One of the few remaining joys in my Dad's life is getting out on his scooter on warm days.
Yes, I said warm days. Thus far, spring has not been cooperating. He did venture out once, with Paul accompanying him on foot, and turned around and headed home halfway through his usual route. That was the one nice day of spring so far. Two days ago he tried again, so frustrated at being penned up in the house that he was willing to ignore our inputs on the temperature outside. This time he changed his mind at the end of the driveway.
Our growing concern about his excursions, once it warms up, is that his cognition is highly variable. He can be perfectly lucid at one moment and completely loopy two minutes later. In fact that happened on his first ride, where he headed home early convinced that he had to go pick up somebody from the airport. Paul was with him, and nothing happened. He found his way back OK. But what about next time?
We've expressed these concerns to him, and while seeming to take them under advisement, he in no way indicated that he shared any of our concerns. It's not that we suggested he need to curtail his excursions, but that he needed some company on them, just in case. This would mean getting another scooter. Paul in the only one in the "family" of daytime caregivers who can keep up with him without a scooter. Rich has a bad knee, and both Steve and I have two. With a second scooter, it didn't matter who was taking care of him that day. He could still go out and he'd have company. Heck, he might even be persuaded to try other routes with someone along to guide him there and back again, and call for help if needed.
We started looking for scooters, even though he'd never officially endorsed our concerns or solution. Or so we thought, until one day his physical therapist casually mentioned that Randy (county nurse) had commented to her that Daddy had mentioned his concerns about venturing out alone to her.
I had one in mind. When Steve and I were in Florida a couple years back, we had a long conversation with a lady in line next to us who was on one. What kind was hers, how did she like it, what kind of distance did it have, how portable was it? She informed us hers was a "Go-Go" and she liked everything about it. I had looked it up in the internet after we came home, and found out that they sell for less than half of what Daddy originally paid (via Medicare) for his scooter many years ago. Cool!
Now, researching more carefully, I discovered that it's made by the same company that made his old one, Pride, and thought this said something good about lasting power. They offer a variety of options, in terms of weight capacity, weight of individual pieces, distance on a charge, price.
We also noticed a new Scooter Store in Forest Lake. I tried to stop by after work one day, but they keep bankers hours. I guess all their customers are not working, or so they think. Couldn't some of their potential customers be the working family members of someone needing a scooter?
I guess not. With those hours, I wasn't going to become a customer. However, Paul offered to stop by on his day off to see what they had, what prices were, and get information on the options so we could make a decision. They had the Go-Go, although in a sturdier model than we had thought about buying, and Paul was enthusiastic about how easy it would be to take apart and reassemble for travel in a car. However, prices were close to double what was being offered on line. He'd called the internet supplier before leaving home and found out that delivery would take about a week. With the weather forecast, we thought that would be plenty soon enough.
It should be here Friday.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Good Medical News
There's good news on two fronts. While Daddy was getting his post-hospital checkup, I asked Paul to have the doctor examine his back for a couple of weird, dark, irregular-shaped bumps that had recently sprung up. I was of course fearing melanoma. I was also wondering, if that were the diagnosis, whether we'd decide to treat it or not. Daddy's spoken several times on not wanting any more surgeries, and there would be too many days when he'd not remember the why of whatever procedures, just the pain. And wouldn't he die first from something else anyway at this point? But the word came back not to worry. That's not what they were.
Further, whatever they were, one had crusted over, dried up, and disappeared except for a red spot on the skin surface. I'd thought they'd done something to it at the hospital and hadn't bothered to mention it to me. Whatever.
The other good news is mine, and good in three ways. It was mammogram time again - OK, way past time due to lack of health insurance - and I scheduled it for last week. The first piece of good news is they use digital mammography (in a mobile truck) and this means when you get your boobs mashed, this way they don't have to mash them quite so hard. It's actually uncomfortable, not painful the way it used to be. And speaking of pain, I requested a chair for the procedure and got it! She argued with me that I'd only have to stand for 5 minutes. I told her that was 4 1/2 minutes too long. She rolled in the chair from her mini-office, the only one in the unit, and I returned the courtesy by returning the chair as quickly as possible. The final piece of good news was that the results were perfectly normal.
As expected.
I've never thought that breast cancer was a worry. True, Mom developed it, but I'm convinced that doesn't count. Not because she waited until she was in her 80s to start, and it was removed and had no recurrances. No, it was because I'm convinced that the only reason she developed it in the first place is that she was receiving HRT for years at such high levels that she was still having periods until the diagnosis, when she stopped them cold turkey. Not only that, but due to her wearing a pacemaker by then, and being unable to receive radiation treatments, she was put on a hormone blocking drug that cleaned all the estrogen out of her system. Talk about instant menopause! If you're going to do that to a system, you may as well do it to one young enough to tolerate the symptoms better!
I've never considered HRT as a desired possibility for me. Besides, I breezed through menopause almost without noticing, except for ceasing to need tampons, Halleluiah! Hot flashes? What hot flashes? I did notice a handful of what might be considered warm flashes, but I couldn't be sure. And since those pesky periods lasted until the age of 57, my body might as well do me the courtesy of sending them away gracefully!
Further, whatever they were, one had crusted over, dried up, and disappeared except for a red spot on the skin surface. I'd thought they'd done something to it at the hospital and hadn't bothered to mention it to me. Whatever.
The other good news is mine, and good in three ways. It was mammogram time again - OK, way past time due to lack of health insurance - and I scheduled it for last week. The first piece of good news is they use digital mammography (in a mobile truck) and this means when you get your boobs mashed, this way they don't have to mash them quite so hard. It's actually uncomfortable, not painful the way it used to be. And speaking of pain, I requested a chair for the procedure and got it! She argued with me that I'd only have to stand for 5 minutes. I told her that was 4 1/2 minutes too long. She rolled in the chair from her mini-office, the only one in the unit, and I returned the courtesy by returning the chair as quickly as possible. The final piece of good news was that the results were perfectly normal.
As expected.
I've never thought that breast cancer was a worry. True, Mom developed it, but I'm convinced that doesn't count. Not because she waited until she was in her 80s to start, and it was removed and had no recurrances. No, it was because I'm convinced that the only reason she developed it in the first place is that she was receiving HRT for years at such high levels that she was still having periods until the diagnosis, when she stopped them cold turkey. Not only that, but due to her wearing a pacemaker by then, and being unable to receive radiation treatments, she was put on a hormone blocking drug that cleaned all the estrogen out of her system. Talk about instant menopause! If you're going to do that to a system, you may as well do it to one young enough to tolerate the symptoms better!
I've never considered HRT as a desired possibility for me. Besides, I breezed through menopause almost without noticing, except for ceasing to need tampons, Halleluiah! Hot flashes? What hot flashes? I did notice a handful of what might be considered warm flashes, but I couldn't be sure. And since those pesky periods lasted until the age of 57, my body might as well do me the courtesy of sending them away gracefully!
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Changes and Other Themes
Epitaph
Elizabeth Sladen will be missed. Don't worry, I didn't recognize the name either. The clue "Dr. Who" helped, and for even occasional fans of the series, Sara Jane Smith is a much more recognizable identifier.
I didn't become a fan of hers, or the series, until recently. Part of the problem was that my Ex, back before he was my Ex, tried to shove it down my throat. The basic attitude was anybody who is worth anything will like what he likes, and it doesn't matter if it comes on late at night when, after a full day of kids kids kids, the only thing I'm capable of appreciating is sleep.
Yeah, not sex either, at that time of night.
But recently she was in a spin-off that I caught a bunch of episodes of, "The Sara Jane Adventures." Sure, they were juveniles, but good romps nonetheless, and left me wanting to look up some of those earlier episodes. You know, someday, when I have time again.
* * * * *
Losing My Non-Tan Line
I used to be able to look at my left wrist and see just how white my skin is when it doesn't see sun for dozens of years. Even though a leftie, that's where I wore my watch. It's where everybody else wore theirs, so it just seemed that natural place for it. Nobody ever bothered to tell me that it goes on the non-writing hand so you can see it at the same time you're writing. Oh well.
But I lost my watch a couple months ago. In fact, just before I broke my hand. Then of course there was not room on my wrist for any watch to fit, should I actually have located it. So I got used to doing what the kids are doing these days, checking the cell phone for the time. (At least I know it's accurate.) It feels weird, however. And I still find myself checking my wrist for a watch that no longer resides there. At first I'd joke when I caught myself doing that in front of a customer, when I needed to enter the time of a pick-up or delivery on the log, that my watch just didn't fit any more. True, though I never had occasion to actually verify it by trying a watch over a bulky wrapped wrist.
After a couple weeks, when I'd change the wrap in the evening or morning, I'd notice that my non-tan line was disappearing into a vaster whiteness that comes from having all the skin protected from the sun. It was still perceptible, but only just. A couple weeks ago when I finally quit using any supports (I heal bones fast, I guess) on the hand, it started to darken up again. Of course, that's relative to me, not to any usual standard of dark: there's too much Scandinavian in my background. Still, there was a slim line that was slower to darken than the rest. Mostly, it's gone now, but not completely.
* * * *
Just Another Night in Paradise
It started when I arrived home from work. Daddy started in on how we needed to keep a light on in the entryway so the people who were still coming could see. Even though we told him several times that nobody else was coming, he insisted.
After we finally distracted him with his nebulizer for the evening, he started back in on lights, but this time insisting that we needed to keep them off when we weren't using them, and needed to shut off everything we could, In fact, we should all go to bed right now and turn off everything.
Yeah. Sure. Have a good night, Daddy. See you in the morning.
It should only be that simple.
I had, for several weeks now, started getting some sleep at night. Generally, one awakening needing attention, and a bit of talking to him persuaded him to stay in bed and wait for me to come get him up in the morning. I'd hear complaints about he was awake all night "for days and days" and "it was the longest night ever!" But he stayed in bed, and I got some sleep.
Last night I was just going to bed when he started calling. He wanted to know what we were going to do about all the babies.
Now last time he dreamed about babies, it was a genuine nightmare, the first actual one I've seen him have. There were all kinds of women chasing him, upsetting in itself for reasons known only to him, and they either were going to or had already started popping out babies. This upset him even more, and was one of the few times he seemed to be relieved that this was only a dream. Mostly he takes that as us calling him a liar if we tell him whatever it was, it was only a dream.
This time I worked for a while to persuade him that there were no babies, and he'd been dreaming. My level of success was emphasized by his interrupting me periodically to ask if the kids had started having babies yet, and what were we planning to do with all of them?
Finally getting him settled in again, I went to bed. Half an hour later he was yelling for me again, on the same topic. I went through another "usual" routine for us lately of asking him to please be quiet because it was the middle of the night and the rest of us were all trying to sleep. He apologized profusely for making noise, and settled down just about long enough for me to return to my bed and pick it up on the baby monitor again.
Oh goodie.
I was tempted to turn it off so I could sleep. Instead, I decided to hope it wore itself out and he'd go back to a very quiet sleep for a couple hours at least. It was a good choice.
In another couple hours, he started calling for help. Loudly. When I got to his room, Paul was already there, and Daddy was standing with his walker next to the dresser with his legs all twisted and crooked. He'd knocked his glasses from the dresser onto the floor and would likely have broken them, either with a foot or the walker foot. Paul was asking him what he thought he was doing and where he was going. I was past patience for that and just sent Paul back to sleep. Besides, I heard all about it as I helped him straighten up and work his way backwards to his bed.
First there was his I'm-such-a-charming-little-boy look that I see so often this time of night, accompanied this time by his telling me how much he loved his furry little animals.
That's nice. Sit.
Then there was apparently some dream where they had to be all put back in their cages, and he was the one to do it. Because I hadn't.
Oh. Too bad.
After about twenty more minutes, he was settled back in bed, with me asking him to please stay in bed and try to remember that anything he dreamed that made him get up was going to be just a dream so he didn't need to really get up. It was the middle of the night. It was dark. And cold. And we were all sleeping.
Trying, anyway. It would have worked better if he could actually be reasoned with at that time of night. But it was still going to be one of those nights. He chatted on for a while, and I managed to finally fall asleep, when...
"Help! Help! Help!"
I fought my way into the room with eyelids so sandpapery that I couldn't quite open them all the way, relying on my knowledge of the house and hope that nobody and left something lying out where I'd stumble over it. This time he was sitting on the far side of the bed, with the blankets all thrown off onto the near side floor. He was down by the foot of the bed but still partly wedged between the bed and the mattresses of the old bed standing along the wall. There's just no other place for them, and someday I'm going to reclaim that room, my bed, and my super-nice mattresses. Anyway, the only way for him to go was up, around the foot of the bed using the walker on the other side of the room, and back into bed from the near side. My only comment to him, other than directions for how to move, was, "I don't even want to know why this time."
When the alarm went off this morning, I just shut it off and went back to sleep. He was, after all, quiet at the moment. Not even doing the not-so-subtle loud sighing and yawning he does when he's "patiently" waiting for me to get him up, even if it's 3AM. I needed sleep and I took another hour, then quickly made coffee, set up the nebulizer, and woke Richard to take over morning wake-up. Of course, he was already sitting on the side of the bed, ready for his third excursion of the night. I just left to go shower and get myself dressed.
Just myself!
Heaven!
* * * *
Another Right Wing Loon
We don't usually listen to WCCO in the evenings, unless there's a ball game on for my dad. But it was playing last night when I got home, after 8PM. According to their schedule, that's when John Hines is on. Never heard of him, never want to again. Two minutes was sufficient.
His rant was on global warming, or rather, why it's not real. If you're expecting a logical base to his reasoning, well, tough. He had a different kind of answer last night, involving Charles Manson.
Huh? You ask what that creep has to do with why anybody thinks anything about global warming? That was kinda Hines' point, in a twisted way. Apparently Manson came out and made a statement in support of or in belief of global warming. Against all that's rational, it made the news. And Manson being who Manson is, Hines "reasons" that the fact that he spoke for it means it isn't valid.
Now Manson is a very broken clock, but even those can be right on very rare occasions. One just learns never to depend on them. But they're not always wrong. If Manson said water was wet, would that make it dry? If he said grass is green would that make it orange and purple? If he said the earth is round, would that make it flat?
But the biggest question of all is this: why on earth is Hines listening to Charles Manson?
It's immediately followed by: why on earth would I ever want to listen again to John Hines?
Elizabeth Sladen will be missed. Don't worry, I didn't recognize the name either. The clue "Dr. Who" helped, and for even occasional fans of the series, Sara Jane Smith is a much more recognizable identifier.
I didn't become a fan of hers, or the series, until recently. Part of the problem was that my Ex, back before he was my Ex, tried to shove it down my throat. The basic attitude was anybody who is worth anything will like what he likes, and it doesn't matter if it comes on late at night when, after a full day of kids kids kids, the only thing I'm capable of appreciating is sleep.
Yeah, not sex either, at that time of night.
But recently she was in a spin-off that I caught a bunch of episodes of, "The Sara Jane Adventures." Sure, they were juveniles, but good romps nonetheless, and left me wanting to look up some of those earlier episodes. You know, someday, when I have time again.
* * * * *
Losing My Non-Tan Line
I used to be able to look at my left wrist and see just how white my skin is when it doesn't see sun for dozens of years. Even though a leftie, that's where I wore my watch. It's where everybody else wore theirs, so it just seemed that natural place for it. Nobody ever bothered to tell me that it goes on the non-writing hand so you can see it at the same time you're writing. Oh well.
But I lost my watch a couple months ago. In fact, just before I broke my hand. Then of course there was not room on my wrist for any watch to fit, should I actually have located it. So I got used to doing what the kids are doing these days, checking the cell phone for the time. (At least I know it's accurate.) It feels weird, however. And I still find myself checking my wrist for a watch that no longer resides there. At first I'd joke when I caught myself doing that in front of a customer, when I needed to enter the time of a pick-up or delivery on the log, that my watch just didn't fit any more. True, though I never had occasion to actually verify it by trying a watch over a bulky wrapped wrist.
After a couple weeks, when I'd change the wrap in the evening or morning, I'd notice that my non-tan line was disappearing into a vaster whiteness that comes from having all the skin protected from the sun. It was still perceptible, but only just. A couple weeks ago when I finally quit using any supports (I heal bones fast, I guess) on the hand, it started to darken up again. Of course, that's relative to me, not to any usual standard of dark: there's too much Scandinavian in my background. Still, there was a slim line that was slower to darken than the rest. Mostly, it's gone now, but not completely.
* * * *
Just Another Night in Paradise
It started when I arrived home from work. Daddy started in on how we needed to keep a light on in the entryway so the people who were still coming could see. Even though we told him several times that nobody else was coming, he insisted.
After we finally distracted him with his nebulizer for the evening, he started back in on lights, but this time insisting that we needed to keep them off when we weren't using them, and needed to shut off everything we could, In fact, we should all go to bed right now and turn off everything.
Yeah. Sure. Have a good night, Daddy. See you in the morning.
It should only be that simple.
I had, for several weeks now, started getting some sleep at night. Generally, one awakening needing attention, and a bit of talking to him persuaded him to stay in bed and wait for me to come get him up in the morning. I'd hear complaints about he was awake all night "for days and days" and "it was the longest night ever!" But he stayed in bed, and I got some sleep.
Last night I was just going to bed when he started calling. He wanted to know what we were going to do about all the babies.
Now last time he dreamed about babies, it was a genuine nightmare, the first actual one I've seen him have. There were all kinds of women chasing him, upsetting in itself for reasons known only to him, and they either were going to or had already started popping out babies. This upset him even more, and was one of the few times he seemed to be relieved that this was only a dream. Mostly he takes that as us calling him a liar if we tell him whatever it was, it was only a dream.
This time I worked for a while to persuade him that there were no babies, and he'd been dreaming. My level of success was emphasized by his interrupting me periodically to ask if the kids had started having babies yet, and what were we planning to do with all of them?
Finally getting him settled in again, I went to bed. Half an hour later he was yelling for me again, on the same topic. I went through another "usual" routine for us lately of asking him to please be quiet because it was the middle of the night and the rest of us were all trying to sleep. He apologized profusely for making noise, and settled down just about long enough for me to return to my bed and pick it up on the baby monitor again.
Oh goodie.
I was tempted to turn it off so I could sleep. Instead, I decided to hope it wore itself out and he'd go back to a very quiet sleep for a couple hours at least. It was a good choice.
In another couple hours, he started calling for help. Loudly. When I got to his room, Paul was already there, and Daddy was standing with his walker next to the dresser with his legs all twisted and crooked. He'd knocked his glasses from the dresser onto the floor and would likely have broken them, either with a foot or the walker foot. Paul was asking him what he thought he was doing and where he was going. I was past patience for that and just sent Paul back to sleep. Besides, I heard all about it as I helped him straighten up and work his way backwards to his bed.
First there was his I'm-such-a-charming-little-boy look that I see so often this time of night, accompanied this time by his telling me how much he loved his furry little animals.
That's nice. Sit.
Then there was apparently some dream where they had to be all put back in their cages, and he was the one to do it. Because I hadn't.
Oh. Too bad.
After about twenty more minutes, he was settled back in bed, with me asking him to please stay in bed and try to remember that anything he dreamed that made him get up was going to be just a dream so he didn't need to really get up. It was the middle of the night. It was dark. And cold. And we were all sleeping.
Trying, anyway. It would have worked better if he could actually be reasoned with at that time of night. But it was still going to be one of those nights. He chatted on for a while, and I managed to finally fall asleep, when...
"Help! Help! Help!"
I fought my way into the room with eyelids so sandpapery that I couldn't quite open them all the way, relying on my knowledge of the house and hope that nobody and left something lying out where I'd stumble over it. This time he was sitting on the far side of the bed, with the blankets all thrown off onto the near side floor. He was down by the foot of the bed but still partly wedged between the bed and the mattresses of the old bed standing along the wall. There's just no other place for them, and someday I'm going to reclaim that room, my bed, and my super-nice mattresses. Anyway, the only way for him to go was up, around the foot of the bed using the walker on the other side of the room, and back into bed from the near side. My only comment to him, other than directions for how to move, was, "I don't even want to know why this time."
When the alarm went off this morning, I just shut it off and went back to sleep. He was, after all, quiet at the moment. Not even doing the not-so-subtle loud sighing and yawning he does when he's "patiently" waiting for me to get him up, even if it's 3AM. I needed sleep and I took another hour, then quickly made coffee, set up the nebulizer, and woke Richard to take over morning wake-up. Of course, he was already sitting on the side of the bed, ready for his third excursion of the night. I just left to go shower and get myself dressed.
Just myself!
Heaven!
* * * *
Another Right Wing Loon
We don't usually listen to WCCO in the evenings, unless there's a ball game on for my dad. But it was playing last night when I got home, after 8PM. According to their schedule, that's when John Hines is on. Never heard of him, never want to again. Two minutes was sufficient.
His rant was on global warming, or rather, why it's not real. If you're expecting a logical base to his reasoning, well, tough. He had a different kind of answer last night, involving Charles Manson.
Huh? You ask what that creep has to do with why anybody thinks anything about global warming? That was kinda Hines' point, in a twisted way. Apparently Manson came out and made a statement in support of or in belief of global warming. Against all that's rational, it made the news. And Manson being who Manson is, Hines "reasons" that the fact that he spoke for it means it isn't valid.
Now Manson is a very broken clock, but even those can be right on very rare occasions. One just learns never to depend on them. But they're not always wrong. If Manson said water was wet, would that make it dry? If he said grass is green would that make it orange and purple? If he said the earth is round, would that make it flat?
But the biggest question of all is this: why on earth is Hines listening to Charles Manson?
It's immediately followed by: why on earth would I ever want to listen again to John Hines?
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
No Poker Face
It's never a good thing when, in the middle of you doctor's exam, while she's poking and prodding, a look of alarm flashes across her face. I'm used to cheerful, helpful, explanatory, inquisitive. Not alarm. But apparently she doesn't have a poker face.
It was my first "real" physical in a few years since losing my health insurance. Now that it's back, it's time to explore a bunch of issues, check out progress/deterioration, explore options, all the while keeping in mind the budget limits of the new plan.
We were well into the exam, and this wasn't my first surprise. That was when I stepped on the scale, after setting down the pocketbook and book, removing shoes, 2 cell phones, 2 sets of keys, a pen.... Anyway, I'd lost weight since last year. And I haven't been trying. What I have noticed was my stomach seemed to fill faster lately, leaving me with my usual serving on the plate and having to put some in a leftovers container. I suspect it's related to my second surprise.
It wasn't a complete surprise. I've known for a few years not that I had a fibroid growing in my abdomen, most likely attached to if not actually growing out of my uterus. An ultrasound diagnosed it and they sized it at 11 x 13 centimeters, or about the size of a large orange. Completely benign. I used to relax on the bed on my back and be able to feel around myself and find the thing. I haven't been able to do that recently.
As she started the belly poking, I asked her if she could still find it. This is her cue to go, "Ohmigod, it's the size of a baby!" along with the aforementioned facial reaction. Just in case I hadn't gotten the clue yet, she added, "This could cause you real problems!"
There are several ways to react to that kind of news. There's the calm reflection that it's not anything malignant, so it can be - literally - lived with. There's the noting that, well, I've already lost some weight, and if they remove this, I'll lose more: cool! As well as, here I thought it was all belly fat, but I'll look a whole lot less pregnant when this "baby" goes bye-bye. There's also the thought that this might in fact be the cause of the weight loss, since judging by where her hands were finding its edges, it appears to be more vertical than not, and thus might be pushing against my stomach, thus limiting its available room for food. There's wondering about side effects, since the only other thing I've noticed about having it is that bathroom visits are more problematical and less efficient than formerly, and if I have to spell that out further, tough! No, I'm not short of breath, with a pair of knees that keep me so inactive that I have very little occasion to notice that kind of thing anyway. There's the curiosity of wondering what else she might be talking about when she says it might cause me real problems. And of course there's wondering what can be done about it on my limited budget.
Ten grand a year doesn't go very far, and there are other things needing attention too. I left the visit with a list of 6 referrals for tests and evaluations, one of which is a gynecologist to have this checked out, and find out what my options are. But that appointment is next month. I'll be patient, since I'm not really concerned, despite my doctor's reaction. That "baby" has been growing for over three years, doesn't kick, and doesn't make me throw up 18 times a day, and won't take up the next 18 years of my life parenting.
We can get along.
It was my first "real" physical in a few years since losing my health insurance. Now that it's back, it's time to explore a bunch of issues, check out progress/deterioration, explore options, all the while keeping in mind the budget limits of the new plan.
We were well into the exam, and this wasn't my first surprise. That was when I stepped on the scale, after setting down the pocketbook and book, removing shoes, 2 cell phones, 2 sets of keys, a pen.... Anyway, I'd lost weight since last year. And I haven't been trying. What I have noticed was my stomach seemed to fill faster lately, leaving me with my usual serving on the plate and having to put some in a leftovers container. I suspect it's related to my second surprise.
It wasn't a complete surprise. I've known for a few years not that I had a fibroid growing in my abdomen, most likely attached to if not actually growing out of my uterus. An ultrasound diagnosed it and they sized it at 11 x 13 centimeters, or about the size of a large orange. Completely benign. I used to relax on the bed on my back and be able to feel around myself and find the thing. I haven't been able to do that recently.
As she started the belly poking, I asked her if she could still find it. This is her cue to go, "Ohmigod, it's the size of a baby!" along with the aforementioned facial reaction. Just in case I hadn't gotten the clue yet, she added, "This could cause you real problems!"
There are several ways to react to that kind of news. There's the calm reflection that it's not anything malignant, so it can be - literally - lived with. There's the noting that, well, I've already lost some weight, and if they remove this, I'll lose more: cool! As well as, here I thought it was all belly fat, but I'll look a whole lot less pregnant when this "baby" goes bye-bye. There's also the thought that this might in fact be the cause of the weight loss, since judging by where her hands were finding its edges, it appears to be more vertical than not, and thus might be pushing against my stomach, thus limiting its available room for food. There's wondering about side effects, since the only other thing I've noticed about having it is that bathroom visits are more problematical and less efficient than formerly, and if I have to spell that out further, tough! No, I'm not short of breath, with a pair of knees that keep me so inactive that I have very little occasion to notice that kind of thing anyway. There's the curiosity of wondering what else she might be talking about when she says it might cause me real problems. And of course there's wondering what can be done about it on my limited budget.
Ten grand a year doesn't go very far, and there are other things needing attention too. I left the visit with a list of 6 referrals for tests and evaluations, one of which is a gynecologist to have this checked out, and find out what my options are. But that appointment is next month. I'll be patient, since I'm not really concerned, despite my doctor's reaction. That "baby" has been growing for over three years, doesn't kick, and doesn't make me throw up 18 times a day, and won't take up the next 18 years of my life parenting.
We can get along.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Listening to the Ice Move
It's unseasonably warm today, and, unfortunately, seasonably sticky, assuming the season for the latter is a Minnesota summer. I decided a remedy to Daddy's sleeping all day long would be to bundle him in the car and take a drive up to Crex Meadows to see what spring has brought.
The trip itself depended on weather, of course, and it was forecast to be perfect for such an expedition: a bulk of several afternoon hours between thunderstorms.
These days it's even more of an event than, say, last year. One O2 bottle, for example, would have sufficed then. Today he went through both and still ran out by the time he had to walk into the house. Then though it's very warm and he'd be inside the car the whole time, he insisted on having his hat. No jacket, but the more I insisted he didn't need the hat either the crabbier he became.
He got his hat.
I lost half my view out the side window.
This hat is a straw hat with a wide brim and a green plastic visor/shade extending well out over the front. I presume it's like portable sunglasses for the hat wearer. For the person nearby, it's an obstacle. Whatever.
Driving into Wisconsin, we saw the last of the snow for this season - we hope. There were mounds left in large parking lots and where there had been drifts under the north side of dense trees. Ice on the ponds is mostly or all melted, depending on their size. Ice on lakes is very black, and very broken up.
Since this is about ice, I won't bore you with trumpeter swans sightings, or sandhill cranes, harrier hawks, Canada geese, loons, mallards, buffle heads, redwing blackbirds, courting frogs, pussy willows, bad roads, or any of the other things the camera and I found interesting. These are common at Crex. But there was one thing that was new to me today.
I always go by Phantom Lake when I enter the area. Today there were few birds there since the lake was still mostly ice covered. However, as I proceeded through, I soon realized it wasn't as simple as a solid sheet. The lake was covered by a combination of large solid sheets and areas covered in floating ice bits. If you sorted out the textures for a bit, you could soon easily tell which was which.
Especially if you stood still.
There was a stiff south wind blowing, and the large sheets were moving north, pushing their way between other sheets through gaps of open water left from other sheets moving by. The big sheets were in turn pushing the small bits out of their way, and where gaps were narrow, that meant pushing them up onto adjoining sheets.
Where the bits floated on the water, they were as black as the big sheets, just lumpy and uneven in texture. Where they got pushed up out of the water, they instantly turned white, even in the lower light levels of a still very cloudy day. And if you were very quiet, with the car engine turned off and conversation stilled, you could hear the gentle tinkling of the ice bits colliding and shoving and piling up.
Good ears of course helped. Daddy no longer can hear soft things with higher pitches, so he missed the ice music. While he sat and watched the large sheets move, I stood, and photographed, and listened. Just listened.
And wished I'd thought to bring the camcorder too.
The trip itself depended on weather, of course, and it was forecast to be perfect for such an expedition: a bulk of several afternoon hours between thunderstorms.
These days it's even more of an event than, say, last year. One O2 bottle, for example, would have sufficed then. Today he went through both and still ran out by the time he had to walk into the house. Then though it's very warm and he'd be inside the car the whole time, he insisted on having his hat. No jacket, but the more I insisted he didn't need the hat either the crabbier he became.
He got his hat.
I lost half my view out the side window.
This hat is a straw hat with a wide brim and a green plastic visor/shade extending well out over the front. I presume it's like portable sunglasses for the hat wearer. For the person nearby, it's an obstacle. Whatever.
Driving into Wisconsin, we saw the last of the snow for this season - we hope. There were mounds left in large parking lots and where there had been drifts under the north side of dense trees. Ice on the ponds is mostly or all melted, depending on their size. Ice on lakes is very black, and very broken up.
Since this is about ice, I won't bore you with trumpeter swans sightings, or sandhill cranes, harrier hawks, Canada geese, loons, mallards, buffle heads, redwing blackbirds, courting frogs, pussy willows, bad roads, or any of the other things the camera and I found interesting. These are common at Crex. But there was one thing that was new to me today.
I always go by Phantom Lake when I enter the area. Today there were few birds there since the lake was still mostly ice covered. However, as I proceeded through, I soon realized it wasn't as simple as a solid sheet. The lake was covered by a combination of large solid sheets and areas covered in floating ice bits. If you sorted out the textures for a bit, you could soon easily tell which was which.
Especially if you stood still.
There was a stiff south wind blowing, and the large sheets were moving north, pushing their way between other sheets through gaps of open water left from other sheets moving by. The big sheets were in turn pushing the small bits out of their way, and where gaps were narrow, that meant pushing them up onto adjoining sheets.
Where the bits floated on the water, they were as black as the big sheets, just lumpy and uneven in texture. Where they got pushed up out of the water, they instantly turned white, even in the lower light levels of a still very cloudy day. And if you were very quiet, with the car engine turned off and conversation stilled, you could hear the gentle tinkling of the ice bits colliding and shoving and piling up.
Good ears of course helped. Daddy no longer can hear soft things with higher pitches, so he missed the ice music. While he sat and watched the large sheets move, I stood, and photographed, and listened. Just listened.
And wished I'd thought to bring the camcorder too.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Raptor Cams
If you want to watch eagles and other birds on the nest without risking an eye or a broken leg, check out this.
Monday, April 4, 2011
And... Home
Whew! Only 6 days in the hospital this time. That is, if he doesn't alarm his doctor again at his 1-week-past checkup. He seems better though, than he did then, back in early December. I'll chose to be optimistic.
So, in Monday, out Saturday. I convinced the doctor that his lying around a few more days wasn't going to help him in the long run. He needs to move around, and for his mental acuity, he needs to be home in familiar surroundings. His mind sharpened midway through his stay,and then went wandering again. He's been as sharp as we expect these days since he got home. (Translation: he generally knows where/when he is and who we are, and how to manipulate his environment like raise and lower his lift chair.) He's also slept most of his time home. He'll get up to get dressed and relocate, take his nebulizer, and then nap before breakfast, nap after breakfast, wake for lunch, nap... I guess it's good for him. His wakeful time seems to be late afternoon and early evening when he can hear a Twins game or watch taped episodes of Minnesota Bound or Nature with his nose a foot from the TV. Saturday night he slept through. Last night he woke once. Tonight?
We'll see.
So, in Monday, out Saturday. I convinced the doctor that his lying around a few more days wasn't going to help him in the long run. He needs to move around, and for his mental acuity, he needs to be home in familiar surroundings. His mind sharpened midway through his stay,and then went wandering again. He's been as sharp as we expect these days since he got home. (Translation: he generally knows where/when he is and who we are, and how to manipulate his environment like raise and lower his lift chair.) He's also slept most of his time home. He'll get up to get dressed and relocate, take his nebulizer, and then nap before breakfast, nap after breakfast, wake for lunch, nap... I guess it's good for him. His wakeful time seems to be late afternoon and early evening when he can hear a Twins game or watch taped episodes of Minnesota Bound or Nature with his nose a foot from the TV. Saturday night he slept through. Last night he woke once. Tonight?
We'll see.
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