"Interesting" Financial Policy

 I have a good relationship with my one credit card company. Only one, that is, unless you count the debit card that comes from my credit union. Technically they're different.

I've had that credit card for a long time. It kept me going in the lean years, and they managed to get their modest share of interest from me along the way. Once I got to the point where I didn't have to leave a balance on the card, I got fussy about paying off the monthly balance before the deadline. They were handling my money for free nearly all the time.  

Apparently they noticed. I'm used to getting my bill just past the first of the month, with a date to pay it off  without compiling interest for before the next month end to avoid interest. 

A few days ago I made an extra payment since I'd been spending a bit extra. I have no problem making double payments in a month, since I keep a fluid balance in my checking account that I don't blow past. Since it was well past the 1st, I got an automatic "warning" that this would not count towards the monthly bill.

Huh?  I've already paid twice since the first of the month.  Just to keep the balance down, you know. But their first of the month bill hadn't gone out yet, unlike other months. They've been holding it, again unlike other months. So maybe they figure that I think I've paid it already. Both of the recent payments were after paying the minimum after the last bill went out.  I've brought it down to zero each time, a favorite pastime of mine. Then I ordered groceries for something under $60. Just after their new billing date. So I still need to make another payment before the end of this month.

So-o-o-o not a problem. I could do it as soon as I finish this, but I'll let a bit more accumulate first. It was just interesting to me since they changed their timing. I can only conclude they're looking for more ways to acquire extra interest. It's not like I've been sending them any, and that's part of my agreement with them, that nothing is owed if all is paid off before the next bill. These last few years, occasionally something happens and I owe them a bit of interest about once a year. Just a bit, since I note that however tiny, it still is more than I'd get leaving my money where it is in a different institution earning interest.

The question I do keep asking myself is whether, after all these years of being a good reliable customer, they want to keep me or trick me into being driven away? There are other institutions who used to have my business, and either got sloppy or greedy. I refuse to use them to this day. One was so bad that even when I received a check to cash at their bank, coming from one of their customers at that precise branch, they tried to force me to give them my credit card number - or open an account there - before I could get my money. I had ID but that wasn't good enough for them. Eventually I figured out something different and got my money owed without compromising.  

Just saying I can get pretty stubborn with greedy characters. I'll be keeping a close eye on the credit card company.

About Those Supposed Hospital Food Restrictions

One of the  first things you hear once pancreatitis is diagnosed is that you have to give your pancreas a rest. It might just repair itself. In practical terms, first thing that means is no "real" food. Especially no fats, and only low fats for well afterwards. You get clear liquids only, most of which are being fed to you though a vein in your arm. (See "Dancing With Miss Ivy" from last month.) Considering the pain, mess, and inconvenience that led me to this point, I was reasonably OK with not putting into my body anything that might bring any of it back. I was getting all the things my body needed at that point, and had no hunger or thirst waiting to sabotage everybody's good intentions.

Oops, did I say "everybody's"?

My first morning the staff wheeled in a  full, standard breakfast tray. I knew perfectly well it wasn't for me. It couldn't be, right? I informed the staff I was restricted and they offered it to Steve, since he'd spent the night, and there were common sense rules against returning it to the cafeteria.  He enjoyed most of it, especially since otherwise he'd have to leave to go buy something. There was no cafeteria in the hospital.

 He was gone before they brought in another tray, but I had not heard yet that I could eat anything but clear liquids. My initial conversation while still in the ER was "for several days", and I was still hooked up to Miss Ivy.

Cue next morning's breakfast tray.

OK, this one had a small can of lemon/lime soda - I guess that qualifies as clear, but I seemed to remember no carbonated stuff. I set that aside for Steve, since he'd had a similar one the day before. This also had a couple tiny containers of colored jello - no insult to the brand by that name, but to me all gelatin is jello like all tissues are kleenex. These were both flavor free and rubbery. I tried, honest.  Then I noticed some actual fruit juice. A purist would claim the bit of pulp clouding them defied the qualification of "clear" but I didn't care. Wet, flavor, I'd take it. The surprise on the tray was some cream of wheat. I suppose Superman could see though that, but I have never claimed that talent.  However.....

I decided to hope that the cafeteria staff had some justification for calling it "clear". Right next to it on the tray was a packet of honey to pour over it. No question that was clear, right? Next to the honey was some brown sugar. Now, when that gets wet, as it surely would do inside of me, it became clear. So... justified, right? I made sure every grain of sugar and drop of honey coated my breakfast before I had my first bite... and all the way through to the last. Next were the cut strawberries. Hmmm, clear? Not clear? I knew if I chomped them well, the juice would be clear and very tasty. OK, tasty was slightly overrated. The season was long over, after all. I decided that the fiber in the berries was simply unavoidable, and maybe one of my docs had talked to the cafeteria staff about what was OK, so I wasn't taking my health for the rest of my days in my hands... or stomach, as it were.

Yeah, I know. No lectures!

The next trays that day were more of the same, without the cereal. Jello got set aside for the trash. Two kinds of (now clear) fruit juices were consumed, along with more strawberries, though this time with a dollop of whipped cream. No fat there, amiright? Another can of soda, same brand, different flavor, saved. I did give a stray thought to how much sugar they were putting into this (known) diabetic, but morning pokes didn't seem to give them any concern during my stay, despite continuous IVs dripping in calories along with their electrolytes and meds. Can't go completely without. My numbers hovered around 90, and the only energy I used was with Miss Ivy.

Without any communication or fanfare, and no changes in IVs, the next breakfast was a huge frosted sweet roll among the standard fare. Sitting demurely in the tray corner were two pats of butter to smother it with. I drew the line at the butter. Honest! Just like at supper I drew the line at the sour cream for the pat of potatoes on the tray. Just kidding - that sour cream was delightful! Otherwise the trays were pretty repetitious, jello, juice, soda, and once sliced bananas instead of strawberries. At least the potatoes came with a formed hunk of chicken breast next to it, and its seasoning was great.

On the 4th day I got discharged. Steve and his daughter came up to get me, and we all went to Betty's pies. I needed to buy a pie - but rest assured it's still in the freezer until I get the OK. Takes up way too much space, but I do my best not to notice.  Their lunch menu had a lovely salad which I felt I could eat without guilt, or at least part of it. They have to-go boxes, and we were driving straight back. Steve ordered chicken and onion rings. Being the generous love he is, he offered me onion rings. I held the line at a single one-inch section of one. Yummmm.....! I consoled myself with the repeated experience from years past of ordering a full serving and having the flavor vanish by about the 5th ring. That's such a disappointment! So at least I escaped that "misery". 

By the way, if you're wondering, all the cans I saved got packed and consumed -not by me - later. When I was ready for beverages other than water, I ordered a  bunch of V8, for veggies without the chopping. It's tolerable. That apple pie.....   Nope, still in the freezer. It's been clearing its throat lately, getting ready to start singing when I open the door.

Where Did Those Pounds Go?

Well, obviously, down the drain, where all pounds go.  They went in one of two ways, and very little imagination is required to pick which two, nor description needed of what the process was like.

That wasn't really the question, though. I suppose the real question should have been about just where they disappeared from. My balance is a bit off. I'm walking just fine, thank you, no need for that concern. It's just that I have this particular knack for getting up from my recliner - or any chair - that involves a bit of leaning forward before standing. I learned it while recovering from knee replacements years ago. Certain things just aren't connected exactly the same way any more. No more showing off charm school lessons for me! (OK, that hasn't been a thing for me for decades. In fact, probably not since the week after I graduated. So lots of decades!) I'm still gonna blame the knees.

I've learned to tell people who persist in standing right in front of me when I'm about to get up and they are aware of that fact but don't move, that they need to move a bit away or risk getting painfully headbutted. Yes, it seems mostly guys who risk such. They seem perfectly capable of either total indifference to their surroundings, or of expecting this "delicate female" to gracefully levitate upwards into a fully erect stance within the exact same space only the chair occupied seconds before.

Come to think of it, the temptation to do some "accidental" headbutting is growing. But it would be rude, I do admit.

I haven't been out in polite company for a bit now, being pretty much confined to home or doctors while I'm recovering. So when I get ready to leave my recliner in the family room, nobody is in my way. I find I need to lean a bit more forward before standing, while not far enough to topple onto my head. (That would be embarrassing.)  Since the technique was habit with my old body, the one 10 pounds heavier a couple weeks ago, it must be that my balance has somewhat shifted. That weight must have come off someplace  where my muscles need to learn to adjust to. 

No, I haven't stood in front of the mirror to concentrate on what has changed. I didn't stand in front of the mirror to memorize every nuance of shape before I got sick either, so what would be the point? I'm not noticing where clothes are fitting differently either, since part of being sick is wearing sloppy old stuff that can get messed without any damage being done. A new stain? Which one of these did you mean? More baggy here? Just more comfy, right? It only counts if something tends to fall off when you walk, don't you know. If it's still otherwise decent, it's just time to sew in a tuck, or move the diaper pin making up for decaying elastic. No need to buy more clothes with every hanger occupied. Once something is so-o-o not fit for public view, it gets turned into PJs if it's soft and comfy. If not, the rag box in over in that corner.

All this is my long way of explaining why I don't have a "before" to compare to "now", except on the scale.

All I really have is a need to practice more again, into and out of the chair, get the muscles and balance adjusted to the new... and hope the new is stable of course! It's a good thing. My recent blood sugar levels have been fantastic! Just note that I'm not recommending my way as a method to achieve that. If you try it, you deserve to go fall on your own head!

Stopping Autism?

First: Let me say I will not condemn autism. I love a relative with it as it's defined these days, and  respect and admire their accomplishments. I've also corresponded with at least a dozen people with autism, self identified, online. Several of them have given me great insight on various things, including unique contributions to our world or challenges we provide them for surviving and thriving in it.

However, RFK Jr has made preventing autism the core of his intended contribution to health in this country, and he's willing to not just ignore all kinds of other health needs, but actively stop lots of research to learn more ways to understand and improve the overall health of people. I was going to add "in this country" at the end of that sentence, but America had been responsible for a lot of advances in that area that don't stop at our borders. Well, till now, anyway. At least research in other countries of all kinds continues, but top level research needs all of us contributing. No one country is magic, though one can be terribly destructive.

Junior has been spouting weird and wild quarter-baked ideas about how to prevent autism, or whom to blame for it (because blame is easier than actual research and facts), loudly and long enough that people without the time to look into actual facts, but full of time to yield to irrational fears, are willing to accept each daily new spew of nonsense. Most of his version of blame falls on the women, specifically pregnant ones. In his worldview, they must have done something wrong to cause it in their offspring.

Are any of you old enough to remember when homosexuality was blamed on "cold mothers"? Same idiotic mindset. We now know that people are born with the sense of who they are attracted to, their own gender or opposite. Just like we are born with the idea of our personal gender, whatever attachments our body manifests. The only things we actually know about mothers doing harm to developing children in utero comes from then taking drugs like narcotics, alcohol, or smoking. Or back when, thalidomide. None of those results are homosexuality or autism. No "new" substance like a specific pain reliever is the cause because they haven't been on the planet long and autism has. So has homosexuality, and gender identity.

The only hypothesis I've heard that makes any kind of sense is that it tends to be genetic in some way as yet unspecified, just that it often shows in previous generations, possibly at different levels, often with different names applied as diagnoses, as our knowledge grows.

Given that we only know for sure one cause, and if, despite their contributions, we decide as a species that we need to somehow prevent more autistic people from being born, there is only one method that could be proof positive as a way to achieve that questionable goal:

STOP HAVING SEX!  EVERYBODY !!!!!!!!

The Ever-ending Symphony

I'm tired of fighting with the pancreatic issues, so I decided on a change of pace. There was a very long delay to pick up the grocery order, and I had time to listen to Classical MPR radio. I instantly recognized the piece.

You might also. Beethoven wrote 9 symphonies, of which two are almost universally recognized by those with any familiarity with his music, his 5th and his 9th. The latter is his choral symphony, and contains what I recognized as a hymn I used to sing before I paid any attention to its origin. The fifth is the one with the repeating rhythm, a musical version of Morse  code's letter V, dit-dit-dit-daaahhh.  For victory, of course.

Beethoven was my first musical love, and still my favorite, much as I love a lot of other pieces. My first record set was his 9 symphonies, put out boxed by Readers Digest. Yep, about 1960. My favorites included the 5th and 9th, but my very favorite, full of angst matching that stage of my teenage years, was the 7th.

Many years ago I listened to a lot of classical MPR while I was out in the car all day, working. Occasionally the hosts of various programs would drop gems of information about the piece next to be played, something to be sure you paid attention, sticking around for what they called a "driveway moment" for those who just had to listen to the end instead of going into the house.

The most memorable one I heard was about the ending to the Fifth. As it was described, it was a combination joke and an eff-you to his critics. The endings on his pieces lasted longer than had been customary for a very long time, and the critics hated it. He had an answer for them, the finale to his 5th.

Take a few minutes some time and just listen to the ending. Or should I say endings? Over, and over, and over he builds it up to a finish... and then keeps going. You think it's time to applaud... and a new theme picks up and runs away with it, or an old theme with new instruments, or new variations, or it backs up to just before a previous long road to a climax... but it still isn't over. By the time it does, you're just not quite sure if the game is over for real. When it finally is, I find it a disappointment. The fun should keep going.

It makes this one unique, a joy for those who don't want it to end, a chuckle for those in on the joke. It's definitely a victory over the critics because it's possibly his best beloved, most recognized work.

Putting A Little Vacation In Your Hospital Stay

 It wasn't the vacation we wanted, of course. But it wasn't entirely bad either. There was the driving north and the driving back south, punctuated by periodic stops in locations begging for a camera.

Which of course I had along.

The first time was at a roadside rest stop partway north. Nature called, however one defines that phrase. For me it meant taking out the camera... first. Early leaf colors lined the drive in.

After parking, a little exploring caught a bee flitting around wild asters, the flower being one of favorite signs of September. So what if it took ten shots and heavy cropping to find the bee?

On the drive through Duluth, a peek at whitecaps on the lake required another pullout to catch some of the action. The  first public opening was just past the city.

Shortly after that I started not feeling well. The camera was shelved for 4 days. Even though the hospital was named "Lakeview", I had no indication from inside the walls whether that was real or fantasy.

But eventually I was sprung, and well enough to grab a few shots at a scenic overlook. Having visited that spot in the past, I can vouch that it really is... until the fog rolls in.

 

 Even then, a careful and lucky aim can make the stop worthwhile.

I have no idea what that fisherman thought he could catch from his location, but I give him points for ambition.

Eventually we made a second stop at the rest area overlooking Duluth. Fall colors abounded, especially among the rocks laid out to hold the hillside.

When we first arrived, one could see the harbor with its bridges, buildings, and a low roll of fog approaching from the northeast.

In the other direction you could see the river emptying into the lake, amid fluffy clouds overhead.

 

 

In a short time, however, clouds thickened and fog hid lower detail. 

It was time to head home.
 

If You Haven't Had A Cat Scan

I have to laugh at Google some times. Nearly two weeks after getting one in the ER, I was reading all the lists of questions people supposedly ask about CT scans and Google's answers to them. After a bit they keep repeating, especially the questions which ask why something happens a certain way when, in fact, it doesn't. Like "Why can't I drive after?" is answered by "You can drive home afterwards." Every time. Hey, you can wear deodorant too. This isn't a mammogram. It doesn't care what your insides smell like. If you have the choice, be kind to the staff though, and use it. (That last is me, not Google.)

I came into the ER with severe pain under my bottom right ribcage. I'd had no accident or any kind of impact injury. My gallbladder was gone 37 years before. The only thing I could come up within my limited experience was the fact that I have a herniated diaphragm on that side. It got diagnosed after a camping trip in the mountains where suddenly breathing became an issue, or at least getting the feeling of not having enough O2 from the process, emphasized by light-headedness. It hadn't been painful at all, unless one counts the disappointment of having to leave days before seeing the full eclipse of the sun we'd traveled to see after several years of planning.

The pulmologist I saw when we got back home diagnosed it for me, and when I asked if that meant needing surgery, he informed me they don't operate on that. It doesn't heal by itself either. And I no longer tolerate high altitudes like Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain National Park like I had before. Anyway, with no future issues from it, and his input, I presume I still have it. My resulting thought as I entered the ER was my pain came from something trying to push its way through the hole and into my lung. 

Pretty sure it wasn't one of Sigourney Weaver's aliens.

A few other things I'd told the folks in the ER led them in a different direction, but just to be sure, they ordered a CT scan, or Cat Scan. With dye. Did I agree? 

My only comment was to clarify it wasn't an MRI. I can't have one of those, now that I wear a pacemaker. I'd had one MRI a dozen years before, after being rear-ended by a school bus, long before any cardiac issues. It cleared my resulting neck pain as a mere sprain. Having no other reason to object, I OKed it.

It didn't take them long to get me prepped for it, as I was already in a hospital gown and hooked up to my first IV line, with multiple fluids being piped into me for some time already. Blood draws for other lab tests had hinted at the problem, but they wanted something more definitive.

A very helpful lady rolled me down the hall on my gurney. My first issue was my shoulders. I explained to her they weren't just painful from arthritis, but when my arms were raised over my head these last couple years, they tended to self-dislocate. It does tend to settle a lot of issues in the "do I have to do that?" category. She was already familiar with patients with reasons not to raise their arms, despite it being standard procedure during the test. She had me do a trial run in the machine to see if my arms would clear the inside of the "donut" and still be enough apart from my sides.

They were. The organs needing inspection were clearly visible.

She explained what else I could expect. One of the things I now found out that Google disagrees with, which I find mildly humorous. Google says I have to remove jewelry and metals.While she did take my glasses, my wedding ring and medic-alert bracelet stayed on. I suspect that was part of the could-my-arms-stay-down test, if Google is correct about removing metals. Besides I have both a pacemaker and a Watchman inside my chest on the other side, so if their metals mess up the imaging, good effing luck! They're not coming out!

There would be short times where I would have to inhale and hold my breath, while lying very still. She said it would be about 13 seconds. In my estimation it lasted about 5 seconds, both times. The first was the practice run, both to see if my arms were in the way, and to see if I was lined up exactly for the part of me they wanted to see.

I was told I'd likely feel some tingling and smell/taste a metallic sensation in my mouth. Maybe others can smell/taste it, but my version of long covid precluded that. The tingling I felt was very gentle, limited to finger tips and toes, over in a few seconds.

The last thing I should expect got a more lengthy explanation. During the time I was being scanned with the dye in me, I would feel like I was actually peeing on the bed I was being moved on, but I wouldn't actually be peeing (especially if pre-warned.) She informed me she'd had this scan when she was a very young teenager. Nobody had warned her so she believed the feeling was real. As she exited the machine she was very upset, totally mortified. The staff had to spend some time trying to reassure her, so now she is sure to tell people before the procedure, especially with children.

I had no problem with feeling trapped inside the donut, spending my few seconds each time looking at the lights spinning so fast around me that they turned into lines about two inches long chasing each other. Hmm, mildly interesting, no biggie, it just started, then quickly stopped before I could see more.

Oh well.

The results were back shortly, confirming several things. First, my gall bladder was indeed missing, as I'd said. (Uhhh, do people lie about that?) Gall stones were not the culprit. No mention was made of the herniated diaphragm, and I forgot to ask if it (still) showed. I was hearing that the scan confirmed what the lab tests showed. I had an inflamed pancreas. I was being admitted.

The liver wasn't mentioned at that time, though subsequent labs showed its enzymes were out of whack even as the pancreas was starting to settle down. I would get no food at all for a while so the pancreas could get a rest. If not rested, it had a tendency to start attacking it own self.  Yikes!

I'd been quizzed several times on the usual suspects for cause. I get that some patients try to hide the stereotypical cause, which is heavy alcohol use. However often they asked, it still had been over 40 years since my last drink. I'm one of those oddballs who simple doesn't like the taste of the stuff, and where taste is concerned, I'm quite the hedonist. After having tried it several times in several mixes over the years previously, and never liking it nor seeing the point to it, it wasn't like stopping because of AA either. Find another  cause, folks.

I was going to be there for a while.