It's Building Up...

I had a recent consult with my primary doc last week.  One shoulder was getting much worse, which I'm told can happen as range of motion is restored. The amount it can move around partially depends on wearing down those places in the joint which are irregular. Yes, it's way more complicated than that, and I hope you never have to know all the details. I wish I didn't. They hurt - literally. Just note that as those places get worn away, it becomes easier for the joint to become out-of-joint. Dislocated. The resulting pain contributes greatly to reluctance to continue physical therapy. The required starting treatment, on which future medical decisions about procedures rely, actually becomes counter-productive.

Have I mentioned that my primary has seen my x-rays now and was very... uh...impressed... with the deterioration. (So much for working 29 years in a "man's job". Or better known as getting a living wage.)

Much of my discussion with this doc was to ask for a specific prescription for pain. I don't want a narcotic, or not yet. They can be great - for a while - post surgery while healing takes place. After that, they interfere with life. In my case, they rob this household of a legal driver. I've been the sober designated driver - whether circumstances need one or not - since I got my license. And I mean totally sober. I could tell a tale of a major drunk-to-the-point-of-sick from college days, but nevermind. I wasn't driving yet anyway. For some years after that I might have a couple sips here or there, but it was no hardship to give it up. In fact it was a blessing not to have to even smell it. Narcotics are a great help when I need them. But if I don't, my body has this quirk of reacting to them as if I were allergic. Once I need them again, not a problem. It drives docs and pharmacists nuts.

I've been living on ibuprofin in high doses during various long periods in my life. Recently my shoulders have driven me back to them, and as long as I take them with food, my body is fine. (Lab work agrees.) Mostly the pain is lessened. Lately however this wasn't been working as well as hoped. Steroids don't do a thing. And as stated, I'm not ready for narcotics. Steve's doc solved that problem. 

I go into the exam room with him, partly to be his memory of past history, partly to become memory of future instructions, and partly just for support. This doc offered a pain treatment that is doing wonders for Steve, described by this doc as super-ibuprofin. It's called Meloxicam. One pill (instead of up to 16 in my case) lasts a full day, is stronger during that time, and builds up in your system over a week of taking it daily. I tried just one of Steve's and decided to ask for my own prescription. 

Yes I returned one of mine to him, which tells you that my doc approved them for me. So much for spoilers. But it had been a terrible week when I saw her, so bad one arm was essentially useless for normal stuff including just keeping still, not to mention it's totally preventing PT. I had PT Tuesday where, after finding out how much backsliding has occurred,  my therapist found some new range-of-motion exercises I can actually do despite the pain because the joints don't self-dislocate while doing them. Not a total preventative, but still doable exercises.

Wednesday I called my pharmacy to ask why the delay on my pills.They said according to their records I'm allergic to NSAIDS.

SAY WHAT? I explained how many I currently take with no problems except for my needing something stronger to avoid narcotics. I'd just had this discussion with my primary because her computer flashed when she tried to put the order through during my visit. It seems there is one med I took way back in 1985 that had side effects, and I note I never want to take it again to all my doctors. It's called clinoril, and in a month it caused depression. Stopping it had me emotionally bouncing off the ceiling for a day until it wore off. My doc way back then claimed it didn't have that side effect, but switched me over to Motrin. No problem ever again... until now, when somehow it's categorized as an NSAID and stupid computers think I am allergic to ALL NSAIDS. Nope, just one... if you call that an allergy. I just know I'll never take that particular medication again. The pharmacist changed my status in their computer system while we spoke, and within an hour I was picking up my pills.

Every day gets a little better. Driving for a long day of errands, as Steve and I discovered, is not pain free. Not remotely close. But the PT exercises are getting easier, aka less painful. The muscle loss is going to take more time and work, but now I'm actually back to working on them.

There are two offshoots from needing better pain control. First, I called my son to stop on his way home from work so I could drive him to the local store to help me pick up, transfer in/out of cart and car, a new microwave. Yes, we already have a microwave... up over the stove. It's been excruciating to lift a simple mug of water up into it to heat for my morning instant coffee. Now that one is "resting" though still technically functional. The new one is on the counter by the toaster, and some things are rearranged to accommodate loss of counter space, or converting the top of the microwave to substitute counter for, say, the instant coffee or paper towels much used with the machine. Still in basically the same location, easier to cook with. Steve did have to locate a single multi-plug now that one outlet needed to support three appliances, already at capacity with a toaster and light. Don't worry, we don't use all three at once.

Second, I got a referral back to my orthopedic guy. The appointment is early next month. Both my primary and PT people think it's time to start discussing next steps. According to the "system", that would be steroid shots into the joint, before considering surgery. I fully plan to refuse the shots. Steroids do nothing for me. I had them as injections for my knees, and as pills before starting PT. Useless! As if that weren't reason enough, once one starts those, surgeons refuse to do anything until after 4 months have gone by without them.  Hell no!  

I will need to check on whether those pointless steroid pills count in the 4 months requirement. Even so, if they do, by the time surgery can be scheduled it's likely that the required time will have passed already. By the time I see the orthopedic guy for the referral, 6 weeks will have passed anyway. That was the end of July.

Meanwhile I have a few exercises to do. Even when the shoulder dislocates now, the pain eases off in 20 minutes or so. That was yesterday, of course. We'll see if the medication has built up enough more to cut that back a bit.

A Litle Exploration

Well, the Crex photo contest is over for the year, and some very excellent photos won. I was inspired to try for some new ways of getting better shots for the next time around. Since entries are limited both by location and category, I definitely need to get out more, not a hardship in the sense that it's my favorite place to hang out with my camera anyway.

One restriction was that they need to be taken within specific boundaries. I discovered I hadn't quite realized where those were, and how far reaching they went. I picked up some maps of the locations to expand my horizons and opportunities available for scenery and wildlife. I've been missing a whole lot of territory, basically because I've been hunting for  locations holding my favorite birds, the greater sandhill cranes. There's a lot more out there.

A new category opened up this year as well: night skies. I hadn't realized one could get galaxy shots and their reflections in a lake. I also had no idea how many different people got aurora shots as well, something that the latest smart phones capture very well. In fact much better than the human eye can perceive. All but one of the entries in that category were auroras. (How does one choose between those? I mean, really!) I'm still not tempted to get a smart phone, but the lack of variety of submissions got me thinking in new directions.

I have been experimenting with thunderstorms at night from the house, mostly video so far. It's been a very stormy summer. Just the attempt has made the benefits of digital photography apparent, since no film is wasted and all the mistakes are free. I have a particular idea in mind, requiring  a fairly wide expanse of open lake and just the right storm location relative to that. Yep, I want lightning reflections. I found the lake for it to set up a tripod from, where the only access faces east across the water,  so I can set up after it passes but is still active. Or at least that's the plan. Another lake I didn't know existed until this week has a great vantage point looking north.

Why am I thinking I need new lakes? I want a lot of open water. Even the largest lake I was familiar with is covered in blooming waterlilies, rice, and cattails. Reflections of the sky are a pipe dream. One can only get large areas of clear surface water in the early spring after ice out, and that's just too early for thunderstorms. Great for those galaxies and auroras though, when conditions are right. I just don't have the right cameras.

                  Reflections of the sky? In this? Sure! Uh huh. Riiiiight!
 

One disadvantage of the stormy season this year - if I'm not making all the wrong assumptions - is a dearth of young birds. Adults are scarce enough, though they are around, and usually way far away from what a modest camera can capture. I have yet to see a single trumpeter cygnet this summer. As for baby cranes, aka colts, the grasses are tall enough to hide all but parental heads when they rise to watch for danger, at least in the refuge. Around the local roads where we live, they have been sighted from the car when foliage is low, such as early cornfields or soybean fields, and even a construction site or two before the machines get noisy. At least this year I haven't seen any as highway roadkill. Come to think of it, I haven't seen possums splayed along the margins either, just coons, a single skunk, and the seemingly requisite number of deer.

My scouting trip yielded a few shots, as it was a rare blue sky day - no Canadian fire smoke - and a few puffy white clouds did double duty both above and below, with just enough landscape details to make the shots both identifiable and interesting. A lot of other shots were just the kind I take to remind me by, say, a sign, exactly where I was at the time of the shot. Which turns do I take to get back there? One also had the sign clearly rising from a nice swath of poison ivy, just in case I might be tempted in the dark to get closer.

These are both shot from the same spot, one nearly straight east, the other more to the north. Pleasant enough for now, so long as I avoid the poison ivy, but with interesting possibilities in the right weather. By the way, tonight has been forecast as a possibility for storms. These also have the advantage of being next to paved roads and a fairly quick, straight shot from here to the highway. Most of the refuge roads are gravel and dust coats the rear of my car before I leave. One rear wiper blade and a squirter gives me some visibility, but I'm glad the hose easily reaches the back where it gets parked, saving me a car wash each visit.

 Because they look east, I also have started to make note of full moons. I have hopes for a nice bright orange one rising from where the top picture is aimed. I know my camera has no problem getting a rising full moon and its reflection as it clears the far shore. I've done it in another location a few years back. This is the only place that shot would work inside refuge boundaries. The road to this spot is problematic enough I wouldn't consider it in winter conditions, but a harvest moon approaches.

On the way back, at full highway speeds, I was blessed with two interesting sightings, much closer than I've seen either since both were just a few feet from the pavement and unfazed by speeding traffic. First was a fawn, still fully spotted and huge ears for its head, looking as if it was planning to cross, with no understanding of how the process of transforming into roadkill was accomplished. I slowed a little despite almost no warning of its presence, and spoke a warning to it as if it could hear through my closed windows and understand. Just before I came even with it the fawn got sensible and darted back into the woods it had presumably emerged from.

I do hope Mamma was on that side of the road so it wouldn't try crossing again.

Just as I was getting over such a close deer sighting, up ahead at the very rim of the pavement was an adult sandhill crane, very dark from a recent dirt application, head down to the ground, leaving me with a first impression that somebody left a dark silhouette sign at the edge of the road. Then it moved, tugging at something I couldn't see which appeared to be caught under the pavement edge. My car didn't alarm it a bit. Was it a snake perhaps? I had read that they ate small reptiles and amphibians when available. What else could be stuck there to interest a crane?

It was still tugging as I passed, and safe in the glimpse from my rearview mirror.

Just as safe as my camera was, zipped into its hardbody case while I rolled by. Sigh....

The Epstein Memorial Ballroom

By now you've likely heard about tRump's "improvement" to the White House Rose garden. You know, the part where he buried it and most of the accompanying lawn under plain concrete and threw some picnic tables over part of it. No flowers. No trees. No grass. No shade. Just, well, tacky.

Perhaps you've also heard about his "improvements" to the interior of the White House, covering everything he can with gilt.You know, because nothing personifies his values like a thinnest film of gold over whatever he can hide under it. Again, tacky tacky tacky.

Does it even bear mentioning that he hid the portraits of our recent Presidents up a staircase and along a hall where only very special people with very exclusive clearance are even allowed to set foot, never mind set eyes on them for who knows how long into the distant future? It can't be claimed to be political, exactly, since both Republican and Democratic Presidential portraits have been thus relocated, as if anyone who still lingers in living visitors' memories for comparison to him must be as erased as much as possible, with only his own likeness worthy of being prominently displayed. Let's face it though: we have not had any President of his caliber in the White House in living memory. Twice impeached, narcissistic, unintelligent (thinks Alaska is part of Russia), vengeful, convicted of 34 felonies, he is truly in a class of his own! Or at least we hope so.

Now he's busy planning a huge - I mean really YUGE - ballroom as an addition to the White House. Such an addition, in fact, that it will dwarf the White House into obscurity. Go ahead, look at the renderings of what he has planned, see what I mean. We hear no justification for why we need such a thing added. Comments have been made that this is meant as a distraction from the Epstein scandal, something to distract the country from the likelihood of tRump having availed himself of the party favors in the form of access to underage girls, from his years long buddy Jeffrey Epstein at his frequent parties. I don't need to describe the sordid details further, right? We've all heard them, whether we choose to believe the worst or not. The point here is the likelihood of his using one tacky disgrace to distract from a deeper disgrace.

I'd like to pass along a suggestion I heard earlier. Let's start referring to that proposed YUGE disgrace of building a proposed gilded ballroom as a distraction from a much worse disgrace as "The Epstein Memorial Ballroom!" Let us never forget!

What A Difference Half A Day Makes

Yesterday afternoon was PT again. I've been working on putting some of the stretches into ordinary activities. For example, just to get my deodorant on, I've had to force my arms up along the door frames in the bathroom for years already, pulling them by climbing with my fingers, then stepping back a bit to make enough room for that little roll-on bottle. It makes it possible to do (so long as I keep gripping the door frame) which I'm pretty sure those around me appreciate. Now I even have to do the same thing without the bottle, once the hand is at a new level for as high as I can get it, not just step back but twist away towards the other door frame. I think the eventual goal is being able to reach the back of my head... comfortably? There are two of those for each arm, one high, one low. I can give it a go each time I head out of my bathroom - you know, the point in my life when I'm no longer in a hurry  -  and get that particular set of stretches in there several times a day.

So would you think it would be getting easier? The stretch a little longer? Less painful? How about if I told you I spent much of three days last week being pretty sure the right shoulder was self-dislocating again? Somehow that surprised my therapist yesterday when we were doing a bunch of stretches while I was lying down on her table. 

It was an interesting session in itself, partly because of the horizontal position, partly because there was a lot of stretching and pulling to warm my shoulders up so we could get the extension I got at my last visit. But I managed a lot of conversation to distract us both from what was going on. She keeps telling me these are not supposed to hurt, and I should stop her when we get to that point. I kinda figured if I stop when it hurts I'd never get past the situation I'm currently in. Pain avoidance is how I got here! I'd started it by telling her how one of the homework stretches was getting put to use during last week week when there was a bunch of planting as my mail order iris and daylilies arrived. There was also a lot of pulling out of dead leaves around the bottoms of the current daylilies, done from the sitting in a chair position and reaching way forward, which turns it into a more upward stretch relative to my back, which I need.  Those dead leaves pull out easily, but finding them all is a challenge. It's a long reach towards the center of the circular garden. Removing them allows visibility to find the newest sprouting of weeds as they show up against the newly bare dirt.

I plan to give her a pod or two of seeds in the fall, whether we're still working together or not. She was interested in my tall balloon flower plants. I can just drop them at the front desk with her name on the envelope. It should also include some names of varieties of other plants we discussed so she can look them up to see if she wants to locate her own. Ahh, the joys of finding a fellow gardener.

As a distraction, the topic worked really well during PT, and she managed to get me past the point where I'd start to try to pull back against her stretches, past the point where it hurt until I had to make it stop... but I wanted to finish my sentence first. Of course sometimes the "OW" just burst out.

There were times I needed her to move the arm being worked on back into normal resting position instead of me doing it. There was more pulling and tugging during the process and we made the joints stretch a few degrees past the last session, something they had to be worked on to achieve as they had tightened up again since then. But we made real progress by the end of the session. 

Now I would have figured I'd be aching all over the place last night, even just sitting in my chair watching TV. Lying down to sleep should have been excruciating... but it wasn't. My shoulders were pleasantly numb last night. I was greatly encouraged.

Of course by 3AM it was a whole different story. I'd wake myself up from the tiniest motions, like pulling the covers up a bit as the house grew cooler, or pushing them back down as I got just a bit too warm after a short while. Apparently I do this in my sleep, only now it was waking me up.

Rudely! It's even messing up my dreams!

Rather than being able to go back to sleep in my bed, I needed a more vertical position. This means relocating to my recliner, which is where I'm writing from. Each morning I need to take my thyroid pill an hour ahead of taking anything else - no breakfast, coffee, or pain pills, and not just because the latter need food to be consumed with them. Last week I learned for the first time since 1985 that my cast iron stomach allowing for up to maximum recommended ibuprofin intake was not a guaranteed thing. I'd taken some at bedtime but without food, trying to keep my blood sugar levels down in the morning. Minding the diet is easier than minding yet another medication. What I got in exchange for that slip was a very sour stomach. So no more skipping being mindful of enough food intake with the pills, as well as lower pill intake to keep it easier to juggle both needs at the same time.  The cost of that turns out to be less pain control. Ma-a-y-y-ybe a little less stretching homework.

PT shares the same roof as my primary doc. On my way out yesterday I stopped at her scheduling desk and made an appointment with my primary to discuss getting the same non-narcotic pill Steve is currently taking which is doing wonders for his pain control, which in turn does wonders for his mobility. Some days he even ignores his walker! Of course that means he tends to overdo it a little and gets to endure a couple days needing it again, but I'm sure he'll get the new improved normal balance worked out. There has been so much time where we doubted he'd have any good days again.

My primary already gave me a referral to a pain doc. Unfortunately the online system they use for medical communications is a bear - to be very very polite. But since I'm not asking for a narcotic, because I want to try to avoid one of those until, say, dealing with post-surgery stuff, so I can continue to drive legally, I figure she can prescribe pain meds without that particular complication, without signed contracts to promise not to overuse and abuse the meds that going on narcotics would require these days. It's a bonus that a drive to her office is twenty miles shorter as a round trip than the closest pain doc. If my primary wants to just go for one bottle and reassess, fine.  But I know the stuff works because (shhhhh, don't tell) Steve let me have a single pill to try. One with breakfast, lasts the entire day, no needing a dozen pills to get through a full day and still not eliminate pain noticeably until compared with a full stop of pain meds.

My doc has an opening Monday. I'll be in after work.

Meanwhile this morning my body is overreacting to the extra stretches and pulls and pushes from yesterday's 45 minute session. By now the thyroid pill has had its hour to work, so I'm going to go get my morning pills, coffee, and breakfast together and have a real start to my day while I start proofing this for posting.

Owww..... But there's time for enough pain relief to tolerate going off to work.

An Accidental Repair

 I'm nowhere near as handy as I used to be. While I'm still fairly spatially adept, certain things that used to be second nature have now faded behind the veils of time and old age, not to mention the moderate brain damage that happened during a cardiac procedure some years ago. I'd thought for years the damage was mostly affecting speech, though that has mostly repaired despite words often escaping me for periods of time. At least when writing I have time to try workarounds and come up with what I was looking for.

But certain skills with basic tools are becoming more challenging, and I even include a computer keyboard among them. There are times I have to stop and figure out which keystroke will do what I need in terms of procedures. They still work well with basic typing, just the usual abundance of typos. But sometimes I just have to tell myself to stop thinking about the keyboard and just let muscle memory take over. Shut it off, turn it back on, and log back in usually reminds me which thing to hit where.

It's been photography season for the last few months. I've been managing with a slightly broken camera for over a year. A film camera would have been toast. I managed to drop the thing one day taking it from house to car, violating one of my cardinal rules: don't just rely on my ability to balance a stack of items. The camera has a strap, as does its case. When holding either one, at least a finger needs to be hooked though the strap. DUH!

Oops! I changed direction to open a door and heard it clunk on the pavement. The case of the camera body came slightly apart. Not enough to fall off, but enough to interfere with turning it on and off, since the process involves pushing out its telescoping lens, or pulling it bsck flat with the case. I quickly figured out that pinching it right in a line with the on/off button enabled those functions to work. I tried the same off to the other side of it but the case wasn't budging. It wouldn't come back together. 

I decided not to force it. Being digital, it's not like light flooded inside the camera body to overexpose  film. I still got OK pictures, or at least as OK as what I was actually taking. I'm one of those people who can easily take ten shots and sort through for something between acceptable and pretty darn good. As long as each shot was taken with a pinch in that one spot, the camera worked. It had made handling it interesting, nearly always a two hand production: one to stabilize, the other to shoot. I could still easily get this, shortly after the break:

Or this, one from last summer, also post break:

Or even this, from early spring this year, with enough detail to keep most everybody from recognizing it as pussy willow, all puffed out.

I'm not sure exactly what happened, but think I just got frustrated from being in a hurry and trying to work the zoom. My hand just clenched a bit harder then usual. The unfastened side of the case suddenly clicked, and even as I watched, progressively popped itself back together.

Could it be? I hit the on/off button. No pinch, just a tap. It clicked, shutting off. Another tap, it opened. One more and the shutter clicked. I looked in the back screen and, allowing for the glare from the sun bouncing off my shirt obstructing its view, the shot I just took was there. 

 So why, oh why, hadn't I gotten brave enough to do that on purpose before this?

Of course I know exactly why. I had no replacement camera. Just the day before I'd been looking for that exact model online. I found out three important facts. First, it was made in 2014. Second, only refurbished ones were available, if I trusted  the source to have done the wonderful job they claimed. I'd done it buying this camera when we lived in Arizona, and it worked perfectly. Now? No longer confidant. Third,  the price on even refurbished ones was much higher, but replacements remotely close to this model via newer cameras were close to a grand, way over my budget. Besides, they had more lumps and bumps and stuff to learn. I wasn't that desperate that day. Now I don't have to be! 

I had concluded that if I actually got that desperate, I might finally start considering getting a smart phone.

OMG! Not that!!!! Yes, I do know it's likely my only practical shot at getting photos of night skies. Galaxie shots, auroras, whatever, the newest ones have cameras which capture the light and colors very well. But I'd have to learn a whole damn new phone AND camera at the same time! 

I already have this unique talent for just touching Steve's smartphone, and killing it. I can't even get the swipe right to answer an incoming call for him, however important it may be. 

Go ahead, call me a luddite. 

Just don't drop my camera!

Can You Pronounce YOUR Medications?

I continue to be amazed at how many people cannot seem to pronounce certain medication names. Nor do they seem to care one iota, and this even includes some in the medical field. But a phone call this morning got me absolutely giggling. It's I good thing I knew the names.

My Part D insurance requires that my pharmacy is Walmart. Either that or I pay the whole amount. One calls in, and has to fight past the automated answering machine to speak to an actual pharmacist. I have discovered one sure-fire effective fib that works: tell the machine you need to "transfer a prescription'". The machine is programmed to "help" take care of all your issues without bothering an employee. Yelling does not help. Trust me on that. The machine won't hang up on a rude caller, which is almost more frustrating than if it did. "Pharmacist" or "speak to pharmacist" no longer gets you connected, but instead gets an inquiry from the machine as to why. But it's not capable - yet - of taking care of transferring something from another pharmacy, even a different Walmart one, because the number system on the bottles is different. A HUMAN IS STILL REQUIRED. Take advantage while it still works.

Occasionally it's helpful to bypass the human. One could be on hold for a while. My store's machine will call and ask me in its mechanical voice if I wish to refill something that its records show is about to run out... if I've been taking it as directed. It's usually phrased as "...beginning with the letters - - -". Usually that is helpful, as long as the letters are perfectly pronounced, the background noise is nonexistent, and there's only one thing starting with those letters.

I test my blood sugar once a day. Both the lancets and test strips start with the same three letters - their brand name. They don't come in boxes with the same quantity inside, of course, because Medicare hates giving me more than a 3 month supply. Lancets only come in 100 count boxes. They can't change that, but lancets are cheap. Test strips come in 50 and 100, but since I only test daily, the 100 count box is too many.  Those are expensive, so Medicare tries to limit me to one little 50-count supply. This means they get renewed in different schedules. When that automated call comes through, are they asking about the lancets or the test strips? I want a pharmacist!

There are times when the dosage I need for some reason is changed temporarily. Do I need the one the machine is pushing? Can I have time to check in my bathroom when I'm in the living room or even out in the garden?  I just say,"No." Nancy Reagan would be proud, right? 

While there are lots of reasons to avoid the machine, this morning I found a new one. Whoever programmed it never bothered to find a way to give it correct pronunciation cues. 

I started the call. I was going to be in the store later and wanted to check if my recently ordered refills were ready. There could be many reasons, but just knock it off to the grocery pick-up being at the totally opposite end of the B-I-G store from the pharmacy. I just informed the machine I wanted to check on prescriptions. It noted the number I called from, gave my birthday (oh-oh, could be security issues here) and asked me to verify it, and then did it's worst to pronounce what was ready.

First was my statin. Yes, I'm of a certain age where statins  are useful, and have been for a while. Any word with "statin" in it, including statin, emphasizes the first syllable. In my case, the product name has 5 syllables, the last two of which are "statin".  So the 2nd and 4th are accented. The machine accented the first, third, and fifth.

Good thing I remembered what I'd refilled, right?

I also take a drug with what seems to be the hardest name to pronounce in the country, metoprolol. It's so bad that I actually compliment medical personnel who actually can pronounce it properly. Not even all of them can. People see the word and break it up into sections... and do it wrong.  1st two make meto. (It sounds like meh - toe'.) Not "me too", something also chosen. People read a familiar word instead: metro. They borrow the "r" following the "p" and stick it earlier in the word for that particular gymnastic tongue exercise. Then there's no "r" for the 3rd syllable. Thus meh-toe-pro-lol becomes anybody's choice of four or five different mispronunciations.

The machine this morning assured me that two totally unrecognizable drug names were ready for pickup.

So yes, I hung up giggling. It beats swearing at an uncaring machine. At least the news is good.

I wonder if I could get paid for teaching a machine how to speak "medical". I figure almost anybody who did well in "speaking" organic chemistry at the U could do it. We won't discuss how "interesting" the lab-recipe part was, OK? But I do recall somebody pronouncing "acetyl" as ass'-uh-teal'.

If you need pronunciation help with that, go look it up.  Please.

Life On Steroids...For A Week

Part of my shoulder therapy mercifully included some interesting pain killers. Or at least that was the theory behind prescribing them. Ibuprofin wasn't cutting it, at least while I was unwilling to bring it up to the maximum dosage. When the knees were busy grinding bone-on-bone for years, because I had to continue walking, I was regularly up to 4 pills at a time, 4 times a day. I've been limiting them to 3 for 3.

Note that I can't recommend that dose to anybody else despite using it myself. All my doctors agreed on that point back before they were replaced due to geographical distance, and several now-local ones even afterwards, in the wisdom of their hindsight for me. I had been able to stop altogether for a while once the knee grinding ended. I started again when the shoulders demanded attention. One helpful doc in Arizona had just finished making that anti-recommendation while he was reviewing my lab work. When he got to the kidney function he noted it was down a bit... before adding my levels were "right on for my age".  So much for that warning, eh? The docs all warn against digestion issues as well, but I call mine a "cast iron stomach" and have for decades. Once that final pregnancy was over, it took spoiled food to get it to pay attention.

However, when I took my current primary doc up on her recommendation to see somebody about my shoulders - after delaying long months because I'd heard enough about how painful it was - I was told that PT (physical therapy for those lucky enough to never have needed it) was the mandated first step after X-rays, which had shown severe arthritis in both shoulders. My immediate response was "No PT without pain control."  They already hurt enough, to the point where use prompted the shoulder pain to run down the arm to the elbow, and continued use sent it into the thumb, finally tingling the fingertips. PT on top of that? NO WAY IN HELL!

Without batting an eye the orthopedic doc sent a prescription in to my pharmacy... for steroids.

Steroids? Seriously? OK, then. I made my first PT appointment for the time I was taking those, a collection of pills that started off at 6 the first day, 5 the next, and so on,  one less per day until they were gone. One card held them all, so if you took them start to finish you knew exactly where you were and what time to take the next. No "did I take that one yet?" The biggest issue was reading the teensey tiny print under the pills to see when to take them. Then just poke the foil and push one out.

The first side effect was terrible! Taste! OMG the bitterest thing I've ever had in my mouth! It was best if I had something to coat my tongue with immediately, but not all the timing of them allowed for that. I eventually semi-mastered the technique of keeping them off my tongue as much as possible on their speedy route down the hatch. Note "possible" does not equate with "perfect." Blecchhhhh! Water does not "cleanse the palate". Be warned.

Day one was 6 pills, from before breakfast till before bed. You'd think I'd get some pain relief after those, right? Hey, want to buy a bridge too? I know where one is for sale.......

Day two was my afternoon start to PT. The only effect so far was morning diarrhea! Wowsa! Six pounds gone in a flash! Yee-hahhh! Maybe I could learn to like this stuff, eh? Who knew it was a weight loss drug? OK, maybe everybody else in the world, but I'd never had any interest in using them for any reason before in my life. And I still wasn't noting any pain relief. With nothing more to lose I gritted my teeth, walked into the PT facility, and met a sweet young thing named Kim. OK, maybe she was 35 or so, but from my perspective, "sweet young thing" was accurate enough.

A quick discussion gave her my history, and some gentle manipulation of my arms verified what I couldn't do. I was correct about them self-dislocating when my arms were raised, even the small amount I could do myself. Trust me, no bragging there about being right, not when it's a sharp increase in pain level. Yep, even on the steroids.  

We switched to the rest of the hour being her guiding my arms into different positions and me saying "OW!" when it was time for her to stop. Bless her, she stopped! She brought out plastic angle-measuring things and wrote down what my starting range of motion was. Then followed some stretches, held for 90 seconds each if I could. I confess to pulling back a bit on those as 90 got closer. It seemed a better idea than whining.

We chatted through much of it. She'd been surprised by how flexible and pain free my back was, but was even more surprised by the reason: 6 years of belly dancing way back when. I demonstrated a few things that didn't need anything except back flexibility. No pain. Still lots of motion there though I don't do it any more. 

She's pondering looking for a teacher....

Once the stretches were done, she checked my range of motion again. It had improved, as being defined by my ability to move the arms a little farther before the "Ouch". I couldn't actually tell since the ouch was still just as much of an ouch. But she was happy with the possibility of progress. I tried to be too. since she'd explained to me that if they need to do surgery, and providing I wished to have it, they wouldn't even consider it unless I could demonstrate increased range of motion before they even started.

Apparently surgery for pain control is not to be considered. Do you suppose Big Pharma helped put that rule in place? What? Paranoia?

There were 4 more days of steroids, one less pill each day. Pain levels increased to familiar levels, pointing out to me that they had actually been doing some good while I was taking the larger doses. I bet you're trying to be polite and not wonder about the diarrhea being ongoing, eh? Well, my eating habits had no change, but nothing was coming through until 2 days after the pills ran out. And in the next several days I watched the numbers on the scale return to their previous normal. No higher, thank goodness. But as a diet pill those things are a total failure.

Sigh.....

And I seem to be losing the increased range of motion I'd gained with that first visit. I can no longer touch my hands behind my hips, for example. During my PT visit I'd done it for 2 seconds! (Fingers splayed, of course.) I haven't been back to PT but only because they were booked three weeks out, at which (re)starting point I booked three in a row, a week apart. Same weekday, same hour, easy to remember. The stretches are reaching shorter points, except the one against a door frame needed to put deodorant on in the morning. It hurts less as well. Oddly, putting things up into the microwave over the oven is more painful than before.

I think however that I'll be raising my ibuprofin dosage to it's highest for the next month or so. I'm hoping to make progress, but I'm not hoping for more pain. And I'm back to one arm aching just because it's hanging from my shoulder. So I guess those nasty pills had some effect.

Time for that other appointment, the one with the pain doc.

YAHOO! Crazy In The Email

I have so many complaints about my email system these days. Yahoo has been hosting my account from many many years back originating with Frontier, and finally decided to fully adapt it to Yahoo. As the format hadn't changed in the previous years, I didn't think to much of the announcement. My address wasn't changing. What's the fuss?

Then I started using it.

Start with the layout: The list of what's there takes up a chunk of the left side of the screen. When opened, there's a tiny middle column with the actual email inside it. Note that it's never reformatted so I can read/view the whole thing without zig-zagging left to right for every partial single line of text! I was familiar with the phenomenon for people sending very wide emails. I could decide if it were worth the bother to read it all. 

Photos are even worse, unless  you think viewing small chunks at a time can give a sensible view of the contents. By the time I get from left to  right and top to bottom, I have to go start over in hopes of seeing what the actual picture was, especially if there's something that was supposed to be funny about it. Their alternative is to make them all thumbnails, where a child's head is the size of a pin head - and not even a hatpin's head. (Anybody remember hatpins?) Oh sure, I can expand it... to about double. So then the kid's head actually looks the size of a hatpin head. Whoopee! Is that child smiling? Crying? Holding up an award? Sticking out their tongue? And by the way, more than one kid means I have to ask which kid I'm supposed to care about in a photo?

It's not just that my laptop fits my lap instead of overlapping it (no pun) by inches on either side. Mine is light, easy to carry, doesn't cut off my circulation like one 10 pounds heavier might. So the screen is modestly small as a result. But my email carrier has decided to fill the right side of my screen with a huge ad. Did I ever ask for an ad? Do I mind terribly if it crosses the bottom of my screen  instead, allowing me to actually read my own emails instead of having to bounce them a round every two inches? No, and no.

The email content is always prefaced by a blurb telling me what it says. Because if I can't read my own email I can read the summation? Because I can pre-decide it the hassle is worth it? Because I'm too stupid to understand what the sender wrote but I can figure it out from what AI wrote about it?  Oh yeah, there's a little blurb mentioning the summary was written by AI. Trust me, it's not an improvement. It focuses in on a word or two as being the most relevant in the message, when often it's not relevant whatsoever. If that isn't enough of a time killer, it follows that alleged summation by asking if it was helpful. If I choose to acknowledge their  query, I can click on a thumb, up or down, take my pick. Either choice will require filling in a form saying why I clicked that one.

I just wanted to read my own email! I don't need your G*D* Survey! Just go the F*** Away! Forever!

I have found all kind of ways to express how it's not helpful, not wanted, not within my time availability, an impediment to my space functionality, and always followed by my very sincere request that they stop doing it!  Apparently the problem AI has with its attempts to understand what people are actually trying to communicate to me is even exceeded by it's inability to understand my reaction to it! So far, unlike Alexa's programming, it hasn't taken to scolding me, however politely,  for certain word choices. I might begin to understand it has some potential for usefulness if it demonstrated that much comprehension, but really, I just want it to go the F*** away! (Did I forget to say, "Please"? Well screw you! Sideways!)

Even without all those issues, if they went away there'd still be an abundance of STUPID in my email. For example, we order a lot of things to be delivered to us so we don't have to drive all over the place. In response we get a lot of emails, keeping us informed about where in the progress to arrival any particular package allegedly is. That changes per package with each progressive email. There's the normal stuff: got your order, got your money, putting it together, shipped, tracking label to follow it, expected ETA. Then there's Change in ETA, which is always about a delay, never about getting here faster, of course.  

OK, there was that one time... but they changed their minds and it was even later than before.

So far there's not much stupid in all that. But one sent Saturday raised my eyebrows. A plant would be two days later than promised, and it's revised 3 day delivery schedule for today would now be for Friday. 

The 22nd of July.

Got your calendars handy? Today is Monday the 21st. In what year will a July Friday be the 22nd?

C'mon now, this is a live plant. I really do want it to arrive in that condition! You know, STILL ALIVE!

I was already giving sincere thought to changing my email address to a  totally different carrier. This plant won't be that final straw, but it just adds charcoal and vinegar-preserved spider topping on the email frustration.

On A 39th Tornado Anniversary, Memories Revisited

They brought back the footage from that day on the news/weather this morning. KARE 11 TV had had a chopper in the air nearby, filming the dancing twister for nearly an hour! That fact alone - as they put it this morning - put them "on the map". Footage is still damn impressive, looking like the chopper was about to be picked up by it if it veered even a bit closer, but I'm sure they had great zooming equipment rather than risk getting too close. How else do you follow a police chase from the air? Good lenses! But I'll give them kudos for cojones as well. So did the world.

It was one of those pleasant midsummer days, and I was back out of the way of the excitement in Golden Valley. We couriers were still radio dispatched back then, different size vehicles on separate channels with their own dispatchers. It's easier to organize the vehicle to send that way. I drove a compact all those years. Why bother me with a dock truck run? Or even a pickup load?

I'd just finished dropping a package, sitting in my car waiting for the next piece of work in my area. In the sky between me and downtown Minneapolis I was watching a cloud build. I love to watch them anyway, but this one kept my attention because it was growing quickly,  roiling and churning like I'd never seen before, ever. Since dispatch was slow, I made a comment over the radio that there was something really weird going on with that cloud. Maybe there was weather brewing? When possible, we all gave each other heads-up information like that. Avoid road X, accident backing up but Y looks like a good alternative. Road Z's construction was finished, good to use again. "Mounties" patrolling at such a location, watch your speed. Dispatch could use the open channels to ask who was interested in some late work that afternoon/evening and let us bid on it or not. Computer dispatching was soon to change that. But not yet.

Shortly I got a pick-up to head up to Coon Rapids from where I was. Interesting! I'd be driving into a thunderstorm, looked like. 

Suddenly the radio erupted in chatter. One of the rare fellow women drivers asked whether one stayed in their car or got out and headed for the ditch when a tornado was coming?  Say what? Others piped up to warn to avoid where I was heading... so of course I headed that way... slowly. Got to get the job done, right? And I was carrying medical stuff to a company manufacturing the latest at the time, a new, large company and - to date - good customer. Scandals were still a ways off for them. I'd be coming in behind whatever the storm offered, slowly, but I'd be coming. I hoped the roads would be clear of debris by the time I got there, mentally reviewing alternated routes if needed.

There was a nature center in the area, which is where the funnel hung out for quite a while. My destination was across the road from it. On my way to them I saw all kinds of tree damage, though nothing really impacted me or prevented my little car from proceeding carefully. By the time I'd gotten that close to my destination, sirens had silenced, dispatch let us know it was officially over (but still be careful) and we had work to do, folks!

I pulled into the parking lot and walked up to the front door. Mine was a little package, not a dock delivery. The front door was locked, but I rang the bell. And again. People were just starting to emerge from somewhere within the building. A couple popped their heads out to survey possible damage, and probably assess whether they still had transportation home. A couple trees were down on their property but mostly just damage to their landscaping. Essentially that tornado had hung around next to them and never quite crossed the road!

That wasn't the most unusual thing for me that day. It turned out I wasn't the first from our company to make a delivery once the twister had passed. Their bell could be heard from wherever they were sheltering, once sirens has shut down, and somebody walked out to find one of us waiting to be let inside with their package! Boy were they impressed! And here already they had a second one. It took me a while to wonder just why they locked their door behind the first driver, but by the time that occurred to  me I was down the road onto my next run. I did pass the info on to dispatch anyway. Likely some ambitious sales staffer could use it to try to impress the next potential customer.

The broken trees at the nature center eventually got cleaned up, and things regrew or got replanted. I don't recall anybody getting hurt that whole time, though there was minor property damage for such a long lasting twister. The TV footage was aired over and over and over, part of the station's self promotion, until we all forgot about it. Awards got publicized, reminding us to tell our tales again. Just like today's morning news/weather did, showing some footage just another time.

Wonder how they'll celebrate 40 years? 50?

I do know one thing. If ever I see a cloud churning and boiling like that one did 39 years ago, I plan to drive off in another direction... as fast as is safe!

Postal Claim Impediments

I sent off a package a while ago, special jewelry I handmade for special family - and about to be family -  members to suit the occasions of a pair of weddings. They were general styles I'd been making before in the jewelry club, some selling in the store, many or most given as presents to others. These were earrings and necklaces mostly, or at least the really good stuff was. By "really good" I'm talking about adhering to club standards for their store: quality of construction, sterling silver, high quality beads. In other words, not the mass market plastic or cheap glass one can buy at Michael's. Not knocking Michal's here, because thank goodness for them and being able to learn inexpensively, right? 

My version of high quality beads is the kind one pays for individually, not by the string. In this case, my particular choice was to order via Etsy some hand crafted glass beads in various colors in the form of small flowers, like 3D and/or multicolor roses. More specifically, when the Ukrainian war started I made a point of ordering  from a shop called Oliverstar. I highly recommend them, both for quality and - as the budget permits - helping a business succeed and the artists make a living in the middle of horrendous circumstances. Dignity and respect, not bad goals.

Sounds  good so far, right? But you did read that title?

Three women were sent gifts. Since all are (now) in the same family, I mailed them in one box, wrapped individually, made according to the information supplied by one of them: color preferences, and the previously unknown fact that one didn't have pierced ears, meaning necklace only.  I included something larger for one, glass made when that was my favorite skill to work on in that same club. The other two had received similar glass earlier, hand delivered for another occasion. It's why several packages went in one medium box instead of a second flat smaller one. (Go ahead, call me cheap!)

It never occurred to me to have to document all my parts purchases over the years except when I made enough to have to file a 1099 for tax purposes. I wasn't selling things recently, just gifting them. I didn't take photos of them before sending, the way I used to do before placing them for sale in the club store. I never before had any problem shipping a package. None ever got lost. All were cushioned as needed and had always arrived safely.

That's now ancient history.

I received a hesitant call from the addressee I sent the entire batch to. She also emailed me photos showing what condition the box arrived in. She had understood that I was sending several things in the same box. Initially I ascribed her hesitancy to thinking maybe I'd sent things in separate boxes? Or she'd misunderstood there would be several? I mean,we're talking a couple of weddings here, and no "real" presents? (Was I really that cheap?)

I asked what to me was the obvious question: Was the glass broken? I hoped not. I could replace, more or less, the other items since I have no need of a kiln make those, but couldn't replace the glass. Nope, the glass was perfect. But the box had arrived squished on one end - the one I had the jewelry in. Everything was well protected with all the bubblewrap I could cram in. The cards I sent along were fine as well. Anyway, who'd really mind a bend or wrinkle in a card?

The problem was the other end of the box was wrinkled AND torn open along a full corner. The small packages were missing. You know, the more-or-less replaceable items, after replacing parts of my remaining stock like the beads and special-order silver headpins, special order because I spiral them so they have to be over twice the length of what one can order pre-made.  Back in the club with their equipment, I frequently made them myself. I'm not there any more. I don't have the equipment, nor a good fireproof place to use it. Nor a good spot to store the chemicals. Nor.....

She sent me photos in case the post office needed them of the box where and how badly it was damaged, also showing address info and tracking number. Of course they weren't home when it arrived, so no postal employee to talk to.

I had insured the box, for a bit over the standard, under the circumstances. I took my Priority receipt to the post office and asked what did I need to do. The postmistresses in small towns I have invariably found to be courteous and helpful. This one was no different. The answer, not so helpful: go online.

Ever run into one-form-fits-all issues? I was OK through the first few questions. Name. Addresses. Tracking number. There wasn't enough form to answer their other questions however. I tried again, reframing. And again. It timed out and the form went blank.

Let's start with simple: when was it purchased? Purchased? They were manufactured by me. Maybe which part were they talking about? I could give them a range in years as I accumulated things to put together, but their form required one square in one of a choice of calendars which couldn't begin to explain the facts. 

Name the item: Which frigging item?  Are we thinking each individual item? Each individual package is already more than one item and three had gone missing.

Prove your purchase price. Asked and answered already in various ways, nothing suitable for their form however.  I could by now come up with photos of the various orders for replacement beads, which of course include more than just the items needed to replace these pieces because why, for example, pay international shipping on just a few beads when you are sure to want more in the future, and face it, the war means buy what and when you possible can at the time you buy anything. Worst case there's not a second chance.

Note that there is a small limit of photos one can e-attach to the form. How many receipts can you get in a single photo? How many of those can somebody read?

Silver head pins? Special order, walk in a store, talk to one of their suppliers who makes special order pieces, pay in advance and wait for return to be picked up in store, and again, since I need 6, buy two dozen. Incidentally, everything for this transaction is a handwritten note and cash exchanging hands ahead of time. Did I keep the paper? Of course not. I trust that store and our long relationship, and thus whatever person they direct me to who can provide the odd thing I need. It works, though patience is required. I'm not in business these days. No tax info needed.

Then pictures of the lost items. I didn't take any, as it turns out. I was working on a personal deadline, not making proof for myself for the club's store inventory time of what a certain inventory number and brief description  actually looked like to separate it from seven other similar ones made with a little different wire bend in each just because. That wire bend might have made a $3 difference in sale price or something. But document it for a gift? 

I could take pictures of their replacements, once made. They wouldn't be exact. If the originals ever showed up, can't you just see some officious ass trying to claim fraud because this wasn't precisely what got lost?  Or finding it but not returning it because of a small difference? Obviously somebody else made and lost that one. Can I perfectly remember which silver spacer bead of my 4 different kinds in stock that I used where? Of course not! Nor did this flower open on this end or on that end? Point up or point down? Part of the point is to not make exact replicas of anything - it's what separates art from machines. For earrings, two alike is it... as close as it can be. 

Even in necklace length, I can't be exact. Recently I've been working on giving a choice of lengths in the same piece. One cuts the chain to the shorter length desired, plus another piece of chain about 2" longer. A jump ring to connect the two that the lobster claw can fasten into if the shorter length is desired, plus an identical jump ring at the end of the small piece so it can be fastened at the longer length. One design, two uses, short or long. Did I do that for all? What did it make the total lengths? Pretty sure the measurement would be half an inch or a full inch off my best guess. I was in a hurry finishing up. Do you seriously think I measured precisely? Then there were blue flowers I attached differently than for the others. It's hard enough to describe here, wordy as I might choose to be. Imagine squishing that detail on the final three digits of a standard form. Go ahead, try!

Yeah, you're not that crazy either.

Is the loss of the claim going to devastate me? No. I not only can afford to replace the parts, by now I have nearly done so. Nearly. I'll be sure when the reconstructing of them as much as I can is finished. Occasionally things go wrong and one starts over. It's a reason for keeping a container for "sterling crap". I sold some filling a pill bottle by the metal's weight on the club scale for another member to use for silver casting. WOW! Who knew the price mounted up that fast? It paid to have kept every crumb.  I gave her a slight friendship discount and we both were happy. I'm already working on bottle #2, with no idea of its eventual destination. But for the moment I'm pretty sure I'll need to purchase more sterling ear wires, the French style. I don't work with posts. And I have more planned to make besides these.

I also know that those uniquely wired blue flowers cost me some wire until I figured out exactly how I wanted to do it, since it was new to me. Do I recall exact details? You jest! I know each wire went through 3 tiny spacers before going together through one flower, and .....  I'll figure it out. I did once.

Point is the irritant value of that damnable postal form is worth way more than the fairly high cost of the claim, which would still be less than full insurance of the package because we know the glass arrived intact. I'm already dealing with the side effects of those stupid steroid pills, and watching for other possible side effects from them supposedly not to be taken if I have 5 different medical conditions, which of course I have. For example my morning blood sugars have spiked two days in a row now. Let's just say digestive upsets have arrived... hurriedly. None of the side effects have been pain relief, because of course.  That would just be too easy.

And yesterday was my first day of professional torture... er, physical therapy. We now know my starting point, range of motion, muscle strength, etc. I have a schedule of how many repeats of what for how long each time for the next three weeks till my next appointment. I like the therapist, including for her being impressed at how flexible my back is even with everything else life has tossed my way. I explained that 6 years of belly dancing - even ignored for decades - can do that for a person. Someday I may show her a thing or two. Just for fun. It might be fairly easy since she "gets" isolating movement in a single body part.

But the point is,  right now it is not worth the extra aggravation of trying to deal with the (so far) worst form, most irrelevant and unresponsive form that the government has thus far cooked up to keep a dozen oval pegs out of a corrugated miniscule square hole. Not to mention preventing fraud and waste and efficiency.... Oh, that last wasn't official?  My bad.

I had been informed that if the packages had been released in the truck they were in, with no indication of which damaged box (of just how many, exactly?) they came from, they would wind up in Georgia. This assumes honesty, of course. (Can I choose not to comment with an opinion on that? Wait - of course I can. This is MY BLOG!)

Let's choose for the moment to imagine some day those little white-paper-wrapped packages will be opened and examined, and whatever person involved recognizes workmanship like those Ukrainian beads for their actual value. I won't pretend I think they would ever come across this, but I might hope they find the items an appreciative home. I'd hate to think they simply got stepped on by some careless person when whatever happened to destroy the box (and who knows how many others at the same time) to let them free.

The second box will be handled far differently I assure you. I still won't have a single date of purchase, or all the necessary receipts for that one either however. I doubt their form spaces will have enlarged. Or...

Hmmmm.......

Collecting/Keeping Seashells... While You Can!

 Scientists are finding what common sense already knows: oceans are acidifying from CO2 buildup in the atmosphere, and it's killing corals, oysters, and thus presumably most other sea life protected by hard  calcified shells.

When I was five, my Mom was very sick. I went to live with relatives while my older brother stayed with our father and went to school. It turned out I went to school as well, since I was now in the big city and they offered kindergarten, not yet available in a tiny rural school. I learned a lot, like street lights and tying my shoes and spelling my name. My older cousin taught me to make my bed... and hers as well since she was always on the brink of late to high school. I had no problem with that because I was "growing up!" I never tattled on her either, at least not to my Aunt.

My Aunt and Uncle had a big bowl full of small seashells, all kinds of varieties. When I was both good as well as bored, I was allowed to take them down, spread them carefully around the carpeted floor, and examine them. Then they went back in the bowl, and the bowl back on the table. It was my introduction to shells. Any others were the little snails along freshwater lakes or clams when one could spot them. That usually happened after the raccoons came in the evening and had a feast of their insides.

My parents, long ago, collected shells. They'd vacation on Sanibel Island, a location where storms in the Gulf would send shells in towards the beach. They'd be out there scouring the sands the mornings after, looking for intact and identifiable ones. Though retired, they had a hobby business to run, named Jewels of Shell. What they couldn't find, they'd buy and have shipped by the crate. (We still use those empty crates - very sturdy!)

Good shells would be used in different ways. Small perfect ones would be turned into jewelry. Medium ones would be hot-glued into figures like silly baseball players. Rare and thin ones, or cuts of ones showing internal architecture, would be made into wall art, put in deep frames called shadow boxes  behind glass to stay safe and dust free for... hopefully, almost forever. I received some which still decorate my walls. The most recognizable ones are cut sections of chambered nautilus, but there are others of critters I can't even name any more.

 Just a couple times Mom took several varieties of smaller and interesting shells, and glued them in a pattern around a circular frame for a mirror. "Strawberry strombus" comes to mind as one of the showier ones, but likely there are olives, corals, scallops, coquinas in lots of colors, and other bivalves well displayed. I'm relying on memory here because that is a family heirloom already passed on to my granddaughter to save for her descendants. She's the last one in my line to remember my Mom.

I also have boxes of them, packaged for traveling as we move, and rarely taken out to look at. They're being saved for the great-grandchildren who have shown they would treat them with respect if not reverence. The one most of the kids get to see is a large conch which lets them "hear the ocean".

I protect the rest because all too soon they will be nearly impossible to find, and certainly not pristine as acid eats away at their shells and footsteps and carelessness break them. Mine come from the '70s. 

I'm not suggesting you head out and strip the oceans of their shells. But if you do have them, or come across some while beach combing, pick them up gently and protect them.   Chances to do so are diminishing.

First What We Know Won't Work

Ahhh, insurance companies! 

When we know what doesn't work, never did work, but have to try anyway, there's still the sequential hoops one MUST step through! It's supposed to save them money, I guess. Maybe it does if the patient dies before the final, known workable, expensive treatment gets on the schedule. Because that last thing is the thing that is proven to work. 

It's not just me, either. Steve's insurance company was that way over the years with his back. A friend's insurance company, different kind of problem, ditto. Nobody cares about how much pain one is in, how one's health otherwise suffers. You're still required to used all those non-remedies, visit all those other doctors who know as well as you do that this isn't going to work this time either. Anybody ever wonder why they put you through all that crap that doesn't work and take the money for it? 

Oh yeah... silly question. Have I gotten to the part about being bitchy yet?

You know I've been complaining.... uh, commenting...  on my "bad shoulders".  I finally got x-rays taken of them this week. I had a chance to discuss the issues I've been having with the "lesser staff", though only in terms of lesser power to work on the actual remedies. I'm pretty sure they understand all the issues and their treatments, even if they're not the top authority, say, for performing surgery. They're also not lesser in terms of being caring humans. And especially not lesser in terms of listening.

I'd heard that x-rays don't necessarily diagnose rotator cuff damage, being tissue, not bone, and a proper diagnosis requires the proper machines. However, if they mean MRI instead of CAT Scan I'm already SOL anyway. I tell everybody about the pacemaker, just in case. I have known about my rotator cuff tears for a couple decades, anyway.  That was no longer the question. Recently, in addition to the pain when I (try to) raise my arms, there is the additional joy of having my shoilders dislocate themselves. The contortions I need to go through to get them back where they belong are.... interesting. Thank goodness nobody is secretly filming them! It wakes me out of the sound sleep I fought for an hour to get into, a process which depends on my bracing one arm just so against the other elbow so the pain lessens enough to finally drop off. When it doesn't, I'm out back in my recliner because mostly the arm's gravity pulls the shoulder back into place if I don't move. 

Mostly.

I do my best to avoid causing them. Because that surely works, uh huh, yes sirree! I'll never forgive the sadist who designed kitchens to have microwaves over the stove! The counter is just fine!!!

Just over a week ago when I was exchanging a good-bye hug, the other person commented that she felt my shoulder pop back into place. I'd suspected, but this was confirmation. I made my postponed appointment.

 Friday, X-rays it was. Three different angles for each shoulder. Fortunately, none required me to lift my arms. Good people in that department! One in each set did require me to twist my hand at the wrist. Interesting! I can't feel any difference in either shoulder when I do that on my own. Although, in the course of a day I'm probably doing that a lot and just don't notice new pain levels. But who am I to argue? It wasn't any worse at the moment at least.

The Doc put the digital films up on his office computer. He wasn't commenting as he went through them, but I peeked to see what they looked like. What I saw were huge gaps between the balls and the sockets. My arms had been hanging down, so naturally the "dead air" was mostly at the tops.

The verdict was instant: "'severe arthritis" in both shoulders. Like I couldn't have told them that! I went through it with my knees for over a decade before getting them replaced. The pain was similar in intensity and patterns. It never really went away from lack of joint use, but it sure did discourage using them whenever possible. I'm one of those people who never have gotten the concept of pain being good for the soul, or some such claptrap. What it's good for is bitchiness, plus loss of coordination, muscle strength, balance, and stamina over the years. One at least tries to avoid the pain.

It was also great for figuring what worked and what didn't to ease the pain, regardless of what the docs did or warned against. Tylenol? Might as well have been swallowing air. This is bone-on-bone, not a childhood fever. Aspirin? Same. Clinoril? Same lack of effect but also caused severe depression. Twenty-four hours after that last pill I was bouncing off the ceiling in reaction for a few hours, until my mood regulated again.

The docs were united in advising me not to use ibuprofin. Hurts the stomach, they say. Mine is cast iron. Hurts the kidneys, they say. My last doc warned about that, noted I'd dropped a bit in kidney function, and then summed it up with I was right on track for my age. So yeah, I do take that. Again. 

I'd stopped after my knee surgery mended. Didn't need it. I started again when the shoulders started acting up. I'm not up to maximum dose yet but pushing it. 

What I did find that really worked on the pain was a narcotic. I'd had darvon, vicoden, and others and  meh! Dentists used to like prescribing codeine after a procedure when walking out of their office was all that was ever needed. I had weird reactions, so list it as an allergy. Percoset filled in for a bit when I had to stop ibuprofin before knee surgery so I could tolerate the needed PT to strengthen the needed muscles. It let me tolerate the severe pain post surgery when doing that PT. And then the pain left. Titanium knees do not ache. (Kneeling on them with no kneecap is a different story.) The ibuprofin still sat there with some pills in it, but they weren't needed. I weaned myself down from perc as the knees recovered. It didn't appeal with any kind of a high, and in fact when not actually needed it makes me itchy. Between that and needing to legally drive, who needs the stuff? OK, I'll agree that maybe it's just me who doesn't... until I really need it. It always involves a discussion with the docs because it's related to codeine.

I got a kidney stone and discovered that fentanyl didn't touch the pain - in the hospital of course. They added something else  - toradol - and the combo worked well enough. Lithotripsy did the rest. I don't knee-jerk fear fentanyl but it better be from the hospital supply.

I had major abdominal surgery and found the drug that actually works: Dilaudid. Insurance coverage was a big issue back then and I got released from the hospital ASAP after the surgery. My knees hadn't been fixed yet at that time, but I had to walk frequently after surgery. It was great! No pain! The nurses tried to tell me to slow down for my mandatory walks, but I explained to them I hadn't been able to do that for years! This was great! I talked the doc into releasing me early, and with 10 tablets of dilaudid. It was accompanied by a stern warning that not a single more pill would be forthcoming. I stretched those out, taking halves, quarters, increasing intervals. I stayed pain free nearly two weeks until the day after that last bit was gone. When I woke to head to the bathroom, OMG the first couple steps killed my knees! I had forgotten what my knees had felt like! 

Nobody has offered me any since, nor have I asked. It's ibuprofin again. It does less and less all the time. I know the PT for shoulders is even worse than for knees. I also know it's the next thing on my "remedies" list. This doc offered to put me on steroid shots. They didn't work longer than the time it took to walk out of the doctor's  office with my knees and the novocaine in the shot wore off. You know, the kind they add to the steroid shot to keep you from screaming when they jab it into the tenderest spot in the joint. Then they put you on a fake bicycle to pedal so... whatever that's supposed to do for bad knees. It never did.

I asked this doc since it hadn't worked with my knees years ago, why were we expecting that it would with my shoulders now, which are supposed to hurt even more than knees in PT? So he offered me the option of taking steroid pills instead. I agreed. But that is when he informed me what we already know, that the hoops have to all be jumped through in order, just to prove what doesn't work.  And since I'm getting steroid pills, I have to stop the ibuprofin, since the combo is like an overdose, and the effect isn't in pain management being "too good."

After that doesn't work, there'll be the next thing, and the next...... and always with the PT.

The next weeks are going to be ... interesting.

Bitchy!!! 

At least he suggested I might take up the idea of small doses of dilaudid with a pain specialist. These days full of opioid paranoia, I'm sure that will work. Yep, easy peasy, no fuss, no bother, full trust....

Like I said, bitchy!!!!!

I'll have to be especially nice to Steve. I still need him to help me get dressed in the mornings. I tend to get trapped in bra straps or sleeves, nearly every day. Winter is worse with long sleeves and coats added. Things just don't move the ways they should any more. He's a real sweetie about it. He even offers to help me if I need any held getting the clothes off again later....

What a sweetheart! What a guy!

After A Long Year Of Hard Work…

I have a raised  circular garden in our east yard. When we moved in, it had produced a single flower and seventy bazillion weeds. Stinky weeds, even to my inept nose, because they were spearmint. I find that odor nauseating. Those were the first thing dug out, with most of the work being done by my youngest son, Paul. Large bagfuls of black dirt were added to encourage optimism for the project ahead.

Me? I "just" do the deciding, the planning, the buying, the arranging, the watering, the fretting... and finally, the shooting, camera style of course. I don't need my Concealed Carry Permit for that kind of shooting, and for that matter, don't have a gun to go with it even if that AZ permit meant anything except a piece of interesting plastic in MN. Or maybe they don't find it that interesting here anyway.

So far this year there were some tiny start and lots of disappointments in that bed. Scillas had an encouraging start, and as soon as they were ready to pop out seeds back in Paul's yard, he brought a new bunch of them over to - with luck - fill a large central gap in emergent plants in the center of the bed. We'll know next year.

Following that, a couple tulips pushed out warped and quickly munched leaves. No blooms. There went $$$$$. Crocus and daffodils didn't even bother to go that far. Some critters somewhere spent a well fed winter. Bearded iris in two of the 7 planted varieties bloomed, one a soft blue, the other deep purple, almost black. Hooray! I hope for better showing of colors next year, including from seeds chilling in pots in the fridge currently. (Yes, they're sealed in bags. Nothing will be dropping into the yogurt. Promise! Even when I do the needed periodic airing out.)

Even before the iris were done, the daylilies started pushing up bud stalks. First, everything presented small blooms, yellow or gold. Ho hum, borrrrrring! But more stalks were pushing up and while about half were green where the growing blossoms were tucked inside, close to another half were getting darker and darker.

Horray! No more just-two-colors garden! I'm expecting reds, purples, and some so dark they're named Root Beer! There should be a bunch of bi-colors as well, lots of various pinks, and some year I still want to find out if those "dead" ones, which finally show leaves, will ever actually bloom as advertised, because what was advertised was blue! 

First the yellows and golds, hard to distinguish. It is possible when they are  side by side, but otherwise  they look the same.

Next came an odd, mottled pink with yellow (right side). Then a delightfully bright but soft pink. One blossom is trying to hide some very dark buds coming up on the other side, while a day-old spent blossom is in turn trying to hide it.

The first of those dark buds to open belongs to Root Beer, so far the darkest of my daylilies, and the darkest expected. Surprises can happen, of course, I do expect two purples.

The smallest of these has opened and is called Grapette. The larger should be opening soon, but so far I only have a photo of one from its former location. So I'm going to cheat a little and put it in here anyway.

It's much darker and taller, but still more purple and less brown than Root Beer. I particularly love its name: Nosferatu. I bought 5 a couple years ago, planted them next to the former house for easy location and removal, and am waiting on results... along with several other varieties yet to bloom.

Meanwhile, this greets me in the mornings before the sun hits it, as well any anybody looking in from the street or passing on the path behind it which leads to the storm shelter/ rec center / mail room.

Lots of buds yet to open. Plus I haven't dressed yet to head out and remove yesterday's spent blossoms. To nourish the garden they get dropped onto the ground they came from.

 

.

 

 

Heartbroken: The Consequences of Stupidity

 I must have been overwhelmed when packing up the house for our multi-state move. Or  maybe I just mis-read the information on the storage of our PODS to include some kind of climate control while sitting for months in Phoenix. Possibly both, overlaid with personal stupidity.

The project started much earlier, when my laptop's photo library was getting way overloaded, and my back-up system wasn't working. I like to shoot shoot shoot and look later, something formerly not economically feasible before I went digital. A single roll of pictures would cost over $10 before I saw anything, and I can shoot multiples of that in a single outing, repeat it the following day and the next, and now not spend a penny unless I want an actual hard copy of something. I can email favorite files to friends. I even figured out how to post itty bitty ones here.

My solution was to pull out the thumbnails of each topic of files onto my desktop, stacked and overlapped like crazy, deleting each one from the photos library as I went. then I'd insert a thumb drive, move each file over, save them there while deleting them from the desktop as well - yep, very labor intensive - and tape a label on the thumb drive to identify the contents. Label might include "videos", "people", one of several different state names where I shot a lot, and above all, the name of my favorite wildlife center which incidentally has an annual photo contest.

I enter that contest nearly every year. Occasionally I place, getting a "second" a couple times. Amazing considering my modest equipment and all the photographers I see along the roads with heavy duty tripods supporting 20 inch lenses. Not that I measure them, that's just an estimate. I'm sure some are longer. Once I was invited to look though one and a tiny black speck off in the distance turned into a black ibis way off its usual migration path. That kind of straying happens a lot. I'm lucky if I can get an ordinary red-winged blackbird next to the road clinging to a cattail.

I got this lucky a couple weeks ago. This fellow was puffing his distinctive wings out every time he trilled his challenge to any nearby males: this was his territory and they could go take a hike - or something even ruder in blackbird-speak. It won't be entered in the contest because the sun was at the wrong angle and the eyes don't show well. Black is tricky that way. I had to fiddle with light levels to overexpose everything just to get a hint of one eye plus an assumption of his bill. Still, it's my best of one of these guys in the years I've been there. The yellow-headed ones are much simpler to shoot, if rarer in fact.

Back to the stupidity. I filled about a dozen thumb drives with what became the only files of a whole bunch of photos. I ignored the bag they were in when I unpacked it, thinking they were as they'd been made, and set it on a shelf in my room. But this year's photos contest is under way, and I was looking through older photos. Or at least looking for them. I'm supposed to have two drives with that name on them, but found one. There was also one with people photos separated out, many from either new babies or backyard bonfires. One held videos, another National Park shots.... you get the idea. 

I'd plug one in to the slot to open it, and nothing came up on my desktop to tell me there was something, anything, in the slot, much less a named thumb drive. Try another. Same. When I finally got to the drive with the pictures I wanted to look for a contest photo from, I finally got a list of file numbers, the kind that all end in jpg. I opened the first, and... 2/3 of it was a grey block. A whole bunch had varying levels of the same, others had grey or multicolor lines running horizontally through it, just enough visible to see what I had lost. Over and over. Again and again. I tried scrolling way down into the files and picked one at random. Same results.

Somehow labels have disappeared of some of the drives, or - knock on wood - when I stocked up before we moved on inexpensive blank thumb drives to spend more weeks  filling, they needed a second bag which might have been stored in another location, like a camera case which made the trip in the car... in March... and didn't get fried. I have no idea where such might be, of course. But I'm hoping it's a wobbly memory and not just a fervent wish.

Meanwhile, I went back into what I did still have on my laptop. I found a great heron photo, taken from the right location, meaning one of the three properties controlled by the refuge folks. That photo reminded me of a heron video I had seen recently, though from the wrong location to enter the contest. It was from 2 years ago when I took the camera along while Steve went fishing. One heron stayed close since we were the only ones there, were staying quiet, and nobody had launched a boat yet that morning.

I'd taken several stills, like the one above (with its tongue stuck out if you look close) and then since it was earnestly watching the water directly under it and stalking, I turned on video and got it catching - and swallowing - a newly caught fish. I love that video, especially with the fish tail still wiggling out my side of the bill until the heron took a second gulp to send it down the hatch. I'd seen that recently, because I'd shown it to somebody else who thought it was disgusting! 

SAY WHAT? WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU ?!?

I couldn't find it. I checked around, and other still shots from that exact time are there. Same location, same heron which never came back on any of our visits. I looked for other keepers, contest entries that I didn't want to lose, and hadn't copied elsewhere. Those weren't even on my laptop, and I never erased those even when transferring a copy.

Now I have only memories of those photos, like two different babies gnawing on the visor of whichever ball cap Steve had worn and loaned to the occasion for the day. Elk lying down at the entrance station to RMNP, antlers in velvet, backlit by the rising sun, possible only because of covid and we two geezers had qualified for our first 2 shots and felt able to travel. Nobody minded the entrances, we could park on the road and capture the photos with nobody waiting and honking for us to move. Another elk walked straight in front of the car while we were stopped. I shot it too, even though the windshield turned it slightly green.

It goes on and on and on. I haven't the heart - yet - to try every one of the drives. I've been looking through what I actually still do have, since old photos still qualify if taken at the right location. The good ones still are in my memory... only. I got to the place where I couldn't bear to hunt any more. There are a few more days to get my act together and submit what I can.

What   do you do with a thumb drive which won't even say "I exist"?

Besides mourn?