Back to Blogging!

Hello, my old friends! I have decided to begin blogging again - I've missed you all too much to stay away! I don't know if anyone is keeping up with me at Associated Content; I enjoy writing there, but it doesn't have the intimacy blogging does. So I'll be trying to catch up with all of you in the coming days. Ok, maybe weeks.

In the roughly nine months I've been away, a lot has happened, as I'm sure it has with you all. I turned 50. I like being 50! I think it is a good, respectable age. The half-way point! Not too young, not too old. And being a new Grandma, it seems fitting that I not be in my 40s anymore. Unfortunately, my body did not like turning 50, and my heart rebelled. I started the new year out by getting fit and in shape, but right in the middle of Turbo Jam I began having severe, radiating chest pain - this was back in February - and a 99% blockage in the main artery (the widower-maker!) was discovered, and, as I thought, fixed with a stent. But it turns out stents are more like a patch. Anyway, instead of getting better, I began getting worse, and just last week I ended up back in hospital, getting a stent within my stent - scar tissue had blocked it all back up again. So now we're praying that doesn't happen again, because if it does, I'm facing open heart surgery.

I also got to go spend some time with my son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter this spring. My son was in hospital too, with pneumonia, flu, ruptured eardrum and possible cracked rib, so I went up to help out. It even obligingly snowed one day while I was there! A treat for a Floridian, let me tell you. I am happy that I avoided any tornadoes tho! My little granddaughter is the cutest little thing ever! I enjoyed her so much, and she was in major learning mode while I was there, which was a lot of fun. She's about to celebrate her 1st birthday, and then at the end of this month, they are scheduled to come for a visit, hallelujah!

Ok, that's enough for now, don't you think? I want to find out about all of you! Stop by and leave a comment, will you please?

Hello to My Blogging Friends

Hello, all. I still try to drop in on as many of you as I can, but I don't always leave a comment, so I just wanted you to know.

I've had a wild week, but the outcome was better than it could have been. Sunday afternoon my mother had a slight headache, and after church she fell asleep. She slept a good while; when she got up, she passed out, and hit her head in the temple area, really, really hard. Then things got really crazy. I won't go in to all the details, but she was delirious, vomiting, and really in trouble. After an ambulance ride, two emergency rides and a hospital stay, she is finally back home, but none of the expensive tests really told anything. However, she'd recently had a medicine increased and the last time they increased it, she had problems, but they wouldn't listen, so she may have been sleepy and woozy from that medicine. When she hit her head so hard (she has a large, multi-colored goose egg and a bright purple eye nearly a week later), we think she gave herself a bad concussion.

I'm very happy that so many caring, competent people are willing to work in health care, but unfortunately not all of them are caring or competent, and the ones who are good are still swamped, plus Mom was completely disoriented, so someone, and often several someones, from the family was with her at all times. So the whole family is exhausted and stressed, but very glad we were able to be there to help her. She doesn't remember any of it... but we do. She's not completely 100% but definitely improving.

It's a fine line between listening to your doctor and getting your doctor to listen to you. It's a delicate balance between respecting the medical knowledge being expended on your loved one and being diligent to notice and rectify mistakes. I've gotten some incredible care at the hospital for which I am extremely grateful, but the hospital is no place for sick people. Still trying to sort everything out, in other words. But to all of the hard-working, caring, competent, cheerful, compassionate, skilled, patient personnel in all our hospitals, a very big thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Itchy Scratchy

I wanted to write about the lovely vacation we had and various things related to it. But alas, I am suffering from - well, something itchy. I woke up with a painful welt on my chin. We thought it might be a spider bite, but it spread some, and since the biggest welt-type thing was over a nick from a fingernail, I was worried it was another staph infection. It spread more -a lot more - pretty much everywhere, with itchy, oozy welts ranging in size from dime to silver dollar, and it was intensely itchy. We had done a lot of yard work, "fighting off" the overgrown jungle (err, I mean, lot) next door from eating our yard. So maybe it was poison ivy, oak or sumac. I know there were various vines, etc. where we were working. But then it spread more, only mostly in small, fluid-filled blisters. Besides serious itchiness, I also began having severe headaches and ennui, just total lack of energy. Oops, I once again thought I knew what it was.

I have kind of been proud of the fact that our whole family is evidently immune to chicken pox. Neither I nor my husband have ever had it, and none of our three sons, although I know they were exposed to it, ever contracted the chicken pox. So when my Mom thought she might have shingles, I went over to give my two cents worth. She did indeed have shingles. You can not get shingles from someone with that ailment, but you can get chicken pox from someone with shingles. And I am fairly certain that is what I've got. The doctor's nurse, going by her experience with her children, is sure that's what I have. The doc, because of the welts, leans toward poison ivy. My Mother, who feels awful about it, thinks I have both.

So I take copious amounts of Benadryl, which usually knocks me out cold. I have steeped in enough oatmeal in the form of Aveeno bath soaks to make someone a fine breakfast. I use the very strong (downright scary, if  you read the pamphlet) ointment the doc gave me a prescription for. I keep the house cold as advised. And I try sooooo haaarrrddd not to scratch.

So the posts about vacation and other, far more interesting things will have to wait a bit, until I am feeling a little less sorry for myself.

Uck! I'm Sick Again...

Perhaps all the soup, kleenex, antibiotics and cough drops triggered this memory from my childhood. We keep passing one illness after another around our family, and this one is the worse yet, at least for me. Well, for this go-round, I mean. But it's not as bad as when I was a kid.

One day when I was 8 years old (in 1969), I got to feeling poorly at school. I don’t remember anything about that morning, although I know I couldn’t have ridden my bicycle like I usually did because something needed repairing, so my Mother must have driven me that day. It was too far to walk.

Anyway, the first thing I remember is sitting in class, feeling odd. I remember looking around and thinking nothing looked right. The room seemed dim, my head ached, my lessons didn’t seem to make sense, and I finally just put my head down on my desk. When the teacher came over to check on me, I asked, for the first time in my school career, if I could go to the nurse’s office. I normally loved school and was enthusiastic about my lessons, so the teacher gave her permission right away.

I went to lie down and the nurse called my mother to see if she could give me aspirin. I spoke briefly to my mother, reassuring her that nothing was seriously wrong, the nurse gave me aspirin, and I rested. The nurse chatted with me a bit, and I didn’t feel too badly, so when I heard the lunch bell, I told her maybe I should try eating something and see if it helped.

I went and found my class, got my tray of food, and sat down. But again I began feeling very odd, and I couldn’t eat after all. The lighting seemed strange. The noisy cafeteria sounds dimmed, too, with everyone looking distant as if I was at the other end of a tunnel. Nothing hurt, but I felt disoriented, so I went back to the nurse’s office to lie down some more.

I have always tried not to be dramatic or burdensome when I didn’t feel well, but when the nurse looked my way and I smiled at her, she said she was going to have to send me back to class, since I didn’t have a fever and didn’t seem to be so very sick. She may have thought I was just trying to get out of working. But I stayed put, and she said I could stay a few more minutes.

Before many of those minutes had passed, I suddenly became very ill indeed. The nurse thought I had brought up what troubled me and all would be well. But then I got sick again. And again. Increasingly violent episodes came in waves, but when the nurse called my mother, no one answered. Finally she decided I would have to be taken home. The only person available to take me was the principal of the school.

Our principal, like most I suppose, had the reputation of being very strict and stern, and I was a little bit afraid of her. She came to collect me, but I could tell she didn’t really want to take me home. As we got in her large, fancy, very new car, she commanded me not to be sick in it. I don’t think she was trying to be mean, maybe just trying to lighten the moment, or distract me. Plus I suppose she truly did not want me to be sick in her car. Somehow I managed not to be, and soon we were pulling up in my drive. However, no one was home.

She was unsure what to do, but I told her I had a key, and besides, I was sure my Mother would be home before long. She was hesitant, but I assured her I’d be fine, so she left me to go in and put myself to bed.

My mother came before long; she had taken my bicycle to be repaired as a surprise for me. She was surprised to find me there, sorry she had not been there to greet me. She stayed with me for most of the night, but nothing she did helped. I could not keep any medicine down, not even so much as a sip of water. I didn’t eat anything else that day, but still I was violently ill over and over again.

The next day was a Saturday, so the clinic wasn’t opened. My mother called the emergency doctor’s number. We didn’t have 911 then, of course. The doctor told her to meet him at the clinic. I was too weak to walk, so my stepfather carried me out to the car. When we got to the clinic, no one was there, but right away a nurse pulled in, unlocked the door and turned on some lights. The doctor arrived while she was leading us to his exam room. He looked me over, asked questions, and when I got sick once again, choking and gagging on green bile, he said I was throwing up the lining of my stomach. He was concerned and decided to do a spinal tap. The nurse stripped my clothes off, laid me on my side on a small table, and painted my back with mercurochrome. Then she began curling me in to a ball, telling me to pretend I was a squirrel. She curled me tighter than I thought possible, and then tighter still. Then the doctor took a very long needle and inserted it somewhere in the vicinity of my spine. He withdrew spinal fluid, put it in a little vial, and showed it to my mother. It was cloudy, which confirmed his fears.

I had meningitis. The doctor told my mother to take me straight to the hospital and he would follow. He said not to go anywhere else, and definitely not to allow me to eat or drink anything at all.

At the hospital I was put in an isolation room. This meant a private room, of course, but it had very little in it. No t.v. Nothing that couldn’t be burned or disinfected after I left. No one, including nurses, could come in without scrubbing, putting on paper masks, gloves, gowns, and paper booties. I couldn’t have visitors, other than one short visit with family only in the evening, and they had to gown up as well.

I was hooked to an I.V. since I couldn’t have so much as a sip of liquid. Nothing by mouth. The nurses came in sometimes to take my vital signs, which they wrote on their arms. Mostly I was alone. I was scared. So was my mother. She held it together until she got home, where my poor stepfather, who had heard nothing for hours, saw her come home without me. When he asked where I was, she burst in to tears and sobbed for awhile before she could tell him what was going on. He was afraid I was dead.I didn’t find out about that until much later.

After a few days, I could have liquids. The trays were styrofoam, so I would draw pictures on them to put in my window. Of course, they had to be burned eventually.

Finally I got to go home, and after a while at home, I was able at last to return to 4th grade. Since I was already doing 5th grade work, I wasn’t behind on my school work, and soon the frightening incident was behind me.

Only there was one footnote; about 5 years later something awful happened that made my mother cry all over again. She sold Avon at the time, and had a customer who was also a friend. The customer had a 9 year old daughter that she doted on. One day the girl got sick; her mother took her to the doctor, but he said it was only a virus, and sent her home. That night the little girl went to bed, and when her mother checked on her later, she was dead. Of meningitis. So I am very grateful to that doctor who was willing to come in on a Saturday, do a spinal tap in his office, and save my life.

I trust this illness is nothing like so serious! But I'll sure be glad when it, too, is just a bad memory.

Prince Charming 30 Years Later

In the years when we were raising and homeschooling the children, I use to secretly think that being at home when I was sick, surrounded by all the work I should have been doing and the children that still needed tending, was a bit like my husband going in to work, setting up a cot by his desk, and trying to recover. Instead, when he was sick, he could stay home, lounge around watching t.v, and concentrate on getting better; sick pay would take care of the expenses, and his normal work was at least "out of sight, out of mind." Even though my husband and even my children helped out as much as they could, I still sometimes felt just a little bit envious.

Recently, however, my husband and I each took a turn at the flu, and I discovered a new perspective on the whole thing. When he was home sick, my work load did not increase at all. Actually, it may have gone down. He wasn't hungry, so I didn't have to cook, and for the most part I was free to lounge around with him, just keeping up with the basic tasks. We saw some really excellent movies and had some leisurely conversations. He wasn't the least bit demanding, and since I felt fine, I just enjoyed having him home. Almost like a little mini-vacation.

Then I got sick. I was too miserable to enjoy myself, but other than my miseries, I had no other worries. He, however, now had to go in to work. Coming in after a full day, he fixed me whatever I thought I could choke down, fixed his own dinner and cleaned up the kitchen. My restlessness and coughing made sleeping difficult for him, but the next day he had to get up, fix his own breakfast and pack his own lunch, make sure I was all settled for the day, and head off to work again. On the weekend, he did the shopping. All of this he did, and more. He thought of so many little things to comfort and cheer me, and he treated me with such kindness and compassion, even when I know he was exhausted.

He took such wonderful care of me that I have now recovered. Things are back to normal, which means I take care of him, he takes care of me and both of us feel well-cared for. But I just want to say Thank You, Honey. This past week when I could only gratefully and wretchedly take without giving much back, you showed me once again that you are my Prince Charming who makes living Happily Ever After a reality!