...you may ask? Much improved would be the answer, from observers as well as the person who is actually incarcerated, tied to the IV pole. It has truly been an experience. I don't think I know anyone who has, with good health, deliberately chosen to be admitted to the hospital and subjected to all the poking and prodding, waking up throughout the night to be checked on. Obviously only happens out of necessity.
This guy has a multiplicity of health issues, all affecting and compounding other problems that did not need any additional complicating factors. In this case, having doctors recommending increasing dosage of diuretic to reduce fluid levels,while also dealing with markedly poor kidney function that could not keep up with demand for greater production. The kind of thing you see in science fiction movies about space travel when the red lights are flashing and bells start dinging, warning about 'systems failure'. Decreased function of one affects ability of others to perform, resulting in the entire balance getting out of whack and being overwhelmed.
The subject in question was badgered, oh, sorry 'persuaded' under duress to go to the ER. We all knew if he would just agree to go, they would insist on admitting him, realizing there was a true crisis occurring. Sure enough, the PA said: 'you are having a emergency', and started the process to get him into an air conditioned gown. That was a week ago: last Friday, and here we are at Friday again.
He is really doing much better. But it has taken three days of dialysis to get here. And another scheduled for tomorrow. Which, according to the multiple experts who have been through over the days, is pretty unusual: four days in a row. Obviously needed to try to get him back as close to normal as possible. Thereby easing the stress on various organs that have been overworked trying to compensate for excess fluids that had accumulated. Much better, thankyouverymuch....
Friday, July 7, 2017
book review: "flight patterns"...
... by Karen White, published by New American Library, in 2016. Another of those randomly chosen from the stacks in the public library. I was desperate for some reading material and grabbed four when I made a dash into the branch to feed my need to read.
A story of interest to anyone who is familiar with the Gulf coast of the Florida panhandle, where the story takes place in Apalachicola. Or anyone who has knowledge or love of honeybees or other pollinators. Meaning people who like honey in their tea and/or others who love the good stuff on their pancakes, that is all of us, right? My personal knowledge of beekeeping is a result of my brother deciding that tending bee hives would be his choice of project when he was itchy to participate in a club in junior high that required developing animal husbandry skills.
Our family lived in a small rural community that was very much dependent on agriculture as a major source of income, 'industry' if you will. But we were not actually farm people, so the prospect of raising livestock like pigs or a calf, a goat or sheep was not an option. I am not at all sure how he landed on the bee-keeping idea, but did create numerous opportunities for family togetherness during those years, extracting honey from the hives. My definition of a high risk occupation. Fortunately our house had a very large screened in back porch, perfect for protection from very angry bees.
The title: "flight patterns" becomes more understandable,. as you learn about bees, as well as the lengths alienated sisters will go to avoid confrontation .The story was interesting, well written, with characters you felt like you knew - and felt great affection for, as the dysfunctional family (aren't we all?!?!) learns to forgive, accept and move on with their lives, overcoming their antagonistic history. The patriarch of the family was the knowledgeable keeper of the apiaries, but he had taught two more generations in the patient ways of observing and caring for communities of bees. Lots of tid-bits of bee lore tossed in along with a really sweet story of people who learn what is really important: family.
A story of interest to anyone who is familiar with the Gulf coast of the Florida panhandle, where the story takes place in Apalachicola. Or anyone who has knowledge or love of honeybees or other pollinators. Meaning people who like honey in their tea and/or others who love the good stuff on their pancakes, that is all of us, right? My personal knowledge of beekeeping is a result of my brother deciding that tending bee hives would be his choice of project when he was itchy to participate in a club in junior high that required developing animal husbandry skills.
Our family lived in a small rural community that was very much dependent on agriculture as a major source of income, 'industry' if you will. But we were not actually farm people, so the prospect of raising livestock like pigs or a calf, a goat or sheep was not an option. I am not at all sure how he landed on the bee-keeping idea, but did create numerous opportunities for family togetherness during those years, extracting honey from the hives. My definition of a high risk occupation. Fortunately our house had a very large screened in back porch, perfect for protection from very angry bees.
The title: "flight patterns" becomes more understandable,. as you learn about bees, as well as the lengths alienated sisters will go to avoid confrontation .The story was interesting, well written, with characters you felt like you knew - and felt great affection for, as the dysfunctional family (aren't we all?!?!) learns to forgive, accept and move on with their lives, overcoming their antagonistic history. The patriarch of the family was the knowledgeable keeper of the apiaries, but he had taught two more generations in the patient ways of observing and caring for communities of bees. Lots of tid-bits of bee lore tossed in along with a really sweet story of people who learn what is really important: family.
Tuesday, July 4, 2017
lookit this...
...and enjoy the music. I am really a patriotic sap. Love to put on my flag-waving colors and celebrate federal holidays, with parades, marching bands, John Philip Sousa music: the ring tone for the phone in my pocket is "Stars and Stripes Forever."
Someone forwarded this video to me. I knew as soon as I opened it, the song would end in a patriotic wash of tears. It is likely the favorite of a daughter, who played it so often when it first came out we thought we might have to destroy the little cassette tape it was on. We all survived, and over time the novelty wore off, long after we had all committed the words into our permanent memory banks.
https://www.youtube.com/embed/daqwGRdRIsk?feature=player_detailpage
Someone forwarded this video to me. I knew as soon as I opened it, the song would end in a patriotic wash of tears. It is likely the favorite of a daughter, who played it so often when it first came out we thought we might have to destroy the little cassette tape it was on. We all survived, and over time the novelty wore off, long after we had all committed the words into our permanent memory banks.
happy independence day...
... normally, here in the great wide country, from sea to shining sea. Where we are industriously buying things to set on fire, for our great amusement. Along with various items of edibles to also set on fire, when we put them on the grill to cook as friends and family gather to watch as we provide the entertainment of lighting all those things we bought to burn up.
Thankful to be living in a country where that can happen? Yeah, me too. I am often reminded, as I travel of the amazing freedom to get in my car and go places without having to provide documentation. Not worried I will be stopped at the county line, or city limit sign to produce papers that permit entry. No fear when I drive to neighboring states that I will be denied permission to enter. Or questioned endlessly, and placed in a barred room until I can satisfactorily provide the right responses.
I can go to the store and purchase anything I choose: here in the Land of Plenty. Even if all I want to do with it is set it on fire. It is right there available to be paid for, taken home and burned to a crisp. Yay! for the Constitution of the United States of America. Yay! for founding fathers. Yay! for democracy and revolutionary war.
Did you see the story, or perhaps the Youtube about the people who set fire to the fireworks display in the grocery store in south Atlanta? I knew about it when it happened weeks ago, shortly before Memorial Day in late May. So it was just a matter of time before it popped up on youtube. But when I went looking for it, discovered any number of similar pyro-events. A Walmart in Arizona, among others. People just casually walking by with their goods to purchase, as the fireworks explode, and sparklers sparkle, clouds of smoke billowing up into the ceiling. Amazing: just a reminder that people will never fail to astound you...
Thankful to be living in a country where that can happen? Yeah, me too. I am often reminded, as I travel of the amazing freedom to get in my car and go places without having to provide documentation. Not worried I will be stopped at the county line, or city limit sign to produce papers that permit entry. No fear when I drive to neighboring states that I will be denied permission to enter. Or questioned endlessly, and placed in a barred room until I can satisfactorily provide the right responses.
I can go to the store and purchase anything I choose: here in the Land of Plenty. Even if all I want to do with it is set it on fire. It is right there available to be paid for, taken home and burned to a crisp. Yay! for the Constitution of the United States of America. Yay! for founding fathers. Yay! for democracy and revolutionary war.
Did you see the story, or perhaps the Youtube about the people who set fire to the fireworks display in the grocery store in south Atlanta? I knew about it when it happened weeks ago, shortly before Memorial Day in late May. So it was just a matter of time before it popped up on youtube. But when I went looking for it, discovered any number of similar pyro-events. A Walmart in Arizona, among others. People just casually walking by with their goods to purchase, as the fireworks explode, and sparklers sparkle, clouds of smoke billowing up into the ceiling. Amazing: just a reminder that people will never fail to astound you...
we have all heard stories...
... about people with multiple personality disorders, along the lines of the story 'The Three Faces of Eve'. I think the movie based on the book had Joanne Woodward as the leading character, who struggled with some serious mental issues, lots of different personalities teased out by the psychiatrist who wrote the book. It was based on his actual office notes of a patient, who of course remained anonymous for many years. A really fascinating story of an individual who seemed to be, over the time the doctor and woman met, living with a disordered brain occupied by many different individulas, as she struggled to regain her sense of self. I don't recall the details, but I think the determination was that her illness was a response to some history of abuse: physical, sexual, mental maybe?
I read the book years ago, and thought of it recently. I have had moments of feeling like I have been leading lives for three different people. Not actually inhabiting the persona of another, rather feeling overwhelmed by the necessity of wearing so many different 'hats' to meet the needs of all the people in my life that require attention. An auntie who is (thankfully) in assisted living, being cared for by a willing staff, rather than living a life of fear, doubt, chaos when she was at home alone. A man who is in declining health, and often in denial about his needs. Thankfully, temporarily, in a place where all the problems in his life are being attended to by trained healthcare professionals.
And me: feeling like I don't have a life, due to being so amenable in allowing others' needs to supercede. I would like to believe I am coping remarkably well, consoling myself with the hope that all this is only temporary. And the knowledge that these other people have needs that are greater than my own - plus I do believe my health is pretty good, and far more stable than those family members who are currently feeling they are incarcerated.
I read the book years ago, and thought of it recently. I have had moments of feeling like I have been leading lives for three different people. Not actually inhabiting the persona of another, rather feeling overwhelmed by the necessity of wearing so many different 'hats' to meet the needs of all the people in my life that require attention. An auntie who is (thankfully) in assisted living, being cared for by a willing staff, rather than living a life of fear, doubt, chaos when she was at home alone. A man who is in declining health, and often in denial about his needs. Thankfully, temporarily, in a place where all the problems in his life are being attended to by trained healthcare professionals.
And me: feeling like I don't have a life, due to being so amenable in allowing others' needs to supercede. I would like to believe I am coping remarkably well, consoling myself with the hope that all this is only temporary. And the knowledge that these other people have needs that are greater than my own - plus I do believe my health is pretty good, and far more stable than those family members who are currently feeling they are incarcerated.
even though ....
... you have likely had your fill of updates on the auntie in her full crisis mode, there is more to tell. Should you not care to know anymore about how this are progressing, devolving might be more accurate, skip over this one. I am Very Thankful she is someplace where she is getting round the clock care, with people available to provide attention and words of encouragement at all hours of the day and night.
Sadly, she is completely lost to herself. So the questions she dreams up are random, and often not related to anything the staff there at the facility know about or have the ability to provide answers to her satisfaction. Fortunately, they are familiar with the 'forgetting disease', and skilled at methods to help those so afflicted in dealing with the inevitable decline and confusion. My assumption is that the staff accepts the people they care for who are always questioning, and in a constant state of never retaining the answers to they receive. You learn to provide assurance, along with the same answers over and over and over...
She called me yesterday to ask why I was not there bringing her the shampoo and clothing we had talked about. I replied that I was not there because I had to work, and we had not had any conversation about things she reported needing. Then she wanted to know when she was going home. It was not a pleasant conversation. When she heard that she was staying right where she is, she got very angry and called me bad things. I am currently the title holder of Meanest Person in the World. And she was so furious with not getting the answer she wanted, she said she did not want to be related to me anymore, so she hung up on me. I can only hope that ending the conversation with a resounding bang of the phone receiver solved her problem...
Sadly, she is completely lost to herself. So the questions she dreams up are random, and often not related to anything the staff there at the facility know about or have the ability to provide answers to her satisfaction. Fortunately, they are familiar with the 'forgetting disease', and skilled at methods to help those so afflicted in dealing with the inevitable decline and confusion. My assumption is that the staff accepts the people they care for who are always questioning, and in a constant state of never retaining the answers to they receive. You learn to provide assurance, along with the same answers over and over and over...
She called me yesterday to ask why I was not there bringing her the shampoo and clothing we had talked about. I replied that I was not there because I had to work, and we had not had any conversation about things she reported needing. Then she wanted to know when she was going home. It was not a pleasant conversation. When she heard that she was staying right where she is, she got very angry and called me bad things. I am currently the title holder of Meanest Person in the World. And she was so furious with not getting the answer she wanted, she said she did not want to be related to me anymore, so she hung up on me. I can only hope that ending the conversation with a resounding bang of the phone receiver solved her problem...
Saturday, July 1, 2017
when you discover you are an adult...
..usually catches you by surprise, as you are blissfully unaware of actually and unintentionally becoming a grown up. I still have, on occasion, difficulty thinking of myself as being one of those. You know, as in that old saying from the sixties of how you should' never trust anyone over 30'? Sadly, I am so far beyond that I don't have adequate words to describe how it feels...
When my daughter came to town on Friday, unexpectedly, showed up to try to do something to help her dad, they reached an unlikely compromise. He has been really having a hard time for weeks, maybe a month or so. struggling with COPD and associated difficulties. The ultimatum I issued last weekend did not provide much success: either get an appt. to see the doctor or go the the ER. He actually took himself to family practice, but admitted afterward he was disappointed with what happened when he saw the PA. Possibly due expecting a miracle.
They did make a referral, but it was not productive/successful. So the daughter said: If you cannot get into the see the specialist on Friday, you will need to go the Emergency Room. He apparently did not feel like the inability to breathe qualified as an 'emergency'. But when he got there, the PA thought differently, and told him she hoped he brought his toothbrush.
When the daughter called me at work to say he was in the pipeline to be admitted, I was reminded of my experience from twenty odd years ago. And told her the story, to ask if she felt like she was now officially an 'adult'. She laughed, and said "I thought you became an adult when you gave birth?" No, not necessarily.
When I had two small children, about ages 3 and 5, I planned to go to south GA to visit my parents. I knew my dad was in the hospital, expecting to have knee replacement surgery. I wanted to go and visit him, planning to smuggle kids in due to a very lax visitation policy at the the hospital in Thomasville. But when I got to my parents' house, I discovered my mom in the bed with excruciating back pain. I called her doctor, who came to the house and provided meds. to help her endure the trip to the hospital. Remember house calls? He came with his little black bag and a large hypodermic needle and made a remarkable improvement in her disposition. Then I called EMS and got her a ride to the same hospital where my dad was awaiting surgery. I followed the transport, with two small children, who I seem to recall having a great time cleaning out all the snacks in the vending machine while I was distractedly giving my mom's vital statistics to the admitting clerk.
I cannot provide the outcome of her medical problems, but it obviously resolved for her to get back on her feet and be the worlds' best grandmother for a number of years afterward. And my dad survived knee replacement, though I do not recall if this one was a replacement for a replacement, as he had a total of three over the years. Pretty remarkable for a human who was only issued two knees at birth.
The above scenario was a matter of Sometimes You Do What You Wanna, and Sometimes You Do What You Gotta. An important lesson we all need to remember as we muddle through life, often learned years too late, but still it sticks with you when it takes you by surprise. I asked her if she felt like she was an adult when she badgered her dad into going to the hospital, and stood by providing information when he was admitted. She just laughed.
When my daughter came to town on Friday, unexpectedly, showed up to try to do something to help her dad, they reached an unlikely compromise. He has been really having a hard time for weeks, maybe a month or so. struggling with COPD and associated difficulties. The ultimatum I issued last weekend did not provide much success: either get an appt. to see the doctor or go the the ER. He actually took himself to family practice, but admitted afterward he was disappointed with what happened when he saw the PA. Possibly due expecting a miracle.
They did make a referral, but it was not productive/successful. So the daughter said: If you cannot get into the see the specialist on Friday, you will need to go the Emergency Room. He apparently did not feel like the inability to breathe qualified as an 'emergency'. But when he got there, the PA thought differently, and told him she hoped he brought his toothbrush.
When the daughter called me at work to say he was in the pipeline to be admitted, I was reminded of my experience from twenty odd years ago. And told her the story, to ask if she felt like she was now officially an 'adult'. She laughed, and said "I thought you became an adult when you gave birth?" No, not necessarily.
When I had two small children, about ages 3 and 5, I planned to go to south GA to visit my parents. I knew my dad was in the hospital, expecting to have knee replacement surgery. I wanted to go and visit him, planning to smuggle kids in due to a very lax visitation policy at the the hospital in Thomasville. But when I got to my parents' house, I discovered my mom in the bed with excruciating back pain. I called her doctor, who came to the house and provided meds. to help her endure the trip to the hospital. Remember house calls? He came with his little black bag and a large hypodermic needle and made a remarkable improvement in her disposition. Then I called EMS and got her a ride to the same hospital where my dad was awaiting surgery. I followed the transport, with two small children, who I seem to recall having a great time cleaning out all the snacks in the vending machine while I was distractedly giving my mom's vital statistics to the admitting clerk.
I cannot provide the outcome of her medical problems, but it obviously resolved for her to get back on her feet and be the worlds' best grandmother for a number of years afterward. And my dad survived knee replacement, though I do not recall if this one was a replacement for a replacement, as he had a total of three over the years. Pretty remarkable for a human who was only issued two knees at birth.
The above scenario was a matter of Sometimes You Do What You Wanna, and Sometimes You Do What You Gotta. An important lesson we all need to remember as we muddle through life, often learned years too late, but still it sticks with you when it takes you by surprise. I asked her if she felt like she was an adult when she badgered her dad into going to the hospital, and stood by providing information when he was admitted. She just laughed.
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