Showing posts with label personal journal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label personal journal. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
AND NOW WE ARE...59!!!
My birth announcement, filled out in my father's distinctive handwriting.
I never expected to reach this age. But I surely do want to go on.
Saturday, March 22, 2014
DOES IT HURT WHEN I PRESS HERE?
(Dinah napping by the AC vent)
This
morning I woke up without deep pain, for the first time in over a week. On day 3 of Flagyll as well. The Miralax, however, has not yet unplugged
me. Still, I am more alert and ready to
consider life again, post massive UTI.
The
doctor came for a check-up yesterday. He
brought his usual tech and a trainee who was pushed forward to do the blood
draw – from the looks of it, I may have been his first ever. I simply squeezed my eyes shut and thought
about Skene until the fumbling ventilations were over.
The doc had not yet read my sleep study
results and could not find them in the record, so seemed to want to rely in MY
impressions rather than off his own interpretation; this does not inspire
confidence. (I miss you so much, Mobile
Docs!) However, he silently wrote me
scrips for prophylactic antibiotics against the next Foley change, plus one for
Vicodin for emergencies, and mumbled something about continuing the
oxygen/Bi-Pap. He also palpated my
inflamed kidney with a resultant shriek and what they refer to as “guarding” on
my part.
Fascinatingly, Dinah (who hasn’t
come near me willingly in over a week) tottered up to sit protectively on the
foot of the bed between me and the doc. I
was very moved by her old kitteh aegis.
Sunday, March 9, 2014
FOCUS, MAGGIE
I woke up shortly before 2 am and decided to stay awake to watch the shift into daylight savings time. My clock is apparently a minute fast, because at 1:59 I saw the typical violet and line green flashes above the treeline which presage the adjustment. Scout appeared twice at the doorway in rapid succession, one image an exact duplicate of the next. I knew the transition had occurred, so took another blue pill and went gratefully back into oblivion.
Thursday, February 27, 2014
SINGING FOR MY SCRAPS
Tammi is out now getting copies, etc, preparing the last of my 20 page financial review portion of the Star Plus application. Exact same form I filled out earlier this month for food stamps, but when I called to see if one HHS department could share their info with the other department, I got a merry laugh and then a quote about the penalities of providing incorrect information. Your Republican "cost-cutting" process at work, all you fuckers who have voted for Dubya and Perry.
In other news, the cats are sequestered from each other all but five hours a day. I spend nights with Scout, afternoons with Dinah, and am always missing one of them, it feels like. But it is keeping Dinah eating. I need a cat whispered to come in and rewire Scoutie's brain.
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
CATLYMPICS 2014
(Actual photo of Scout sent to I Can Haz Cheesburger and captioned there -- taken by Tammi)
Sunday, February 9, 2014
HAPPY REMEMBRANCE, JO AND HER CHILDREN
Today Mama would have been 87 years old.
Last night I dreamed I was a child again, living with my little brother Bill, Mama, and a man who was either my father or a stepfather. The father figure had short white hair but no facial features and no voice.
My parents lived in a ramshackle, unpainted house on the shore of a lake or small sea. A few hundred yards out was a small bare island, and on it was a one-room, lopsided shack with rusting roof that was my and Bill’s bedroom. Access to the mainland was via a cobbled-together wooden walkway. The shack was unheated, with drafty windows that let in glorious light, bare wooden floors, a double iron bedstead, and a stack of boxes that held our clothes. Not actually dissimilar to some places we lived when I was little. Bill was around 5 or 6, and had the round buzzed hair shown in this photo.
It was the night before Mama’s birthday, and he and I were planning what to give her for her birthday. We had no money and no materials from which to make a gift, but we were undeterred. I created an elaborate plan of making breakfast, cleaning the house, singing her a song, etc, and I coached us in the details until bedtime. We were both wired with anticipation at the happiness we’d see on her face.
When we went to bed, Bill spooned back into me for warmth. In the dream, I once again felt his thin small frame, the fuzz of his head, and his little boy smell that was once so familiar to me. Instead of filling me with sadness. I simply felt joy that I had ever known him and had him as a brother: Two eggs which once floated together in our mother.
Saturday, February 8, 2014
ALWAYS TRY FOR THE UNEXPURGATED VERSION
Happy birthday to Ginny Bates! She and Myra are consumed with renovating the
new house behind them that they have bought in order to turn over the family
home to Gillam and Jane before the first baby is born. Myra sent me the photo below of her birthday
gift to Ginny, a Fire-King tilted pitcher in jadeite green.
I woke up during the night with
Foley pain. Finally took a tramadol, my
first in over a week, and waited for Belinda to get here. She flushed the tube and I got a help with
position change, and the throb has stopped.
But Dinah is Not Eating. Waiting to see what is revealed on her noon
visit to the vet.
I had my food stamps call yesterday
afternoon with, as a bonus, Margot listening on Skype. I was pretty worried about it; social worker
Nanci Felice had told me the cuts in Texas are getting worse and worse. After going over all the details, I was kept
at the same level, $87 per month. Which
is ludicrous. At one point, the HHS
woman said “I don’t really see how you are making it.” If it weren’t for Margot and other donors, I
would not be making it at even a poverty level, and that’s a fact.
I have been watching the Olympics
ONLY on BBC and it makes a phenomenal difference to have it through their
lens: Vastly more intelligent (and less
intrusive) commentary not centered on mythic American exceptionalism, no use of
the word “inspirational”, great humour and background, no commercials, and best
of all, NO CHANCE OF HAVING TO HEAR MICHAEL PHELPS’ NAME GRATUITOUSLY TOSSED
IN. The hard-on American men have for Phelps is baffling to me. I am actually
learning substantive things about other cultures and I can fast-forward or
replay when necessary.
In
addition, the commentators who are not Clare Balding are, despite not being
brilliant soft butches, still have a vocabulary and gift for vernacular that
reminds of the era of colour commentary that existed in American media before
worn-out-before-their-time former athletes (dumber than rocks, most of them)
automatically became “retired” into commentator positions here. The descriptions and background info provided
are generally riveting, often delivered in rich working-class and/or regional
accents sans nationalistic crap, and often rolling out words like penultimate,
for example.
This
morning Pam Spaulding informed us that a grievous political edit was made by
NBC during the opening ceremonies broadcast in the US. The following section of IOC Chairman Thomas
Koch’s speech, the part emphasizing diversity and equal rights, was deleted in
America:
"Now
you are living in an Olympic Region. I am sure you will enjoy the benefits for
many, many years to come. Thousands of volunteers have welcomed us with the
well-known warm Russian hospitality. Many thanks to all the wonderful
volunteers. Bolshoi spasiba, valantyoram! Thank you very much to everyone.
Russia and the Russians have set the stage for you, the best winter athletes on
our planet. From this moment on you are not only the best athletes, you are
Olympic Athletes. You will inspire us with your outstanding sports
performances. You have come here for sports. You have come here with your
Olympic dream. The International Olympic Committee wants your Olympic Dream to
come true. This is why we are investing almost all of our revenues in the
development of sports. The universal Olympic rules apply to each and every
athlete- no matter where you come from or what your background is. You are
living together in the Olympic Village. You will celebrate victory with dignity
and accept defeat with dignity. You are bringing the Olympic Values to life. In
this way, the Olympic Games, wherever they take place, set an example for a
peaceful society. Olympic Sport unites people. This is the Olympic Message the
athletes spread to the host country and to the whole world. Yes, it is possible
to strive even for the greatest victory with respect for the dignity of your
competitors. Yes, Yes, it is possible - even as competitors - to live together
under one roof in harmony, with tolerance and without any form of
discrimination for whatever reason. Yes, it is possible - even as competitors -
to listen, to understand and to give an example for a peaceful society."
Thursday, November 21, 2013
I ENJOY BEING A GIRL, PART INFINITE
(Needle and thread under a microscope)
Night before last, Scout was acting terrified and hiding constantly. We eventually narrowed the cause down to the work being done on the roof, which was very loud and involved power tools. She apparently thought monsters were burrowing down at us from above.
She did not emerge from seclusion until 8 pm, long after all the ruckus stopped. She scrambled urgently onto my bed then and threw herself at me. I held her close and reassured her lavishly, and we fell asleep together.
But I woke up about an hour later with sharp pain my my Foley area. This happens sometimes when I sleep and get into a weird position. I did all my usual tricks to adjust myself, and not only did nothing work, the pain got worse. Finally, at 10 pm, facing a night of it, I tried pain medication.
Even that did not cut through the deep ache. I spent the night hurting bad, sleepless, distracting myself with games, movies, and holding Scoutie. Waiting for Tammi's arrival at 8 am.
Which brought instant relief when Tammi discovered my Foley bag lying flat on the floor instead of hanging by the bed, and the tubing stretched taut, pulling as hard as it could against the inflated bulb in my urethra. Returning the bag to its regular place stopped the pain right away. I still had residual tenderness, however, not to mention physical exhaustion.
And in two hours, MaiTe was due to arrive to do my monthly Foley change.
It is with miraculous relief I can report that MaiTe, an RN of consummate skill, was able to change my Foley with the least pain I have ever experienced. Tammi, her helper, gave a soft "Whoa" when seconds after beginning the "hard part", MaiTe declared "All done!" We are talking about experience here, folks. I have had no hoohoo pain since, and had a fabulous long sleep last night.
And with the roof work done, Scout is also back to normal. Preparations for Margot's biannual visit continue, and I can think of little else.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
SHIFTING SHAPE AND NAMING NAMES
Scout woke me up around 3-ish by chewing on my face mask. I had to fully rouse to stop her, and when I opened my eyes I saw Margot on the skype screen getting dressed. Was able to turn on the mic and say hello before going back under, Scoutie my chest duvet. Again: Coincidence?
Had upsetting dreams later about playing board games with my brothers (Craig cheated, of course) and discovering a massive black widowish-looking spider in my bedroom which, upon capture under a cup, turned out to be a malignant alien shape shifter who simply lifted the cup with newly-grown tentacles and skittered off behind a bookcase. No Oak in that dream.
Tammi has spoiled Scout unconscionably by holding her in one arm while cooking breakfast and doing other kitchen tasks. Scout is avid and now takes it as her right. When Tammi doesn't pick her up, Scoutie has been leaping onto her back from the nearest counter, twice drawing blood. Tammi is now talking about borrowing a Snugli from her mother...
The AC went on the fritz again, this time needing freon. I had to cancel Monday's PT but we made up for it yesterday in a cool house, with Gil actually arriving on time and my various problem sites healed enough to push into new exercise territory. It was brutal. I was, as M says, knackered afterward, and am sore today. Working HARD.
I have also been surging ahead in fleshing out my family tree. Now have over 12,500 individuals identified. Last night I was greatly entertained by a line living near Memphis where one girl was named Verbel and a later nephew was named Rade Tubal. Can't make up stuff as good as this.
Monday, July 1, 2013
NEW POEM: SUNBATH
(by Umberto Manzo)
SUNBATH
Five minutes of naught but
copperized air between me
and our home star:
My allotment for the year.
We are laced together
by narrative and saying yeah
to one another's memory.
What could go wrong?
I am ravenous for wind on my neck,
the smell of soil,
finding folks of my own inclination,
locking my door.
Now as I hear the ball drop
and run down the channel to
a final click, number announced,
I know exactly what the loss
will be. Nothing for it
but to face the approach
with heat on my cheeks,
fingers curled in faith,
lips repeating love.
Maggie Jochild, 4:15 am, 29 June 2013
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
TREADING WATER
Just et a bean and sausage burrito followed by peach crisp. Jessica the nurse has been and gone. My pulse ox was 84% after having been off O2 for an hours, so am leaving it on again today. I am so exhausted I have trouble writing simple sentences.
The sleep study has been delayed another week, paperwork issues. I hope they don't ask for the copay up front. The MD I recently left behind in favor of the new one has gotten months' worth of bills ready (funny how they had the staff to get right on that, but not to answer my health need calls, etc) so I am suddenly out an extra $150.
Some good news is that I found a temporary work-around for the "upgrade" the folks at I Can Haz Cheesburgr inflicted on their own site last week, which made made it impossible to see all the raw LOLCats flowing in. It was that stream I trawled looking for my weekly round-up. They made the change allegedly to interface between with FB, but as with all FB changes, it was bound to have a crap result on their actual users. I went to google to find other disgruntled consumers and discovered a so-far usable back-door. After I post this, I'll go assemble a LOLCat post for this week and get that up as well. Then to sleep without real rest again.
Friday, May 31, 2013
SO NEVER LEAVE ME LONELY
Gillian Anderson and Archie Punjabi in "The Fall"
Awakening from a dream in which I have a lover with two beefy / teefy / blondie teenage boys. We are driving down a dirt road to pick them up at the lake. The radio is playing:
Each time we meet, love
I find complete love
Without your sweet love
What would life be?
Tweaked the cannula a little last night. Slept 6 hours and only slight headache. Scoutie pressed against my legs.
Yesterday was no nap after only 2 hrs sleep: I could not surrender consciousness that night, took more courage than I could muster. And of course that became the day of endless intrusions, maintenance crew, deliveries, phone calls, new "How are WE today" nurse...Today at the least I have a carotid doppler at some point. Get the AC freon checked. Call the Gilead social worker.
I need my own personal pulse oximeter. Nurse said WalMart had 'em for $25, $15 less than elsewhere. Add it to the list. My sat when she got here, after I'd been off O2 for a few hours, was 90%. Went back up to 95 after I pulled into 2 liters for five minutes. Math I must manage now, in addition to carbizmas.
Dinah's weekly vet visit reveals she has gained back all the half-pound she lost last week -- Zillah remarked "That cat, she's tricky". Diplomatic way to put it. Scout has now developed feline acne on the right side of her chin and we commenced treatment with hydrogen peroxide today, under strenuous ginger protest.
Margot got a chance last night to watch Clare Balding's latest documentary about the suffragettes and agrees with me as to its excellence. I recommend it without reservation; don't know when it will reach the American airwaves. I also avidly watched and appreciated the Time Team special about the tsunami on England's northeast coast about 8000 years ago that permanently altered Brit geography and culture.
But the best thing on TV, hands down, is "The Fall": extraordinary writing, as good as "Broadchurch" and visiting the same general theme from a completely different perspective. The role allocated to Gillian Anderson's character is that of a woman who refuses to operate within "female" boundaries, and how she handles the resultant dehumanization with her assumed masculinity. Now that they have added in Archie Punjabi (KALINDA!!!) as her medical officer, my fascination is absolute. Apparently it is the highest viewed BBC show in years and they have already signed on a second series. I only wish American TV would give female actors such complicated, intelligent characters as in "The Fall" or "Scott & Bailey".
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
MUST GIVE US PAUSE
Spherical colonites of Nostoc commune, a bluegreen algae, photo by Gerd Guenther
I just finished another visit with my new MD, Doctor Matt. She is going to do another blood panel to recheck my thyroid, in particular, but her main impression is that I am at dire risk from sleep apnea of fairly recent onset. The oxygen tank will remain until I can get a sleep study with a firm diagnosis.
As usual, insurance and money is the hurdle. I can't get to a sleep lab without ambulance transpo, and Medicare won't cover a non-emergent ride. My home nursing agency appears to have figured out a way for me to have an in-home study, but are trying get around the 20% Medicare copay which may well amount to $1000. I will let you know how this goes. I think my life is going to hinge on treatment around this.
Just had a good cry with Tammi patting my arm and Scoutie standing on me anxiously. What I keep feeling at the moment, besides fear, is luck -- lucky to have this new doctor, lucky for the people around me who won't let me sink like a stone. And lucky to have a machine feeding me air. Air is a blessing.
Monday, May 27, 2013
NEW POEM
ON THE VALUE OF ANOXIC HALLUCINATION
We are given more sensory apparatus than we can handle
at once. Maturity means learning to ignore.
Time elephant-charges by us or stalls out
(You know that's true) .
We obey two rules: stay alive, and
write a story to fit the chaos. What you do for me
is listen. All I ever wanted.
by Maggie Jochild, written 27 May 2013, 10:23 p.m.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
HAITCH TWO OH AND HYPERGONADISM, ETC
Skwirl con cajones gigantes
I still am not sure how to evaluate what the nightly oxygen is doing: Mostly good, certainly going to continue it. I wake up with daily headaches but they are lessening. My morning sugars have plummeted, is that related? I am frequently sweaty at night. I am sleeping longer but still desperately needing daily naps. So something else is still going on. At least Scoutie has now, finally, relaxed about the new Monsser at bedside.
In fact, Scout had a major breakthrough this week -- she can now leap up onto Dinah's eyrie. So keeping her from Dinah's wet food is a fucking issue again, and Dinah's weight gain (another tenth of a pound this week) may be in jeopardy. Further, in figuring out the route aloft Scout sent a massive stack of books and boxes crashing to the floor in the study. After that happened, Dinah refused to answer my calls or come within sight for 12 hours overnight, leaving me to imagine her lying dead or dying beneath a heavy pile. I once again lay awake for hours, sick with dread, wondering whether to wake up Win and Sheldon for an energency call. But at 9 am, Tammi arrived and said Dinah was in the other room, smirking as I begged out her name. It is a real piece of work to love that cat.
I spent some time last night reading what turned up for a Google search of "squirrel testicles". We had a new raider at the burd feeder, a squirrel with unbelievably engorged scrotal balloons in variegated colours. My research revealed this is their high breeding season and yes, they do swell and change hue when the hormones are in full use. But I could not find an image to compare with our guy, whom I have named Zucco Skwirl. Even the examples in the attached video are only half the gonadal size of our Zucco Skwirl. He joins our recognition list, along with Mama Skwirl, Finger Skwirl (one of the fingers on her right front paw is deformed into a permanent fuck-you finger), and the late Overreaction Skwirl, who died horrifically in front of Margot the first day of her visit here last month. No, you do NOT want to know what happened.
I decided to not hand on the note nurse Jessica wrote to the tweaker about my Foley mishandling. Earlier I'd asked the tweak to read aloud some cooking instructions on a bag of rice, and I realized while she is technicall literate, I could argue against full reading comprehension. And Jessica's note was emphatically angry. Instead, I set aside any impatience and kindly, creatively taught her how a Foley functions using some spare nasal cannula tubing and a poet's vocabulary. She got it, she really did, and her hands-on cleaning of me shifted. We both felt triumphant. I'll have to re-do it next weekend, she cannot retain, but such is attendant reality.
I also took this morning's shift to pass on what I know about cooking potatoes, rice, and aromatics. Wound up with some great dishes for lunch and dinner, imparted real food skills maybe she will use elsewhere, and feel grateful to have had enough extra energy to manage it. Oxygen? It's a GOOD thing.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
BORG BY STEALTH
We are Borg. Moreso than ever.
Lots to report. I got several test results back yesterday. Most of the blood results were good or better. In particular, my non-fasting glucose was 113 and my hemoglobin A1c was 6, which the nurse said was dead-on normal and they could not be happier about. This means my blood glucose for the past three months has been under impeccable control.
My hematocrit was slightly off, which may simply reflect dehydration that day. My thyroid was also elevated, but that has some possible accompanying symptoms. So we'll be retesting both of those and following up. Easily treated if there's an issue.
No word back on my cardiac echo.
However, my overnight pulse oximetry showed dangerously low oygenation while I was sleeping. Dr. Matt immediately ordered oxygen and it arrived yesterday evening; I am to sleep with a nasal cannula on for 10 hours each night. She is also trying to figure out a way to get me a sleep study, given my lack of portability. At this point, I would welcome trying CPAP or BiPAP: Anything to get restful sleep.
Unfortunately, the O2 machine has completely fweaked owt our ginger kitten. Scout hid in Dinah's deepest cave for several hours, totally pissing off Dinah, and only emerged in the middle of the night to beg me for reassurance from the side of the bed opposite the hissing monster. She is intrigued by the cannula and would accept that as a new toy, but the machine itself has her utterly unnerved. It is off at the moment, and she is here beside me as I type. When we turn it back on at 7, well, send her your prayers or whatever.
Zach, my grocery shopper from MoW, gave sudden notice, and I met with a possible replacement for him, named James, over the weekend. James is a 30-something divorced dad of a 4-year-old for whom he wants to model giving back to the community and embracing diversity. He explained to me that he was born in Sweden and raised in Canada, and therefore his social consciousness is left of center. He shops organic himself and I feel good about this fit. Still, it will mean breaking in another new person. I am grateful to Zach for filling in when he could: People can be so generous.
Over the weekend I had two small episodes of urethral pain, both after the Tweaker had cleaned my Foley area. I passed this on to Jessica the nurse and she immediately checked my Foley. I heard her swear, something she simply does not do: Turns out the inflated bulb that keeps the Foley inside had lost 10 cc of pressure, enough to mean it could have slid out and was likely causing small damage to my urethra. She refilled it, with immediate relief, and wrote a furious note to the Tweaker with step-by-step instructions on how to clean around a Foley. The thing is, the Tweaker won't retain it. I'll have to go over every detail every time she's here.
I am sick of being in charge. I want to let it all go. This is hammering the spiritual path I need to follow. With Tammi, I can leave it all to her, or if Margot is around. Otherwise, I have to stay vigilant to keep my health intact, make sure I get real food and household items are not destroyed (Debra's trick when I ask her to do something she doesn't like doing -- currently she seems bent on wiping out the planting Margot made while she was here.)
Today Tammi called in absent but they replaced her with Patricia, an expert who stepped in and did bath/shampoo/linen change with rapid efficiency. I was able to zone out and appreciate the body comfort.
In other news, I watched the first episode of "The Fall" last night on Brit TV and it was absolutely stellar: What Scully could have been if she got Mulder out of her hair. Gillian Anderson at her Bleak House best, though of course chillingly modern. Check.It.Out.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
HERDING BURDS
(Bird outline left after hitting window, September 2011 by Ray Holman, Cardiff, Wales)
She has discovered that if she backs up onto my bed and runs headlong at the glass, the avian mass outside cannot help but panic and fly off with a whoosh of feathers. She never gets tired of this. Equally stimulating is their response when someone moves up the sidewalk rapidly, making them feel temporarily trapped on the patio and schooling like sardines to find a way out.
The spud-brained doves and all the little chickadees who never met a conspiracy theory they didn't like are particularly prone to such panics. The former will run out of flight room and hit my window with meaty impacts that make me fear the putty will give. The latter little rattatats against glass leave me convinced they will stun themselves and fall to the concrete senseless. I think Scout envisions such a result as well and imagines herself scooping up the helpless strew into a suddenly tiger-sized maw.
It's kept her quivering and busy for two days. Except for when Dinah stiffly emerges and claims the mustard corduroy chair for herself, driving Scoutie off to knock about other apartment acres and mutter high little protests.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Saturday, March 30, 2013
SCOUT AND ME SNOOZING
Here's a video of Scout napping with me, in which you will hear her purr and rumble (two constant sounds), my occasional snore, ticking from the "I'm Huge In England" and Wonder Woman clocks, one rustle from Dinah, and the bedside fridge kicking in. Ambient sounds of Casa de Jochild sans attendants.
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