Because I Can

I am in and out of neurologist's offices with annoying frequency.  I have written before of the tests and treatments that were my experience back in 1991 when they first discovered my "polymotor peripheral neuropathy.  One day when I got lost in Augusta, trying to make it from the family practice center to the main hospital (about a block and a half) I put my head on the steering wheel, at an intersection, with cars lined up behind me, and I just sobbed.   At that time, I had just accepted the fact that my life was essentially over.  (That was about eighteen years ago, so you can see that I was a little over pessimistic).  Since that time I have had a quadrupal bypass, a shattered ankle, some wild urological infections, laser surgery to patch some holes in the retinas of both eyes, an aorta that wanders all over the place (they call it a tortuous aorta) and the typical loss of memory, energy, hair (on top of the head, it still grows well on my chin, in my ears, in my nose, and on many of those surfaces where we would just as soon not have hair.  I still have to go to the neurologist to be tested, prescribed medications and now, with a couple of vertebrae rubbing against each other I go with pain and frustration, and occasionally, I fall down or weave like a drunk for no discernable reason, but seriously, I am holding up about as well as any old coot I know who is over seventy five years old.

Going to neurologists fairly often, I find,in those offices a magazine called Neurology Today.  I read the magazine often and learn a lot.  In one of the magazines a few months ago there was a story written by or about a guy who has multiple schlerosis and some form of muscular dystrophy. The article was an explanation of why he continued to walk out to get the mail, help with the dishes, repair things around the house and do a number of things that are very difficult for him.  His family and friends kept urging him to sit back and let them take care of these things for him.  His reply to them was that he continues to do these things (him speaking) is "BECAUSE I CAN".  His point is, that if one fails to do everything that one is physically and mentally able to do, and allows others to do these tasks, soon one will no longer be able to do those things, and will become, in one's own eyes, an invalid, and be forever completely dependent on others.

I read the article with tears in my eyes because it explains so much about my dear wife.   She is so much more frail than I.  Since her aortal surgery in 2006 and the discovery of her total aortal dissection (which they are trying to control by keeping her blood pressure so low that she has very little energy) in 2007 and the shattering of her femur (above her artificial knee) last December from which she still needs  to use her walker with some frequency.  She is in almost constant pain, has terrible night sweats, restless leg syndrome that often keeps both of us awake at night, at has great difficulty walking, and has serious tremors in all of her extremities.  I had been preaching to her to not try to do so much.  She gets up in the morning often to fix breakfast, vacuums the floor and last week got out the steam cleaner and did our living room carpet.  Yesterday (Black Friday) she was up at four in the morning and was out shopping with my daughter and myself.   We were in and out of several stores as she tracked down presents for our children and grandchildren.  She overdid with enthusiasm and at bedtime last night had so much pain that she finally had to take a lortab to get some rest.  I try to keep her from overdoing, and try to do as much as she will allow for her, but I know that it is necessary for her to do as much as she can in order to maintain her strength, morale, and to keep the marvelous twinkle in her eyes.  She has to do things because SHE CAN.  I was thinking the other day that with all the old coot frailties that we both have, we have had more fun, laugh more (even giggle a little) and are much closer now than we were in the forty nine years of our marriage that preceded her surgery in Finland.  (Because we can)

The Stephen King Truck Driver

After we got home from North Carolina, we went into medical mode.  First I had really fun diagnostic tests on Monday and Tuesday.  On Wednesday was Janet's quarterly appointment with her rheumatologist.  This is an appointment to which I always look forward.  This guy is so efficient, communicates so well and has done so much to make Janet's life more livable that each trip seems to do something wonderful.  The disadvantage is that he practices in Brunswick which is well over a hundred miles from Statesboro.  The drive is not bad.  Most of it is either on I-16  or I-95, and along the way are a couple of outlet malls, and we know some good restaurants in the area not to mention that the salt marshes and inlets from the sea are really lovely no matter what the season.

We had just turned from I-16 to I-95 and I was in the outside lane when a long eighteen wheeler passed me and came up behind a box truck.  I was going faster than the box truck, so I went past them and noted that the big truck was tail gating the box truck so closely that there wasn't five feet between them.  I went past them and began to work my way into the center lane when the big truck went past me, still in the same lane, so I was really curious about what happened to the truck he was tailgating, I never saw it again) as if I were standing still (and I was only a very little bit above the speed limit.)

I probably would not have thought anything more about it if I hadn't rounded a curve  and found him again tailgating a truck very closely (this time a tanker), by coincidence I ended up beside him again because the car ahead of me was driving beside the tanker at about the same speed, so the  big truck beside me was boxed in behind the tanker and beside me.  This continued until the driver of the big truck got frustrated, moved over close to me and began to blow his air horn.  I really had no place to go, but the tanker turned off at an exit  and the big truck blew past me and down the road.  I had a chance at this time to look at the side of the cab and noted that the truck was from either Darnel Trucking or Darvel Trucking from some town in Florida that began with an S' .  ( I will refer to that truck as Darnel because "big truck" is a little non specific in a world filled with big trucks.)

For the next thirty minutes, Darnel was in view, sometimes  ahead of me, sometimes behind me.  I came to the conclusion that the driver was crazy, drugged, or obsessed with the Stephen King (I think) book about the truck that pursued someone down the highway.   He switched lanes shifting between traffic pockets like a grand prix driver (or someone in a sports car on the Atlanta bypass), yet he never seemed to gain any time on me.  He was almost constantly in view, sometimes in front, sometimes in the rear view mirror.  He seemed to intentionally drop into pockets where he could tailgate some other car or truck and twice he came up behind me so closely that I couldn't see the top of his grill in the rear view mirror.  I thought at first he was playing some kind of "I'm bigger than you, get out of my way" sort of bullying playground game till I remembered that the first two events like this that I saw, he was tailgating fairly big trucks.  Eventually we came to a State Weighing Station and he pulled off into it.  I was relieved not to have him on the same highway with me.   I buzzed on down the highway about five miles faster than legal (it is a Georgia thing) until we entered a construction zone near where we turn off for the doctor's office and, just as we turned off, he came barreling down the road at high speed in a place that was marked 40 mph (with signs that fines are doubled in a construction zone).  I assume that he had very good radar, or good into about where the State Patrol would be stationed.  I was glad to see him blow by.  If he had turned off where I turned off, I might still be cowering behind some billboard or service station in South Georgia.

It is tough to live in Georgia in the wintertime.

The year before we moved to Georgia (1969, i think) we lived in Oneonta, New York (a lovely place to live) and in December of that year we had a lot of snow.  In the driveway we had two cars: One was a Saab of the kind (and year) that Columbo used to drive on television (a 250 or 520, I forget) and a new 1968 Ford Econoline van.  After the snowfall I had to go out with a broom stick and probe through the snow to find the cars.  (The Econoline was closer to the surface than the Saab).  It didn’t make much difference because by the time they plowed the road it added ten or so feet of hard snow to the other snow that was there.  If we hadn’t brought cross country skis home from Finland when we were Fulbrighting two years before, we would have been stranded in the house for almost two weeks.  (I still have the skis, I have tried to yard sale them away two or three times, but they don’t sell well in Georgia.)  Our kids got to our cars before I could.  They tunneled their way (I was using a snow shovel)   The tunnels terrified their mother, but they got there.  We had a wonderful red retriever (I can’t think of the breed) who lived in the back yard most of the time and it was a delight  to see him bound under, then over  and through the snow (pretty soon he had trails.  smart dog). 

Now we are in Georgia.  One of my tomato plants still had blooms and has three little tomatoes that are not quite ripe yet. (actually this wasn’t even a tomato that was planted.  We had a big flower pot outside the door into which we tossed stuff that was to be taken to the compost pile. I went out to dispose of it and I had four little lemon trees and two tomato plants.  The lemon trees didn’t make it but the tomato thrived. We had the first tomato about two months ago.

It is December in Georgia, the Confederate roses have fallen off , but the Mandevilla are still climbing the pergola in the back yard and we have three separate kinds of Camelias blooming in the back yard (with two others in bud).  The weather is really nasty and rainy.  I had to wear a jacket this afternoon (it was down in the sixties).   We had tornados predicted for day before yesterday, and Savannah dismissed schools at eleven A. M.   The tornados stayed away, though some rain came and the children were delighted (I hear it was pretty bad in Atlanta.)  Janet has suggested that with this cold weather, we might consider building a fire in the fireplace, but I haven’t done it.  Instead, I am puttering on the computer, writing this post (I will post some pictures, but I left my camera in the car and I’m too lazy to go get it) and doing some computer Christmas Shopping.  It is really tough to live in Georgia during the winter.

Thanksgiving

Janet and I went up to our daughter’s home in Columbia S.C. for Thanksgiving dinner, the one condition being that I go up a day early to cook the Turkey.  ( I may be remembered for nothing else but Turkey when I die.  I vary my techniques:  Sometime I brine the Turkey, sometimes I cook it in paper bag, sometimes I just roast and baste, and this time I used a Turkey bag.  It always seems to turn out well, thus the invitation.)   I usually use Tone’s Italian seasoning for the dressing and I make some to cook in the Turkey and some to cook outside the Turkey.  I made both giblet gravy which I love, and gravy from the pan drippings (Which would be better with giblets, but I have people in my family who object to giblets a lot).  For some reason, for the first time that I remember the non giblet gravy came out lumpy, but a quick whiz in the blender made it smooth as silk. 

The dinner came out very well, with pumpkin pie, sweet potato pie, and apple pie, and lots of whipped cream to finish it off.  My two sons (both well over forty) drove up on Thanksgiving day, ate, played games with us and left that evening.  One son brought the sima (Scandinavian mead which has become a tradition at Thankgiving.  It was delicious though not as carbonated as usual. I had boned out the turkey and bagged the meat and the dressing so that my younger son could take the carcass home to give his cats a thrill. 

The boys bagged up a bunch stuff and left for home about ninish (three hour drive home) and I was a bit concerned because late night driving after a big meal can be worrisome.  I was also concerned because wife and daughter were planning an attach on Black Friday, and I wanted to be awake in the morning to chaperone them.

Black Friday shopping was enormous fun and we spent much less than I had feared and got some real bargains on things we needed.  When we were loafing around the house playing with Roscoe the dog and Meow the cat the phone rang.  One of the sons said, with some panic in his voice, we didn’t get any turkey or dressing when we came home.  My answer was  “Well turkeys are still forty to forty nine cents a pound  some of the stores, go buy a turkey, roast it and you’ll have your own supply.”  They agreed that this was a good idea so they bought one, and the rest of the day was filled with calls about how much seasoning, how much bread in the dressing, etc. etc., etc.  Then their was peace, until evening when younger son called.  “I have good news and bad news” he said.  Suspecting that they had cremated the turkey,  I asked for the good news first.  “The turkey came out great,” he said, and the dressing was good.” 

“What’s the bad news ?”   “Well, when we were boiling the potatoes, the electric range caught on fire!”    “What”?   “It came out okay.  I knew where the fire extinguisher was and put it right out.  The range is dead, so we had to finsih the potatoes in the microwave, and except for the smell, and the black streaks on the wall over the stove, everything is okay.”

When we got home, I pulled the back off the stove to discover that it hadn’t been, (as I suspected) a grease fire, but all the fire was concentrated in the wiring behind the switches and dials.

Jan has hated the appearance of that range since we moved here so today I bought a new range.  The wall didn’t quite come out very well, but most of the black streaks are gone (In one place, the wallpaper is permanently damaged, but we will decide what to do about that in the days ahead.  I am thankful that we had a good time as the family.  I am thankful for the fire extinguisher, and mostly I am thankful that the house didn’t burn down..

Playing Hookie

The week before I posted my previous post was one of the worst we have faced in a long time.

An objective viewer might  smile at that comment, after all, since 2006 we have been through a multi-month hospital stay in Finland for surgery on Janet’s aortal aneurism (during which period she also had two strokes, lost all peripheral vision on her right side and much of her balance, I was warned before they woke her –after three weeks- that her EEG was so bad that, if she lived, she might have no physical function or awareness of consciousness; I discovered that I had back problem’s that my primary care physician told me would certainly require surgery, and I spent over a week mostly in a fetal position on the the floor (till the Neurosurgeon to which I was referred decided that  now surgery was wise at this time and handled my pain with prednisone)’ '; It was discovered that Janet still has an aortic dissection (a kind of full length aneurism which was referred to surgery till the thoracic surgeon decided that the problem was so widespread that the surgery would likely result in kidney failure, paralysis or  death, (currently treated with major blood pressure control); the CT scans that traced the aortal problem revealed lesions  on Janet’s liver which resulted in an eight day series of tests  at the Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville to rule out cancer, and then in December of Last year, she came to see me perform in a Christmas concert and fell, shattering the femur above her artificial right knee and had three surgeries and a long period of therapy (including three months in a wheelchair) and she is perpetually dizzy, suffers from really irritating night sweats (this seems to be a result of the aortal problems) has perpetual pain in her right leg from the knee up and almost no feeling from the knee down as well as the ongoing problems from rheumatoid arthritis which preceded this who mess.

During that last week she developed a head cold, which her pessimistic husband was sure was some kind of flu that no one with an aortal dissection needs.  She coughed all night, got almost no sleep, couldn’t function in almost any physical way, and scared us both half to death. At the same time, I was trying desperately to finish work on the house and yard (as well as repair the broken pump on the swimming pool before frost comes—yes it really comes to South Georgia—). Of course we were also wrapping up Halloween.

Along the way we were reminded that almost two years ago we had paid for a week stay in a time share (part of our ticket for our Alaska Cruise, (some really good things happened in the last three years as well) and that it was expiring instantly.  We ended up taking a car trip to the Sapphire Valley of North Carolina.   Janet was just in recovery from her cold, and I had the tickles that indicated that I was about to succumb, but we decided to go anyway.

The check in date was on Sunday, so we had to leave early Sunday morning.  I prefer not to travel on Sunday for religious reasons, and because I have responsibilities in church on Sunday that, if I don’t fulfill them others get stuck with them.   We packed up and departed anyway, while I coped with some guilt feelings, and concern that Janet wasn’t really ready to travel (and she wasn’t, we had to stop fairly frequently and rest)   It was very strange though, as we proceeded up the small highways (dictated by my somewhat spastic GPS) of eastern Georgia, the myriads of small towns with big houses and with wonderful porches (a passion of Janet’s) a great sense of peace came over me.  It was clear that we needed to get away.  We stopped to eat a a couple of really nice small places, and the GPS was, for once giving me clear directions and I was finding the intersections.  It was after dark, and in fact, only fifteen minutes before they closed the office at the resort, when we arrived.  We checked in, and my sense of peace was a little disturbed when I had trouble finding the right cottage in the dark, but it was so restful to move into the lovely Wyndam cottage. 

I was a bit concerned at first because all the light bulbs seemed very dim and it was strange wandering around in half light, but it turned out that they we some power saving bulbs that warned up and gave real light after about five minutes.  We unpacked, sort of, and got ready for bed almost instantly.  As we had prayer together and sang to each other (If I haven’t written about that before, I will) , it was so peaceful and so joyous that I was in tears (actually I do that a lot).   I really had the sense that playing hooky from church that day had been the right thing to do, and I already had the sense that this was going to be a good, and a necessary vacation.

The next morning at the “meet and greet” that begins most timeshare visits we were disappointed to find that the pool was closed from repairs.  We are somewhat fanatic about water aerobics.  All things considered we are both convinced that without water aerobics we probably both would be dead or total invalids, so that was a loss, but for only one week.  We had our first restaurant meal in the oldest standing building in the area.  It is called the Library, and both the food, the atmosphere and the service were wonderful.

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We drove around this really lovely area, watched the leaves fall, shopped for antiques and tourist junk, bought Janet a lovely piece of amber (for Janet, amber makes all things better), Christmas shopped in some rare and unusual places, and generally left all tension behind.  We loved driving through Sapphire and Cashiers (the village next door.  The leaves were beautiful and the architecture interesting.  I loved the little Episcopal church with the new tower. (One of the oldest buildings in the town.)

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For some reason, the Ingles grocery store in Cashiers  (three miles from our place) had a sale on Blue Bunny Ice cream (My personal favorite) in the one and three quarter quart boxes (I hate what the ice cream companies have done to the half gallon box. I saw one yesterday from one company that was one quart and one pint) for a dollar ninety eight cents.  I bought too much so that on our departure day we had to combine what seemed like vast quantities of ice cream and make milk shakes for our drive home.  It’s a tough thing, but somebody has to do it.

One fun thing.  A major tourist gimmick in this area is to bring folks to some of the old gem mines from which the valley got its name.  At those mines you can buy a bucket of dirt, run the dirt through a sluice and try to pick up some precious  or semi precious stones.  Our resort, since the winter is coming and most of the gem depots are closed, had arranged for residents to purchase a ten dollar bucket of dirt, imported from one of the mines, and run it through a sluice on the grounds.  It was great fun, and we picked up a wide variety of unusual rocks.  If the pictures on the charts were anywhere near accurate we got a garnet, some amethyst, a lot of crystal quartz, and some great big green things that vaguely resemble turquoise, but obviously aren’t.  Janet could hardly wait to get home, resurrect a rock tumbler and polish up the stones.  It turned out that our kid’s old rock tumblers had disappeared so I was delegated to procure a new one from Hobby Lobby and now the house resonates with the noise of rocks tumbling around in a drum, polishing.   I got pictures of the miners at work (us), but they were mini videos and I couldn’t figure how to mount them.  All in all, it was a worthwhile week. 

As we wended our way home the final day the GPS, for some mystical reason took us by a slightly different route than that by which we came.  We had been advised by family that if we happened into Dillard, GA, we should consider going to the Dillard House for a meal.  We arrived in Dillard at about 9:30 A.M. and decided to check the place out for Breakfast.  It was a fun and wise choice.

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At the Dillard House they have what might be called a breakfast buffet, but with this difference.  They simply bring everything on the menu to your table, and you eat it as you have time and energy.  You may ask for seconds on anything, and they have a separate table with a wide variety of breads and fruits, a  selection of which is brought to each table at the beginning, but if you wish more, you may go plunder the table at your leisure.  Janet noticed a couple of ladies who went to the fruit table wiith dinner plates which they filled with strawberries, raspberries, cream, sweet breads and similar things which they carried to the table before the servers even began to serve their breakfast.  We thought it was strange, but at the end of the meal they bring “white boxes” and everything you haven’t eaten is packaged for take home.  Jan said she suspected that those ladies had a fruit stand somewhere and were stocking up courtesy of Dillard's.  It was a lot of fun and a lot of food (We had to slip the remainder of the aforementioned Blue Bunny Milkshakes into a cooler to finish at lunch time.   I am going to have to go into a no calorie situation or gain another person on my frame rather soon.

All in all it was a good week, and necessary because this whole week is taken up with doctors.  I began as soon as we got home to prepare for a colonoscopy, yesterday we drove a couple of hundred miles for Janet’s rheumatologist, today, (Friday) I went back to the doctor who did the colonoscopy, then Monday morning we see her orthopedist and in the afternoon drive to the Medical College to seen the guy who may take out Janet’s cataracts.  I sometimes feel like coots and cootesses are like used cars, in a constant state of overhaul filling up with replacement parts.

Sigh

I have been sitting here staring at the screen off and on for over a week.  I guess I have a case of writer’s block.  I am leaving this morning for a time share visit in Sapphire, North Carolina, wherever that is, and I have no idea whether I will have access to the internet.  I should be past all the health issues that are dominating our time right now and if there is internet service in our lodge, I will try to bring things up to date.

Truck Guacamole

Janet and I love Mexican food.  Some we like better than others but you can hardly find anything that we don’t love.  I suspect that my favorite is really Tex/Mex, but I love fajitas.  I make good fajitas (not as often as I did when the “children” were at home but I have also made fajitas for my departmental dinners (I also make a really interesting Taco salad.)   We have a favorite place to eat here called El Sombrero.  We we eat there so often that Janet gets a little disturbed when her favorite waiter is not on duty.

One of Janet’s current favorites is called Caldo de Pollo, which means (if my dictionary is right) Pot of Chicken.  It is a wonderful chicken soup with almost half a pound of chicken in a delicious broth, a little bit of rice lots of good vegetables, a half of a lime and one corn tortilla for dipping.   I don’t often order it, but I finish hers with enthusiasm  (she eats a lot less since her aortic aneurysm).  We both eat almost anything except guacamole.  I eat guacamole, but I think Janet lost interest when the kids were still young, and guacamole  resembled –to her- diaper contents and she was never really able to overcome that image.  I have always been happy to scarf the guacamole off her plate and add it to whatever I have ordered so that the world stays in balance.  Somehow her lack of enthusiasm for guacamole has extended into a lack of enthusiasm for avocados. About the only real use for an avocado in our house was the occasional growing of a plant from seed for a children’s school project.

Last week, Janet found, what she thought would be a wonderful recipe for enchiladas and we went to the store to buy all of the appropriate ingredients.  I was a little surprised when my list included an avocado.  What I don’t know about buying a good avocado would fill books.  I went to the box of avocados at the store and asked how I could identify a good avocado and was told to squeeze them and get one that had some softness.  You might as well squeeze granite.  There was no softness, so I just bought an avocado. 

The enchiladas were wonderful, just the right amount of heat and flavor, and they were yummy.  I discovered early that I was not going to make guacamole.  The best I could do was to make slices and segment them, and the only weakness in the entire dish was the crunchy avocado.

I couldn’t help thinking about my most vivid previous experience with avocados.   When Hurricane Andrew (I think it was Andrew) happened down in Florida about ten of the men from our little congregation packed up and went to Florida to  help people get things cleared up and livable again.  Altogether from our church (from about three states) we had between three and five thousand men go down there.  We had been told to bring camping gear because we would be out in the open.  They (I am not sure who “they” were) put us in the high school football stadium, and assigned us to various parts of town so that we wouldn’t be running into and over each other.  The entrance to the football stadium was through an avocado grove wherein the wind had blown the avocados onto the ground.  When we entered the stadium the road was covered, about a foot deep, with a combination of whole   and  smooshed avocados.  It was as slippery and treacherous as any  ice and slush covered road in Colorado.  By evening, when every one was in the stadium getting ready for bed there were two unifying phenomena.  Someone had set up a “soup kitchen” at one edge of the stadium and was serving a delicious bean soup to all comers, and everyone—I mean EVERYONE had feet covered with squashed avocado mush.  We generally came to refer to it as Truck Guacamole.

After three days of going in and out, tearing the roofs of houses and replacing them with plywood, OSB, tar paper and shingles, we had done lots of good work, and there were traces of truck guacamole almost everywhere.  With my neuropathy, others tried to keep me from climbing ladders and going up on roofs so I became a major supply wagon with a pick-up that belonged to someone with red hair  I made trips so every open lumber yard and building supply in town to pick up lumber, nails, tar, tar paper and all the various supplies that were needed, and no matter how carefully I wiped my feet and cleaned my shoes I left truck guacamole traces everywhere.

I should mention here, that this was my first experience with Home Depot.  I have read in various blogs vast condemnation  of the big box stores including Home Depot, but in Homestead, most of the local lumber yards and supply companies had inflated the cost of repair supplies, but Home Depot was selling them at cost.  That kind of big box store I can, and do support.  Of course most of my supplies came from semi truck load of supplies that had been sent by our church (and some other churches and civic groups into the area, but I really appreciated Home Depot because most of the stuff I picked up there were paid for with my credit card.

In time “someone” sent in a back hoe and plowed the truck guacamole off the road, but this resulted in piles of avocado on the sides of the road, somewhat like the piles of snow next to roads in Winter states.  The difference was that truck guacamole, sitting in the sun for several days acquires a fragrance not totally unlike a cattle feedlot.  I confess that, for awhile, the memory of that fragrance affected my enthusiasm for restaurant guacamole.  All in all, it was a wonderful experience.  I have never been more tired or dirtier (they did allow us to use the showers in the football stadium, but they were crowded and the lines were long.  The eight hour drive home was made more pleasant when one of the Shoneys along the line, recognizing where we had come from, allowed us to partake of their breakfast buffet (which was wonderful and well appreciated.)

Still and all, and have trouble understanding why my avocado was still crunchy, when I didn’t run across ANY crunchy avocado in Florida.

From Frightened to Just a Little Nervous

My level of fear has gone down some as many of the National News Services, (No doubt, realizing that if it can happen to Fox, it can happen to them) Came out in reasonbly strong support of Fox.  The Constitution is not in the clear yet, but it is more stable.

I’ll probably post a totally unrelated item later today.