned if I can start the darned thing. Pulling and pushing at the same time requires a degree of coordination that is not in my make-up.

Then there are environmental issues, gas emissions and all that. If you can smell it, you're breathing it. Not a good option for anyone, but there's something seriously bad about a breathing-disabled person spending time on this undertaking.

I'd love to get an old fashioned mower, with blades that go round and round on a reel. The newer ones are not as heavy as they used to be, but I don't even mind that. I find  pushing a motor around to be a pretty heavy chore. And there's that breathing thing to contend with while walking behind.

This is a big debate in my household. My husband is in eager-beaver favor of all the mechanical devices and luxuries (that don't work, or break down repeatedly.) I prefer simpler things. If one must walk behind a lawn mower, one may as well be directing it. It's nice to be able to reverse direction when needed by simply backing up, too.

Yeah, I really want one of those push mowers. They are called reel mowers, and come in a variety of sizes and abilities, just like the polluting motor varieties that are easier only until the first break down. They are surprisingly affordable (at least for people who actually have money) -- smaller sizes typically run from 70 to 90 dollars (US).

If you're in the market for a mower, and especially if you're looking at walk-behinds, do some research. Maybe a reel mower would work for you, and you will never have to buy gas for it. Maintenance is usually minimal and simple. You will get a little extra exercise, and with the reel mower, you won't be breathing in poison straight to your muscles.

When it comes to lawn care, let's all get reel.

Natural Writing

I enjoy writing my blogs.

Of course, I like writing. It's as natural to me as breathing, and as necessary.

That's not a bad comparison. Over time, we sometimes have to train our breathing back to its easy, natural state. We begin to breathe more shallowly as soon as we begin to talk. We star gulping air into our stomachs instead of our lungs as soon as we begin to eat -- and that starts pretty soon. We hold our breath to get into clothes, we remodel our insides, squashing our lungs, cramping our diaphragm, to conform in our appearance.

Soon, we are no longer breathing naturally, although it is adequately for our survival. We go to doctors, we take exercise classes, we learn yoga. We do these things to get back to the natural and easy way of breathing.

Learning to breathe correctly is not easy, after years of doing it wrong and years of lazy breathing. It feels unnatural, to push out our stomachs as we breathe in. It's painful to fully expand the ribcage. It takes training, work, and lots of practice.
Aching muscles and sore abs and later on, we are improved by the improved oxygenation in our blood. We look better, we feel better, we are better.

It's not enough to breathe. We need to breathe correctly to be at our best.

This helps explain why a natural talent for writing isn't always enough. We may have the words flood and flow through our brains, tremble off our fingertips, but it just isn't enough. The words have to come out in proper order, in proper form, to be what they should be.

We need to write correctly to be at our best.

There are people who think that writing cannot be taught, that there is no need for training or practice.
There are people who think that the only good writing is easy writing.

Writing, they think, should be as natural as breathing.