Prayers Worked - Thank You All

My gracious, that was a long stretch of hospital beds plus rehab beds. I was in and out of those twice since I last wrote. Got home yesterday, weak as a kitten, but happy to watch today's football on our reasonably large TV as compared to the tiny thing at Rehab. As strength returns I plan to show up here again on a steady basis.

As I told one nurse before coming home - With all the artificial parts, donor parts, contributed blood, and pills and medicines, I just don't feel like myself. But the mechanisms seem to be working better so I guess the substitutes are working and may be an improvement.

Sally was heroic and came to sit with me three times a day, every day. She kept my morale high and I will never be able to express my full appreciation to her. Hers was a tougher time than mine.

On your mark... get set... pray

We have a race that has gotten underway here in Sunny Florida. We'll know more about winners on Tuesday. Much as signing up for it is not my idea of fun, it is between me and Hurricane Dean. Dean is scheduled to touch down about then and I am supposed to arrive back at the hospital that morning. The operation on my left leg apparently didn't do what it was supposed. (It was a flop.) . First try will be to attempt a repair. From there on --- We will let the surgeon choose a path. Meanwhile, I don't feel much likewriting a warm story based on nostagia.

I wish you well and plan to be back in a couple of weeks hunting and peeking again.

Even Tiger Woods Could be Beaten, If We Tried This Hard.

I feel like the fellow in the song my father used to sing about when he was feeling frisky. It was something about, “ Of course you can go swimming. Hang your clothes on the hickory tree, but don’t go near the water.” I don’t remember the tune nor the words, but the revised lyrics would have to do with taking a bath without getting wet. There is an old Army term for that maneuver which involves a steel helmet cover.

Anyhoo, my orders are to take a shower --- without getting legs or arms wet. The standard instruction is to encase the exempted extremities within a plastic garbage bag and bind tightly with paper tape and rubber bands. There are some flaws. a) A good definition of slippery is the instability associated with a wet shower floor in contact with a wet plastic bag . b) Strong plastic bags are expensive and rare. The plastic bags, which arrive around the Sunday Paper, fit nicely, but can be almost too rigid for tight wrapping. c) The wounds we are treating stem almost exclusively from poor circulation. Cutting off blood flow to all four extremities seems illogical.

After struggling for months to have a shower and keep the wounds dry, Sally and I worked out a system. We simply don’t try. We figured out that the medical objection to the wounds getting wet is the length of time they sit around with wet and bacteria- laden bandages covering the wounds before they are re-dressed. (Six days a week a nurse comes into the apartment and “does” the wounds and once a week I go upstairs to the doctor’s office to give the doctor a look-see”) Sally stands guard outside the shower and listens for sounds of a rotund body crashing to the shower floor. I have a very satisfactory shampoo and shower. I then let Sally help me out of the shower; tear the, now wet, bandages off. I wave at the “hurts” with a dry, folded up newspaper until they are reasonably dry. With months of experience we can pretty well tell what time to expect the different nurses to show up. We time the shower to minimize the dry-wait . Everyone is happy. It is a win-win situation. FORE!

If It Ain't one Da-- Thing, It is Another

Bah, Humbug! I hope that those few that note that I am having problems posting here will think it is the computer, not me. I have made an effort to fix both possibilities, with equally poor results. The Apple store is about 15 miles away. I have been rejected as well enough to drive that far and Sally has declared herself uninterested in facing down Florida traffic. So here we sit. My self-esteem sinks, while Sally is sympathetic, but continues to insist that transportation is not her thing. We have to get a grandson to get over here, as stat as possible.

It's Not Manly, But What the Heck!

At the Beauty Salon/Barber shop over at the Skilled Nursing Facility they provide manicures. I spent some ridiculous time lately watching perfectly macho guys “getting their nails done”. I must say that I have never had a professional manicure in my whole life. Oh, I think that when I was very young, my mother would occasionally clip my nails. I think her motive was to keep me from chewing my nails. Chewing seemed to do a satisfactory job in my opinion – and hurt less. . In later years after I started carrying a penknife, it did a fine job. It did annoy many of my teachers when I would spend the last half the test time just filing away.

The irony of the situation is that now we are in the post-operative stage of my leg problems, I have been instructed to have a podiatrist subject my feet to a pedicure (without polish). It isn’t too bad, but I may never change my socks in a locker room
again.

Next time I get a haircut, I may sample a manicure. That would be one less thing I haven’t tried yet. At least, I can have the excuse of having it done in a semi-medical environment.

Slowly.....

In my stocking last Christmas I received a small hour glass. It is almost six inches tall and if I recall, I have timed it at about five minutes. The passage of the sand is all but invisible. Since I arrived home from the skilled nursing home, I have flipped it over several times and just stared at it as it did its thing. It is quite encouraging when compared to all those hours in the healing process. Progress is hard to recognize if you concentrate, but turn away and then back - progress is appararent even if you can't see it happening. Healing will happen and there is always reason for optomism.

Another measure of the world turning is the fact that while you are confined to bed, physical possesions can easily dissappear. Having had the experience of losing nice pens during past trips to doctorland, I now arrange to take to the hospital one of those super cheap bags of Bics or the like. My accounting shows that of the dozen cheapies I took this trip, I came home with only six.

My roommate was as nice a guy as you could hope to meet - while awake. He insisted on a sleeping pill however. Asleep, he would search out the remote control for his bed and raise himself as high as the bed would go. Darn near to the ceiling! The bed was noisy, so this usually woke me. I pressed the call button for an aide. One would come and see the altitude he was at (with bare naked legs hanging over the side of the bed). She , being afraid he would fall if awakened, would call for reinforcements. I would watch during the whispered crisis and panic sounds until he was back at ground level. I suggested they give him a parachute, but night nurses display little humor.

Home is nice and I am glad to be here.

The Good God willin'

I am going home this after noon and I am told that there will be parades, fireworks, and barbacues to celebrate the occasion. In fact, there is a forecast for rain that could screw up the whole business. (Which leads to the "and the crik don't rise" part.) This whole adventure and the medications involved puts a lag on my memory. Hence I may have as much trouble switching back to Apple as I did re-taming Windows. Give me a day or so and I'll master it again. Happy Fourth!!

Heros are Born

Wednesday noon we had a little excitement (Rest Home Style}. We were peaceably eating lunch in the Main Dining Room. My seat is perhaps closest to the door. Suddenly, there was a loud, explosive-like noise from the kitchen. There are multiple chandeliers throughout the dining room. Each has eight or more mini light bulbs shaped like candle flames. The bulbs all popped like a Chinese fire cracker display with flashes of super bright light. Old folks in wheelchairs like me peddled for the door in a mad panic. What caught my eye were the high school kids that act as waitstaff leading the rush - except for one who stayed calm. She moved to the bank of light switches and turned all of them off. She then went back in to help the residents escape.

She (Tamber is her name) probably did not do the right things from the point of view of her personal safety. There was no time for much thought, but something made Tamber take the selfless path to help others.

A rational review later showed there was never any acute danger, but in those few nano-seconds, Tamber and those few of us that observed her actions knew that she was of the stuff of heroines.

It is an isolated feeling being in a rest home like this.I do know that Lake Tahoe is in bad trouble with a fire and that Paris Hilton got out of the "slammer" today or yesterday. There is only one TV for my roomie and I. Sharing is difficult because he is very deaf and actually dislikes TV. He is a nice guy though, and I don't want to annoy him. He gets tucked in about 7:30 PM so I turn the volume down to the point that I doubt that he can hear and I watch away. Outside of CNN and Fox there is little news on then - and besides, I do enjoy a bunch of the "adventure" series like Law and Order. Between that and the fact that a majority of the staff speaks Spanish makes me feel like I am in a foreign country.

Tomorrow they stuff me into one of those "Non-emergency Ambulances" aad transport me to my surgeon's office. There, the stitches in my tum-tum are scheduled (I don't know if that is spelled correctly but I can't find a dictionary in this library) to be removed and tests run to see if all is working as it should. That should be a pleasant change of pace.

I had a conversation today with a nurse about getting off pain pills that fog me up like a windshield in the early morning. She told me to relax, that they could tell when was the right time to quit. Unbelieving and curious me decided to run an experiment of my own and avoided the pills from 9AM until about 5PM. At that time the routine blood pressure testsing lady came along. My pressure was through the roof and the pain was at high pitch. They gave me BP pills and pain pills and I lay down until dinner was served. I feels fine now, but will leave drug research to the pros in the future.

How Nice To See so Many Comments

Sally has pushed my wheelchair up from my room to the library where this computer is and I was pleased to see so many welcomes. There is a piano concert going on right next door. It is my kind of '40's music (Blue Moon right now) so if my typing sort of jumps, it is just what the music does to me. I am feeling a little devilish right now. I know that liver and onions are not on my diet, but I couldn't resist at lunch - they really know how to cook it!

My roommate by contrast is having a down day. He is eighty nine and suffering a broken leg which he got while trying to make himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. They have a steel rod in there to prop him up, but real healing hasn't started yet. He is told that healing just takes longer at this age, but he gets discouraged. Old age can suck.

Despite my roaring incision infection, the powers that be decided that I should pursue physical therapy this AM. Seems like I should be mad at someome, but I do really sense that progress is coming along. {Damn, that pianist is GOOD!}

Have I mentioned that that there is a cat named Petunia, that hangs out here in the library? He knows that the doors open to the outside when he get close to the detector. So the whole outdoors is his litter box and he can mootch food from every or any room in the place. He's a fat cutie.

I plan to be back tomorrow.

Hi Folks, I Am Still Clicking

Boy, this spring has been a bad-un. The computer at the "Skilled Nursing Home" is up and working, sort of. So here is a brief update. Since February, I have been in the hospital, at the skilled nursing home, and home again, and then started the cycle over again. I hope that I will be completing this round in a few weeks and can get back to the comforts of home again. A large part of the difficulty I have had in writing about the Last Quarter, has been the considerable amount of pain involved and the subsequent pain killers administered. The latter can fog up the thinking apparatus to a good extent.

There are occasional bright spots. The cardiologists report that my heart survived the biggest operations in good shape after lots of worry about the possible need for more valve work. On a different scale, but a bright spot nonetheless -- one of my favorite foods is smoked salmon. This morning a salmon platter was served up as the breakfast entre' and I was able to con the waitress into serving me two breakfasts.

Well, I hope that is enough to establish that I am still around and of good morale. I shall try to conquer the distance to this computer via wheelchair and the fussiness of the thought process and scribble more in the near future.

A NEWLY REALIZED ANNOYANCE

To be put on prescriptions for coumarin, plavix, and other blood thinners and then realize it is time to shave. You carry a razor in the right hand and a new roll of toilet tissue in the left.

Restarting the Brain Cells (?)

After almost three months in hospital and rehab beds, I am going to have a rough time weaning my brain off thoughts of scheduled meds; hospital gowns, transfusions, blood drawing and food that was nothing like home cooking. I do suspect that my sense of humor disappeared in a hazardous waste container. Even though, with one exception, I know I was fortunate to be in excellent facilities and even though I recognize my life and most limbs were saved – I can’t claim any day of it was as joyous as arriving home to family and friends.

Honey, the youngest of our cats, did spoil the mood by being a little too cat-curious the first night home by nipping and tugging at the bandage intended to protect the site of my missing toe. Of course, my YELP and kick sent her (and my startled wife) to the moon.

Obviously, I have not had time to read all my favorite blogs yet, or the e-mail, but I am finding it fun to nudge away at it. More later.

Home again, home again, Jiggitty jog

Just a quick notice that after being in two hospitals and and a rehib - skilled nursing home since the 16th of February, I arrived home this afternoon. I haven't read all the familiar blogs yet by a long shot. That should take several days. Forgive me, but it is too soon for me to want to recount all my adventures. Not very intereesti9ng anyway. Weak as the proverbial kitten now and will pick up tomorrow.

Second Try

Sorry, the Gods had other ideas and shipped me back the the hospital for more slicing and dicing. S is going to bring my laptop in a day or so and I can try again. Thanks for the respondses to my false starts

CAUTION

Take Care! There is a rumor about that the some guy named Floridora has found his way to a skilled Nursing Home which has computing capacity and is trying to remember how to get on-line. If he succeeds, Last Quarter could well be on line within a day or so.

There will be a pause while FloriDora recovers from an array of Problems associated with lousy health. Take care of yourselves.

Our Civic Duty

Over on another blog, a sweet Scottish girl was complaining (between expletives) about being asked to serve her civic duty on a jury panel at an inconvenient time. It reminded me of the first time and the manner in which I was first called for jury duty.

Back when I was discharged from the Army in the ‘40s, there was an unemployment program called 52-20. People just out of the service could get twenty dollars a week for 52 weeks if they didn’t have a job. Two friends and I went each week to pick up our checks. One morning there was a fellow in a sheriff uniform with a clipboard beside the window where we got our money. He politely asked us for our name. Then he said, “Mr. So and So, by accepting that check you have certified that you are unemployed, that you are a resident of the county. You are now called for jury duty. There is a bus standing outside the door that will take you to the courthouse.

Off we went to jury duty. It was a one-day panel and only one of us, not me, was chosen to sit on a case. But we all had to wait all day in case a new jury was needed. At the end of the day, the bus drove us back to where our cars were parked and we were released from duty. Fresh from employment (the Army) where waiting for something to happen was part of the job description, jury duty was not so bad. However, we did switch the time we went to pick up our checks to the late afternoon.

Electric Scooters 'r Us

Last week we went to the store and placed an order and Monday my brand new, three-wheeled, shiny, royal blue chariot arrived. It is rated to attain 4 1/2 miles per hour, but I haven’t pushed it to its limit yet so I can’t verify that claim. It has a horn (a sort of shrill peep peep) and a headlight and two taillights for night forays to the 7-11 (also untested). Gas mileage is irrelevant since each night I plug it into the plug on the wall and the next morning it is ready to roll. I’ll admit I feel like a kid that just got his first two-wheeler.

I think most people live the largest part of their lives with that “It can’t happen to me!” thought in the back of their mind. It got me through a war and that only strengthened the baseless confidence. Thus, it may be that what for an ion has been called second childhood, is simply when the feeling “It can’t happen to me!” meets the reality, “Oh, yes it can!” At that point, the natural response to the realization of mortality becomes a decision to “have some fun while possible”.

So look out world!, as soon as they put the lift on the back of our car, I intend (between doctor appointments) to frolic afar!

Hats Off to the MPs

A friend from Company A and I were between trains and wandering around Union station in Chicago. We had been on furlough and were headed back to the Army Life. Two military police accosted us and asked our names, ranks, serial numbers, what outfit we were in, etc. I assumed that they were just checking on wandering servicemen to see if they were legitimately in transit. As they left they told us to put our hats on. Weren’t we indoors, we asked? We certainly were under cover – there was a roof up above our heads. They gave us a cold, MP look and moved on. The lesson for the day – never get smart with the Military Police.

We were greeted at our camp in California by a very angry Company commander who was waiting for us. He had fire in his eye. He had received a telegram from some hot-shot MP in Chicago requiring the Captain to “reply by endorsement” as to why we had been in Chicago Union Station with our caps neatly folded over our belts instead of on our heads. As he raved, it gradually became apparent he was really much more angry at the MPs than at us.

That was the kind of leader you would follow anywhere.