The Fickle Finger of Fate

Our lives were going so smoothly.  Health issues were pretty much resolved.  We had enough money to supply our basic needs and a little left over for the fun things of life.  The boys were happy and frisky, Gussie has been feeling so much better after the removal of those pesky bladder stones.  The furnace produces heat in the nasty, frigid weather of February and March.  The car has been getting us from place to place most of the time.  There was plenty to eat in the pantry.

Then over the first weekend in March Hubby got what we thought was a case of the "24 hour flu" -- lots of intestinal distress and long spells hanging over the toilet.  It hit Saturday night and continued through Sunday.  Meanwhile we had a snowstorm with ice covered streets.  Monday Hubby requested sherbet and orange juice and he managed to get a workman over to shovel out the driveway. If you know me, you know I NEVER drive in snow but I maneuvered the car through the nasty weather to retrieve the necessary goodies and we waited for him to feel better. 

But he never did.  Instead he got a pain in his upper chest that grew more intense as the day wore on.  I suggested around 5 p.m. that we go to the emergency room but he have nothing of it.  At 11:00 he looked so ashen I insisted.  We entered Research Hospital at 11:15 Monday, April 3 -- and thus began the long, intense and awful saga of the Gall Bladder attack.

Here's the synopsis because no one wants the full manuscript:

1.  After six hours in emergency, Hubby was sent to the 3rd floor, the surgical floor of Research where they sent him for a C.A.T. scan of his chest.  The dyes used for the scan showed his gall bladder very inflamed.  He was running a temp of over 101 and the pain in his chest was increasing.  I got the report from his doctors when he was returned to his room and went home at 2 p.m. to walk the dogs who had been left since 11 p.m. the previous evening.

2.  When I got back to the hospital Tuesday at 4 p.m. Hubby had had an extreme allergic reaction to the contrast dyes used in the C.A.T. scan and to the morphine used to block the pain.  He had attempted to leave the hospital and he was in deep fugue state. 

3.  We were immediately transferred to the 4th floor, the heart floor, where he could receive 24 hour monitoring.  Initially we thought he had had a stroke but that was quickly ruled out, as was a mass in his chest or an obstruction in his belly.  His kidneys were failing, his breathing was erratic and he was still irrational. 

4.  Sometime Wednesday afternoon Hubby began to approach normal.  I managed to go home around 9 p.m. -- poor dogs had been alone since 4 p.m. the previous day. 

5.  A nephrologist and a neurologist were both added to our list of doctors.  I got up early Thursday morning to get to the hospital to meet them and the car wouldn't start.  I called Hubby's mechanic who came and got it started but told me they all knew the battery had a dead cell and would have to be replace -- Hubby was just waiting for better weather to do it.  When I cried, they told me they would get the car going so I could go to the hospital.  All I needed to do was call them when I wanted to go home and they would see to it. 

6.  I missed meeting all the new doctors but I did see our GP and the surgeon who had decided it was not safe to operate and remove the gall bladder at this time.  Thursday afternoon Hubby was sent to radiology where they inserted a tube into his gall bladder to drain it.  They used a lot of pain deadening meds to get the tube in -- and Hubby immediately went into a deeper fugue state than previously.

6.  Thursday night was god-awful.  Friday morning did not improve things so Haldol was administered and now Hubby was quiet -- in fact, he went to sleep and would not wake up.  He stayed this way until Friday morning. 

6.A.  The mechanics came and got the pink Lincoln and installed a loaner battery in it -- as well as topped off all the fluids so I could safely get back and forth.  

7.  Friday brought more tests.  The fugue state persisted, on and off, with more or less intensity all throughout the day.  Saturday was more of the same. 

8.  On Sunday Hubby was deemed improved enough to move him back to the surgical floor on three of Research.  The surgeon still was in doubt whether surgery could be safely performed. 

9.  All during this time Hubby had been either NPO (nothing by mouth) because surgery was imminent or on a clear liquid diet only.  He was growing weaker by the day.  His IVs would blow and his veins became impossible to locate.  Finally a main line was inserted in his shoulder.  He claimed the tubes from the IVs and the tube in his gall bladder hurt and repeatedly tried to remove them.  He wanted to go home but barring that he wanted cake and he never would forgive me for not supplying it.  At one point he suggested our relationship was over if I wouldn't bring him some lemon cake and milk. 

10.  On Monday the surgeon felt Hubby was strong enough for surgery but now it was no longer an emergency.  The gall bladder drain had taken away most of the poisons in his system and he was no longer running a fever.  Surgery was scheduled for the next week (because the OR was booked solidly through the week) and we were released.

11.  Throughout all this, Hubby's heart was never in danger.  His blood pressure would go up but never dangerously.  His oxygen intake was always normal; his heart rate stayed a steady 60 beats.  His kidneys, though not working as they should, never completely shut down.  Even his diabetes never was out of control. 

We spent eight days worrying that very serious repercussions were about to befall us -- but they never did.  Still, it was terrifying.  Those two long spells of fugue states were absolutely the worst days of my life.  I NEVER want to relive them.  Even coming home, Hubby was still a bit bewildered at times -- the first night I worried about the drain constantly.  Then I realized that he had never seen it -- and he couldn't remember it being inserted.  So I got a big mirror and showed it to him -- and that was all it took.  We've never had a drain problem since and he's guarding it quite carefully himself now. 

Each day shows a bit of improvement.  He has driven the car which gave him back a modicum of control over his life.  He is exhausted in a way I've never seen - but then he didn't have any food for eight days and he was stuck in bed, tethered to IVs and drains the whole time. 

Of course, I'm terrified that surgery drugs next week may bring about similar problems but our surgeon has already said, that though now he will be having an "out-patient" procedure to remove the gall bladder, they will keep him overnight, just as a pre-caution.

I cannot tell you how wonderful Research Hospital has been through this process.  They were so gentle with Hubby and so kind to me.  The nurses moved heaven and earth to help me through the awful nights.  They kept doctors informed -- on Thursday this was hourly -- and they kept my home phone number close at hand so I didn't have to live at the hospital.  Hubby has been very sick but we are hoping that now he is on the recovery road. 

Ouch! Or Round 2

It's been raining a lot here in the heartland. It's also been very humid. This kind of weather proves ugly on arthritic geriatrics -- which, as much as I wish I weren't, I am.

This weekend I didn't want to cook, so Hubby and I ate out twice. Once I had crab legs and once I had buttered shrimp, boiled shrimp, fried shrimp AND crab legs.

Can you guess where this is going?

Two years ago I ended up in the emergency room being pumped full of heavy duty pain meds after ending up sobbing hysterically because of the pain caused by -- gout. Gout caused by arthritis and sometimes, the eating of certain foods -- like seafood.

Good grief. Gout. Only old men in Regency romance novels ever got gout. Certainly I couldn't have it.

But I did. And the pain was simply unbearable. If I could have, I would have cut off my foot -- anything to have stopped that endurable pain. Once the opiates kicked in, I still had the pain but didn't care so much that it was there. In fact, I had such a heavy dosage that I could sleep right through the pain for the next 24 hours.

The cause of the first bout of gout (poetry!) was judged due to arthritis and an infection that settle in the joint of my big toe. Plus eating a lot of sea food. So to cure it I took anti-inflammatories and antibiotics. Once the gout was gone I never had a recurrence.

Until yesterday.

Gout arrives while you are asleep. The doctors tell me this is because your heart will keep that blood pumping while you are up and around but things slow down while you are sleeping and your feet, which are farthest away from your heart just don't get enough pumping blood and gout settles in around your arthritis.

Saturday I just didn't feel right. So I took a nice long afternoon nap. Sunday I didn't feel very good either so I took another nice two hour snooze but when I woke up I knew that the gout had struck again. I tried like crazy to tell myself it was just arthritis because my right big toe (the one afflicted previously) was not hot to the touch nor was it red. But it did hurt pretty badly.

This morning I knew. The red band circled the toe. The steam rose from it in the nice cool air conditioned house. And the pain had doubled.

I called my doctor at first light and requested relief. You don't talk to doctors anymore on the phone. You talk to automated routers that shift you from front desk to office nurses -- but none of them are people either. Instead you leave lots of phone messages. I tried very hard to be succinct and complete, stressing I had ended up in the emergency room last time this happened and I was again in a great deal of pain and wanted to avoid at all costs another $2500 bill.

By the time I had to leave for my group class meeting to complete our Problem Assignment due tomorrow I still had not heard from anyone. I left both my home phone number and my husband's cell as he was driving me because I could not put pressure on the foot to accelerate the car, much less brake it. On the way home from the meeting (we did finish the paper), I stopped at the Walgreen's Walk-in Clinic, hoping they could give me a prescription. After a 75 minute wait they told me they never prescribed for a "chronic" illness.

"This isn't chronic," I complained. "I've only had it once before."

Never-the-less, no prescription. I could, however, go to the urgent care clinic another five miles down the road. So off Hubby took me. Except it was only 5 p.m. and they wouldn't see anybody until 6 p.m. and there were already two people ahead of me.

I went home. And there on my answering machine was the message that the doctor had called in the script and Walgreens had it ready -- and all I needed to do was eat a meal, drink a full glass of water, and take a pill (twice a day).

Damn foot. It had better heal quickly.

Too Fat

So Kevin Smith suffers the fate that every fat person, including me, dreads when he is bumped off a Southwest Airline Flight. He's too fat to fly -- without purchasing two seats.

I can still get the arm rest down. I can still buckle the seat belt -- though I can't see over the boobs to exactly see the seat belt I'm buckling. If I suck it in, it will buckle. Hubby has the same problem. Except he doesn't have the boobs. He has the gut -- and huge shoulders -- but no hips. I've the hips but not the shoulders. We both have to squidge our shoulders tight to make sure we don't overlap our seats -- and infringe on our neighbors. Flying in today's aircraft is misery for the fat person.

We have the same problem at the symphony -- old theater, too small seats. We don't have the problem as much in a movie theater -- those seats are big enough to accommodate a bit of bulk. The recital hall where we go to hear monthly concerts is okay, too -- not roomy but not all squishy either. We can manage -- by overlapping each other and putting Hubby on the aisle.

The response I would like to make about this uproar on fat people in too small seats has been much better said by Kate Harding at Salon. Go read her article: Kevin Smith: the face of flying fat.

Amen, sister!

Death

We were notified today that a teacher who had been having health problems last year and then let go at the end of the year died over the weekend. She was only in her 40's.

Last year she got the flu. The flu turned into pneumonia. The pneumonia turned into respiratory failure, followed by some kind of stroke-like episode, leaving her a pale shadow of the once out-going woman we had know and admired. Her last semester at school had been agonizing. Sometimes she wasn't sure where she was and would leave her classroom and wander the halls until an administrator would find her and take back to her room. She could no longer handle disciplining the kids and they ran rough-shod over her at every turn. Whether she could still handle the curriculum is also debatable. I'm not sure. I do know that it was mutually agreed that at the end of the year she wasn't capable of returning to our high school.

This fall she worked at a private academy. They seemed to appreciate her and work around her "episodes" of mental wanderings. No one expected, though, that she would not have long to live. The news today that she had died was just shocking!

My own mortality has suddenly been imperiled.

Fit as a Fiddle

It took a long, long time but suddenly this week I got "all better now." Thank god!

August and September were perfectly horrible months for health. Once that dreadful stomach flu sapped all my energy, I just vegged. Yes, I went to school (most days). Yes, I went to grad classes (every meeting). But weekends I collapsed. Every night required a nap before dinner (when I could eat dinner) and then at least six hours of dead-to-the-world sleep. And every day it took every ounce of my strength just to get my hips to move my legs and my legs to carry my body around and my brain to make some semblance of sense. This went on week after week after week.

But now -- finally -- things seem much more normal. Naps are NOT absolutely necessary. They are still welcome but I CAN stay awake for eight hours without keeling over. I can function minimally on the weekends. We met friends last night for dinner and a lovely concert. I didn't need to spend all day in bed just to make it to the dinner.

Last Sunday I managed to get the 2.5 month hair-cut and perm. I've managed to load up the summer clothes (if not get them downstairs yet) on the couch to make room for sweaters and long sleeves and locate the trash bag of happy pants for fall. I've done minimal grocery shopping and no cooking -- but then how would Chinese restaurants subsist if we all started cooking every meal?

Maybe I can even check in here now and again and write a small entry.

On that note, for family and dog friends -- Gus is turning five this week. Little, tiny Gus -- the sweet boy who came to us a week after Wolfie died. And yes, this weekend is the 4th anniversary of Wolfie's death. I will always miss him -- but the tears are more sweet than bitter now. And Gus is such a dear, gentle, loving little boy. Happy Yapday, my love!

Frustration

One more week of summer and then back to work on a permanent basis. I'm not ready.

Hubby came home on Thursday night from his family reunion with a bad virus -- awful head congestion, low-grade fever, he lost his voice, coughing, earache, stuffy nose, sore throat, achy limbs. By Monday I had caught it full bore.

Also, we discovered, unhappily, that my stomach upset during the week he was away was caused by medicine interacting badly -- because Monday night I got the damned thing again, just 20 minutes after swallowing the pills. Seven hours of throwing up is NOT pleasant under any circumstance. With this dreadful virus, I have been laid low, down, and put out. The count has reached 10 and I can't get back up.

Somehow, this summer just didn't work out the way we had anticipated: slow, restful, lazy days of enjoying each other and our lives. Most of the summer I've been sick -- ridiculous as that is. For the first time in 15 years my blood pressure is normal. It's perfect, in fact. Mostly I run 120 over 80 and it seems the sicker I get, the lower it goes. Plus, since I've started back teaching, without doing anything different, I've lost 30+ odd pounds -- which undoubtedly helped the blood pressure.

I guess I can be grateful the bad back, the medicine interactions, and now this dreadful virus (OH GOD I'M SICK!) didn't happen while I was in school. I get to lay around in bed and not feel guilty that a sub was doing all my work. Of course, I don't do anything around the house, either.

The crowning glory to my summer woes -- the dentist decided I had a cavity that needs to be filled after I finally managed to keep an appointment with her on Tuesday. One more happy thing to look forward to.

So Fritzy, Hubby, and I lay around being lazy and indolent and gasping -- and NOT eating, because when it's 100 degrees and your kidney won't work (Fritz) and your nose won't breath (me) and your temp is at 101 at 3 p.m. (Hubby AND me), nothing sounds tasty.

And school starts in one week's time. I'm just not ready.

The Dentist -- AGAIN!

Tomorrow I have the fourth of five dental appointments to fix a broken back molar. The first of August the root canal was performed -- took two appointments to get it completely dead. Then two weeks ago we started the process of building up the back molar for tomorrow's appointment of making the mold which allows the dental student to make the crown.

I told my dentist at the last appointment that if I had had any idea how awful and long and involved this process was going to be I would have pulled the damn tooth. I'm sorry I didn't. I was clearly told that keeping the tooth was in my best interest because without it the top teeth would move around because they would not have any contact below them.

But . . .the cost of this one broken tooth has become excessive -- in terms of money, in terms or time, and in terms of misery and discomfort. The root canal itself was pitiful and ended up causing me a week of misery -- and $500. That's the cost for a molar root canal at the dental school. In a regular dental office I understand the cost is MUCH higher.

The last appointment again involved filling my mouth full of equipment which makes me highly nervous and claustrophobic. I had thought that since the nerves to the tooth were now completely dead due to the root canal I wouldn't need anymore deadening shots. However, because tthe tissue surrounding the tooth was "going to be disturbed" so I got the full multi-shot treatment. This appointment, though, only cost me $88.

Tomorrow I get to fork over the $380 the gold crown is going to cost me. Since every appointment has been so uncomfortable I'm dreading this one. I can't imagine how they could possible "hurt me" anymore than they already have, but dentists seem to be very adept at devising torturous treatments.

Because so much of the tooth had to be built up, I've been required to make three separate appointments for the making and fitting of the crown -- which means that I since this is the dental school and the appointments go from 9 to noon, I have to take the day off from school, also. Adding that in to the money, the pain, and the misery of this whole experience, I would have been far smarter to just have had the tooth pulled. That costs $45 and could be done in thirty minutes.

I told my dental student I was really sorry I hadn't elected to have the tooth extracted and she was horrified. In fact, she has called me twice since then to make sure that I'm not a miserable patience and to ensure that I actually will show up for the next appointment.

Oh, I'll show up alright -- but I won't be happy about being there.