Differences In Networks: Who Bought Whom? And What Cost?

I tend to check around different news programs available in our cable package, far as we are from the Metro, aka St. Paul/Minneapolis. Sometimes it's just for differences in weather forecasts, or just in forecasters. Sometimes it's accuracy, sometimes in how it is explained.  KARE 11 (NBC) tops out there most of the time in our home. Since we can record, we  can easily compare.

News on TV is more emphatically different lately, especially with the invasion of ICE into the state, more particularly Minneapolis. There is a huge difference in local versus national coverage. Much of that is quantity, as expected for any local story. I can't fault an hour of national coverage spending less time on local stories. A whole lot of stories are local somewhere else and deserve their time. But where quantity suffers, details lose out.

I can and do condemn the slant often  given. Let's hop back several months to the cancellation of Stephen Colbert on late night TV, despite his high ratings, effective this coming June. He has a very liberal slant. One might note that there's such a lot of material to ridicule in anything Trump does. Never considered bright, except perhaps by sycophants, and to the advantage of fellow grifters, all of which can be easily seen to have both much to gain plus much to hide, Trump is the perpetual easy target. When money people saw gain in a TV merger, the skids were greased for retribution.

Coverage on the news changed at the same time, gaining a much more favorable slant to the right wing. If that became selective in how a story was told, which facts were stressed or ignored, it was subtle at first unless one was actively looking for it. In fairness, CBS local news by then had been pretty well but not totally ignored in this house shortly after the differences were noted. But we do still watch their national morning news, since we still like Gayle King, and the trumpet opening, having both played the instrument more or less (me less, him much much more) but only until the first weather break around 15 minutes in. The celebrity 'news" holds no appeal.

Subtlety has vanished. I see truth doing likewise. Three recent local stories make my point. Take the murder of Renee Goode. I say murder because I've seen multiple video views of it, and one official interpretation claims the shooter was driven over while no video shot comes anywhere near to showing that. The shooter was up and mobile the whole time, easily avoiding a bump by Goode's slowly rolling car. The official story from Noem maintains that story of grievous injury, while other information offers that he did go through that... much earlier in a different incident, had recovered, and was now back on the job while having PTSD... untreated. In fact the local coverage still shows Renee stopping to talk with ICE to figure out where they did need her to go, letting them know, cheerfully, that she wasn't angry with them. We know how that story ends, including witness reports that when her car crashed after she was shot multiple times, those hoping to give official medical assistance were prevented from doing so for several minutes.

We may never know if they might have helped save her life. I personally think it is unlikely after three shots, but I'm no expert and the BCA has had all evidence removed from them by the feds.  The story version out of DC is still being pushed, despite what we have all watched repeatedly.

Alex Petti's murder has been covered the same way. Video shows him, an ICU nurse at the Veterans Hospital, trying to reach and help a woman protester who'd been shoved to the ground and pepper sprayed. It also clearly shows the legal pistol behind him which he never reached for, and which was removed from the scene before ICE shot him multiple times, killing him. But he was the aggressor?  You selling a bridge too, with that crap?

The same kinds of news coverage, the same patterns with  immediate blaming the victim repeated over and over, federal CYA to absurdity on other networks we pop in on, bystanders with video showing different stories showing up mostly in local, NBC coverage. Even at their best, NBC is still big on both-siderism. It does beat toeing the federal line at least.

Don't ignore all the mass demonstrations, remarkably peaceful in all locations, despite often subzero cold, getting the federal interpretation of rioting. Never mind candlelight vigils, singing, neighbors opening businesses to help others afraid to leave homes, employees afraid to come to work, especially with ICE out racially profiling, citizens or no.  You were born here, perhaps thousands of years of history here, maybe even had ancestors greeting the Mayflower, or taming early wild horses abandoned by the Spanish, but suddenly need to carry papers proving you belong?  Are you getting any of the stories of community unity? We do.

Then there is an ICE incident which just returned to news coverage with a happier ending - if in fact an ending - still with two different stories, the federal one and what ordinary witnesses saw. Remember that adorable 5-yer-old who was whisked away to a Texas prison along with his father? Maybe you'd recognize the little blue and white knit bunny hat he wore. Perhaps the expression on his face got you. At the order of a judge both son and father were returned to Minnesota where they may continue their case for asylum already proceeding along legal lines since well before ICE worked to maintain their quota without regard for law or facts. "Involuntary travel" disrupted that process, until then going smoothly.

They of course painted the father in the most reprehensible of terms, claiming he ran away from his son, abandoned just to avoid ICE. It could be understandable if true, a parent trying to keep his kid out of harm's way from the goon squad, especially after two widely shown murders. But both father and witnesses say the father had scooped up his son and was running toward their home to warn the rest of the family to lock the doors and not let anybody in. In that he was successful, but now was unwilling to be separated from his son in whatever hell came next. After all, everybody who's paid attention knows about Trump's family separation plan which still leaves 1,360  kids (by best possible count) separated from their parents, no names recorded on intake, many not verbal at the time to remember their given names. How old were you before you knew a name other than a version of Mommy? Daddy? Or when you were still called a version of Baby, Junior, Darling, Sweetie? He wasn't taking that chance with his son.

Now they have been flown back together, the "lost" blue bunny hat replaced in kindness by a stranger with a brand new one, and a judge's orders to ICE to leave the family alone. Imagine the fears that family has to face while recovering from this ordeal. Oh, and don't forget the Texas prison building that housed the two just announced an outbreak of measles as they left! After all, why would any Texas prison run by ICE take any care for the health of its inmates when they barely bother to even feed them? (The food on the airplane was reported to be their most food in the previous week.) I just hope the family took advantage earlier of Minnesota's immunization policies! But how many families will be too afraid now to get needed immunizations?

Where do you get your news? When it comes to being told over and over that what you just watched isn't what happened, and nobody was putting on a 'magic" show you had to pay to watch, who are you going to trust? And who will you trust next time? Where is the money going? Who is getting what favors and what is their actual price... for them? 

For us?

On Domestic Violence: How Bad Did It Get?

There was an event in St. Paul today to remember the victims of domestic violence. Obviously, since I'm here writing this, mine didn't get that bad. Violence can take many forms, and not all end life, sometimes just the desire for it. Since I haven't written those stories, and mostly never tell them, you don't know how close it got... and didn't. If you were around and very observant, you might have had questions, and perhaps told yourself that of course you were being silly. If you were the next one to marry him, I hope you learned early "enough" what to believe or not about his lies. I never heard about a third.

The first time I unwittingly almost did it for him. We'd been having one of those arguments about what I cooked for his dinner. I happen to have picked a recipe he'd liked a week earlier, and he was very hard to please.  It turned out - without warning since his rules were mostly silent until I violated one - a week was way too short a time. We were doing dishes, one of the rare times it wasn't just me, but he needed to continue haranguing me about supper. Well, what did he want? No answer of course. I suggested he step out while I did dishes and he'd have time to cool off. He declined. How about if I step out?  Denied.

The one thing I was allowed to leave his arena for was to go to the bathroom. I did, what turned out to be 7 times, a mark of how long that lasted. What he didn't understand was that was my only escape, in more ways than one. As a result of migraines, my bottle of valium was in there, and each time, since the last pill hadn't made him ignorable yet, I took another one. By the time I returned the 7th time in perhaps a half hour, , I must have been noticeably floating, or slurring, or something.

I wound up in the local hospital, "diagnosed" as a suicide attempt, getting my stomach pumped.  All I wanted was a way to shut him up. It never occurred to me that the pills might have serious consequences! I still doubt they believed me, since whenever I was awake the next 24 hours I was getting harangued by nuns offering to pray with/for me or find me counseling. In return I just asked if they could find a way to shut him up? Apparently somebody talked to him and he agreed that next time "I got him angry", he'd go walk or something. At any rate, we went home together, and some of the verbal abuse ended, 

I will confess to working  on talking him down when his "solution" to "my making him so mad" the next several times was to get in the car and drive into a bridge abutment at high speed. It worked.

Several years later we had our three kids, which I can pinpoint from- again- the kitchen we were in. I have no recall what the issue was, but he was very angry and backing me into a corner of the counter. I reached behind me, locating the butcher block knife holder. He was still advancing on me, and imagining no alternative, held the first knife in my hand out in front of me. Note that the handle was braced against the bottom of my rib cage for support, and the point was aimed straight at him with over a foot to spare. I wouldn't lunge. He had the choice of advancing or stopping. He stopped. Whatever his fight was about, it suddenly wasn't that important. He had a choice.  He backed off and the knife went back in the block. 

I overheard him later claiming me as aggressor.  It didn't seem important by then what he said.  He was proud of using words as weapons, and convinced me I had no options other than him. I was left with just hoping (silently) he'd just die. I have no idea if he noticed I quit arguing when he offered his bridge abutment solution.

We lasted 13 years. I have no excuse except hopelessness for an alternative. He did marry again, and I heard later that while he adopted her kids, they took the brunt of his abuse, lies, and whatever else he dished out. Wife #2 was much stronger than I. I hope those kids got what they needed to heal. 

I eventually did manage to, taking longer than the abuse had lasted, finally trusting the kindest, sweetest, best friend for years to become my #2. I'm lucky in many ways!

As for #1, we do know there was nobody willing to pay for his burial when he died a few years back.

Is It Really Worth The Frustration/Tantrums?

As a start, at least I don't stink any more. Not that I can prove I stunk, but it's a reasonable assumption. I know I used to after this long sans shower, and experience informs me that I also stunk this long without clean laundry. My nose did use to work. The bottles on the shelves come with assurances they make me smell better after using them and my nose used to agree. I'm going with that for now.

I finally gave up on avoiding taking the sling off. It wasn't the stink I can't smell for the reason, exactly, but you're welcome anyway. It  wasn't the spots on the clothes because who cares anyway when we're all cooped up in the house out of view. It wasn't even the inconvenience in getting to/from the bathroom facilities within a usable time frame, or even not being able to reach the bidet again for six weeks, though that did feel good to be resumed however briefly. It wasn't even saving all that TP, though the budget appreciates that too. The real final straw was the itching. All of the itching! (Steve has been exceptionally patent with grouchy me, bless him.)

Not getting to scratch my head during a shampoo that wasn't happening is part of it. Not rubbing my back across the chair back with the thinnest layer of fabric between the two was part of it, because a scratch isn't a scratch when it's a mere hint of a puff of a remembrance of a motion. It shouldn't be a nail-digging scratch either, but the pent up need was making that pretty tempting. It started on the shoulder blades, that pent up need, then immediately the shoulders from the big bandage all gluey across its path, wrinkled and crinkled up from needing to hold skin in place that needed to be matched up with other skin that had been separated by a scalpel and now had been ordered to close securely keeping all microbes out, no touching allowed, and no large movements allowed either.

 Something might shift, something might separate, something might ooze a bit of blood, and eventually something major might have to be repeated with worse results the second time. The warnings were oft repeated and thoroughly stressed... before the drugs went in that made the brain all cloudy and clumsy and insecure... and downright ANNOYED!  Remember, there was no real pain.  Itch doesn't qualify as pain, don't you know. Just ask anybody who hasn't been tormentd by itch and tormented and tormented and.....

I take reallllly good meds for pain. I still have 5 days' worth left. So I'm not in any pain. 

I just frigging ITCH!

First the gooey sticky patch came off. Stitches were cut  - the two which held the bandage patch in place in case it tried to shift locations from deep freeze Minnesota to the sunny Caribbean or something. Who could blame it? I haven't felt like I could take a single safe step outside since days before the surgery, snow and ice all over the place. With the contraption in place preventing one arm from moving an inch in any direction, motion of all sorts is limited to the other far reaches of the opposite arm.  

Some day, just for the fun of it, reach one arm across either in front of behind yourself and see what you can manage to scratch. Pick up a little "whatever something" and try to angle it so you can scratch yourself wherever. Limited to that one hand, how fast and far can you pull down your pants? Easy, you say? Did you try with the inner snug layer that doesn't leave any seam lines showing? The outer layer that helps you look slim and trim? Both together or separately? Mind you, we're not talking when you have 15 minutes to figure it out and you're really patient because it doesn't really matter, but when something is urgent and reminding you louder and louder that you need to accomplish it in 4... 3... oops, too slow! OK, so next time you go for looser pants, and work on pulling up/down the side on the good arm, then try the opposite side which just has to stick on the bulge in your hip, or rump, or both...  My golly, when did that bulge get that big and the house so warm your sweat got sticky, and....?

You cheated with the other arm, didn't you! No I wasn't watching, I promise. I just know things.

Now you find a grabber stick you have somewhere in the house because you thought ahead and... no, it doesn't bend, and if you have to pull hard the cloth you're hoping to move slips off, and days later when the shorter grabber you ordered arrives in the mail you discover its literal shortcomings too.... So next you resort to having that 2nd person help you because they're always loving to assist in the bathroom even when they threw up over newborn baby diapers which you no longer smell as sweet as. Or you figure out that if you start really early they can pull pants down on the far hip and you can hold them up on the good arm's hip while you skedaddle through the house and in front of the windows with the open curtains to the bathroom and... OK, you can wipe that up later. Oops, that too, if you don't forget and manage to step in it on your way out. (So how many clean dry socks do you still have left in that drawer? No, they do not have to match! Honest! Trust me! Besides the last dirty one can get another use as a mop, right? Who is going to see the botom isn't white once you put a shoe over it?)

You have realized that the return trip will have to be repeated with you hanging onto only one side of your pants, past those same windows, with your.... hanging out and ....

How long before it begins to dawn on you that you are going to live in the same clothes for days? Maybe over a week even. At home excuses are made for why "the doctor" doesn't want you to have company just quite yet, and yes, you do know and appreciate that they care, and their _________ gift is thoughtful but.......

But that still doesn't fix the itching. The very second the instructions allow you to take the minimalest  shower, it's time to gather whoever can help disconnect those fasteners in all the buckles and belts and velcro and ease you out of that harness. Your intentions are the absolute best, but...

Hey, does antbody on the planet know why somebody velcroed a red rubber ball inside one of those straps and what happens if you toss it out? I mean, if you do decide to toss it, we all know you are going to balme the dog you no longer own for chewing the ball up, but does any of it really matter?

Once you are the most careful it's possible to be in not moving the arm away from the body while still putting on/taking off clothing just like what you just ditched except for accumulated dirt and stink, you start working on how exactly did that other person in the hospital who does this 4 times a day in half a minute each put your sling harness on you? You watched her put it on. You made notes as to which went where and in which order. You made sure pictures were taken to remind you, because of course this black strap is different from that black strap with an identical buckle on it,  neither of which your encumbered hands can possibly repeat correctly nor do at all by themselves... because it takes your arm too far from your body, of course.

After 5 minutes you admit this was the real reason you delayed that shower, despite the itching and everything, for as many days as you have. Maybe later in the day, once you calm down again, assuring yourself that you didn't really break the thing this time - hopefully - despite all that velcro tearing noise -  and after you fixed late lunch to sooth your emotional state yet again, you can give it another try. Or even after supper when your son comes over to shovel again, he can figure it out because he took the pictures and saw it done correctly and is still young enough and has the spatial skills to get you back into some kind of rig that has the least little prayer of preventing you from screwing up your arm between now and when your next visit to the surgeon is scheduled. Only three more days now?

Fingers crossed! At least you can still do that with them, right? Maybe even slip another pain pill into your lunch as well, since you've been wiggling that unleashed arm for a while now. Just a light-duty OTC pill this time. You'd have to get authorization for the really good ones to refill, after all. You've gotten a little proud of getting by with fewer than allowed, even though it was really the nerve block letting you get away with that. But shhhhh...  it's fortitude, right?

Except for itches, of course.

Incompetence On A New Level

 I am growing to hate being effectively one-armed. On the other hand (weirdly inappropriate expression here) I am growing to appreciate my lack of a functioning nose.

The brace my right arm is encased in, whether you call it a sling or a contraption or simply a trap, has not been removed or opened once yet. The hand works just fine. It can handle anything from the wrist out. It will notice any "heavy" weight, such as a full coffee cup, and despite the rest of the arm being supported, the shoulder will register discomfort. I won't call it pain, just a warning. It is capable, just limited. So, in the case of coffee, the mug gets set down as soon  as possible, until the left hand can take over. A second trip? No problem, the legs are fine, thanks. When the liquid level gets low, I have to negotiate with my body to rearrange me in a space where the head can tilt back far enough to drain the cup. That means repeat that contortion several times, since the must-tilt level happens way before the remaining liquid can be managed in a single swallow. I have enough irritations without adding either choking or wearing half my coffee on my clothes. If this seems extreme to you, bear in mind the left shoulder is in nearly as bad shape as the replaced one was. I just did the worst one first.

I can fix my own meals, mostly.  There are lots of frozen boxes in the house, mostly low calorie, low fat. Good for portion control. Also lots of low fat no sugar Greek yogurt. To either can be added flavorings, fruits or veggies from appropriate bags in the freezer. There are large stocks of nuts, crackers, puddings, mac-n-cheeze microwave singles, and foil bags of shelf-stable tuna, dried fruits, chunky soups in cans with pull tops. And so forth. Supper tonight is thawing, a ring of frozen shrimp around a tiny tub of cocktail sauce. Soon as it thaws it goes in the fridge. Steve can pull the tough plastic tray parts apart, or that rare stubborn pull top thst won't, but all the rest I can handle.

I'm allowed to take the brace off "for hygeine". That's their delicate way of not talking about figuring out how to use the toilet. It soon will expand to bathing/showering. Yeah, no, I haven't done that latter bit yet. The doc who discharged me said I didn't have to, just after he warned me to keep the shoulder bandage dry. No way that can happen in our shower, plus the hanger for the shower head is already way too high. I do have a supply of baby wet-wipes and never flush them despite package claims. They were cause for our first plumbing bill in this place, and we'd never even had one in the place back then.

But you just can't avoid the toilet. Oh, sure you can, but who's going to clean the house afterwards? Steve who needs a walker to get around? Who can sweep the hard kitchen floor with a long-handled dust pan but can't bend over for the crumbs in the carpet needing individual attention... well, you get the idea. Plus whatever winds up on the floor needing a good scrub I have to go after since I still have the flexibility and balance for it. Yes, I still credit belly dancing for that, all these years later.

The real issue here is getting pants down - in time, starting from that first warning of need - and on both sides of you plus low enough in back when it tends to hang up on all the bulgy parts on the way down, and then once cleaned up afterwards, meaning either without the assistance of the bidet with controls way back behind you on the trapped side, or you can have company while you expel everything you can, who can then turn the tiny knob as directed and WHEN directed so you both don't get a cold shower as well as winding up with a slippery floor. (Do I need to describe how dangerous that could be in these circumstances?)

Let's just assume for the moment that all the above has been successful and up to standards. You are ready to stand WHILE pulling pants up with one hand.  Yes, the grab bar is there but then you have to go back down again anyway for the pants.You will have already learned that getting one side of the pants up does not mean the other side is successfully up. I will not equate optimism in being able to release that hand to grab another part of the waistband and have the first part remain where you left it in defiance of gravity is to be in any way equated with intelligence. It shall forever be merely an indication of optimism!

It may also be an indication of wearing the wrong pants. (Surely you weren't trying this in a skirt, were you? WERE YOU? OMG!) I am rotating three pairs of pants through: use, launder, use. All are or were knit pants. Baggy ones.Two are shorts from before I lost a bunch of weight. The good part is they came with sturdy drawstrings, now permanently knotted so as to not pull out.The elastic is just tight enough that they don't drop. The third is a baggy pair of sweatpants. All are PJs these days, all designated 24-hour acceptable in the house.  Obviously I'm not stepping outside, due in part to sub-zero cold, ice on everything, inability to get into a coat... aka winter. Inside they are accompanied by a lovely, snuggly, double polar fleece throw/blanket. Warm socks too of course.

Back to the topic. Two of these pants when worn singly can in fact be forced both on and off by me with one hand.  It took practice. Before I worked it out, Steve was the other puller, giving us 3 hands for duty. Asleep or awake, he was called into service. We got, with help of family, some short grab sticks. They are not as helpful as we wished for clothing. (Other things, great!)  I could spend time adjusting and working to make them more useful with pants on my "wrong" side. In fact I will have to, since I'll be out of the house 3 times next week, three different doctors' visits. Because what I will have to do next week means I'm back to being dependent in the bathroom unless I learn a new trick.

It will be my need for a second layer. It might even require a third layer, combining discretion and warmth as new needs when out and about in public. It will have elastic and extra padding. I can have an accident at home and simply switch to clean pants, but even at home, inserting even regular undies means I need assistance. Especially in redressing. Everything gets hung up on a second layer of fabric, even if it didn't get stuck on a bulge, however large or small one thinks it may be these days. And yes, they are smaller, but that only means it is lower, not gone. Something getting pulled up gets stuck under the bulge, not merely at the  bulge. It's just another "perk" of losing weight in one's 70s. Skin doesn't care about shrinking any more. (Want more surgery, anybody?  A little tuck here, a nip and tuck there, here a nip, there a tuck, everywhere a nip tuck ....Wait! What am I singing for?)

So we worked out that whenever I'm wearing 2 layers of pants, I'll head to wherever Steve is, even in bed asleep, and he will do the pulling down, handing me the fistful for my good side. A whole lot of NSFW will be flashing any neighbors who are playing Peeping Tom at that moment. Since we keep the blinds angled to make that near impossible, we keep them disappointed. Something else will be devised for when we have visitors. Obviously the whole system works in reverse afterwards. The three rotating pants are at the exact size to combine with the exact twisting wiggle that persistence winds up with them all sitting in place over my hip bones. Steve can keep sleeping. Add one... .HELP!!!

It works for the two of us and our privacy needs - or happy lack thereof. I suppose if we graduate to a lengthy family/company visit, I'll just have him head into the bathroom with me. But out in public? Or when Paul is driving?

As The Nerve Block Passes

Last post I'd noted gradual return of sensation , motion, and identification  of my right arm, slowly starting from fingers ascending to the shoulder, with little to no pain.  As advised I did take a precautionary Oxy tablet. They do not want us to experience a huge cascade of pain.  They say it tends to hit in the middle of the night.

I appreciate that.

I went to bed, aka my recliner to keep me from rolling around, to settle in for the night. Or so I thought. 

A while later I felt a thin line of pain along the outside edge of my hand. Then up the outside of the forearm, then climb the upper arm to the shoulder.  The process took about two minutes. It almost felt like the blocking medication were draining out against gravity, flowing up hill, with pain filling in from behind, also upwards. 

It wasn't severe, though sharp, enough for me to get back up and go take another Oxy pill, as allowed, just a few hours past the earlier one. It actually killed the fine line of pain quickly enough for me to wonder if I hadn't over reacted. Would that last pain have gone away on it's own?

At any rate, I slept well enough, and have gone easy on the Oxy since, sticking to the tylenol 500s until something stronger says it's needed. So far, so good. Some pain, yes. Not a big challenge... yet.

A New Painkiller With Brain Boggling Side Effects

I’ve been out of touch for shoulder replacement surgery - and some weird side effects. At this point, 3rd day, there has been no pain, despite the somewhat fearsome reputation of the surgery. None whatsoever  beyond a needle prick that immediately was followed by numbness, unless you count setting up the IV which preceded it, but that was just normal, as far as my many experiences go.…

There was a lot of paperwork to sign, the usual permissions required for many procedures in a non-emergency basis. I got another one to sign, preceded by a fairly detailed explanation. This goes down through the top of the shoulder to be replaced by metal and plastic. It is a nerve block, or rather a 3-nerve block. So far that is fairly standard, though in no way replacing deep anesthesia requiring lots of monitoring including ventilation. They warn you there might be a sore throat after that. I had none, though I do have a memory of first awareness of waking, being moved by four people all telling me I needed to breathe and pronouncing it good when I apparently resumed on my own, but that was several hours later.

The IV port supplied fentanyl before the block started, not that I could tell it even went in. I was distracted by the rest of it. A large screen - to me anyway - ultrasound was on one side of my bed with one nurse managing controls to give the field covered the right depth. It was adjusted 3 times until the doctor anesthesiologist pronounced it perfect. My view was lots of slightly wiggly white lines going across the screen. These were in part my nerves. I felt a pin prick - actually a long needle  - and saw it as a brighter white line sliding down the middle of one of them, which was when I decided a different view was in order. I figured I’d seen enough to satisfy curiosity.There were to be three of those (brachial?) nerves to be treated, but since I wasn’t feeling a thing, I had enough of that experience. If I kept watching I might feel it happening? Imagine it, perhaps. Not necessary.

We discussed ahead of time what was being used, and I got the actual name later: liposomal bupivacaine. Think novocaine that works immediately and lasts 4 days, ideally, as a complete nerve block. It’s fairly new, and I had to sign my permission for them to use it.  The alternative standard only lasts a bit after the surgery does. No question there for me. The worst of the procedure pain should be over before the block ends. A worst case is the block lasts a lot longer.

The side effect started a few minutes later. I believe asomatognosia about covers it. I tried describing it to my medical team, not having the jargon, and came up with body dysphoria, to mixed reviews.

I had been covered over by one of those delightful Bair Huggers which kept me cozily warm, giving me no view of my body nor need of one. I quickly lost movement in my fingers on that side, totally expected, aside from being able to curl them, no lifting any finger. The rest of my arm had no movement, no lifting the hand. I tried. The thing was, as it slowly dawned on me, that I couldn’t see the movement  I actually could make under my covering. The arm was bent at the elbow and had been draped across my chest. I looked for it, feeling with the other hand, and it simply wasn’t there where I knew it was. My chest hadn’t been numbed and it knew exactly where my arm rested, except….

Somebody came into test for how the block was working, and lifted my arm into view… straight out down along my side and just between the mattress and the bed rails, safely tucked where moving my bed down the hall wouldn’t snag it. When they put it back down, my fingers now identified what they had been feeling as the binding on the mattress, while my chest and brain insisted it was “again” draped across my chest!

Every conscious awareness for the rest of that day and into the next insisted that was my arm’s location! It never was. Post surgery, with my bed now raised at the head, I could see it wasn’t there but body and brain continued to disagree. I kept trying to put things into that hand… that wasn’t there! Once I did have a chance to touch the numbed hand with the normal one, it was a useless series of misses and failures to register by the numbed one, none of which dissuaded my brain from trying.

Before I even woke up the entire arm was encased firmly in what the staff referred to as a sling. I call it a contraption, composed of rigid padding, belts and buckles, not allowing any movement whatever.

The fingers stayed curlable. Next day I started being able to uncurl them on  purpose, later move my wrist. Third day my hand was back, all the way past the elbow with feeling of itself and motion to the limits of the contraption, still with no pain whatsoever.

I got sent home with a selection of good pain meds and others for when I need them. Maybe tomorrow. No point wasting any.

It’s good to know where my arm is again.  For a while it was puzzling, frustrating, annoying, and ultimately hilarious!  I’ll trade all of it again for avoiding the notorious pain, at least for a few days. The slow progress back to feeling and motion is encouraging.

 Now I get to spend the next six weeks learning how to live with effectively one hand. Putting food from a box into the microwave isn’t hard, but for some reason I need Steve to push the numbers.  I must have used the other hand for that, though I’m puzzled why I can’t switch. The wrong arm has to reach for the phone now, from the shoulder that isn’t fixed. It’s an uncomfortable stretch.  My laptop won’t sit on my lap these days so it’s over on a table and the chair height is weird. Can you pull your pants on/off without using both hands? In time? This first draft had a typo about every third letter because my fingers operate the keyboard from muscle memory, but now it’s hunt and peck, wincingly wondering what on earth I was trying to say in that spot and why this line got inserted way over there in the middle of that word?

I have lots of help at home when I need it. Some skills are improving - I did think out lots of potential issues ahead of time  and work on solutions… with both hands of course. I had no idea of a not-hand, just an immobilized one.

Odd things are happening, no direct relation to the surgery, exactly. My pacemaker clinic called. They can’t prove my battery still has a charge, though it might be a false result. It was a known possibility going in. So I have an appointment to go in for a check, though no opening for two weeks. But if I feel faint meanwhile, call 911 for an ambo to the local hospital with a call out to Boston Scientific for a technician to race me there, relevant phone numbers on the calendar.

I feel fine, all things considering.

The second weird event I think was a scam. “Sara” called, informing me I was behind in keeping up with my medical testing, and it could make a difference in what my insurance would cover.

Are you shitting me? All the medical stuffI’ve been through the last  5 months, everything one needs before this surgery? I tried to interrupt “Sara” to ask this impossibly cheerful voice just exactly what tests “she” thought I needed but the voice wouldn’t slow to answer a question.  I got a bit rude, loudly repeating “Whoa!” about a dozen times without a breath, which changed her schpeil long enough to get her to change tack. The voice, which I now decided was likely AI, came back with “I see you have a lot on your plate, would you like me to call back later ?”
How irrelevant can you get? just answer a simple question! Obviously a badly programmed AI. I returned with, “No, I’m all caught up on my medical stuff, GOOD BYE!!!”
 

Surprise Charge On My Bill

I like to shop online. I started back years ago when my knees got so bad I hated walking enough to buy groceries or go to yard sales or whatever. I used to judge shopping locations by their battery shopping scooter carts as first priority. The knees are fine now but the online habit stayed. I'm considering changing it.

 The online grocery ordering started for us in Arizona with a grocery store that was an early one to offer it for seniors (then others) to avoid the risks of catching / sharing covid. They had first opened at 6:00 AM for seniors only, 7 for anybody, but later switched back to normal hours, letting everybody who wished order online and drive to reserved parking spaces to have our order brought out. And yes, of course, the ice cream was kept in a freezer until we got there! Even in what they call winter when we were only a mile away. It worked well, until they adopted QR codes and we seniors didn't. They quickly decided to accommodate us and put their phone number back on the delivery parking spaces' signs so we could claim our food!

Once we came back north, we checked with Walmart. They had a pretty good system and we've been using it for nearly all our shopping. Lots of items weren't food, since we didn't move everything we owned/needed/wanted to keep moving costs down, and we quickly learned to take note of what we could pick up along with our groceries, and what had to be delivered, free with a certain level of purchase, usually in 2 days. Or at least for a while. Then Trump started threatening tariffs, something different with every utterance, and the system got a bit gummed up. Walmart never noted on their order sites whether a company they contracted with was domestic or local. Two days often stretched to 6, or simply an email notice that it would take longer.

It seemed fairly innocuous. At first, anyway. Then things stopped showing up completely. I tried patience. It didn't work, unless their plan was to hope we might forgot we ordered something weeks ago and forgot about it. I learned long ago to keep those emails saying what I ordered, when, and its supposed arrival date. Many even had tracking numbers. Eventually I called Walmart's customer support and was rewarded with a snippy retort that Walmart had nothing to do with those orders and were offering no refunds (despite having them on their website... still!) Somebody still owes me a battery clock, an indoor wall thermometer, and a pair of small rugs shaped to fit in front of the toilet.) I needed the rugs and  clock, and since have walked into a store and purchased something similar in person. I decided I didn't really absolutely have to know how cold a room in the house was, I'd just keep a throw blanket in it, as does Steve, so no indoor thermometer was bought. I just needed to get over it... except my resentment at being cheated. I did look at one of those emails about a month ago, checked the tracking number, and found a "failure to deliver" note ... from California! Good thing I like the replacement battery clock better than what I ordered. But still....

None of what was "late" ever did show up. I've made a note to check the Walmart site EVERY TIME for whether what I wanted was in the store at the moment and able to be picked up, or not. In the latter case I ordered something else instead, or nothing. I have Steve doing the same thing, and he hasn't actually lost any money... that way. He recently had to replace a mouse pad, and ordered the only one of the several listed online that was actually in the store. It's solid black, not cutely decorated, but we got it with the groceries even though the young man wheeling out our order looked puzzled at why this foreign thing was in with food and was ready to throw it aside as trash. Good thing I was standing back behind the car with him when he did that! Sometimes we have to train them, you know, like keeping eggs or bread separate from anything heavy instead of under it, or frozen things together but away from just refrigerated, especially when something frozen has to travel half an hour home on a warm day and just happens to be ice cream . For us particularly we also teach not putting multiple gallons of milk in a single bag.  We don't even get paid for our training services!

After the year of our being trained to buy what's currently domestic, I've come to depend on the hints that some things might not come... ever. I just discovered other sites from other companies don't do us the favor of dropping hints. That just became relevant.

Part of my prep for upcoming surgery is locating the rare piece of clothing in my wardrobe which has sleeves in it, but doesn't have to be pulled over head and raised arms together. In other words, it should have front buttons or a zipper or something similar. I have not bought anything like that for well over a decade, unless it was considered outerwear like my winter coats. Every top is stretchy in various degrees and pulls over my head. It's the reason Steve has to help me dress in the mornings with my bad shoulders. Some things are old and loose - especially the second day of wear - enough for me to fight with by myself, or at least on my better days. But two days from now I'm under orders to pretty much keep my one arm just hanging straight down for a few weeks or more, and to be held there in a sling which is only to be removed for hygienic purposes. (I guess they want me to use my antiperspirant every day, eh? And take the occasional shower at least so I can check for bleeding and/or infection. Steve's going to love assisting me with shower duty! )

I finally found something to wear during that time... sort of. I do have a couple old zipper-front hoodie sweatshirts. It kind of defeats the purpose knowing I'm going to have to wear something sleeveless under that or have zipper scratches down my middle for weeks, but there we have it. Steve dug out one of his button front long sleeve "flannel" shirts, but even my hand finds that fabric sratchy. Do they make wool flannel? I've wandered through a couple clothing departments but pull-over everything seems to be the mandate of the year. Lucky my summer wardrobe does have a few unscratchy items in it, which I know from actually wearing them, and old ratty but soft cotton tee-shirts do graduate around here into the pajama-top drawer. 

 However, I'm still thinking about not raising my arm for some time. I was the perfect target for a shirt ad online. They were men's shirts, but soft and button front. Unlike most men's shirts they came in colors I like, like teal or purple.  A little pricey, but worth one try. I ordered one. It won't be in time for checking out of the hospital, but should be delivered soon after. Prompt delivery adds a few bucks but OK just this once.

I got confirmation via email, and all the details fit what I ordered. I got several more emails suggesting I could order more right now and each additional would be cheaper because of quantity. Delete. Delete. Delete. The original order confirmation email I'm keeping, even having taken a photo of it in case.

This morning I checked into my bank account, a frequent habit to be sure the card is not being misused, or my math isn't off and there's an upcoming minus balance or something. This is one of those months where social security arrives later than usual, and certain bills have to be held extra days, not a problem since I plan for it. 

The balance was lower than expected!

I went through the details and the shirt order had an extra charge on it. It was also the first indication anywhere that it was arriving from Hong Kong! Their business name was not the single word from their ad online, but now had added "Hong Kong"into their business name. The fee was labeled "International Fee US Funds".  Not tariff or anything resembling that word. The order was all in English, sizes not claimed to have some nationality attached to them like some places who give, say, US and UK sizes in different columns. That's information good to know before one picks their size, of course. But it's also a tip off that the garment is sold and/or made internationally. Just like a three week out arrival date is a hint, either of that or overburdened shipping staff. Or in another case years ago I could pay in either American currency at price "X" or Australian at price "Y". That was an interesting way of comparing how currency exchange values varied over time, or differed from Canadian ones, since I bought from them for months. I paid in US currency of course.

All that aside, this was a deliberate withholding of final price at the time of sale, or of even the possibility of a change. Everything else had been listed in the ad, including options for shipping. So far, since the charge is less than a dollar, I'm merely annoyed. I'll be waiting to see what else may not be as stated. Size? Color? Softness? Will it have been manufactured, like another clothing company recently lost my business after switching, on machines that leaves tails of thread to unravel instead of ending in a lock stitch? 

That other company, incidentally,  keeps sending me catalogues on a frequent basis. At least their paper is reyclable, as that's where those go now. Our postal center has a recycle bin before you head out the door to drop crap in without reading. It fills regularly. I help.