Hospitals Reprised

Around 6 a.m. this morning Hubby had a bleed into his brain.  The ENT (ear, nose, throat) doc saw him about an hour later but didn't realize what was happening.  His report is that Hubby has a serious mass (not a tumor but some kind of infection) in his lower throat pushing on his vocal cords.  Surgery was / is still scheduled for 12:30 tomorrow to drain it.  When I arrived I began making all kinds of noises about this not being the Hubby I left at 6 p.m. last night (teach me to go home and try to catch some rest).  I had missed the ENT guy but soon others began to arrive and our primary care physician and our floor nurse listened to me about my rising concerns about Hubby's condition.  So ordered a CAT scan when Hubby finally offered up that he had a terrible pain in his head.  He was less than alert and got more and more "cloudy" as the morning wore on.  A STAT order for the CAT showed the bleed and the upshot is that Hubby is now in the ICU with thoughts that he may need to be intubated to make sure he can breath and swallow.  Right now they are inserting a PIC line in his upper arm to help deliver the meds.  The bleed did not initially look serious enough to require surgery but could be handled with clotting drugs -- which is the double edged sword when dealing the heart patients who throw blood clots into their lungs if their blood is not thinned. 

The mental condition of Hubby is what's so very scarey right now.  Hopefully we caught the bleed quickly enough to ensure a full recovery.  Prayers, please. 

Hospitals

I haven't given up on the blog but Hubby is back in our local hospital.  It's not heart related this time for which I'm very grateful.  He has been having trouble speaking, swallowing, and sometimes breathing for the last four years.  Also lots of problems with foods that aren't soft.  The last two weeks have been especially bad -- to the point where I thought he truly was in congestive heart failure.  But the pacemaker is still doing the job and the heart is beating fine. 

Yesterday the ER took lots of history and did a scope of his esophagus which was clear except for some polyps which they biopsied.  But he was having real trouble gathering breath after he had swallowed some aspirin so they determined it was time to look more intensely.  He was admitted -- on Labor Day rooms in the heart ward were scare so he got himself the VIP suite (very plush) -- and today they have CAT scanned and done a swallow test and scoped some more.  Maybe tomorrow we will know more. 

He was NPO (nothing by mouth) from 8 a.m. yesterday until 5 p.m. today so he happily downed the banana I got him from the cafeteria before I left for home.  He is only being given thin liquid and soft foods right now so he is pretty unhappy, laying about and NOT eating.  He announced that tomorrow "I'm going home, I don't care what they say," so we've had the encouraging talk which I think he completely ignored.  However, they don't keep you in the hospitals now unless they need to -- so I truly imagine he is coming home tomorrow. 

It's depressing sitting in hospital rooms 12 hours a day.  I'm not staying with him at night -- he's not in a precarious position, just miserable, and the dogs need to see a human at least for a bit each day. 

Peace out -- until we have some good news to share (or maybe just news).  M. 

It's the meds fault

The new pills, to help me gain energy and feel happier, kicked my butt big time.  Last Wednesday I slept  four hours in the morning, three hours in the afternoon, four hours after supper which was a can of soup, and then slept all night long.  This from a woman who is going to the doctor because she can't sleep.  Thursday was worse.  When ever I stood up I had to sit back down.  I slept all day and all night, and then most of Friday.  However, on Friday I was smart enough NOT to take any more of the new meds.  By Saturday I was able to go with Hubby to the movies which was fun -- we saw The Expendables.  Then on Sunday to dinner (at Denny's, no less) and back to the movies to see the highly recommended Guardians of the Universe which we hated.   This was actually the sum of my activities for the entire week.  Oh, I did make Hubby some tuna salad.  Otherwise, I watched TV and slept. 

On Monday I was finally able to go back to water aerobics but still felt pretty out of it.  I also had an acupuncture treatment for my knees Monday afternoon.

Today Hubby picked me up at 1:00 and we went over to the Y to actually workout on machines.  It had become clear that Hubby was desperate to try all the iron equipment in the gym but wasn't willing to go without me, so I finally dressed myself up in workout gear -- that means real athletic shoes instead of my swim shoes -- and we trudged over.  The only machine I could manage -- and like at the same time -- was the recumbent step machine.  I tried the bikes but they were too high and I tried the knee presses but they were too complicated.  The recumbent step machine was comfortable -- and slow -- and nobody was on it because, well, it's recumbent, comfortable, and slow -- and according to it I used up 5 calories before I burst into flames and had to get off -- meaning, I began to sweat. 

The doctor has just called and announced I should stop talking the horrible medication -- you think?  But she also sent out a script for something else to try.  We'll see what happens this week. 

One new doctor; couple of new meds

Dr. Megan McMannus

When our GP moved on to private practice he recommended a woman doctor for us.  We met her early this morning, got a pretty clean bill of health -- all the old meds seemed to be working fine and I got a couple of new ones to try.

I liked the new doctor a lot; I think because she was a woman I was able to open up to her about a couple of personal and cosmetic issues I had ignored with our male GP.  Consequently, I had a three annoying skin tags removed and I got two new scripts and had a skin culture taken.  Hubby came off even better -- he was pronounced just fine and jim-dandy and nothing new was added to his health regime.  I'm not so sure he liked the new doc as well as the previous three men we have seen but maybe I needed the change, and since Hubby's doing so fine right now, I'm happy to be the center of attention.

Interactive Therapy was prescribed in continuing doses and I'm thrilled about that.  I have an appointment next Monday for more acupuncture and then the next day for massage and I can hardly wait.  You can't beat having a doctor you really look forward to visiting. 

I was the only "lab" rat today with blood drawn for a couple of small issues -- just to see how the new meds for the last three months from the Interactive Therapy had been working. 

We started out at 8 a.m. and were both back home by 9:30 -- including labs, skin-tag removal surgery, skin scrapings, and new scripts called in to the pharmacy.  That's a pretty productive morning. 

Seeing Our GP Tomorrow

I grew up in the 1950's and came of age in the 1960's.  Since Hubby and I are visiting our GP tomorrow (for the last time with Dr. Patel since he is graduating and moving on to his own practice), I've been thinking how much patient treatment has changed throughout my life.

Of course I remember when doctors actually visited your house.  One memorable Christmas my mother got strep throat and the flu, and though she made it through the dinner and the gift giving, Grandmother called the doctor at his home at 5 p.m. and he came to our house to take her temperature and give her a shot.  On Christmas evening.  Into the house, right into the bedroom, and sat with the patient.  Then visited with the family and had a piece of mincemeat pie before he left.

The message, today, of course, is -- if this is an emergency call 911 and go to the hospital immediately.  Our clinic site runs an emergency clinic for walk-ins, because it usually takes five to fifteen days to get an appointment with your assigned doctor.  I made our appointments for tomorrow in May to make sure we would get to see Dr. Patel before he left "our health world" forever.

I don't remember we saw as many specialists, either.  I remember when I broke my elbow when I was 10. I was taken to St. Luke's hospital but both my mother and my grandmother consulted with the GP who then called in Dixon and Dively - the bone specialists of the city.  My arm had to be set under aesthetic because of the severity of the break but I wasn't kept in the hospital overnight.

However when I was 12, my appendix "went bad."  I had had several attacks over the summer but we hadn't recognized what was going wrong.  One Saturday morning in October my dad called upstairs asking why I had been vomiting since before dawn, and when I explained my tummy hurt and I kept throwing up, Mom took my temp and the doctor was called (at home).  Once he heard the symptoms I was again dispatched to St. Lukes and the appendix was removed before nightfall.

I stayed in St. Lukes for five days -- and loved every minute of my time there.  Grandmother and Grandfather paid for a private nurse -- anybody remember them? -- for me for the first two nights.  She was a fascinating creature with blood red nails and the most elaborate nurses cap perched on her long blond hair.  Remember those nurses caps and the starched uniforms?  My room was filled with roses and carnations and she spent most of her time prepping the flowers, because at 12 I mostly slept the nights away.  Finally, she told my grandparents they really didn't need an RN for a kid that really wasn't sick and she was released -- and I cried when she left.

My time in the hospital was filled with backrubs in the afternoon and before bed, ice cream treats in the afternoon and after dinner, and trays filled with food that I got to order myself.  I don't think I had a TV but the room was filled with books and craft materials -- brought in by my grandparents -- and folks waited on me hand and foot.  I was nearly hysterical on having to leave the hospital because I'd never been so pampered in my entire life.  My mother was hugely embarrassed and angry with me, claiming I made her look bad as a caregiver.  The entire nursing staff gathered round to hold my hand and assure me that if I got home and got sick, I could come back.  

Interestingly I don't remember ever having seen a doctor while in the hospital, but I must have.  I have no idea if I had a special surgeon or not; quite possibly the GP performed the surgery.

As a child I had an old fashioned pediatrician, Dr. Coward, well-known in the city.  I went to him until I was 12 -- probably right about the time of the appendectomy.  Then I transferred over to the the family's GP office.  I went to them until I got my first teaching job and my own insurance.

At age 20 I got a gynecologist because I had horrible menstrual cramps -- and the philosophy of the GPs was that once "you have a baby you will no longer experience this pain."  Nobody was ever able to solve the menstrual cramp problem, even when I finally found what I thought was the best gyno in the city -- and that pain got worse as I aged.  Then came the problem of infertility -- and finally we solved the whole shebang by removing the offending organs -- the best decision of my lifetime up until retirement.

I spent a lot of time with Total Health Care from Blue Cross and Blue Shield -- and grew to depend on them for full payment of all my health needs.  My gynecologist became my primary physician and for 18 years he dictated my health care.  I saw him usually every three months, sometimes (like during the infertility treatments) more often.  He managed to see me naked nearly as often as my husband.

When I quit teaching in 1990 I spent some years without "real" health insurance, paying my way through whatever treatments were "desperately" needed.  My gall bladder was removed the hard way -- cutting me in half and leaving a scar that transects my entire body.  I had kidney stones that I managed to pass without invasive treatment -- OHHH the pain!   When in pain I got pills; when in distress I got pills; when depressed I got pills; when the flu fell me I got pills.

During these years doctoring seemed to changeradically.

Now I can't seem to get pills for much of anything, though that said, I'm taking more "holistic" meds than I ever thought reasonable.  My current GP has never seen me undressed.  I can communicate with him personally only through email and then he will call me after a week or so has passed.  I can call his office and talk to his nurse and SHE talks to him and then SHE calls me back.

It's actually an okay system.  I'm not the sick one in our family and Hubby has been taken care of beautifully and on point.  He has never been denied help -- and only once was I thoroughly put off that, as he was going into congestive heart failure, it wasn't identified in the GP's office.

It's the emergency room techs who get the real credit, though.  They are the ones on the front line that handle our emergencies, they diagnosis and admit us to the hospital, they call for the tests -- and then they notify our GP and consult.  They hold my hand when I'm terrified for Hubby and they tell me if I should be worried, terrified, or just "go on about my business."

I'm sure that nurses are much more comfortable without those starched uniforms and caps of my youth -- and they can certainly do a lot more work in pants and scrubs.  I don't really want or need my doctor to make a home visit.  I'm actually delighted that Dr. Patel will not have a memory of a naked Milly on his exam table and since my lady parts are mostly departed and I'm reaching really old age, I'm sure he's as delighted.
I would like it to be easier to get pills to soothe the troubled spirit but I understand why they are not so readily dispensed these days.  It would be nice to get an appointment more quickly or not have to go through the clinic nurses to get info from the doctor, but if the system works for them I'm not bucking it.

Times have changed and we have to go along with the flow.  Your doctor won't smoke a cigarette during your exam or recommend you have a cocktail before dinner and a tranquilizer after. Instead she'll suggest you put flax meal on your rice and lentils. You won't get a script for diet pills but a recommendation for a 30 minute walk after every meal.  The memory of those hospital backrubs and late afternoon treats linger, of course, but hospitals are not for relaxing and resting any longer.  Now you go to the spa for your rubdowns -- and your insurance simply won't cover it.

Oooh, my aching head

Since 1968 I've had a headache.  That's when I remember it as a long term event, anyway.  Having my first "career" job,  I would climb out of bed at 6 a.m. and dash to the kitchen for a swig of diet Pepsi and two aspirin -- every morning.  Usually that would last me until bedtime. 

Around 1975 Hubby introduced me to Vanquish, a form of aspirin high in caffeine.  By then I'd realized that caffeine had the ability to keep the headache at bay, even though most people believe it causes headaches.

The thing is, I've never had a migraine -- or at least what most folks describe as migraines.  I don't see auras, I don't throw up, I don't have to lie down -- I simply have an ache in my head.  Mostly it's not even worth calling it a pain and usually two Vanquish when I climb out of bed sets me up for the day, especially since I've been retired.

By the time I quit teaching I was taking the Vanquish a ridiculous amount of times a day -- but it also seemed to help the arthrtis aches, as well, so I wasn't especially worried.  Once I quit pounding concrete floors and feeling stressed out, the headache lessened enough to need only 2 capsules in the morning.   

I don't tell my doctors about the headache but I do list the Vanquish on my list of meds that I take daily.  Most doctors have suggested that Tylenol might be a better solution but that simply doesn't work for me - ever, not even for the smallest pain or ouchie. I believe I could swallow a whole bottle, and except for getting sick to my tummy, I wouldn't touch a single ache.  

The lit says that Vanquish is actually an aspirin/acetaminophen caplet with two buffers and a heap of caffeine.  Anacin is supposed to be its equivalent, but for me it doesn't come close.  Of course this may be all in my head (like the headache) but it could also relate to the extra dose of caffeine in the Vanquish.  

My new physician, Dr. Parvin, of the Center of Integrative Therapy, is the first person to question why I take Vanquish every day -- rather than just try to substitute something for it (or ignore it all together).  I told her about the headache so my last acupuncture was actually to relieve "headache" - as was my last massage.  Parvin also suggested some alternatives to the Vanquish but she actually realized my resistance and reliance on the medication, and said, "Okay, take two in the morning -- yes, every morning -- but try to limit intake after that."

Bless her.  

The headache is still there -- for me it really feels like one long stretch of minor "ache" since 1968.  I can't remember a time I didn't have it in some degree of strength.  I've been diagnosed with a pretty severe case of TMJ so that probably contributes but my jaws never, ever ache and I'm NOT wearing that mouth guard they hand out (I'm sure I could NOT breathe with it in my mouth -- even if I could I'm SURE I couldn't).  When I had severe allergies the headache was worse but then three years of allergy shots really helped during the 1980's.  

High humidity days also seem to make the headache worse.  As well, of course, as lack of sleep.  Lately I've developed a brand new sleeplessness -- I don't sleep at all at night and I stumble through the morning like a zombie.  Then, in the afternoon, if I sit down to read or watch TV I fall asleep sitting up.  So the following night I repeat the pattern -- up all night, zombie-like all day.  

This morning the headache was a pounding, nasty deep pain in the front of my head.  I've had the two Vanquish but I can tell that this is probably a six Vanquish day -- if not eight.  Napping won't help -- it will only keep me up longer tonight when I do finally try to sleep.  Sometimes, if the headache is really severe (and this actually quite rare -- probably like most people who get a pounding head once in a while), laying still in a dark room may help.  

Otherwise, you just grin and bear it -- and be very grateful that Bayer keeps producing Vanquish.  I can't find it in the stores these days (it was popular only during the 1960's and '70's) -- but I can order it in bulk on-line.  I get a case a year of the stuff, delivered right to my door.  It's salted in all my purses, pockets, and travel bags.  It's probably a case of "if you believe," the pain will abate.  The 40 year headache may not go away but it can be ignored and most of the time, actually not noticed.  

Like the "bad" back pain, the headache is just something I've learned to live with and accept.  Interesting the things we are willing to accommodate - and those we find totally unacceptable.  Being retired, this lack of sleeping at night is probably really not so problematic.  I could actually sleep anytime I really wanted to -- but THIS problem I want solved.  I don't even mention the back or the head to my doctors; I only complain about the sleeplessness. 

New blood work -- new results

In March my GP prescribed a set of blood tests that showed some concern for my kidneys and a possibility that I was on the edge of diabetes.  I wasn't worried about the diabetes because I'd sort of cheated and had a small glass of orange juice the morning of the test -- it wasn't much juice and I drank it about two hours before the test because I didn't realize I was going in for blood work -- but it probably made the blood sugar reading just a little high,.  The idea that I was in a pretty advanced stage of kidney failure scared me, though.  Nobody wants to submit to dialysis in their old age.

When the Integrative Therapy clinic wanted more blood tests, frankly I was sort of relieved.  I could make sure this test was clean and the readings would be accurate.  Friday's results were much more pleasing -- no sign of diabetes at all and the kidney levels were all within normal range.  Hugh sigh of relief. 

The only problem that could be treated with meds was the vitamin D deficiency.  Rickets, anyone?  The only folks I ever heard of who had such a problem were the old time sailors without fresh food on their long voyages.  Seems I'm really lacking in D -- enough so that a very high dose has been prescribed from the pharmacy -- so high that it can only be taken once a week, instead of those paltry over the counter 1000 unit pills swallowed daily.  I'm also to take melatonin but only 1 mg at bedtime and B-complex once a day.  These I've ordered on-line because the price is so much cheaper. 

I love the massage that has been prescribed.  It's wonderful to have someone touch you so intimately and with such assurance -- and only want you to relax and feel good after.  I think I actually did feel better last week.  Certainly my mood improved just a little every day.  After the acupuncture and massage on Monday and Tuesday, a friend treated me to a pedicure with all the works and it was heavenly, too.  By the weekend I was really encouraged but then Sunday night / Monday morning I lay in bed, not sleeping, getting angrier and angrier that Hubby insisted on having the TV on, even though I couldn't find a way to sleep through it.  The whole day Monday I was just pissed off and way too tired. 

(Maybe I was just pissed that nobody was paying me any attention over the weekend -- like I'd gotten all the previous week.  I'm quite capable of admitting that having folks focus on MY health for a change might have had a mood elevating affect)

We did water aerobics and I had a massage Monday afternoon and all that began to de-stress me out of my bad mood.  Last night I slept pretty well (for me -- I got up and read a magazine at 2 a.m. but by 3:30 I was back asleep). 

Then today I got the good news that my kidneys were not at stage 3 of renal failure and my creatinine levels were good, however I still needed to back off on the arthritis meds to ensure they stayed in normal range.  My blood sugars were perfect (as they always should be).

I actually have been eating more fruits and veggies -- today's lunch was a green salad with a huge stalk of broccoli.  And some cheese crackers -- because I'm not dieting, I'm just eating BETTER. 

I see the Integrative Therapy doctor next Monday for another round of treatment.  I'm honestly  looking forward to it.  Then mid-June I go back to the GP to assess my progress.  Hopefully, things will continue to improve -- and I will not come down with rickets. 

A diet JUST for me

For 41 years I've mostly cooked what Hubby enjoyed eatingt.  We ate a lot of pasta and tomato based dishes.  We ate pork and red meat.  We had the fruit he enjoyed -- apples, pears, oranges, melon.  That's not to say I didn't like them, also -- I did.  I was very happy with our diet -- and the things I really loved, like seafood, I mostly ate when we dined out.

This alternative / integrative therapy I'm undertaking suggest I eat four servings of vegetables and three servings of fruit daily, with a minimum of meat and a lot of fish.  Since Hubby has been sick and eating has become a problem for him, I've really not been eating his "type" of food anyway.  A bowl of mashed potatoes is really not my cup of tea for dinner, so I've been dinning on things that cooked quickly and with a minimum of effort for me.  Hot dogs had rather become my staple which caused me to think this new diet regime (for me) might be a good thing.

Hubby agreed to make his fruit salad for us -- I already had the melon cut.  When I was out lunching with the retired teachers group from my old high school, he cut up the apples and oranges and added them.  The only problem for me is, he sugars his creation.  He does use sugar substitute but the salad is decidedly sweet and though everyone devours it at Christmas when he makes it, I usually don't partake.  But a small bowl now that I'm required to eat four servings a day seems possible.  I purchased some bananas and strawberries to supplement the sweet salad.

Today I'm steaming broccoli and asparagus, both of which I actually do like but Hubby won't touch.  I even have a small package of haricots verts to steam in the microwave (I've always had canned green beans, never the fancy French variety).  

 
It was fun shopping just for me.  Hubby had plenty of rice and the veggies in the pantry so I didn't need to feel guilty.  Now if I can only feel more "healthy" and actually sleep at night.  So far, since the acupuncture and massage, I'm batting zero on the improving sleeping thing.   

 

Warmth, Music, Peace

This room, again, had plain white walls but the vibe was completely different from yesterday.  In the far left corner sat a small mahogany table topped with an amber lamp, dimmed just enough to throw a warm glow into the room. 

Center place was a white "bed" like table with two pillows, head and foot.  Crisp white sheets covered the surface and were neatly folded for easy body "insertion."

I had come thinking I didn't like other people touching my body.  If, during a pedicure, someone rubbed my legs I'd ask them immediately to stop -- it always hurt. 

I've only had two massages in my life, both during the '80's, at a ritzy spa on The Plaza (those of you who remember Swansons may also remember their day of beauty -- hair, nails, massage, steam, cleansing, and champagne).  I wasn't particularly impressed either time I had been gifted with a certificate to partake. 

I was asked to take off my tee and bra, as well as my shoes and necklace. I chambered up onto the table and was delighted to find the sheets and pillows were warm to the touch -- not hot, just pleasantly relaxing.  The table was heated. 

I was offered a choice of music and picked some new age piano number which played softly in the background.

The masseuse turned me onto my side, placed the warmed pillow under my head and between my legs.  Behind me she opened some bottles and then we began.

Heaven.  Her hands had been warmed like the bedding.  She understood I didn't want deep massage, just soothing, muscular rubbing and she went at it, talking quietly to me about careers, dogs, husbands, homes.  She started as a graphic artist but 16 years ago decided to study massage and become an independent contractor. 

After what seemed like an age, I was turned onto my back, pillows under my head and knees.  She worked each arm, then my shoulders, my neck, and finally my face and scalp. 

It was blissfully relaxing. 

After 30 minutes I was ready to depart.  I paid my bill ($25 for 30 minutes -- you can't beat that and if you want the info just ask) and made my appointment for next week.  

This new age stuff might have something to it, after all. 

Sticking it to me

The office was drab -- brown chairs, white walls.  No magazines, just clinic brochures on the tables.  Only one receptionist, a woman about my size and build but unfailing happy, even when she had trouble inputting files on the computer or scheduling new appointments.

First they took my insurance, then copied my driver's license.  Next came the request to see ALL my meds, which, of course, I had refused to bring.  I do have a nice computer print-out though and this I produced for them to make more copies of, even after I told them to keep it.

The happy receptionist thrust an 11 page intake form at me.  I knew it was coming and had been given some complicated instructions about how to find it on the web, but they were too involved and I didn't want to waste my printer ink on 11 pages of my own health history. 

The questions were detailed and asked a lot of things about pain and problems and health goals.  Next came the pages for activities, pleasurable, necessary, and sexual.  The form provided me four lines to explain my emotional, verbal, or sexual traumas which caused me to become silly -- four lines? I wrote.  "Your must be kidding me."  Nobody followed up on that remark.  Finally came the dietary questions about what I liked to eat, what I did eat, and what I'd eaten that day.  "Nothing for today" was the reply which actually was commented on in the exam; ice cream and Cheetos were last night's dinner. 

The appointment ran late and I had arrived 45 minutes early to make sure I could complete the intake form(s).  I was becoming impatient when finally I was called into an examination room and soon after the doctor, herself, appeared.  She apologized for the tardiness -- the intern I was scheduled to see had been called to the hospital to admit a patient.  Would she do?  She would do fine.

Dr. Gazala Parvin, Medical Director

 We reviewed the 11 page form.  We talked about what I perceived as my health problems -- not what the doctors told me was wrong.  She reviewed all the files from my GP including the recent blood work, which was proving worrisome to everybody. 

"Well, clearly, you need to sleep.  That is what we are going to work on immediately and we may improve pain levels and other problems along the way.  I will propose a "healing" plan and we can decide if you want to follow it."

We had begun.  First she examined my body.  I thought my pain levels were one to naught, but once she began the probing they accelerated quickly.  She was a tiny, slim, fragile looking thing and she had me "woofing and panting" within minutes. 

Acupuncture was to start immediately.  I had seen it performed in the movies but the actual process is nothing like that.  A total of 10 very sharp needles were inserted -- two in my right arm, three in my left.  Immediately it felt like my right arm had swollen into a huge, hot mass of tissue.  It didn't hurt -- it was just very strange.  You do feel the needles being inserted but she had be intake breath at every insertion. 

Two more needles went into my right leg -- the one in the knee actually did cause "pressure" -- a very weird heaviness descended on the entire leg.  Three more went to the left leg.  I had started out with cold feet but quickly the left foot warmed up and felt lovely and warm -- while the right foot remained cold and clammy. 

"You are clearly blocked on your right side," the doctor muttered as she turned out the lights and left me on the table for 20 minutes to "concentrate on your inner core."

I would have said that 20 minutes on a doctor's exam table would have sent me "nuts" but it didn't.  I actually felt "quiet" -- the only way I can describe what those 20 minutes were like.  I didn't squirm or try to write blog entries in my head -- I just "was."

Soon the lights came back on and I was sitting on the patient chair, reviewing the diet I should follow for the next two weeks before my next appointment.  Also I was scheduled for two massages, one tomorrow and one for next week.  We practiced a routine that I must do three times for each area of my body before sleep or whenever I wake up from sleep.  Supplements were advised to go along with my diet and more blood work was required. 

I left light-headed and feeling more relaxed than I had in some time.  Alternative treatment from the Center for Integrative Therapy might actually be a good thing.  I went in skeptical but I feeling pretty "relaxed" about the treatment now.  I think I'll go take that hot bath that was suggested when I left the center's office.  

Going to the Y

When I retired, we joined the Research rehab facility housed in the old Baptist Hospital, those who know KCMO.  We went there for water aerobics for about nine months and Hubby worked out on the equipment now and then but then winter really set in and it was cold and the water was really cold and the dressing rooms were closed for remodeling and we made up all kinds of excuses not to go exercise.

When our memberships came up for renewal and I started moaning about the $300+ fees, Hubby said, "Let's try out Silver Sneakers.  It's supposed to be free through our insurance."

I did some on-line research but could only find that the program was covered through Humana -- and Hubby and I have our extended Medi-care plans through Coventry.  However, Hubby persisted and eventually got us enrolled in Silver Sneakers -- which is free because Coventry covers the entire expense as a way to get the "elderly" to exercise and stay healthy.

Even closer to our home is the Emanuel Cleaver YMCA so we trotted over and presented our newly minted cards and enrolled before Christmas.  They were busy so we delayed the tour until we got home from Houston but last week we went over and Hubby even got himself a consult by one of their trainers. 

I thought I was in heaven when we got our membership with Research.  The Y is even better - and it's free!  We went this morning for our first water aerobics class and were both pleasantly surprised. 

First, and most important, the water is 10 degrees warmer than at Research.  It was heaven to be exercising in what felt like bath water, lovely warm and soothing -- and really WARM.  The class was not as energetic as we were used to and we still didn't get "individualized" instruction, but we could follow along pretty well since we knew most of the routines. 

For an hour we splashed and kicked and lifted our arms over our heads and it was nice.  Hubby is happy because now we go in the morning instead of at 5:30 at night.  I can tolerate mornings if we're not talking 6 or 7 or 8 a.m. -- this class starts at 9. 

The people were friendly, the instructor seemed competent, the dressing rooms were clean, and we only felt chilly after exiting the pool and drying off in the changing rooms. 

This is going to be eminently doable for us both -- and it's a good way to start off the new year.  Hubby's even mumbling about diet but we had Sonic burritos as a breakfast treat, after class, so dieting is probably off the table, at least for now. 

I'm hoping that as my dexterity improves and my stamina is rebuilt, I will also find my mood improving.  It all looks pretty exciting right now but let's see how we're doing in six months. 

Four Straight!

We're doing it -- and regularly. 

Hubby went to see his PT trainer who told him that water aerobics three times a week was his ticket to improved strength and energy. 

He came home to announce, emphatically, "WE ARE GOING" and going we have been. 

As a real water baby I love getting into the pool -- it's just sometimes hard to get me motivated to leave home and GO to the pool.  Hubby loves leaving home, it's just that getting wet is not really his thing.  We are encouraging each other in this instance.  He gets me into the car and to the Health Center and I get him into the dressing rooms and from there to the pool.

I've only encountered two problems.  One -- Hubby used to walk the dogs at night and I'd do the morning shift which included longer walks in the park.  Now Hubby takes us to the park in the early morning hours AND after water aerobics so I end up walking the boys twice daily, instead of just once.  The dogs love it but I'm feeling "put upon."  Two -- Hubby comes home from aerobics hungry and wants "real food."  Canned pears or cereal isn't going to cut it.  We eat our main meal around 1 p.m. which means that I'm now fixing two major meals every day. He's fine with tuna fish salad in the evening -- but I used to be able to make tuna salad a main meal.  Now it's relegated to supper. I'm chopping my way into carpel tunnel.   

It's good we're exercising regularly.  I love being able to afford a well-kept pool membership with good quality aerobics instruction as part of the package.  Now I need a dog-walking team and a cook.  

Oops! I've Done It Again

Not my arm -- but very close -- stole this image from the web

 Clumsy me.  Yesterday afternoon, not looking where I was going, on entering the computer room and not realizing that the dog's pillow was waiting to wrap around my scruffy sandals, down I went, face first, right onto the nubby carpet.  Right foot twisted into the pillow, left arm scraped the bookcase all the way down, right knee took the blunt force of the fall.  Chin crashed into the carpet with quite the thud.

There I lay, spread eagle on the carpet, with only a "sh*t" breathed out.  Because it was the carpet, even the dogs didn't stir.  But the body said, "Nope, not gonna get up.  You're down for the count this time, kid"  -- except, of course, I really wasn't.  Nothing was broken, just carpet burned and bruised.  Ugly, purple, and pink bruises on the soft tissue, strange sky blue on the boney parts.

It did take me a little bit to figure out how to get myself upright.  The soft tissue swelled and showed a rainbow of colors immediately.  The boney parts took a bit longer but hurt much worse.  And the indignity of it all was my own stupidity at not realizing the pillow was sitting out in the middle of the floor -- where I'd move it when I hung my coat up in the closet.  At least this time, like a tree falling in the forest with no one around, nobody was the wiser. Until Hubby got a gander at the left arm and asked, quite rightly, "How the heck did you manage THAT?"

So we missed out on water aerobics last night.  Today it feels like both arms were wrenched from their sockets, I have to remember not to crawl into bed on my knees like I usually do, but go all the way around and sit down on it like a lady, and getting out of the tub now, even with it's handicapped bars, is quite the treat.  I did manage an Epsom salts bath  at 2:30 a.m. when the pain I was experiences was so sharp it was no longer a deterrent from the pain I expected on getting out of that darned tub. 

The last couple of weeks have been really hard on me.  I've felt -- well, I'm not sure how to describe it -- not quite right.  In fact, that's been an understatement -- except I've not had any symptoms one could actually call a doctor and ask for help with.  Getting up and doing "anything" had left me winded, cold, and sweaty.  My stomach has been constantly "achy" -- not exactly upset but "just wrong."  My energy levels have hovered between three and zero on a scale of 1 - 10 with ten being high.  I even opted out of a doctor's appointment with Hubby because I just couldn't imagine sitting around for an hour in a hard chair.

Finally, this past Sunday things began to get marginally better though I began to wonder if what I was experiencing was depression.  On Tuesday I met two dear friends from my past life in business at the #3 Telephone Company and that perked me up considerably.  Until I came home and fell flat on my kisser. 

Weird times. 

Proof -- in the Pudding, of course

Hubby actually likes the new C-pap machine.  I'm not sure if that's going to jinx it but right now he is very happy with it.

After two naps wearing it yesterday afternoon, he put it on and it lasted most of the night.  It does make him very, very dry mouthed after a couple hours of usage.  The home health care provider swore that in about three weeks the dry mouth / stuffy nose thing would begin to wear off.   We solved some of the immediate problem by laying in a supply of icy cold orange juice and two packages of sugar free popsickles.  When he wakes up he wanders out to the kitchen and gets himself a swig of juice and a fruity pop.

Now right there is a first.  Lately Hubby has not been getting himself anything.  He plaintively cries out from his bed what he needs and expects it to be delivered to him post haste.  Admittedly I've been grumbling that he needs to start again "doing" for himself, but he's rather taken to enjoying thinking he's got a downstairs maid just like in Downton Abby.  Last night he took care of his own needs without disturbing me or the dogs.

He slept so well using the C-pap that when I woke up at 1 a.m. I had to stand and stare at him for a couple of minutes before I was sure he hadn't died in the middle of the night.  I was so used to his tossing and gasping and grunting and snorting and talking in his sleep, that I couldn't fathom that this mound of silent husband was actually just sound asleep. 

Today, to prove just how much better he was beginning to feel now that he had actually gotten some sleep and had a heart that was beating at a steady 65 (not 150+), he took us out to breakfast at Big Biscuit.  He didn't walk with the boys and me in the park this morning -- it was simply too deadly cold for his frozen larynx to cope, but as soon as we got home and the coats off the boys, he was ready for a morning's outing.

After Big Biscuit, we hit Sam's and for the first time in eight months he went inside, pushed the cart, walked around, and even pulled a case of dog food off the shelves.  He was ready to come home once we had put in two cases of water and some milk and eggs, but he had actually been inside a store.  This is quite a change for us.

In a lovely added note, when we got home and the car was unloaded, I found an email from Amazon that the last CDs I had purchased at Christmas had now been loaded into my Cloud account, ready for access whenever I wanted.  When I signed-in to Cloud I found 556 individual songs and some 50 albums waiting for me.  I usually give Hubby CDs at Christmas so on our way home from Houston we can listen to music other than Christmas. This year we loaded up on Alfie Boe and Il Volo.  Now, as I'm composing this, Alfie Boe is singing "You'll Never Walk Alone" to me and my heart is filled with joy.  Once, years ago, when I asked Hubby if he associated songs with people, he said, "Of course." So I had to ask -- and my song was "You'll Never Walk Alone" -- and I thought, well, how unromantic.  But life has taught me that the song is very loving and caring and now it probably is MY song (though I usually try to claim "The Impossible Dream"). 

The house is full of food, the furnace is cranked up high to combat the cold, the dogs have been walked, our bellies are full of warm breakfast food, and Alfie Boe is serenading me.  Hubby IS in recovery mode with a strong heartbeat, the potential for restful sleep, and we have been able to afford, so far, all the medical treatment he has needed.  Though the dogs had to be walked in the cold, we are now able to cocoon ourselves into out fleeces and jammies and ride out the sub-zero temps. This retirement thing is damned good! 

Getting the C-pap Machine

Hubby's sleep apnea C-pap machine was delivered this morning -- all $2500 worth.  I can get an old used car for less -- and Hubby would probably sleep as happily in that as he will with this.  But he is trying.

Thankfully, insurance pays for 80% of the machine but we forked up a substantial up-front fee and then $50 a month for the next 12 months -- I'm not exactly sure what for but those were the requirements.  I tried to get a straight answer out of the young guy delivering the machine, but finally he admitted he just wasn't that into the insurance requirements and I could call later and find out more. 

Hubby had spent the morning trying to clear a spot in the bedroom for the machine.  He has huge piles of "crap" all around his side of the bed -- there are tools, dog treats, pills, books, magazines, more books, more magazines, packages of batteries (which he also has in the big desk in the computer room), bottles of cologne, containers of pens and pencils, all kinds of cutting equipment (nail scissors, regular scissors, knifes), and more tools.  He has filled an entire bedside 4-drawer cabinet, a TV tray, and now he needs a second TV tray for the C-pap equipment.  He also has a huge oxygen machine / tank he keeps "just in case he feels congested."

Our bedroom is very small.  It has a queen-sized bed and all Hubby's "crap" and now, to make room for the C-pap machine and second table he has completed boxed in the entrance to my closet. So besides paying for the machine for the next 12 months, it also appears I'm going to be walking around in the same clothes I've got on right this minute.  I can still get to my dresser so I'll have clean underwear, but no longer can I get to my outer clothes or my shoes.

This whole experience is going to be a riot.   

Hubby will not have a mask that covers his face; instead the machine fits snugly into his nostrils; he actually took a nap with it after the tech left and seemed to find the machine fairly comfortable. 

This is the RedMed Swift FX C-pap machine that was delivered -- the cord is for the humidifier; it makes some noise but it's not impossible to sleep when it's on. 

Home

Hubby was released from Research Hospital yesterday around noon.  It was so good to get him home.

He's never had surgery before except when they inserted the coil in his head and then a year later went back to see that the coil was in place and holding properly.  To do that they merely inserted a probe into his groin -- so the truth is, he's never actually had a true, real live incision. 

Hubby claims he feels no pain and he IS able to tolerate a lot when he understands that the pain is a body ache.  He lives with horrible knees and whenever they X-ray them they tell him they don't understand how he's able to walk on them.  I honestly don't think I could function with that pain.  However, he's never had an external cut like an incision.  And I can tell you now, he's a big old cry baby when he feels somebody else has done the pain to him.  

He has the most beautiful incision in his shoulder.  Yes, they cut through fat and muscle to make a place for the pacemaker.  But it's small -- maybe three inches, probably less.  He has no stitches, just a covering of superglue over the cut. 

I, on the other hand, have been invaded four times, but the worst was the last surgery for gallbladder, just before everyone began to do laser surgery to remove them.  I was slit from my breast bone to my hipbone in a huge slicing arc across the front of my stomach so the scar curves around my belly.  Hubby's sister had breast reduction surgery during the 1980's and I remember her telling us there was something over 500 stitches by the time they had finished. 

So Hubby's little incision is so minor it doesn't even register on the scale of our big deal operations.  He never really had any sympathy for me when I'd come home from the hospital, all stitched up.  I remember him thinking that a delivery of a cold 7-Up from the frig was his helping me get better. 

But you should hear him moan and groan.  He's even taking pain pills voluntarily.  "Ouchy, ouchy," he cried in the middle of the night when the bedtime dose of meds had worn off.  "Stay away," he warns little Luie who loves to cuddle.  "You might hurt me. I really sore."

"I feel awful," he told me at noon.  "I'm just so tired."

"You've had surgery, silly -- with a full anesthetic -- that's what makes you feel so tired," I responded.  "You need to climb out of that bed and go sit up for awhile."

So he did.  But after an hour he gladly crawled back under his warm quilt, waiting for his personal nurse to serve him dinner. 

Geez!  Still I'm so glad he's home.  But I'm never going to let him forget he's being a weenie about his incision.  I found him standing in front of the mirror, examining the cut, which is beautifully visible through the super glue. 

I pulled up my shirt and pointed to my gallbladder scar which, even after 13 years is still a huge, ungainly welt across my entire midsection.  "See!  That's a scar!" I gloated.  "You've got a hangnail, you big baby." 

Here's a web photo of a pacemaker scar -- Hubby's is neater, and smaller.

Waiting, More damned waiting.

 The pacemaker was implanted yesterday.  The surgery was much longer than I had anticipated but went beautifully.  Hubby said that besides the "two old women who shave my private parts" there were 14 people working in synchronized harmony throughout the five hours the implant took. 

Yesterday he was pretty dopey. Because of fear of bleeding, they would not allow him to get out of bed or move around.

This morning he was plenty sore and even took heavy duty pain meds.  I've never heard him moan and complain as he did when they first asked him to sit up in bed. 

The x-ray (or something or other they did this morning) showed that the pacemaker was perfectly positioned.  He aced the test to see if it was turned on and tuned in.  The incision is actually a thing of rare beauty -- small, perfect, not even much inflammation. 

But.  And it's a big BUT.

Hubby's cretintine levels are way low.  His blood pressure continued to rise all day. It was really high by this evening.  

The cardiologist decided not to release him until we can get control of his bodily functions.  We're in a holding pattern.  Again.

I so wanted this to be the solution we had been working toward the last three years.  It may still be -- but.  BUT.

I just want to cry.  

Update for the Family

This entry is really just for family -- it's merely a recitation of Hubby's current health condition.  Of course, you can read it if you want -- but the contents are really boring. 

We are heading into a seven day period of major doctoring for Hubby -- and hoping beyond hope that we get some answers. 

Tomorrow Hubby starts off with his second physical therapy session at 7:30 in the morning.  Needless to say he is going to those by himself.  He claims, though, that he likes the exercises and he thinks they will improve his balance and walking considerably. 

At 11:00 we meet with the Cardiology Clinic associated with Midwest Heart Associates and Dr. Wineburg, our new cardiologist.  This is a group of nurses who monitor meds and are available 24 / 7 for consultation.  They also act as liaisons between all the doctors we are seeing. 

Hubby gets a rest then until Monday when he goes to Research Hospital admitting -- and though he isn't being admitted, he is being fitted for a heart monitor and has a full day of appointments around the monitor. 

On Tuesday he meets with a pulmonary specialist, again at Research Hospital. At least a full morning has been carved out for this appointment, necessitating our moving his third physical therapy appointment to another date. 

We get a little break for Thanksgiving but the week after we start again, this time seeing our general physician, Dr. Patel, who will be back from his honeymoon and then with another cardiology specialist with Midwest Heart Associates to see what other options are open to us. 

The blessing in all this, of course, is that Dr. Wineburg has followed through on everything he heard us talk about in our meeting.  We may not be able to solve all Hubby's heart problems, we may not even get answers we want to hear, but we will get some response to our concerns -- and at least we know we are being heard and the doctors are concerned.  

The physical therapy is addressing Hubby's tiredness and weakness.  The pulmonary specialist will look at the lingering lung problems and congestion that Hubby repeatedly experiences.  We know the heart can not be repaired and we have reached the limits on the meds that Hubby can take for relief from the A-Fib so now we will investigate what else we can do -- if anything.  At least we will have covered all our bases. 

Hubby had a pretty good weekend, taking care of me, walking dogs, having dinner with dear friends on Sunday night.  By Monday he was down for the entire day -- never moved from the bed.  On Tuesday he had his first PT (physical therapy) appointment and managed to walk the dogs in the morning, while I took the afternoon shift.  Then he drove me to the store and we got our Thanksgiving turkey.  Today was a good day, though I got the early morning dog walking in the park and the "take-out-the-trash" duty.  By the time I'd returned from the park and made breakfast, Hubby was ready to take off for the morning.  Now, he's napping once again, but he's not had as much trouble breathing as last week and he is manfully sticking to his no-salt diet (we won't even mention the ice cream he's had for the last three days). 

This is the time of year where people are counting blessings and we know that we have been given so much.  I'm especially grateful that I was able to retire this year -- I can't imagine how much more difficult things would have been for us if I were working every day.  Medicare is a real god-send -- we could never afford all these specialists without it. Finally, we thank each of you for your kindnesses and prayers during this time -- the dinners prepared just for us, the soup send home to calm upset tummies, the phone calls, the emails, the events planned for outside the house -- it all means more than we can express.   

Exercise

The title is misleading.  I do NOT exercise.  I hate exercise.  As the years pass I have become more and more sedentary.  When I was teaching I had to walk long halls to get anywhere from my classroom so at least I could say I did some walking.  But exercise?  Um, NO! 

Hubby has walked the dogs since I went back to teaching -- well, actually before that, but certainly for the last six years.  I walked our first dog, Miss Milly, all over the neighborhood and the city parks -- but then finances decreed that I find work and my really dog walking days pretty much ended. 

Hubby also walked the boys this summer even after I retired.  But then, in September he got much, much sicker and it finally became my turn to take over all job walking details.  Hubby, being a morning person, unfortunately trained Luie that unless you were walking in the park before 8 a.m. you could poop under the grand piano in the living room at 8:01.  I've been unable to retrain him so since September I'm out in the park between 7:15 and 7:45 walking, walking, walking. 

It took some retraining of the pups, let me tell you.  Hubby didn't care if Luie tried to pull him over -- Luie, being being blind is always on the leash.  Gus, never on the leash, had learned the calling of his name meant you could turn your body in the opposite direction and just wander off.  During the trip to Williamsburg, Gus learned how to rewalk on a leash -- he got just one time to turn and walk away from me before we had a "come to Mama!" meeting and the leash went right back on him until he knew to come when he was called.  Now, he's once again able to walk leash free in the park because he knows the consequences of not coming the moment I beckon.  Luie is still learning that everything comes to a dead standstill the moment he starts tugging the leash, trying to direct the movements of our travels, but he's doing better. 

It also took some retraining for me to get out of that bed every single morning (weekends are NOT time off for good behavior!) and put on massive amounts of clothing and shoes so we can hike our way for 30 minutes around the park.  I had to learn not to curse so loud that everybody within ear shot could hear.  I also had to keep remembering it wasn't the dogs' fault or Hubby's fault that early morning walks had become the habit and now I was stuck having to continue that god-awful time frame.  It just was what it was and I had to come to gripes with it. 

So, every morning I'm out there, plodding through the pine cones and acorns and flying squirrels and chirping birds.  I'm not enjoying it but I'm doing it. The dogs are better for it because Hubby had gotten so he couldn't really walk with them -- and poor Luie was stuck going in small circles while Papa sat on the park bench and Gussie went off the wandered alone.  Now we get in some pretty good runs before our park time ends.  Papa is home in bed sipping hot tea (which I have to make before I leave the house) instead of gasping his way in the cold, dark morning air.  And me?  Well, I'm walking which is a form of exercise. . . I guess.  It's not up to aerobic speeds yet, but we are consistent in our daily ambles. 

Down for the Count

I'm not sending out emails but if you read the blog, you have the only scoop and update:  Hubby entered Research Hospital early, early this morning with congestive heart failure.  He's on the heart floor, they are monitoring him hourly, and we hope and pray that they can clear out his lungs and body and get him back on his feet post haste.  He's been failing since September 23. 

Keep the faith.  MGW