Gee whiz! I tried doing this yesterday and had to keep starting over because I was so out of it I couldn't keep straight what I was writing. Twice I caught myself writing dialogue from and old Gunsmoke Episode from old time radio on Sirius. Good show, but not quite what I wanted for the blog. I should have saved it, and once again stated "Do Not Blog And Take Morphine". Sound advise, only I'm taking some now, my mouth and face are killing me. The right side Jaw is asking over and over and over "Hey Buddy! That hurt? Did this hurt? How about this?" YES!!! You evil Bastard they ALL fucking hurt!! Twice this morning on the way to the bathroom it's given me that lovely stabbing pain that's both blinding and enough to drive you to your knees. I refuse to go to my knees, but I have closed my eyes and stopped walking. In that case he gives me a couple of quick ones to remind him who's in charge. Right now it's me, you sorry fuck. I still walk, use the suction, and stay off my knees. You gotta do better than you are right now, you fuck. Which was going to be part of the "What's going on with me right now." portion of the blog. That sounds good to me.
Yep, the jaw pain is bad. The swelling is down a lot since Lymphedema Therapy and that's a good thing. My Left side looks more swollen, but it's not hard like collected fluid. And it may only appear to be swollen since the other side is so much less swollen. The problem is, yes the bone hurts on the upper and lower mandible something fierce. Worse than that is the nerve bundle that heads across the jaw toward your ear and points elsewhere. That's where the stabbing pain comes from, that nerve bundle getting irritated at me. At least I hope so. It hurts though, to suction, That's both muscle/nerve pain, on top of bone pain. I have a very swollen spot under the right jaw. It's not tender to the touch but it's making the muscle back there sore to the touch. That's a pain, literally and figuratively. It hurts pretty badly to open my mouth very wide. I am trying to stretch it by opening my mouth as far as I can stand. That worked well the first couple of times I tried, the real pain then came in when I try to close it. This poses a couple of more questions. Is something trying to pull my jaw out of place and that's what's making the muscle and nerve so painful? Or, it cancer is in the bone, has it latched onto the muscle and nerves causing it to be involved in the pain as well as bone pain? Hard for me to tell. I'm going to have the Hospice nurse go over it pretty closely today and see if he can come up with something he can ask the Doc. Maybe something along the lines of a muscle relaxant. If it's strictly muscle, that should take care of the pain. If it's as I suspect, the bone pain wouldn't leave with simply a muscle relaxant, but taking away muscle pain would be good, I think.
Something else weird happened this morning. I changed trach tubes and had just gotten it all in and taped down, when I had to cough. No big deal, most of the time when I put it in I have to cough. It irritates my trachea, so I expect that. A lot of the time I'll clear some excess mucus, sometimes it's a dry cough just from being irritated. This morning was weird. I coughed once and heard little "pops" like something was hitting the towel. I looked, a tiny little red dot. I had to cough again. Same thing this time, only there were two more. Stranger and stranger. So I just coughed one more time, nothing making me, I wanted to see what it up too. Yep, one more little red dot. Being the curious dickens I am, I fished one out and ran a little water over it to see. Looks like a little dot of flesh that had a little blood on it. So I did the same thing with the other three. Same outcome, looks like flesh with a little dab of blood. Being the genius I am, I threw them away. Weeeelllll, that sure took out the possibility that I might get some lab to look at them. Well, if I do it again I'll keep some of them. Last week I could have sworn I coughed a lung up, but it was too clear looking HAHAHAHAHA
It's been a bit more chilly here, and I'm fighting a runny nose on top of the ten foot long tape worm. That'll age me some. Nope, I lied. That's from the first "True Grit". John Wayne was telling about working a Jerk Line for a mine owner in Colorado. "I was a pretty fair hand with a Jerk Line when I was a yonker. Worked for a fella that was alway doooown with something. He was also sportin a 10' long tape worm, that aged him some." Sorry, couldn't help that, I was being entirely too serious. Yeah, the cold is screwing with me. It screws with everyone. Snotty, running noses and all. I'm no different than anyone else, only I can't cough up or spit the damn drainage out like I used to be able. Now I just aspirate it and cough it out my trach. Not the best way to get rid of it, but it's what I have to work with. It seems the more I cough the more tender the right jaw gets, which stands to reason since they are both on the same head, and since they both are linked by being on the same body, why would one start something and not include the neighbors? So, yeah, I've been suffering along with everyone else. The good thing is, I've been able to get up and go have coffee with the guys in the morning. I'm sure they all miss my witty repartee, or not. It's amazing how, since I can't talk, much I miss being able to add a little something to the conversation. One of the guys says a lot of funny stuff, but it's often a bit out there, and just a bit out of his character, so I think some of the guys miss his little one liners. Well played, Sir, well played.
In honor of my Texas buddies that I've been ragging on because of the weather here, because the well servicing crews wanted to go home because it was cold. How, if the wind blows over 20, the rigs shut down. I can't fault the hands or my buddies on that one. That's the service company safety rules. But suffice it to say, if they'd been working 400+ miles north of here, they'd gone broke or starved to death. In honor of that, I've got a couple of wind/snow/rain/cold tales. All true, so help me God.
The first year I was working derrick, 82-83, the year I quite recall, we were fishing a joint of 2 3/8" tubing with a pump in it, seating nipple and a four foot long perforated sub. Thank fully no mud anchor. Anyway, it was left in the well by Brand X Well Servicing, and we got elected to fish it. The day before, we got all the pipe and rods out of the well. Brand X had run them back in and pickled the string, good move and it keeps everything from going bad on you while it's on the bank out of the well. After we got all the equipment out of the hole, we ran a string of 2 7/8" tubing work string. Beautiful day, but pop had watched the weather channel before he went to work, so after we got the work string in the hole, we put up the floor and Operator stand tarps. I was sweatin my ass off by the time we got finished and I was sure the old man had lost his freakin mind. I was sure of it when we got out the next morning and it was pretty again. Cool, but not crazy cold. We fished the junk out of the well, cleaned everything up, and headed for home, with me still thinking the old man was crazy. Took a long time to wash over that fish, we had gotten it out and on the bank, the put a bit and scraper on, tripped in and cleaned the well bore to bottom, stood all that work string back in the air. It was 7PM and darker than the bottom of a well when we went home. The next morning it was ice from one end of the state to the other. It was 18 degrees with 25 mph winds with gusts to 40. Hmmm, the old man hadn't lost his mind. When we got to the rig, and got it fired up there was ice probably 2" thick from the ground to the crown. I put on all my winter clothes, stuck 4 pairs of gloves inside a vest under my insulated overalls, and with a hammer that had a string on it to tie to my wrist, I went up the derrick knocking ice off the ladder as I went. Up in the air I knocked ice off each stand of pipe in the derrick before I walked out to latch it in. Slow going, they had to stop every 10 or so stands, carry the slips away from the well, then melt the ice out of the jaws. It took a while to get that in the well. Then we laid it down. That was close to noon, so stopped for lunch. It started to warm up and the ice was falling off the rig. Big, long chunks. It'd knock you on your ass if it didn't knock you out. So we waited an hour and it was okay to go back to work. Picked up the downhole equipment, ran the 2 3/8" production string in, and hung the well back on. We got home about 7PM, again
One I really remember, because the tubing tester pissed and moaned all the time he was rigging up, turned out to be right, his equipment wouldn't work. It was so windy we'd tied the blocks down to the earth with the sand line, after we rigged up the tubing tester. The guys down here had never heard of that. We had a chain on the blocks we used to hang them onto the back of the derrick when we rigged down. So, if it's really windy, and to make it so you can work, you run the sand line down through that chain, the tie it two a couple of chains. One between the derrick legs, the other chain from around the well head and back to the first chain. Then you tie the sand line to that rig up, pull it tight, and the blocks aren't bothered by the wind. Easy fix that kept us working when everyone else went home. The only thing we didn't run or pull, even off the ground, when it was windy were Fiberglass sucker rods. They were just too dangerous. One of the competition thought they could run a string in big winds. The first two came out of the derrick when the blew over into the blocks and got kicked out. The other 8 doubles got blown out before the derrick man could get the top tied back in. Fools.
Anyway, the tubing tester swore up and down that we'd freeze his stuff. He said he had 14# brine. And from what I saw of it in the 6 stands we were able to test, I'd say that was about right. Picked up the 7th stand ran it in, stuck the testing tool in and the pistol looking piece that is used to pressure the other tool into it's slot. Nothing. Pull it out and look. Slush. Slush? Yeah, the wind chill was 11 below zero, it had finally slushed up an entire tank on the truck. We rigged him down, I went up and we finished running the tubing. Dropped a tool, had a hot oiler pressure the string, it held. Next day we ran an acid job. The wind chill was 25 that day, just a few degrees less than the temp. By the time we finished the acid job and got things ready to swab, it had gotten all the way up to 35. So goes SW KS.
Good God we worked in some fierce weather when I was a kid. I was out and worked in some rough shit when I pumped, but it was never the same as when I was hangin ten off the diving board in the derrick or on the floor of that pulling unit.
Short funny one. We caught a job to pull some casing on a well and run back new. It was in a location that was owned by a farmer who was a pain in the ass. There was no such thing as a low profile pumping unit, so the company cut a 500 bbl tank in two, dug out the well head big enough to set a 320 Lufkin pumping unit inside the tank. Pain in the ass to pull. Dad ordered a special tool built and we were waiting on it to run the work string in the well. It was nice, we'd cleaned the derrick the day before, and clean all our tools the day before that. I stretched out in the alfalfa next to the dog house. It was spring, 75 degrees, the sun was out, not much wind and a 2 hour wait. I woke up with a 8 or 10" long little green garter snake on my chest. Warming up in the sun. I swear, when I first woke up I thought I was gonna fill my pants, both sides. When I saw it better, it was funny. I picked it up, took it to the other guy on the rig. He almost passed out. I had no idea he was deathly afraid of snakes. I turned the snake loose, and in 3 days, mostly waiting on stuff, we had the well back online and off that location.
Go into the light, children, go into the light
Friday, January 24, 2014
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Morphing With Morphine. A Bit of Fun Under The Tongue
Well, that's not always the way it goes. It's sort of a love/hate thing. I love the morphine, hate the pain. Although, I really don't. I don't like not being able to overcome the pain like I could with so many other things. Including the surgery to get me to this point, and a bushel basket of broken bones. It's more I'm thankful for the morphine to help the Fentanyl control my pain. The bones in my upper and lower right mandible simply scream at me on occasion, which is almost often enough to become a regular occurrence. Sometimes, on a full dose it's like trying to get a nickel off Ebenezer Scrooge, "How about a bit more, you cheap bastard?". Other times, on a full dose, it's very close to eating 64 boiled eggs "Way too many, ain't it Luke". But, most of the time it's like the baby bear in the Three Bears, "This one is juuuuust right". When it's just right, I can function pretty well still. I'm cognizant enough to drive, I don't lose reflex time, and I know enough that I am not 100% and to be extra careful. I can even write the blog without having to redo the same stuff over and over. Although, one day, I'm going to leave it as it's written. I dozed off one morning while writing the blog, but not clear out. You know, that little bit between LaLa Land and I'm Awake. I was semi dreaming or at least my mind was wandering and I went from being on a topic directly to "I swear to God, either get that rig the hell off my location or I'll shove a ball bat up your ass and turn you into a Dickcicle". Trust me, I have not idea where that came from or where it was headed. Immediately after that was almost most half a page of "…………………………" Which kind of disappoints me. I'm curious if I had to shove a ball bat up the guys ass or if he got his rig off my location. That's the level of "Too Much" morphine in a full dose. Not enough, when I'm writing this, means it may take me six or so hours to do it. I have to stop fairly often from surges in the pain level that make me wee wee just a little. Those times are really nasty. I can't even think straight. I've been nailed by that sudden pain stuff when Liz and I have been out fiddling around. I'm telling ya, I've been hit hard, very hard. I've broken bones and set nearly all the fingers and toes I've busted on my own. I got stabbed in the chest by one of those long, very thick and heavy, swizzle sticks and had to pull it out. ( I danced with an ex wife of a guy, he took exception) I had to dig out a couple of pieces of shirt with that. All of that and a bunch of others, and I still haven't felt pain like that. Never. I'm beginning to believe folks when they say there is nothing worse on earth than cancer sliding off into your bones. If that's true, it's gonna take every ounce of my personal strength, and modern chemistry, so I can still function.
I have morphed a bit as well, so the title isn't really completely a lie. I find that I don't have to sit and try to knock pain down on my own. I've even come to the point in my life that I'm finding that when I do that I'm more than just a bit foolish. It's more than I can do on my own, and frankly, as well as braggadocio, I could knock a lot of pain out without drugs at all. Not any where near as much as this. It's partially because I'd be fighting this day in and day out without a chance to rest and recharge my own batteries. Hard headed you say? Hell yes I'm hard headed. It's served and done me a disservice all my life. It helped me stay with things that I really needed to do (a lot of times to make a point). It's been a disservice in that I couldn't let something go that in the long run kept me from moving up in my profession. With the cancer, it's served me far more than it's been a disservice. It's allowed me to keep hitting the pavement instead of just rolling up in a ball and kicking the bucket. I had an episode late yesterday afternoon, the second in five days, where an extra large blood/mucus clot got caught in the outer cannula of my tube. I couldn't breath through the tube, my throat had accumulated so much mucus it formed a plug and I couldn't draw air through my nose or mouth. Damn close to panic, closer than I like to panic for sure. Panic kills. The hard headed part of me jumped up, scared the dog so bad he got between my oldest daughter and me teeth out and hair straight up in protection mode. I didn't know he had that, I was damned impressed. I hit the bathroom, yanked the trach, got a breath, but I didn't have the big clot thing stuck hard enough into the tube to pull it with the tube. Two options now. Both of them hurt like sin too. I forced myself to vomit, that cleared the plug in my throat, and I was able to get a short breath there. Next, I had to cough hard enough to blow the clot monster out of my tracheostomy hole. I have a couple of pieces of loose skin and cartilage around the hole, if I cough hard enough, I have to force the trach tube through. That causes a LOT of bleeding. To the point of it running down my chest. (Okay, the goofy ass in me is thinking "Shit dude! That looks like a neck wound in the movies with all the blood!". Dumb ass LOL) And it really hurts to force it back in. Blood is a mess, hurt is hard to overcome. There's nothing for it, my throat is trying to block off again. I coughed HARD twice, and the plug in my trachea shot out like a 30/30 round. Okay, not like that, but no foolin it was almost as big as a 25 cal round, and probably heavier.
I did that all on my own because I'm hard headed. This time, though, I was thinking if I can't get this done on my own in the next 20 minutes I'm gonna have the kid drive me to the ER, right after I text at least three people with Hospice. They like to be kept in the loop. I do as well, but since I'm better at that than the Hospice people. It didn't take 20 minutes. Closer to thirty or forty-five. But it was all moving along, and part of that time was spent cleaning things up. I should be getting good are recognizing blood spatter, seeing as how much of it I've shot out of the trach hole in the last four months or so, I should be a college class. (There really isn't a class in CSI. I've heard high school kids talking about getting a degree in CSI. They need an associates of WTF Were You Thinking first)
All that trouble yesterday was certainly a proper ending for the one year anniversary of my first surgery. I often feel guilty for taking so much of Liz's life, helping me fight this. I know that's probably not warranted. I would do the same thing if it were her in my place. That still doesn't keep me from feeling guilty. I'm hard headed about that, don't ya know.
Back in the day when I thought I needed an "eye for an eye" to keep up, the derrick man and I were cleaning tools and putting the tool boxes in order. A couple of wasps were floatin around not bother me or anyone, and this damn fool starts waving a rag at them trying to shoo them off. Well he managed to hit one and slapped it onto my neck, where the wasp promptly stung me. It wasn't so much that it hurt like hell, or that it was swelling up that pissed me off. I didn't get an "Oh shit! I'm sorry!", but what I got was laughing and don't be a pussy. That just didn't set well with me. But I figured we had to work the rest of the day, and one sure way to get run off my old man's rig was to start a fight. Since I generally got the shitty end of the discipline stick from Pop, I also figured I'd be the one run off. So I waited. Come 1800 hrs, we were wrapping up for the day. I got a pair of needle nosed pliers, walked up behind the derrick man and latched onto a piece of skin on the back of his arm, near his armpit. I squeezed down as had as I could. He squealed like a stuck pig, but he was smart enough not to run while I still had a hold of him with the pliers. He was plenty upset, and looked like he might want to fight. Okay, fine. What he got from me was not laughter, but it was "don't be such a pussy". He didn't bat at any more wasps, bees, or hornets. I never got stung again.
I like Tequila, but only in mixed drinks any more. No more shots, no "sipping" tequila. A good Margarita with a Gran Marnier sidecar and I'm in hog heaven. There's a reason I won't do tequila shots. It doesn't agree with my temperament. I'm somewhat aggressive any way, and I generally don't like to throw anything on that fire unless it's absolutely necessary.
One night, hmmmmmm, Spring of 1980, I had 3 shots of some nasty assed tequila. I think it was 2 Fingers, but that's not important. I was no where near drunk. I still had all my faculties about me and was able to walk a straight line, shoot pool, all that fun stuff. What I wasn't able to do was keep my fucking cool. Mr Temper had jumped up and taken up residence on my shoulder. I had a biker buddy named Tiny, who was anything but. He was 6' 6" tall at least, 4 bills easy on weight, and I don't believe I've ever seen a leather jacket with that much leather. Three of my friends and I could have put it on and still had room left over. Anyway, Tiny and I had taken some short hop day rides, shot pool, grilled out, drank some beer. Him and his friend Gabby Hayes and I were pretty decent buds at the time. I walked into Sam's, Tiny says "Hey Rock, what's up?" I hit him in the mouth as hard as I could swing. That's like shooting a bear in the nuts with a sling shot. With about the same results. He grabbed me by the belt, bitch slapped the livin fuck out of me and took me outside. He threw me into the parking lot. I had sand marks on my hands, face and knees. He told me to stay down. I did not, I started to stand up, he stomped my back. I don't believe I've ever had a shoe or boot near my flesh that would reach from my belt line all the way up to my shoulder blades. He was really being kind, he could have stomped hard enough to break bones. All I got was some really wicked bruises, and gravel I had to dig out of my knees and hands. The next day, I went back. I knew full well that Tiny might just knock me so hard I'd have to blink to button my pants. That's not what happened though. He saw me, asked how I was doing and if I was hurt bad. No, just my pride and good sense. What brought that shit on? Oh, I drank tequila shots before I came out. I also said I'd never do that again. We all agreed that would be wise, the next guy might beat me to death.
So endeth the lesson
Be good, boys and girls. Watch where you step
I have morphed a bit as well, so the title isn't really completely a lie. I find that I don't have to sit and try to knock pain down on my own. I've even come to the point in my life that I'm finding that when I do that I'm more than just a bit foolish. It's more than I can do on my own, and frankly, as well as braggadocio, I could knock a lot of pain out without drugs at all. Not any where near as much as this. It's partially because I'd be fighting this day in and day out without a chance to rest and recharge my own batteries. Hard headed you say? Hell yes I'm hard headed. It's served and done me a disservice all my life. It helped me stay with things that I really needed to do (a lot of times to make a point). It's been a disservice in that I couldn't let something go that in the long run kept me from moving up in my profession. With the cancer, it's served me far more than it's been a disservice. It's allowed me to keep hitting the pavement instead of just rolling up in a ball and kicking the bucket. I had an episode late yesterday afternoon, the second in five days, where an extra large blood/mucus clot got caught in the outer cannula of my tube. I couldn't breath through the tube, my throat had accumulated so much mucus it formed a plug and I couldn't draw air through my nose or mouth. Damn close to panic, closer than I like to panic for sure. Panic kills. The hard headed part of me jumped up, scared the dog so bad he got between my oldest daughter and me teeth out and hair straight up in protection mode. I didn't know he had that, I was damned impressed. I hit the bathroom, yanked the trach, got a breath, but I didn't have the big clot thing stuck hard enough into the tube to pull it with the tube. Two options now. Both of them hurt like sin too. I forced myself to vomit, that cleared the plug in my throat, and I was able to get a short breath there. Next, I had to cough hard enough to blow the clot monster out of my tracheostomy hole. I have a couple of pieces of loose skin and cartilage around the hole, if I cough hard enough, I have to force the trach tube through. That causes a LOT of bleeding. To the point of it running down my chest. (Okay, the goofy ass in me is thinking "Shit dude! That looks like a neck wound in the movies with all the blood!". Dumb ass LOL) And it really hurts to force it back in. Blood is a mess, hurt is hard to overcome. There's nothing for it, my throat is trying to block off again. I coughed HARD twice, and the plug in my trachea shot out like a 30/30 round. Okay, not like that, but no foolin it was almost as big as a 25 cal round, and probably heavier.
I did that all on my own because I'm hard headed. This time, though, I was thinking if I can't get this done on my own in the next 20 minutes I'm gonna have the kid drive me to the ER, right after I text at least three people with Hospice. They like to be kept in the loop. I do as well, but since I'm better at that than the Hospice people. It didn't take 20 minutes. Closer to thirty or forty-five. But it was all moving along, and part of that time was spent cleaning things up. I should be getting good are recognizing blood spatter, seeing as how much of it I've shot out of the trach hole in the last four months or so, I should be a college class. (There really isn't a class in CSI. I've heard high school kids talking about getting a degree in CSI. They need an associates of WTF Were You Thinking first)
All that trouble yesterday was certainly a proper ending for the one year anniversary of my first surgery. I often feel guilty for taking so much of Liz's life, helping me fight this. I know that's probably not warranted. I would do the same thing if it were her in my place. That still doesn't keep me from feeling guilty. I'm hard headed about that, don't ya know.
Back in the day when I thought I needed an "eye for an eye" to keep up, the derrick man and I were cleaning tools and putting the tool boxes in order. A couple of wasps were floatin around not bother me or anyone, and this damn fool starts waving a rag at them trying to shoo them off. Well he managed to hit one and slapped it onto my neck, where the wasp promptly stung me. It wasn't so much that it hurt like hell, or that it was swelling up that pissed me off. I didn't get an "Oh shit! I'm sorry!", but what I got was laughing and don't be a pussy. That just didn't set well with me. But I figured we had to work the rest of the day, and one sure way to get run off my old man's rig was to start a fight. Since I generally got the shitty end of the discipline stick from Pop, I also figured I'd be the one run off. So I waited. Come 1800 hrs, we were wrapping up for the day. I got a pair of needle nosed pliers, walked up behind the derrick man and latched onto a piece of skin on the back of his arm, near his armpit. I squeezed down as had as I could. He squealed like a stuck pig, but he was smart enough not to run while I still had a hold of him with the pliers. He was plenty upset, and looked like he might want to fight. Okay, fine. What he got from me was not laughter, but it was "don't be such a pussy". He didn't bat at any more wasps, bees, or hornets. I never got stung again.
I like Tequila, but only in mixed drinks any more. No more shots, no "sipping" tequila. A good Margarita with a Gran Marnier sidecar and I'm in hog heaven. There's a reason I won't do tequila shots. It doesn't agree with my temperament. I'm somewhat aggressive any way, and I generally don't like to throw anything on that fire unless it's absolutely necessary.
One night, hmmmmmm, Spring of 1980, I had 3 shots of some nasty assed tequila. I think it was 2 Fingers, but that's not important. I was no where near drunk. I still had all my faculties about me and was able to walk a straight line, shoot pool, all that fun stuff. What I wasn't able to do was keep my fucking cool. Mr Temper had jumped up and taken up residence on my shoulder. I had a biker buddy named Tiny, who was anything but. He was 6' 6" tall at least, 4 bills easy on weight, and I don't believe I've ever seen a leather jacket with that much leather. Three of my friends and I could have put it on and still had room left over. Anyway, Tiny and I had taken some short hop day rides, shot pool, grilled out, drank some beer. Him and his friend Gabby Hayes and I were pretty decent buds at the time. I walked into Sam's, Tiny says "Hey Rock, what's up?" I hit him in the mouth as hard as I could swing. That's like shooting a bear in the nuts with a sling shot. With about the same results. He grabbed me by the belt, bitch slapped the livin fuck out of me and took me outside. He threw me into the parking lot. I had sand marks on my hands, face and knees. He told me to stay down. I did not, I started to stand up, he stomped my back. I don't believe I've ever had a shoe or boot near my flesh that would reach from my belt line all the way up to my shoulder blades. He was really being kind, he could have stomped hard enough to break bones. All I got was some really wicked bruises, and gravel I had to dig out of my knees and hands. The next day, I went back. I knew full well that Tiny might just knock me so hard I'd have to blink to button my pants. That's not what happened though. He saw me, asked how I was doing and if I was hurt bad. No, just my pride and good sense. What brought that shit on? Oh, I drank tequila shots before I came out. I also said I'd never do that again. We all agreed that would be wise, the next guy might beat me to death.
So endeth the lesson
Be good, boys and girls. Watch where you step
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
January 22, 2013. A Day That Will Live In Infamy. At Least for My Family And Myself
Earlier I'd said I'd have something for today, that it would take me some time to get my mind it the middle. I've got it as close to the middle as it's going to get.
Today, on this Tuesday, which last year would have been the 22nd of January, Liz and I were herded back into pre-op at about 0530, give or take, and before I knew what was going on, I was out and on the real operating table.; Beginning the first trek t beating the cancer that had come back with such a vengeance just a couple of months before. I'd gotta the word from my ENT, taken a trip to Houston. Wrestled with getting set up at MD Anderson, because one of the Dr. in Midland told me to just go up. It took sometime to get a referral, which MD Anderson worked with my ENT, who was vacationing in the South Pacific. Diagnosis? Surgery, but it would be mid-January at the earliest. I got some chemo therapy (fortunately they sent the protocols to Midland) with the Chemo running from the first of December to the first of January 2013. It was harsh, extremely hard on my body, and in the end, all it did was keep my tumors and growth points to a minimum so I didn't choke to death before I could get it cut out. The Surgeon met with us briefly Monday. He says "We can get all of this now, it's showing some growth in places it hasn't before. Possibly on your left jaw. 'Into the bone?'. Yes, in the bone itself. There are spots, on your soft palate, and in a couple of lymph glands on the right side of your neck. Looks to be possibly four hours maybe six of surgery"
Turned out to be more like eleven or twelve. It got complicated when they got in. The sneaky shit had popped up and gotten into places that it hadn't shown up on the CT's or PET scans. Yeah, so I lost my left jaw, from just left of mid point clear to where it ties in to my skull, all of my soft palate, (no way to keep things out of my nose and sinus if I throw up), all of the base of my tongue, a few lymph nodes on the right side of my neck, and one nasty tumor that wrapped itself around my left carotid artery. Part of my right quadricep had been given up to form a muscle flap that replaced my jaw, and to give some form to my face. It would take several surgeries to make it more like a platform for my mouth when the time came to get dentures.
So, that was what happened. It was the beginning of the trip toward Terminal Velocity. We didn't know that at the time. All of us were very optimistic at the time. I'd done well in surgery. I remember waking up in my room with people holding my arms down so I didn't try to yank out the feeding line that was in my nose, the IV's, and anything else that had attached itself to my person. I didn't use the pain killer much, because honestly it just wasn't that painful. I was swollen like a tick, but that was more troublesome than painful. I had to get up and move, they wanted me to walk (which at first was very painful), and to sit up in the chair that was next to my bed. Which I did. Liz was with me every minute she could be. She left to eat, she left to walk, she didn't leave very often. MD Anderson allows one family member to stay with you in your room. My older kids had come and visited after surgery, and then they had to go and resume their lives. My youngest kids had stayed home. One was still in school and needed to be there, and I'm very proud of my youngest daughter who stepped up and took care of her younger brother for us. I'm not certain what we would have done without her. So we scoot along.
Third or fourth day the came in and yanked my trach. I discovered I could breathe again without it. That was sweet. Only, I was beginning to think there was something not right with the muscle in my mouth. They kept getting a pulse on the machine, I could hear it myself. But, every day it got worse. I got a fistula from inside my mouth to one of the stitches in my chin. They packed it with gauze. It was huge. The next day, my surgeon comes in to cut me loose from the hospital. I told him something was wrong with my flap. Upon closer examination, and after pulling the packing from the fistula out, (the smell of death and infection was incredible) determined that I needed the flap removed. In fact, he called the reconstructive surgeon who was there pretty quickly. The flap had died, and was causing a wonderful bacterial infection. Surgery followed nearly immediately, next day, in fact. I got 3 or 4 different kinds of IV antibiotics, and headed to ICU right after the surgery to remove the dead quad muscle and replace it with my left pectoral muscle. It's still there. It doesn't have to rely on a new blood supply to live, it has one of it's own built in. The, within a week, I went in for a wash out surgery to clean the up the rest of the infection. Everything was totally different this time. I could barely breathe without the tracy, I couldn't swallow at all, and my face was incredibly swollen. It was also on this little soiree that I died on the table. Coded out. Croaked. They brought me back. Seems a different muscle relaxant caused me to stop a bit of everything, breathing, heart beat, all of it. Didn't last long, but it must a been a good un. I woke 50 kinds of sore, apparently this time I fought them all from end to end. Back into ICU. Then, magically, home for a week, then back for a check up. It went well enough. From the time that I went to Houston the week before to tackle all the pre-op check ups, until we were home for a spell was 30 days even. I got there the 13th of January, home to Midland February 12, 2013. There were another five or six trips back to Houston. Maybe more, I lost track. Reconstructive surgery was set for July, as I'd gotten an all clear from the PET scan in May. Turns out the cancer came back between the end of May and the 7th of July when it was found.
As the surgeon told me at our first meeting in November of 2013, if this surgery doesn't get it, or if it comes back, there's nothing more we can do for you. Funny, it turned out that way. Had it not, look at all I would have missed.
(1) I'd missed not being able to swallow
(2) I'd missed being in pain a lot of the time, even with pain patches and morphine
(3) I'd missed getting weaker
(4) I'd missed getting this blog started
(5) I'd missed hitting Terminal Velocity
(6) I'd missed having my daughter and grandson living with us
(7) I'd missed seeing my son play and march at a game. And begin to become a man
(8) I'd missed having my son marry a wonderful woman
(9) I'd missed the times I've had with Liz, good and bad over the last year plus
I'd missed all that because I'd been dead. The only way to see all of that would be to be to do things exactly as they happened. The next time someone looks at you when times are incredibly tough, when you're beaten completely into the ground, but you keep getting up, and they find you can't be taken down or kept down, and someone foolishly asks "would you do it all the same way if you could do it all over again"
There's only one real answer: You fuckin A, dumb ass, I would. Is there really any other way?
Because they only see what matters to them. They never, ever see what you can see. Only for themselves. They miss the journey you're taking. Could be that they are missing all in life they could possibly have.
Hugs, it's been a long day.
Today, on this Tuesday, which last year would have been the 22nd of January, Liz and I were herded back into pre-op at about 0530, give or take, and before I knew what was going on, I was out and on the real operating table.; Beginning the first trek t beating the cancer that had come back with such a vengeance just a couple of months before. I'd gotta the word from my ENT, taken a trip to Houston. Wrestled with getting set up at MD Anderson, because one of the Dr. in Midland told me to just go up. It took sometime to get a referral, which MD Anderson worked with my ENT, who was vacationing in the South Pacific. Diagnosis? Surgery, but it would be mid-January at the earliest. I got some chemo therapy (fortunately they sent the protocols to Midland) with the Chemo running from the first of December to the first of January 2013. It was harsh, extremely hard on my body, and in the end, all it did was keep my tumors and growth points to a minimum so I didn't choke to death before I could get it cut out. The Surgeon met with us briefly Monday. He says "We can get all of this now, it's showing some growth in places it hasn't before. Possibly on your left jaw. 'Into the bone?'. Yes, in the bone itself. There are spots, on your soft palate, and in a couple of lymph glands on the right side of your neck. Looks to be possibly four hours maybe six of surgery"
Turned out to be more like eleven or twelve. It got complicated when they got in. The sneaky shit had popped up and gotten into places that it hadn't shown up on the CT's or PET scans. Yeah, so I lost my left jaw, from just left of mid point clear to where it ties in to my skull, all of my soft palate, (no way to keep things out of my nose and sinus if I throw up), all of the base of my tongue, a few lymph nodes on the right side of my neck, and one nasty tumor that wrapped itself around my left carotid artery. Part of my right quadricep had been given up to form a muscle flap that replaced my jaw, and to give some form to my face. It would take several surgeries to make it more like a platform for my mouth when the time came to get dentures.
So, that was what happened. It was the beginning of the trip toward Terminal Velocity. We didn't know that at the time. All of us were very optimistic at the time. I'd done well in surgery. I remember waking up in my room with people holding my arms down so I didn't try to yank out the feeding line that was in my nose, the IV's, and anything else that had attached itself to my person. I didn't use the pain killer much, because honestly it just wasn't that painful. I was swollen like a tick, but that was more troublesome than painful. I had to get up and move, they wanted me to walk (which at first was very painful), and to sit up in the chair that was next to my bed. Which I did. Liz was with me every minute she could be. She left to eat, she left to walk, she didn't leave very often. MD Anderson allows one family member to stay with you in your room. My older kids had come and visited after surgery, and then they had to go and resume their lives. My youngest kids had stayed home. One was still in school and needed to be there, and I'm very proud of my youngest daughter who stepped up and took care of her younger brother for us. I'm not certain what we would have done without her. So we scoot along.
Third or fourth day the came in and yanked my trach. I discovered I could breathe again without it. That was sweet. Only, I was beginning to think there was something not right with the muscle in my mouth. They kept getting a pulse on the machine, I could hear it myself. But, every day it got worse. I got a fistula from inside my mouth to one of the stitches in my chin. They packed it with gauze. It was huge. The next day, my surgeon comes in to cut me loose from the hospital. I told him something was wrong with my flap. Upon closer examination, and after pulling the packing from the fistula out, (the smell of death and infection was incredible) determined that I needed the flap removed. In fact, he called the reconstructive surgeon who was there pretty quickly. The flap had died, and was causing a wonderful bacterial infection. Surgery followed nearly immediately, next day, in fact. I got 3 or 4 different kinds of IV antibiotics, and headed to ICU right after the surgery to remove the dead quad muscle and replace it with my left pectoral muscle. It's still there. It doesn't have to rely on a new blood supply to live, it has one of it's own built in. The, within a week, I went in for a wash out surgery to clean the up the rest of the infection. Everything was totally different this time. I could barely breathe without the tracy, I couldn't swallow at all, and my face was incredibly swollen. It was also on this little soiree that I died on the table. Coded out. Croaked. They brought me back. Seems a different muscle relaxant caused me to stop a bit of everything, breathing, heart beat, all of it. Didn't last long, but it must a been a good un. I woke 50 kinds of sore, apparently this time I fought them all from end to end. Back into ICU. Then, magically, home for a week, then back for a check up. It went well enough. From the time that I went to Houston the week before to tackle all the pre-op check ups, until we were home for a spell was 30 days even. I got there the 13th of January, home to Midland February 12, 2013. There were another five or six trips back to Houston. Maybe more, I lost track. Reconstructive surgery was set for July, as I'd gotten an all clear from the PET scan in May. Turns out the cancer came back between the end of May and the 7th of July when it was found.
As the surgeon told me at our first meeting in November of 2013, if this surgery doesn't get it, or if it comes back, there's nothing more we can do for you. Funny, it turned out that way. Had it not, look at all I would have missed.
(1) I'd missed not being able to swallow
(2) I'd missed being in pain a lot of the time, even with pain patches and morphine
(3) I'd missed getting weaker
(4) I'd missed getting this blog started
(5) I'd missed hitting Terminal Velocity
(6) I'd missed having my daughter and grandson living with us
(7) I'd missed seeing my son play and march at a game. And begin to become a man
(8) I'd missed having my son marry a wonderful woman
(9) I'd missed the times I've had with Liz, good and bad over the last year plus
I'd missed all that because I'd been dead. The only way to see all of that would be to be to do things exactly as they happened. The next time someone looks at you when times are incredibly tough, when you're beaten completely into the ground, but you keep getting up, and they find you can't be taken down or kept down, and someone foolishly asks "would you do it all the same way if you could do it all over again"
There's only one real answer: You fuckin A, dumb ass, I would. Is there really any other way?
Because they only see what matters to them. They never, ever see what you can see. Only for themselves. They miss the journey you're taking. Could be that they are missing all in life they could possibly have.
Hugs, it's been a long day.
Monday, January 20, 2014
Sunday, Why Does My Jaw Want To Make Me Cry?
Mental note to self: Never try to write the blog when you are stoned on Morphine. I not only couldn't make hide nor hair of what I'd typed. I couldn't remember typing it. Wow.
After the big surprise wedding, you know, the one that made my eyes leak, I slept all night (somewhat fitfully, jaw pain), and woke up around 0545. Too late to go get coffee with the boys, so I medicated, fed myself, and had settled in to write the blog and pump a coke down my PEG line, just because I can. I was waiting on Mr and Mrs Chance Smith. Newly created couple, forged in the drought stricken Redneck Paradise, now only a shadow of it's former self. The newlyweds, though, turned the entire day into a beautiful place to be. I'm still awed just a little, to have Stephanie ask me to give her away. Once again, I believe it was to see if they could catch Pop with tears. Not then, but I wiped some away when I turned around. I kept going over the entire day over and over, just to relive the surprise. It was the best kind of surprise. I believe it even made The Lovely cry just a little. Actually, Chance got me right off the bat. Gave me a hug and whispered "We talked about it, and there was no way we would get married unless you could be there with us.". Yep, that got the Old Man for sure and for certain. It was a wonderful day all the way around. And even though I was hurting pretty badly, it wasn't badly enough that I couldn't enjoy all the time I had with my kids, all five of you. Now, if Stephanie and Chance have half the fun Liz and I have had, even counting the not so good times, you're going to have an absolute riot.
Sunday was a struggle for me all day long. I had hell controlling the bone pain in my jaw. And this morning is shaping up the same way. That lovely thump, thump, thump, along with the constant drone of pain that runs straight up my jaw to the point at which it hooks onto my skull. It was left over from Saturday. Only Sunday was a bit more edgy. I just thought it was a pain yesterday. Monday's pain is trying to top Sunday, only because my body is more competitive. It's not going to let Sunday be an easier day for me than Monday. I'll show em by gosh, and Monday will go down (at least for today) as one of the worst pain days I've had. Back to Sunday.
Pain wise it was a rough day, but no more rough than I'm having at the moment. I'm still trying to catch up with the pain. I jacked around and let it go more on than off on Saturday, so I could be awake for all the fun. I didn't seem to notice as much on Saturday while I was bewitched by the secretive wedding plans. But when I tried to lie back and sleep, Man, that was another story. Sunday I stayed more awake and tried to get even one step up on the pain management today. I made an error and went to therapy, but that's not until tomorrow morning. Surprise Rock….dang it. The pain thing isn't new, but it's persistence certainly is new.. I'll get it's ass whipped yet. Just as soon as I find the right combination of rest, drugs, and more rest. Other than the bone in my jaw hurting more often and longer periods of time. Listening to everyone cough around here, I feel like I'm in the middle of a chapter in "Camille". I finished the Tamaflu "preventative" dosage. I didn't get the flu, so it must have done it's job. If I get the flu, at this late date, I'm calling "Bull Shit" on the one that Tamaflu "preventative" dose.
Later Sunday night, and the day seemed to be terribly long didn't it? Later that night I had a minor coughing spell, and not wanting it to turn into a full blown coughing fit to the point of vomiting, I voted to stay awake. The nice thing about being the only person in my little Republic, I have 100% of the vote regardless of what I'm doing. I am my own benevolent dictator. At least until Liz comes home, that is.
Okay, going by the day of the week, today is the final day before surgery. Liz and I got up, went and got Kolaches, had some coffee and a bit of a quiet time. Those are always nice for a married couple to have, right before one of them goes under the knife. And mine was knife and robotics with a knife to boot. I'm not bat shit worried, but I'm getting a little anxious, as I'm certain Liz is as well. Sarah, Chance, and Bo show up later that afternoon. All I have is one night left in the hotel, that will leave Liz one more night, on Tuesday night. The cool thing with MD Anderson, they'll let the spouse stay with the patient in the hospital room. That's pretty cool. So, it's my last night to eat what I want, because tomorrow begins the tube. I had Oysters on the half shell (I shared those with Chance), crawfish étouffée, a large bowl of gumbo, and a small order of red beans and rice. That's enough starch at one sitting to iron and press all the shirts in Apache's Houston office. We stopped to get some ice, soda pop and smokes. I couldn't have anything after midnight, so I burnt down an entire pack of smokes, four liters of Diet Mountain Dew, and laid on the bed to sleep. Sleep I did. The alarm came too damn early, but I showered. Liz and I got ready for the big day. Tomorrow is the end of one ride, and the beginning of another.
So, I have been told by a few people that knew me and my family when I was a little kid, that I was "busy". "Busy" hell. I was out to do as many fun things as I was able. I played on the monkey bars at school, trying to get a complete circle on them, (kind of like an 'around the world with a swing set) I'd get close, but no cigar. It occurred to me if I could generate enough speed, I might be able to make it all the way around. Besides there was a cute little girl in third grade that I wanted to show off for. Really, she was cute. So, there were three levels that a person could launch themselves at aiming for the bigger pipe that was the hand over hand place. (there was another with cross bars, we used the round one for playing chicken) I planned my solo flight for the afternoon recess, to be finished after my test launches from the variable height bars. The lowest didn't give enough speed since I had to jump almost as much up as out. The middle one was much better, only a little effort in jumping up and a lot more speed going out toward the big bar. Last but not least what the highest bar from the ground that you could jump and grab the big bar. If you jumped too hard though, you'd fly right over the bigger bar and face plant (i don't believe it was face plant in '69) into the ground. Which to a second grade kid seemed like it was between 10' or 1000'. Either way it looked like sudden weather if you messed up.
Lunch and recess. Time drags eeeeevvvvveeeeerrrrr soooo sllllooooowwwwllllyyyy when you want to do something! Finally!! Afternoon recess! I went over to the monkey bars, because that's where to cute girl played. She and the other 2 or 3, maybe 4 girls played. I fiddled around a little, hand over hand on the easy to reach bars. One time up onto the big bar and did a Special Forces crossing on that bar (who knows if it was or not, I got the Special Forces off of a GI Joe box. In two years he had life like feeling hair, which after a couple of months, we tested a fire bomb to see if his hair survived…neither the hair nor GI Joe survived). I set myself up just like always, middle bar, double check, cute chick is watching, time to do you're thing. JUMP! It's gonna work! I have…….one hand on the bar…I missed the bar with the other. Okay, some cool shit went on with only one hand on the bar. I had the momentum, I was damn near horizontal when my hand slipped off. But, since I only had ONE hand on the bar, when it came loose I twisted. The ground came up way too fast, and I stuck my right arm out to catch my fall. It caught it perfectly!! And then folded once just behind my wrist a couple of inches, the other time at my elbow. The pain was stunningly fast and harsh. I didn't even have time to cry. I don't remember who carried me back into the school room. I know someone had called my mom, because it wasn't too long and she was there. From my elbow going to my wrist my arm would hang at a funny angle. My wrist was straight, but my hand was closed. Weird. Off we go in Ma and Pa's big assed Buick Electra, snagged Dad at the well he had his rig on doing a work over, and hot footed it for the doctors office. Same guy that set the first one. This time I got to spend the night in the hospital. Also the first time I was ever in a surgical suite. Cool.
I got to come home the next day. I don't know what they gave me for pain. Probably Baby Aspirin, hell, I don't know. My sister and a couple of her friends came by the house with her. They sorta made a big to do over the poor little boy in the cast. They brought me a cheeseburger and fries from Betty's Place. Kathy made them leave and they all went off on their merry way. It was spring. I missed three weeks or so of school. I was also not to play on the monkey bars anymore. Cast or no cast. This was number two on the broken bone parade, both while playing on the monkey bars. The cute girl was not impressed, alas. On the other hand, all the guys in second grade thought that was the coolest shit they'd ever seen. I'd love to have film of that.
Quick side note. Back in the day, that little school offered health insurance for children for very little and only a $2 per year. I don't know what the deductible was, but it was cheap, and I believe it covered everything in the hospital. Mom took that out on me every year.
There it is, The Great Second Grade Monkey Bar Caper. Starring Your's Truly. Also Starring Michele Schrandt as The Cute Girl (took me the entire blog to remember her name)
Have fun, give each other a big fat hug, and relax
After the big surprise wedding, you know, the one that made my eyes leak, I slept all night (somewhat fitfully, jaw pain), and woke up around 0545. Too late to go get coffee with the boys, so I medicated, fed myself, and had settled in to write the blog and pump a coke down my PEG line, just because I can. I was waiting on Mr and Mrs Chance Smith. Newly created couple, forged in the drought stricken Redneck Paradise, now only a shadow of it's former self. The newlyweds, though, turned the entire day into a beautiful place to be. I'm still awed just a little, to have Stephanie ask me to give her away. Once again, I believe it was to see if they could catch Pop with tears. Not then, but I wiped some away when I turned around. I kept going over the entire day over and over, just to relive the surprise. It was the best kind of surprise. I believe it even made The Lovely cry just a little. Actually, Chance got me right off the bat. Gave me a hug and whispered "We talked about it, and there was no way we would get married unless you could be there with us.". Yep, that got the Old Man for sure and for certain. It was a wonderful day all the way around. And even though I was hurting pretty badly, it wasn't badly enough that I couldn't enjoy all the time I had with my kids, all five of you. Now, if Stephanie and Chance have half the fun Liz and I have had, even counting the not so good times, you're going to have an absolute riot.
Sunday was a struggle for me all day long. I had hell controlling the bone pain in my jaw. And this morning is shaping up the same way. That lovely thump, thump, thump, along with the constant drone of pain that runs straight up my jaw to the point at which it hooks onto my skull. It was left over from Saturday. Only Sunday was a bit more edgy. I just thought it was a pain yesterday. Monday's pain is trying to top Sunday, only because my body is more competitive. It's not going to let Sunday be an easier day for me than Monday. I'll show em by gosh, and Monday will go down (at least for today) as one of the worst pain days I've had. Back to Sunday.
Pain wise it was a rough day, but no more rough than I'm having at the moment. I'm still trying to catch up with the pain. I jacked around and let it go more on than off on Saturday, so I could be awake for all the fun. I didn't seem to notice as much on Saturday while I was bewitched by the secretive wedding plans. But when I tried to lie back and sleep, Man, that was another story. Sunday I stayed more awake and tried to get even one step up on the pain management today. I made an error and went to therapy, but that's not until tomorrow morning. Surprise Rock….dang it. The pain thing isn't new, but it's persistence certainly is new.. I'll get it's ass whipped yet. Just as soon as I find the right combination of rest, drugs, and more rest. Other than the bone in my jaw hurting more often and longer periods of time. Listening to everyone cough around here, I feel like I'm in the middle of a chapter in "Camille". I finished the Tamaflu "preventative" dosage. I didn't get the flu, so it must have done it's job. If I get the flu, at this late date, I'm calling "Bull Shit" on the one that Tamaflu "preventative" dose.
Later Sunday night, and the day seemed to be terribly long didn't it? Later that night I had a minor coughing spell, and not wanting it to turn into a full blown coughing fit to the point of vomiting, I voted to stay awake. The nice thing about being the only person in my little Republic, I have 100% of the vote regardless of what I'm doing. I am my own benevolent dictator. At least until Liz comes home, that is.
Okay, going by the day of the week, today is the final day before surgery. Liz and I got up, went and got Kolaches, had some coffee and a bit of a quiet time. Those are always nice for a married couple to have, right before one of them goes under the knife. And mine was knife and robotics with a knife to boot. I'm not bat shit worried, but I'm getting a little anxious, as I'm certain Liz is as well. Sarah, Chance, and Bo show up later that afternoon. All I have is one night left in the hotel, that will leave Liz one more night, on Tuesday night. The cool thing with MD Anderson, they'll let the spouse stay with the patient in the hospital room. That's pretty cool. So, it's my last night to eat what I want, because tomorrow begins the tube. I had Oysters on the half shell (I shared those with Chance), crawfish étouffée, a large bowl of gumbo, and a small order of red beans and rice. That's enough starch at one sitting to iron and press all the shirts in Apache's Houston office. We stopped to get some ice, soda pop and smokes. I couldn't have anything after midnight, so I burnt down an entire pack of smokes, four liters of Diet Mountain Dew, and laid on the bed to sleep. Sleep I did. The alarm came too damn early, but I showered. Liz and I got ready for the big day. Tomorrow is the end of one ride, and the beginning of another.
So, I have been told by a few people that knew me and my family when I was a little kid, that I was "busy". "Busy" hell. I was out to do as many fun things as I was able. I played on the monkey bars at school, trying to get a complete circle on them, (kind of like an 'around the world with a swing set) I'd get close, but no cigar. It occurred to me if I could generate enough speed, I might be able to make it all the way around. Besides there was a cute little girl in third grade that I wanted to show off for. Really, she was cute. So, there were three levels that a person could launch themselves at aiming for the bigger pipe that was the hand over hand place. (there was another with cross bars, we used the round one for playing chicken) I planned my solo flight for the afternoon recess, to be finished after my test launches from the variable height bars. The lowest didn't give enough speed since I had to jump almost as much up as out. The middle one was much better, only a little effort in jumping up and a lot more speed going out toward the big bar. Last but not least what the highest bar from the ground that you could jump and grab the big bar. If you jumped too hard though, you'd fly right over the bigger bar and face plant (i don't believe it was face plant in '69) into the ground. Which to a second grade kid seemed like it was between 10' or 1000'. Either way it looked like sudden weather if you messed up.
Lunch and recess. Time drags eeeeevvvvveeeeerrrrr soooo sllllooooowwwwllllyyyy when you want to do something! Finally!! Afternoon recess! I went over to the monkey bars, because that's where to cute girl played. She and the other 2 or 3, maybe 4 girls played. I fiddled around a little, hand over hand on the easy to reach bars. One time up onto the big bar and did a Special Forces crossing on that bar (who knows if it was or not, I got the Special Forces off of a GI Joe box. In two years he had life like feeling hair, which after a couple of months, we tested a fire bomb to see if his hair survived…neither the hair nor GI Joe survived). I set myself up just like always, middle bar, double check, cute chick is watching, time to do you're thing. JUMP! It's gonna work! I have…….one hand on the bar…I missed the bar with the other. Okay, some cool shit went on with only one hand on the bar. I had the momentum, I was damn near horizontal when my hand slipped off. But, since I only had ONE hand on the bar, when it came loose I twisted. The ground came up way too fast, and I stuck my right arm out to catch my fall. It caught it perfectly!! And then folded once just behind my wrist a couple of inches, the other time at my elbow. The pain was stunningly fast and harsh. I didn't even have time to cry. I don't remember who carried me back into the school room. I know someone had called my mom, because it wasn't too long and she was there. From my elbow going to my wrist my arm would hang at a funny angle. My wrist was straight, but my hand was closed. Weird. Off we go in Ma and Pa's big assed Buick Electra, snagged Dad at the well he had his rig on doing a work over, and hot footed it for the doctors office. Same guy that set the first one. This time I got to spend the night in the hospital. Also the first time I was ever in a surgical suite. Cool.
I got to come home the next day. I don't know what they gave me for pain. Probably Baby Aspirin, hell, I don't know. My sister and a couple of her friends came by the house with her. They sorta made a big to do over the poor little boy in the cast. They brought me a cheeseburger and fries from Betty's Place. Kathy made them leave and they all went off on their merry way. It was spring. I missed three weeks or so of school. I was also not to play on the monkey bars anymore. Cast or no cast. This was number two on the broken bone parade, both while playing on the monkey bars. The cute girl was not impressed, alas. On the other hand, all the guys in second grade thought that was the coolest shit they'd ever seen. I'd love to have film of that.
Quick side note. Back in the day, that little school offered health insurance for children for very little and only a $2 per year. I don't know what the deductible was, but it was cheap, and I believe it covered everything in the hospital. Mom took that out on me every year.
There it is, The Great Second Grade Monkey Bar Caper. Starring Your's Truly. Also Starring Michele Schrandt as The Cute Girl (took me the entire blog to remember her name)
Have fun, give each other a big fat hug, and relax
Sunday, January 19, 2014
Very Cool, Very Cool Indeed!!!
Friday night. Oh my God how I'd like a "do over" for Friday night. It all seemed like it was going just swimmingly, then it hit. I was trying to clear my tube, Then I couldn't draw in a breath from either my nose/mouth, or my trach either one. I rushed to the bathroom, and along the way I shut the damn door. Muscle memory. Over the last seven or so months, I've trained myself to head for the bathroom so as not to throw up or to keep from shooting a mucus/blood plug, out of the tube, so I can go hang out and watch everyone else dabble in the water. I cough enough to clear everything, usually. Friday night was one of the nights I couldn't get anything to clear up, shy of vomiting. That, much to my chagrin, happened. I feel my only saving grace was the fact that I was able to get to the bathroom in time. I had so much crap in my throat, and it was too far back to suction without making me gag, which also will make me vomit. It's a terrible, vicious circle that does that to a kindly fella such as my self. Liz can vouch for that as I grow increasingly close to Terminal Velocity. Once I hit that, it won't be long before I'm at Critical Mass. I'll be Albert is spinning like a Whirling Dervish in their home town. While Liz and I sweat out the matters of getting to Critical Mass, it has gotten stronger. Which is how this entire perverted bastard has worked. Another two months of having to dig around the road blocks Baxter has added to his bag of goodies. Okay, this was the bad shit that sets up the really, incredibly stunning, things that happened on Saturday. As far as personal impact goes, the Family knocked Baxter's dick in the dirt for more than just a day.
I'd planned on making a redneck twist on Eggs Benedict. Big assed Buttermilk biscuits, sausage patties, poached eggs (which I still fuck up and can't make a nice poached egg in a pan), and a nice Hollandaise Sauce using Lime juice and a bit of Jalapeño juice add some kick. Sadly, I was so sick the night before that I still had the shakes and honest to God there wasn't a muscle in my body that didn't hurt so bad that I didn't need the morphine. I'm sitting in my recliner, trying to get my shit together so I can make a brunch, instead of breakfast that I slept through. Tired, very sore muscle wise, and near mentally worn out, knowing that if I just get up and start feeding and getting on with my day two things may happen. One, I may have a heart attack. Two, I'll have a stroke. BP and Pulse rate were still high, according to the machine at Albertson's. It has a warning, even, so that people with larger than 18" biceps be allowed to use it at all. Liz says she has to go get propane for the grill since she is grilling pork spare ribs for a mid afternoon supper. Snacks if you get hungry later in the evening. Sounded good to me. It was turning out to be a beautiful morning, and I'd not minded at all if Liz and I sat in the backyard and enjoyed the warm day. It's January for shit sake, it's not supposed to be nearly 70. Or at least it felt that way.
I'm waiting for her to get home, when my oldest son Chance comes walking in with a propane bottle in each hand. I think to myself "whaaaaaaaat?". Looked at Liz and said (on paper) Why is Chance here? "I don't know why he's here. I just pulled in and he walked up and said 'Let me carry those'. How would I know?". I was so surprised I nearly boo hooed. My eyeballs got all watery and shit, but that was just the prelude to what came next.
Chance came up and sat next to me on the couch, took my hand in his, leaned in and said "You know Stephanie and I are engaged. We talked about it, setting a date in September. That was so far away, and there was no way we were getting married without you, so we are having a small ceremony here, so you can see us get married." I was so shocked, I really had trouble taking a breath. Once again, my family has found a way to just knock me flat with kindness. I didn't know what to say, and I was afraid if I did, the water works would have started and I'm not certain I could have stopped them. In order to maintain my own cool.
I spent a lot of time in the garage wiping the wet spots off my cheeks, and mopping up my we eyes, they seemed to leak a lot. It seems that my loving wife, oldest son, in fact the entire famn damily knew but me. I didn't think they could keep a secret, let alone one of that magnitude. Good gravy. I asked Liz just this morning if she wasn't a little nervous on Friday evening that I'd be well enough for the wedding. She said, "Yes, then Saturday morning you were making plans for lunch and everything, I was nervous then, too." I called everyone bad names, but only in jest. The kicker, to me, is that I'd been fine with any date they picked. I may not have been there physically, but I'd be there in spirit. I text my friend John Moye, he'd asked "Hey Amigo, what's up?". I responded not too much, getting ready for a wedding. The rat, he sent, "Really?, When?". He was almost here, he and his main squeeze drove in from El Paso.
Now I am a bit overwhelmed. The loving wife's eyes kept getting damp and runny. I was choked up so tight I didn't know if I was afoot or horseback. I couldn't sit in one place very long because I was so overwhelmed emotionally that I didn't want to be the old dude who cries at the drop of a hat. I excuse myself for a bit, and head out the front door. (skipped the part where I put the kilt and my Jacobite shirt on). So, what do I see? My future Daughter In Law talking to Liz and a couple of our friends. I thought this would be a safe haven for a minute. WRONG!!!!! The minute Stephanie saw me her water works started, that almost made mine start, and they would have if she hadn't held out her arms for a hug. She really sobbed, and hung onto me pretty tightly. Apparently she thought this was a good thing too. It was very tough for me to keep it all wound up in one place, so I'd go to the garage, look at Fat Girl run a little water, then go back to the guests. All of it's getting pretty cool, I sat outside thinking how great it was to have so many friends, and the greatest family on the planet. It's because they alter their plans, their lives, and in a lot of cases, their own peace of mind. My buddy Bill Nall and his wife Angie had set up an account for Liz to replace the motor in the Dodge pick up. They and their son Brandon came to the wedding. We've know each other a long time. Since Brandon was in kindergarten. Bill and I shared a lot a really good times, and more than a few not so good at work. He's truly one of the good guys. Well, shit, I'm surrounded by The Good Guys and that makes me the wealthiest man I know.
Off into the back yard we go, all ready for the wedding. Liz had contacted my Hospice nurse a couple of weeks ago and got the Hospice Chaplain to officiate. He's a nice man with a good heart, one of the few that lives what he believes. A rarity in today's ME first attitude. I like him as well. So, I go stand next to my wife and hold her hand. (that's a little something I need to do more of) Then, as Stephanie and Chance step up, the Chaplain asks Steph who is giving her away. I couldn't hear, then the Chaplain looks right at me and asks me to come up. "Take Stephanie's hand. Charles, do you and Elizabeth give this woman away in Holy Matrimony?'. I'm slow, I didn't realize that I had been given such a precious honor. They are bound and determined to make the old man cry in public. Fooled them, by God. I'd had a bit of an acid burn in my throat from Friday nights fun and games of throwing up. I took a couple of deep breaths, so I was sure I had enough to make some volume. "We do", I squeaked. OMG did that little phrase hurt!!! But I was so happy and heart filled that I didn't care. I paid that piper with a little bleeding later on. It was a little thing, compared to how happy and surprised I was from 1000hrs, until 2130hrs that evening. I'm still pretty stoked from all of the goings on yesterday. I hope this feeling holds in for another week or so. It's kind of hard to beat when your oldest son takes your hand and whispers "Stephanie and I thought about it, and we couldn't stand that you might not be at the wedding, we decided to do it here." I still can't come up with an answer other than "sniff, sniff, thank you". What a very cool, very cool indeed, day that was. For as long as I've got left, this is going to top my list of things where I got to be a part of the festivities.
(BTW, Liz spare ribs where out of the park home run chow, along with the stuff other people brought along, damn good eats for me to live vicariously)
This Sunday, at this time, I'd been in Houston a week, and Liz showed up for some "Mom and Dad" time. No nerves yet, but we did go to Joe's Crab Shack and dropped $95 on food, drinks, dessert, and drinks. We laughed, cried, (mostly laughed) and we're getting ready for surgery in two days.
Bill and Angie Nall have family in Mississippi, near Hattiesburg (Bill went to college there) in Pearl as well as a town south of there "Poplar". Bill wanted to borrow my truck, put in separate fuel tanks, MRE's, snack food, lots of water, chain saws, and a generator to go try and dig his and Angie's relatives out. Five days after, when the Governor of Louisiana still wouldn't let FEMA in because it was unsafe, Bill was going to Mississippi to help his family. Not alone he wasn't. Loaning the him the truck, that would be no big deal, I was glad to do that. I caught Bill and our head honcho around the old welding shop of Anadarko's at Notrees Tx. I told him that I'd take two weeks vacation so I could go help Bill. Well, actually I only had one week of vacation left, but over the last couple of months I'd saved up to comp out a bit at a go. I got some peace and quiet that way, and it saved our field by not having overtime expense. The Honcho told us that he'd take care of the time sheets and to get loaded up and go.
Off we went, loaded up with stuff that was stacked up even with the roof of my truck. Poor Baby was so heavy, she was setting on the rear overloads. We burned up some road, buddy. Got to Pearl. (heavily armed, I might add) Went straight to Angie's sister's home. They were getting water and food, the Governor of Mississippi had the National Guard out immediately after Katrina blew through. (one fatality. A National Guard soldier was killed when a tree fell and wiped out his Humvee). Things in Pearl looked pretty good. There was a Burger King open selling sausage biscuits, Nectar of the Guards I'm pretty sure, since a hot burger was becoming a thing of the past. We spent the night in Pearl. Deathly quiet. No bugs, no mosquitoes, no birds. I pile down in the back of the truck on top of some water and MRE packs. Did anyone out there ever get that feeling that somethings watching you REALLY closely? I got that. I slowly sat up on the tailgate of the truck. Look down the drive to the street. Man, no moon, no light pollution, makes it so dark, you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. I got all spooky because as dark as it was, there was something darker standing in front of the driveway. I do know it wasn't a person, but it was certainly something. I got up, walked about 10 steps, and decided whatever that was, I was going to leave it alone.
The next day, we headed over to Bill's uncle's home in Poplar. They had a lot of limbs down, fortunately none of the trees had fallen and the had minimal damage to any of their buildings. We set off to working on the drive, and got it cleared up in pretty short order. Limbs down in the front yard, though, and that was proving to be a pretty big task.While working away, Bill and Angie were helping his Aunt do something, a cop came by. Drove off, came back, drove off, came back, like some kind of damned yo yo. He finally called me over to his truck, asked where I was from, and if I had a work permit. Texas and no I don't have a permit. I'm helping a friend of mine get his Uncle's yard and drive way. He asked how much I was charging. Nothing, what part of helping a friend did not come out clearly? (yes, I was tired, hot and my blood sugar was getting low). That seemed to upset him a bit. I really didn't want to spend the night in the crossbar hotel, or have a knot on my head from a billy club. Fortunately Bill's Uncle came to my rescue. The policeman asked if Bill's Uncle knew who we were.(ya know, chemo brain tells me Angie was with me, dammit, I hate when I leave shit out or get wrong) Yes, this is my niece and a friend of hers, they are cleaning up this damage. You know they can't charge you without a permit, the cop asked. Bill's Uncle replied (picture, if you will, what a Southern Gentleman sounds like when he speaks, and you've got Bill's Uncle to a tee) Of course I know, that sir, I wrote the ordinance for the city. They are not charging me anything, and I believe this young man has already told you they weren't charging. Isn't there someplace you have more pressing duties to attend?
Fuckin A sweet. Bill's Uncle is one smooth dude. He told the cop to go to hell, but made it sound like he should be happy to go! Gotta love that. A bit later I was setting on the porch steps taking a break, havin a smoke and a bottle of water. Bill's Uncle was there as well, (burns my ass I can't recall his name) "You know, sir, what sounds really good to me right now?", I asked. No sir, what sounds good? he said. "An ice cold beer, in a frozen mug, so cold it makes ice on the mug, and sticks it to your hand". He tapped his cane a couple of times on the step "You're absolutely right, that does sound very good, doesn't it?" Yeah, it did. I wish I'd had time to have a cold one with him. He was one very cool fellow.
We went over to Bill's cousin's home to help clean up there as well. He had a yard full of very tall pine trees, and nearly that many in his back yard. He had three boys he got custody of when he divorced. They were doing a damn good job of helping dad, but everyone was running shy of clean clothes. Power hadn't made it back to his part of town just yet. Bill and his Cousin set up the generator to run a washer and dryer. Angie caught up the clothes while the rest of us got the back yard safely cleaned up. The front yard, while it had more room was a jumble of limbs all it's own. If you looked up, some of the pines had been chopped off about 15' from the tops, and others had no damage. That was damn weird but we didn't have time to stop. We worked some long days in hot, humid weather. While Mississippi it's humidity is enough to melt me into a tiny puddle of water. We got his Cousin all cleared up. A couple of cool stories from that time. Our last day there, while we were piling wood into the burn pile, a helicopter came hauling in over the tree line. Outside of our Line of Sight, but shortly back into view, turned travelled a short distance, then did a touch and go. It was Air Force 2. President Bush was going to give a speech at Poplar's High School on the day we planned to leave. And that, girls and boys, is the difference in leadership between Mississippi and Louisiana. Six days into Katrina blew itself out along the Gulf and inland states, Mississippi had nearly all the power back on and as close to normal as one can get after a hurricane. Louisiana, though, was still struggling with whether or not to let FEMA into New Orleans. I believe they were in before the end of the week, and people had been being pulled from roof tops and other places. But it seemed more willy nilly than anything prepared. You know, like trying to arrest a fifteen year old kid that picked up a load of people and was headed to Texas to get out of the city. Yes, he took the bus, but he showed some initiative and was trying to get something done. That'll teach you to be a socially away person, and to live up to being a responsible member of society. Geez. At any rate, we hauled ass out, got to Shreveport, the Nall's rented us a couple of rooms at a casino, took me to eat at Cooper's (I didn't bring even a button up shirt) where the food and drinks were wonderful, and I felt terribly underdressed. That showed up on the Black Jack table as well. I burned off what little I had (only $30, I had to have some cash for snack em's, right?) and I crashed in a bed. After the second shower I'd had in 5 or six days. We made it home safely, and as is my want when I travel anywhere, home sure looked good to me.
All in all, that trip to help out Bill and Angie's families was one of the most rewarding things I'd done in my life. Physically tiring, but so much of a boost just hearing the thank you's that I didn't feel so tired. Thanks Bill, for allowing me to tag along to help, and for introducing me to your family. I'd like to get well (I know, not happening) and do it all over again. Only this time with a bit more time, and a lot less work.
Hugs and all the stuff that goes with them
I'd planned on making a redneck twist on Eggs Benedict. Big assed Buttermilk biscuits, sausage patties, poached eggs (which I still fuck up and can't make a nice poached egg in a pan), and a nice Hollandaise Sauce using Lime juice and a bit of Jalapeño juice add some kick. Sadly, I was so sick the night before that I still had the shakes and honest to God there wasn't a muscle in my body that didn't hurt so bad that I didn't need the morphine. I'm sitting in my recliner, trying to get my shit together so I can make a brunch, instead of breakfast that I slept through. Tired, very sore muscle wise, and near mentally worn out, knowing that if I just get up and start feeding and getting on with my day two things may happen. One, I may have a heart attack. Two, I'll have a stroke. BP and Pulse rate were still high, according to the machine at Albertson's. It has a warning, even, so that people with larger than 18" biceps be allowed to use it at all. Liz says she has to go get propane for the grill since she is grilling pork spare ribs for a mid afternoon supper. Snacks if you get hungry later in the evening. Sounded good to me. It was turning out to be a beautiful morning, and I'd not minded at all if Liz and I sat in the backyard and enjoyed the warm day. It's January for shit sake, it's not supposed to be nearly 70. Or at least it felt that way.
I'm waiting for her to get home, when my oldest son Chance comes walking in with a propane bottle in each hand. I think to myself "whaaaaaaaat?". Looked at Liz and said (on paper) Why is Chance here? "I don't know why he's here. I just pulled in and he walked up and said 'Let me carry those'. How would I know?". I was so surprised I nearly boo hooed. My eyeballs got all watery and shit, but that was just the prelude to what came next.
Chance came up and sat next to me on the couch, took my hand in his, leaned in and said "You know Stephanie and I are engaged. We talked about it, setting a date in September. That was so far away, and there was no way we were getting married without you, so we are having a small ceremony here, so you can see us get married." I was so shocked, I really had trouble taking a breath. Once again, my family has found a way to just knock me flat with kindness. I didn't know what to say, and I was afraid if I did, the water works would have started and I'm not certain I could have stopped them. In order to maintain my own cool.
I spent a lot of time in the garage wiping the wet spots off my cheeks, and mopping up my we eyes, they seemed to leak a lot. It seems that my loving wife, oldest son, in fact the entire famn damily knew but me. I didn't think they could keep a secret, let alone one of that magnitude. Good gravy. I asked Liz just this morning if she wasn't a little nervous on Friday evening that I'd be well enough for the wedding. She said, "Yes, then Saturday morning you were making plans for lunch and everything, I was nervous then, too." I called everyone bad names, but only in jest. The kicker, to me, is that I'd been fine with any date they picked. I may not have been there physically, but I'd be there in spirit. I text my friend John Moye, he'd asked "Hey Amigo, what's up?". I responded not too much, getting ready for a wedding. The rat, he sent, "Really?, When?". He was almost here, he and his main squeeze drove in from El Paso.
Now I am a bit overwhelmed. The loving wife's eyes kept getting damp and runny. I was choked up so tight I didn't know if I was afoot or horseback. I couldn't sit in one place very long because I was so overwhelmed emotionally that I didn't want to be the old dude who cries at the drop of a hat. I excuse myself for a bit, and head out the front door. (skipped the part where I put the kilt and my Jacobite shirt on). So, what do I see? My future Daughter In Law talking to Liz and a couple of our friends. I thought this would be a safe haven for a minute. WRONG!!!!! The minute Stephanie saw me her water works started, that almost made mine start, and they would have if she hadn't held out her arms for a hug. She really sobbed, and hung onto me pretty tightly. Apparently she thought this was a good thing too. It was very tough for me to keep it all wound up in one place, so I'd go to the garage, look at Fat Girl run a little water, then go back to the guests. All of it's getting pretty cool, I sat outside thinking how great it was to have so many friends, and the greatest family on the planet. It's because they alter their plans, their lives, and in a lot of cases, their own peace of mind. My buddy Bill Nall and his wife Angie had set up an account for Liz to replace the motor in the Dodge pick up. They and their son Brandon came to the wedding. We've know each other a long time. Since Brandon was in kindergarten. Bill and I shared a lot a really good times, and more than a few not so good at work. He's truly one of the good guys. Well, shit, I'm surrounded by The Good Guys and that makes me the wealthiest man I know.
Off into the back yard we go, all ready for the wedding. Liz had contacted my Hospice nurse a couple of weeks ago and got the Hospice Chaplain to officiate. He's a nice man with a good heart, one of the few that lives what he believes. A rarity in today's ME first attitude. I like him as well. So, I go stand next to my wife and hold her hand. (that's a little something I need to do more of) Then, as Stephanie and Chance step up, the Chaplain asks Steph who is giving her away. I couldn't hear, then the Chaplain looks right at me and asks me to come up. "Take Stephanie's hand. Charles, do you and Elizabeth give this woman away in Holy Matrimony?'. I'm slow, I didn't realize that I had been given such a precious honor. They are bound and determined to make the old man cry in public. Fooled them, by God. I'd had a bit of an acid burn in my throat from Friday nights fun and games of throwing up. I took a couple of deep breaths, so I was sure I had enough to make some volume. "We do", I squeaked. OMG did that little phrase hurt!!! But I was so happy and heart filled that I didn't care. I paid that piper with a little bleeding later on. It was a little thing, compared to how happy and surprised I was from 1000hrs, until 2130hrs that evening. I'm still pretty stoked from all of the goings on yesterday. I hope this feeling holds in for another week or so. It's kind of hard to beat when your oldest son takes your hand and whispers "Stephanie and I thought about it, and we couldn't stand that you might not be at the wedding, we decided to do it here." I still can't come up with an answer other than "sniff, sniff, thank you". What a very cool, very cool indeed, day that was. For as long as I've got left, this is going to top my list of things where I got to be a part of the festivities.
(BTW, Liz spare ribs where out of the park home run chow, along with the stuff other people brought along, damn good eats for me to live vicariously)
This Sunday, at this time, I'd been in Houston a week, and Liz showed up for some "Mom and Dad" time. No nerves yet, but we did go to Joe's Crab Shack and dropped $95 on food, drinks, dessert, and drinks. We laughed, cried, (mostly laughed) and we're getting ready for surgery in two days.
Bill and Angie Nall have family in Mississippi, near Hattiesburg (Bill went to college there) in Pearl as well as a town south of there "Poplar". Bill wanted to borrow my truck, put in separate fuel tanks, MRE's, snack food, lots of water, chain saws, and a generator to go try and dig his and Angie's relatives out. Five days after, when the Governor of Louisiana still wouldn't let FEMA in because it was unsafe, Bill was going to Mississippi to help his family. Not alone he wasn't. Loaning the him the truck, that would be no big deal, I was glad to do that. I caught Bill and our head honcho around the old welding shop of Anadarko's at Notrees Tx. I told him that I'd take two weeks vacation so I could go help Bill. Well, actually I only had one week of vacation left, but over the last couple of months I'd saved up to comp out a bit at a go. I got some peace and quiet that way, and it saved our field by not having overtime expense. The Honcho told us that he'd take care of the time sheets and to get loaded up and go.
Off we went, loaded up with stuff that was stacked up even with the roof of my truck. Poor Baby was so heavy, she was setting on the rear overloads. We burned up some road, buddy. Got to Pearl. (heavily armed, I might add) Went straight to Angie's sister's home. They were getting water and food, the Governor of Mississippi had the National Guard out immediately after Katrina blew through. (one fatality. A National Guard soldier was killed when a tree fell and wiped out his Humvee). Things in Pearl looked pretty good. There was a Burger King open selling sausage biscuits, Nectar of the Guards I'm pretty sure, since a hot burger was becoming a thing of the past. We spent the night in Pearl. Deathly quiet. No bugs, no mosquitoes, no birds. I pile down in the back of the truck on top of some water and MRE packs. Did anyone out there ever get that feeling that somethings watching you REALLY closely? I got that. I slowly sat up on the tailgate of the truck. Look down the drive to the street. Man, no moon, no light pollution, makes it so dark, you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. I got all spooky because as dark as it was, there was something darker standing in front of the driveway. I do know it wasn't a person, but it was certainly something. I got up, walked about 10 steps, and decided whatever that was, I was going to leave it alone.
The next day, we headed over to Bill's uncle's home in Poplar. They had a lot of limbs down, fortunately none of the trees had fallen and the had minimal damage to any of their buildings. We set off to working on the drive, and got it cleared up in pretty short order. Limbs down in the front yard, though, and that was proving to be a pretty big task.While working away, Bill and Angie were helping his Aunt do something, a cop came by. Drove off, came back, drove off, came back, like some kind of damned yo yo. He finally called me over to his truck, asked where I was from, and if I had a work permit. Texas and no I don't have a permit. I'm helping a friend of mine get his Uncle's yard and drive way. He asked how much I was charging. Nothing, what part of helping a friend did not come out clearly? (yes, I was tired, hot and my blood sugar was getting low). That seemed to upset him a bit. I really didn't want to spend the night in the crossbar hotel, or have a knot on my head from a billy club. Fortunately Bill's Uncle came to my rescue. The policeman asked if Bill's Uncle knew who we were.(ya know, chemo brain tells me Angie was with me, dammit, I hate when I leave shit out or get wrong) Yes, this is my niece and a friend of hers, they are cleaning up this damage. You know they can't charge you without a permit, the cop asked. Bill's Uncle replied (picture, if you will, what a Southern Gentleman sounds like when he speaks, and you've got Bill's Uncle to a tee) Of course I know, that sir, I wrote the ordinance for the city. They are not charging me anything, and I believe this young man has already told you they weren't charging. Isn't there someplace you have more pressing duties to attend?
Fuckin A sweet. Bill's Uncle is one smooth dude. He told the cop to go to hell, but made it sound like he should be happy to go! Gotta love that. A bit later I was setting on the porch steps taking a break, havin a smoke and a bottle of water. Bill's Uncle was there as well, (burns my ass I can't recall his name) "You know, sir, what sounds really good to me right now?", I asked. No sir, what sounds good? he said. "An ice cold beer, in a frozen mug, so cold it makes ice on the mug, and sticks it to your hand". He tapped his cane a couple of times on the step "You're absolutely right, that does sound very good, doesn't it?" Yeah, it did. I wish I'd had time to have a cold one with him. He was one very cool fellow.
We went over to Bill's cousin's home to help clean up there as well. He had a yard full of very tall pine trees, and nearly that many in his back yard. He had three boys he got custody of when he divorced. They were doing a damn good job of helping dad, but everyone was running shy of clean clothes. Power hadn't made it back to his part of town just yet. Bill and his Cousin set up the generator to run a washer and dryer. Angie caught up the clothes while the rest of us got the back yard safely cleaned up. The front yard, while it had more room was a jumble of limbs all it's own. If you looked up, some of the pines had been chopped off about 15' from the tops, and others had no damage. That was damn weird but we didn't have time to stop. We worked some long days in hot, humid weather. While Mississippi it's humidity is enough to melt me into a tiny puddle of water. We got his Cousin all cleared up. A couple of cool stories from that time. Our last day there, while we were piling wood into the burn pile, a helicopter came hauling in over the tree line. Outside of our Line of Sight, but shortly back into view, turned travelled a short distance, then did a touch and go. It was Air Force 2. President Bush was going to give a speech at Poplar's High School on the day we planned to leave. And that, girls and boys, is the difference in leadership between Mississippi and Louisiana. Six days into Katrina blew itself out along the Gulf and inland states, Mississippi had nearly all the power back on and as close to normal as one can get after a hurricane. Louisiana, though, was still struggling with whether or not to let FEMA into New Orleans. I believe they were in before the end of the week, and people had been being pulled from roof tops and other places. But it seemed more willy nilly than anything prepared. You know, like trying to arrest a fifteen year old kid that picked up a load of people and was headed to Texas to get out of the city. Yes, he took the bus, but he showed some initiative and was trying to get something done. That'll teach you to be a socially away person, and to live up to being a responsible member of society. Geez. At any rate, we hauled ass out, got to Shreveport, the Nall's rented us a couple of rooms at a casino, took me to eat at Cooper's (I didn't bring even a button up shirt) where the food and drinks were wonderful, and I felt terribly underdressed. That showed up on the Black Jack table as well. I burned off what little I had (only $30, I had to have some cash for snack em's, right?) and I crashed in a bed. After the second shower I'd had in 5 or six days. We made it home safely, and as is my want when I travel anywhere, home sure looked good to me.
All in all, that trip to help out Bill and Angie's families was one of the most rewarding things I'd done in my life. Physically tiring, but so much of a boost just hearing the thank you's that I didn't feel so tired. Thanks Bill, for allowing me to tag along to help, and for introducing me to your family. I'd like to get well (I know, not happening) and do it all over again. Only this time with a bit more time, and a lot less work.
Hugs and all the stuff that goes with them
Friday, January 17, 2014
Why Yes, Liz Did Get A New Computer!
It took the Mac Store a while to put all the contents of this eight year old machine onto Liz's brand spankin new Mac. Why a Mac? Because I'm not smart enough to use a Windows based machine, that's why. I missed a couple of days waiting for the computer geeks to get finished. No biggy, but every service these days seem to take forever to do any damn thing. So I hung around on FB. We chatted about the Apple judgement and how each of the winners get $6500 and the attorney's get $7,000,000. That brought to mind a class action suit over in Odessa several years ago. The plaintiff's won the case, but out on the front lawn of the courthouse you could see who really scored. Yep, the barrister. It was a substantial win, but there were so many plaintiff's that the checks were $1.98 each. You'll never catch me in a class action suit. Oop, hahahahaah!! I forgot that I ain't gonna be alive long enough to start one, let alone long enough to win.
I realized something in the last couple of days as well. I found that I was getting goofy. I worried about this blog. Or, when I do write upon it, that I might embarrass someone. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I'd let myself go, in so much that I started to watch what I wrote, making dead certain I wasn't intentionally hurting someone's feelings. Well, that's gonna stop right damn here, right damn now. I have a ton of friends and they all understand me and where I come from. Sometimes they even forgive my short comings, and they are great support. It's up to me to make sure that I keep my promise to be open and honest with everyone. That includes the folks that get offended. If that's happening, here's the advise I have for you, either read it, be steamed and offended, but keep that to yourself. If that's not an option, stop reading the damn blog! It's like folks that complain about violence and sex on TV. It has a power switch, turn the damn thing off.
So, what's been going on with me the last couple of days? Some strange shit, that's what. I've discovered that I've put some weight back on. That's nice, but it's the first time I've put it right across my middle. Yes, I look fat. To me anyway. I've either got a huge coincidence or there's a correlation with my mouth and throat bleeding and the amount of mucus and/or saliva. The past couple of weeks I've been watching to see if that's true. It is. It seems that if I bleeding, even without the buzzards circling, the less saliva and mucus I produce, that's just hinky. This morning is sort of bearing that out for me. I wasn't bleeding, and sure enough, my damn mouth is like a swamp. It's wet enough to float a twelve person party barge, and trap some alligators while we are at it. The bleeding is getting worse, again. If it follows my trend, and since I didn't wake up bleeding this morning, I'll stop for a day or two, then bleed for six or eight straight. It's not like pints, quarts, or gallons, but it looks like it. I posted a picture on FaceBook of my suction line. It was completely red. Deceptive too. The line isn't very big, and it is just coated a little bit from top to bottom. So, no worries, FB buddies, I wasn't going to pass out. I don't think.
Another nifty deal that's finally gotten to the point I could no longer ignore the pain. My right side, upper and lower mandible. In fact, right before my Hospice nurse showed up Wednesday, I'd had a spell that the bone pain was so bad I almost threw up. I just thought the drug that induces white blood cells to duplicate faster caused bone and joint pain. Compared to this, Neulestra is a whiny, little girl, of a pussy assed cry baby. I mean, I've broken a few bones in my life, and in some cases I've reset them myself (fingers and toes), or had the doctor set them in his office without anesthetic. No biggy, especially now that I have some deep bone pain it wasn't as bad as I thought when I was a kid.
Random memory: Dad and I went to Russell KS to pick up parts for the rig. Stuff they hadn't heard of in SW Kansas. And I'm certain they would have shipped it and we'd have it before we got home. Anyway, we went to the Elks Club in Russell. They were having a Nut Fry. Calf fries with all the trimmings and one drink or beer included. They also had turkey fries. Beside that piece of info was this "Fowl Balls!!". That cracked me up. Back to the blog, thank you for your consideration.
They (hospice) upped my morphine from 20 mg/ 1ml, to 40mg/1ml. It turns out, that's a big jump. The first prescription, 1/4 didn't do much. After a week, I could take a complete dose of it, and it made me numb. That's fine, as long as I sleep well and I had been. I found 1/2-1/3 dose was on the old scrip, compared to the new. That's like taking aspirin to stop the pain during an amputation. Just doesn't work. Now, the new scrip, that's good shit Maynard. A dose of 1/4, moderately controls the pain. 1/2 dose is getting closer. 3/4 dose makes me drowsy. A full 1ml dose will put my dick in the dirt faster than NyQuil can put me in bed. It's pretty stout. On the plus side of that, if I do a full dose, then the next day when I wake up and into the afternoon, I don't need anymore pain killer. That's a little deceptive. Along with the morphine my patches have been upped as well. So it's a combination, I believe, increased Fentanyl and morphine. Whatever the cause and effect, I''ll go with the docs and say "okay, it's working. Thanks". That combination is working so well, that I fell asleep way early this morning trying to have a Big Red soda pop. Somehow managing to get the plunger out of the syringe, and ended up sitting in a puddle of Big Red. When I first woke up, though, I was one pissed off Terminally ill boy. I swore I'd pissed my pants and was gonna call hospice to come get my O2 generator and all the other toys.Then, when I realized what it was, I was cracking up I'd paid money to see the expression on my face when I first woke up. God, brother, I'll bet that was a hoot!
Okay, I missed a couple of days, and this is count down week. John Moye drove to Houston from El Paso to keep me company. Liz and I both decided there was no need in her missing work to sit on our asses in Houston and stare at each other. And to be frank, I think we both needed a damn break from each other. It had been a long fucking month and a half for both of us, we both needed some "me" time to recharge and get ready for what turned out to be an incredibly long stay in the hospital. But John coming to visit, man I'll tell ya, that was one of the best presents anyone has ever given me. The greatest present is Liz. My anchor and guiding star. John and I can drink, act like we are 15 again, and actually just enjoy each others company without having to say a word. He shares my warped assed sense of humor. We ate like hogs, had more than a couple of beers. Just a shade more than a good stiff drink, and shot the breeze. All without me hearing, how ya feeling? (i finally started answering that with "Fucking dying. How you?") We went shooting, at a range, not at people. He left on Sunday morning, and left me very much recharged. Between Sunday January 13, 2012 to Thursday January 17, 2012, I'd eaten two boxes of cereal, corn flakes and Grape Nuts, and gone through 2 gallons of milk, 1 1/2 cases of pop of several different varieties (diet dew, diet coke, and a six pack of Fanta Orange. passable if no orange crush can be found). As is our want, John and I ate one meal that we normally can't easily get at home, like Joe's Crab Shack. We chowed down there. We each got the huge bucket things, along with a couple of cold brews each, with some desert. Ran us $75 bucks. Liz and I topped that Sunday night!!! One more Dr appointment with my chemo oncologist. She is a very nice women and was very kind in telling me that if the surgery wouldn't get it, neither would any of the chemo treatments. I had figured that, but it's always nice to get confirmation from a Dr that's fairly tall, is well proportioned, and wears Fish Net Hose. I cannot not spell or pronounce her name, and was told Dr. Poppa would do. I'm hear to tell you, no it won't. So, being the incredibly non PC, I called her, in e-mail, IM, or text message, Dr Papalicksapoodlepussy. She is a good Doctor. And I know this, because she was straight forward with me, explaining the pain and or sickness that might occur. Even though in a hospital that large, and the number of times she's seen people die, that she still had trouble talking about it. Good person, good Doc. That takes us up to Sunday morning.
Back in 1965 Mountain Dew, the soda pop, had a promotional one ton Dodge pick up that they dressed up with a hillbilly shack looking camper. It stopped in Gorham Ks, population 275 (I looked it up on google) at a beer joint/burger joint called Betty's Place. (I ate burgers there and Mrs Irwin's cafe, until we moved to just west of russell to a farm/ranch) The burgers were great there, but it was still cooler seeing the Mountain Dew guys! I swear they looked so real to a four year old kid, that I thought they'd come a long way just to have a burger and what the old guys called a beer. Then, while I'm watching from the fence at my house, they ran outside and yelled " YAHOOO! Mountain Dew!!!" shot their shot guns off into the air. Oh fuck yeah, I'm gonna cross the busy highway and see these guys up close! I looked and looked and looked again, both directions for traffic. That little town got a lot of traffic. Interstate 70 stopped and what would become the Gorham exit, so anyone going west HAD to get off the interstate at go through Gorham, Walker (pop. 15), Victoria (home of The Cathedral of The Plains, a beautiful catholic church built out of limestone blocks). So yes, Hillbilly express stopped in Gorham. I hauled ass as fast as my little red tennis shoes would carry my ass, and being four, I thought it was close to eighty-five miles an hour. My sister Kathy was watching me that morning. Mom and Clay went to do something in town, Clay was only about a month old when this all took place.
I told the guys I liked Mountain Dew, they gave me a six pack of those old green bottles that had the white label with the Mt Dew, the hillbilly, the camper, and his gun. SWEEEEEET!!!. Back home I ran, to get Kathy. I wanted to show her my six pack of soda, and take me back so maybe I could get another one. Something about her four year old brother barging in on her while she was taking a bath.
sudden side bar: as was the norm, dad had a "safety razor" that only cut the piss out of your fifty times before you got the hang of using it. I also had a pack of "play" cardboard Safety Razor Blades. One night when I was just turning 5, I was using dad's razor and my cardboard blades. I climbed up onto the sink, sat on the edge of the sink, and was shaving away just like Daddy. Daddy saw me, and I remember "Oh Jesus Christ". He took me down from the sink, calmly took the razor, and unclenched his ass cheeks when he saw it was my cardboard blades.
Back to it, but there's not much left to tell. I bugged Kathy long enough that she took me across the highway, mad as a wet hen. Looking back, she only took me so that when Mom or Dad asked about the six pack of Mt Dew, Kathy could say she took me across the highway. She was supposed to be watching me, and I assume not to let me cross the highway alone. Had I known all this, I'd have ammo for keeping out of my hair, crew cut on me and all. I didn't, but one time she had been nasty too me, or so I thought, that I cut all the hair off all her Barbary Barbies
Hugs and Shit, kids. Have fun this weekend
I realized something in the last couple of days as well. I found that I was getting goofy. I worried about this blog. Or, when I do write upon it, that I might embarrass someone. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I'd let myself go, in so much that I started to watch what I wrote, making dead certain I wasn't intentionally hurting someone's feelings. Well, that's gonna stop right damn here, right damn now. I have a ton of friends and they all understand me and where I come from. Sometimes they even forgive my short comings, and they are great support. It's up to me to make sure that I keep my promise to be open and honest with everyone. That includes the folks that get offended. If that's happening, here's the advise I have for you, either read it, be steamed and offended, but keep that to yourself. If that's not an option, stop reading the damn blog! It's like folks that complain about violence and sex on TV. It has a power switch, turn the damn thing off.
So, what's been going on with me the last couple of days? Some strange shit, that's what. I've discovered that I've put some weight back on. That's nice, but it's the first time I've put it right across my middle. Yes, I look fat. To me anyway. I've either got a huge coincidence or there's a correlation with my mouth and throat bleeding and the amount of mucus and/or saliva. The past couple of weeks I've been watching to see if that's true. It is. It seems that if I bleeding, even without the buzzards circling, the less saliva and mucus I produce, that's just hinky. This morning is sort of bearing that out for me. I wasn't bleeding, and sure enough, my damn mouth is like a swamp. It's wet enough to float a twelve person party barge, and trap some alligators while we are at it. The bleeding is getting worse, again. If it follows my trend, and since I didn't wake up bleeding this morning, I'll stop for a day or two, then bleed for six or eight straight. It's not like pints, quarts, or gallons, but it looks like it. I posted a picture on FaceBook of my suction line. It was completely red. Deceptive too. The line isn't very big, and it is just coated a little bit from top to bottom. So, no worries, FB buddies, I wasn't going to pass out. I don't think.
Another nifty deal that's finally gotten to the point I could no longer ignore the pain. My right side, upper and lower mandible. In fact, right before my Hospice nurse showed up Wednesday, I'd had a spell that the bone pain was so bad I almost threw up. I just thought the drug that induces white blood cells to duplicate faster caused bone and joint pain. Compared to this, Neulestra is a whiny, little girl, of a pussy assed cry baby. I mean, I've broken a few bones in my life, and in some cases I've reset them myself (fingers and toes), or had the doctor set them in his office without anesthetic. No biggy, especially now that I have some deep bone pain it wasn't as bad as I thought when I was a kid.
Random memory: Dad and I went to Russell KS to pick up parts for the rig. Stuff they hadn't heard of in SW Kansas. And I'm certain they would have shipped it and we'd have it before we got home. Anyway, we went to the Elks Club in Russell. They were having a Nut Fry. Calf fries with all the trimmings and one drink or beer included. They also had turkey fries. Beside that piece of info was this "Fowl Balls!!". That cracked me up. Back to the blog, thank you for your consideration.
They (hospice) upped my morphine from 20 mg/ 1ml, to 40mg/1ml. It turns out, that's a big jump. The first prescription, 1/4 didn't do much. After a week, I could take a complete dose of it, and it made me numb. That's fine, as long as I sleep well and I had been. I found 1/2-1/3 dose was on the old scrip, compared to the new. That's like taking aspirin to stop the pain during an amputation. Just doesn't work. Now, the new scrip, that's good shit Maynard. A dose of 1/4, moderately controls the pain. 1/2 dose is getting closer. 3/4 dose makes me drowsy. A full 1ml dose will put my dick in the dirt faster than NyQuil can put me in bed. It's pretty stout. On the plus side of that, if I do a full dose, then the next day when I wake up and into the afternoon, I don't need anymore pain killer. That's a little deceptive. Along with the morphine my patches have been upped as well. So it's a combination, I believe, increased Fentanyl and morphine. Whatever the cause and effect, I''ll go with the docs and say "okay, it's working. Thanks". That combination is working so well, that I fell asleep way early this morning trying to have a Big Red soda pop. Somehow managing to get the plunger out of the syringe, and ended up sitting in a puddle of Big Red. When I first woke up, though, I was one pissed off Terminally ill boy. I swore I'd pissed my pants and was gonna call hospice to come get my O2 generator and all the other toys.Then, when I realized what it was, I was cracking up I'd paid money to see the expression on my face when I first woke up. God, brother, I'll bet that was a hoot!
Okay, I missed a couple of days, and this is count down week. John Moye drove to Houston from El Paso to keep me company. Liz and I both decided there was no need in her missing work to sit on our asses in Houston and stare at each other. And to be frank, I think we both needed a damn break from each other. It had been a long fucking month and a half for both of us, we both needed some "me" time to recharge and get ready for what turned out to be an incredibly long stay in the hospital. But John coming to visit, man I'll tell ya, that was one of the best presents anyone has ever given me. The greatest present is Liz. My anchor and guiding star. John and I can drink, act like we are 15 again, and actually just enjoy each others company without having to say a word. He shares my warped assed sense of humor. We ate like hogs, had more than a couple of beers. Just a shade more than a good stiff drink, and shot the breeze. All without me hearing, how ya feeling? (i finally started answering that with "Fucking dying. How you?") We went shooting, at a range, not at people. He left on Sunday morning, and left me very much recharged. Between Sunday January 13, 2012 to Thursday January 17, 2012, I'd eaten two boxes of cereal, corn flakes and Grape Nuts, and gone through 2 gallons of milk, 1 1/2 cases of pop of several different varieties (diet dew, diet coke, and a six pack of Fanta Orange. passable if no orange crush can be found). As is our want, John and I ate one meal that we normally can't easily get at home, like Joe's Crab Shack. We chowed down there. We each got the huge bucket things, along with a couple of cold brews each, with some desert. Ran us $75 bucks. Liz and I topped that Sunday night!!! One more Dr appointment with my chemo oncologist. She is a very nice women and was very kind in telling me that if the surgery wouldn't get it, neither would any of the chemo treatments. I had figured that, but it's always nice to get confirmation from a Dr that's fairly tall, is well proportioned, and wears Fish Net Hose. I cannot not spell or pronounce her name, and was told Dr. Poppa would do. I'm hear to tell you, no it won't. So, being the incredibly non PC, I called her, in e-mail, IM, or text message, Dr Papalicksapoodlepussy. She is a good Doctor. And I know this, because she was straight forward with me, explaining the pain and or sickness that might occur. Even though in a hospital that large, and the number of times she's seen people die, that she still had trouble talking about it. Good person, good Doc. That takes us up to Sunday morning.
Back in 1965 Mountain Dew, the soda pop, had a promotional one ton Dodge pick up that they dressed up with a hillbilly shack looking camper. It stopped in Gorham Ks, population 275 (I looked it up on google) at a beer joint/burger joint called Betty's Place. (I ate burgers there and Mrs Irwin's cafe, until we moved to just west of russell to a farm/ranch) The burgers were great there, but it was still cooler seeing the Mountain Dew guys! I swear they looked so real to a four year old kid, that I thought they'd come a long way just to have a burger and what the old guys called a beer. Then, while I'm watching from the fence at my house, they ran outside and yelled " YAHOOO! Mountain Dew!!!" shot their shot guns off into the air. Oh fuck yeah, I'm gonna cross the busy highway and see these guys up close! I looked and looked and looked again, both directions for traffic. That little town got a lot of traffic. Interstate 70 stopped and what would become the Gorham exit, so anyone going west HAD to get off the interstate at go through Gorham, Walker (pop. 15), Victoria (home of The Cathedral of The Plains, a beautiful catholic church built out of limestone blocks). So yes, Hillbilly express stopped in Gorham. I hauled ass as fast as my little red tennis shoes would carry my ass, and being four, I thought it was close to eighty-five miles an hour. My sister Kathy was watching me that morning. Mom and Clay went to do something in town, Clay was only about a month old when this all took place.
I told the guys I liked Mountain Dew, they gave me a six pack of those old green bottles that had the white label with the Mt Dew, the hillbilly, the camper, and his gun. SWEEEEEET!!!. Back home I ran, to get Kathy. I wanted to show her my six pack of soda, and take me back so maybe I could get another one. Something about her four year old brother barging in on her while she was taking a bath.
sudden side bar: as was the norm, dad had a "safety razor" that only cut the piss out of your fifty times before you got the hang of using it. I also had a pack of "play" cardboard Safety Razor Blades. One night when I was just turning 5, I was using dad's razor and my cardboard blades. I climbed up onto the sink, sat on the edge of the sink, and was shaving away just like Daddy. Daddy saw me, and I remember "Oh Jesus Christ". He took me down from the sink, calmly took the razor, and unclenched his ass cheeks when he saw it was my cardboard blades.
Back to it, but there's not much left to tell. I bugged Kathy long enough that she took me across the highway, mad as a wet hen. Looking back, she only took me so that when Mom or Dad asked about the six pack of Mt Dew, Kathy could say she took me across the highway. She was supposed to be watching me, and I assume not to let me cross the highway alone. Had I known all this, I'd have ammo for keeping out of my hair, crew cut on me and all. I didn't, but one time she had been nasty too me, or so I thought, that I cut all the hair off all her Barbary Barbies
Hugs and Shit, kids. Have fun this weekend
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
A Learning Curve
This entire "Why am I not driving" thing has come down to this: I'm not trusted behind the wheel if my wife is home. Some days I'd agree with her on that. Depending on how long it's been between pain meds makes a difference as well. Having said all that, let me say this; Yes, the pain meds make it near impossible to drive. The new stronger dose does at least. The older dosage wasn't so hot to trot about making me go clean out. I've tested all four of the levels I can get to on this prescription. Only two of them seem to give me much relief at all, 3/4 of a ml, and a full ml of the 40 mg/1ml strength Morphine. Both of them make me way dopey and sleepy, and only a full dose makes me crash out right away, and stay crashed out for quite sometime. I'm generally sore when it I get up from taking either of the doses. Although one carries somewhat higher chance for making a serious mistake while driving, like passing out behind the wheel. On the pain reduction side it's simply wonderful. If I felt like, for even a second, that I was going to pass out at the wheel, I'd cough up the keys so fast it would make your head spin. I'll say that and give you an example, this last October 26th and 27th we were in Fort Worth to be with friends and attend a highland game competition. Both were great times, but we had to scoot outta Fort Worth around ten or eleven the morning of the 27th. Liz had to work the next morning and we needed to scoot out anyway. I was driving, and somewhere just west of Eastland, I thought I was feeling a little drowsy. I blew it off (something I'll never do again) dozed off passing a guy. Three seconds tops. Three. If it hadn't been for the buzz strip on the shoulder, I could have killed both of us. Fucking foolish, and that's why I don't mess with that while driving. That's something we never did in the past, and you can bet your sweet ass it'll never happen to me again.
Side note. Grandson Wyatt, at his day care, puts his index finger over his throat and says "This is how you have to talk to Wyatt. Pretty funny. I'm glad my oldest son has brought Wyatt and his mom into our family.
Other shit that goes with this fucking "Death with Dignity" thing. I lost time this week. It's not like it just ran fast, that's every day. This I really lost. I can't even piece together what I was doing. I see flashes of things, but not enough to tell me what I was doing. For me, that's damned scary. What I realize now, I was going to change dressings on my trach tube. I would have gone to the bathroom, cleaned up all the wounds, (nothing like gun shot wounds) and put a cleaned and ready to go tube and collar. Then I'd come back to the recliner and continued my sleep. But NOOOOO, I had to do this all by myself. Only I couldn't. This is really a simple task for me, since I've been doing it for almost 7 months now. It wasn't, it turns out, so simple after all.
I'd left spotty evidence as to what I was doing. Including two smaller tegaderm strips over the pain patch on my stomach. Apparently I'd get one thing partially finished, start another, almost finish that particular job, start another, get the picture now? So anyway, when I did get around way early that next morning, it wasn't to get ready for work, it was to continue to rub on my neck. In the end, this is what I decided, since I slept almost 19 hours out of the 24. The pain relief pills doesn't ask to see the kids at the park all day, to use it like the pulse counter as a ruse to bring the kidnapper into the light of day. I couldn't even get that part correct. Damn. Then after all the diddling around and not getting done, or even remembering what I was doing, I slept nearly all day and into the early evening yesterday. I slept right at 19 hours, counting the time I went to therapy. That's a lot of sleep. Not all of that is cancers fault, either.
So, I promised you a theory as to why my behavior and cognitive skill went down the shitter. I believe my blood oxygen was pretty low. How low, I couldn't tell you. It was mid 80's to low 90's at therapy. Not good at all. By the way I felt all day, sleeping, showering, seeing people, I couldn't tell you what I was actually doing because I simply can remember. That's FUCKING scary to me. I've never been like that, at least not when I was on some heavy duty pain killers. Percodan comes to mind at the Five State Fair in Liberal. My sister and her husband took me to the fair. Secretly, I think they wanted to follow me around and laugh. Within 15 minutes of sitting under the O2's machine, I was feeling more awake and more aware. To test my theory, I got off the O2 myself, and paid attention to my actions. None of them were very good. So I went back on the O2 and feel more like myself again. Spooky, and that's not bullshit.
This is just another one of those "fuck me, I didn't know that about myself" moments. There are, I'm sure, going to be more as this shit scoots along with me. Yuck, I say, yuck. I'm off to get coffee with the boys. I shall finish this upon returning. Don't hold your breath waiting.
I, like MacArthur, have returned. At least for the time being, I take The Son to school around 0715. To continue on for now, and in doing so, use the O2 generator to boost my blood/ox mix. Sucks to be breathing like I had good sense, and not being able to hold my O2 level high enough to function like a real live person. I figure that if I don't keep my O2 level high enough, they'll put me somewhere I'd really rather not be, just to sit there hooked up to oxygen and vegetate until my body dies. In order to be on top of my cancer and pain, I'm taking a rather hard position to put the morphine under my own tongue. Sublingual is a fairly fast fast way to get the medication into your blood stream. I also would fancy a guest and would want the kid to bag his limit well ahead of myself. That doesn't mean the entire portrait is at a loss, just that I am, for lack of a better word, impatient.
Okay, that paragraph above this one is a bag of "WTF did that come from?" and I can tell you I'm as radical as ever. Let's get this show moving, shall we?
One year ago today, January 14, 2013, I was on my way to see the radiology Dr. . Something that had already been spoken with me in depth. But we started off with the usual small talk while the Dr goes over my case file. I had a pretty good idea as to what she was going to tell me, because my Radiation oncologist had already told me. She tells me that since I've had so much radiation around all points of my neck that any more would more than likely kill me. Yep, I was right, that's what my Oncologist here told me. Because I had so much radiation, particularly on the left side of my neck that, both my carotid arteries where very thin. Good place for a blow out, that's for certain. No shock there. I thanked her and off about my merry way I went. Now to see my plastic surgeon (no, he's not made of plastic, silly's) about reconstruction after my surgery is finished. I had no other appointments on this day, so the rest of the day was mine to do as I pretty well pleased. I went to a place called The Spicy Pickle for lunch. I got a Rueben Sammich, which was passable, but not blow your mind delicious, the Campbell's Soup was pretty good for canned soup. But the pickle. Wow. Seriously, just Wow. It's not a bad place to eat and I've gotten far worse food in Houston than that. I'm not certain why I didn't travel around Houston more, but I was more of a hotel body. It's not that anything is so hard to find, even if you travel on the freeways, but that in general it's a big place, no two ways about it. I went across the street to CVX to pick up some breakfast cereal and some milk. A box of Grape Nuts, a box of Krux? Anyway, I liked it's taste. I'm bored stiff. When I get bored I tend to snack. Not just a little snack either. A big snack. I picked up a quart mixing bowl and went back to the room to have a snack and watch some of the hearings on the house and senate floor. The hearings got to be a sham, so I fixed a snack, hoping for enough of a debate that I could enjoy my snack. FYI: So I didn't explode as the grape nuts expanded. And I'd left very damn few in the debate bowl. Mine included a less than healthy dab of sugar as well. I was wound up tighter than Dick's hatband, I had more than enough colon blow, I've had enough of vitamins and minerals to run me, and a pile of both bottled water and bottled Diet Coke and Diet Dew as well. In two settings, one about 3 hrs apart from the second trip to the Bodine Bowl for a snack. Two times to have a snack, and one box of Grape Nuts. Shoot, an entire box of Grape Nuts, a quart of milk, and a Bodine Bowl to wash, and it's not even 0900. This is going to be a loooong week. This is how my month in Houston begins. Wednesday nothing was scheduled, so rather than write a ton of "Didn't do shit" I'll call it good right here, and move on to Thursday in tomorrow's blog. It should be said here, I was still very optimistic that my surgery will fly along quickly and we can move on to healing me up and my going back to work just bit ahead of my Short Term Disability runs out. We all know that's not the case, but I'm working on telling about the week prior, with maybe some hospital time included.
Here we are, polishing up, the time until I finally was allowed to come home. Hang tough, we'll get there.
When I was a little kid in Gorham Kansas, I was in the minority of residents of Gorham. Probably not the entire county, but also the probability of being a minority in the county as well. I didn't pay that much attention, and still don't. The Parochial school had closed it's doors for the last time after the school year in 1967 came to a close that May. The public school was in a three class room building, that as a first grader, I thought was absolutely HUGE. Anyway, there was an influx of kids I didn't know, which wasn't unusual, since I'd get my ass in a bind if I left the yard against the parents wishes.
Like any kid, school was a little scary at first. But I liked it just the same, it was from. I was also pegged to be the first month of school "milk man". I collected the nickels that were used by us kids, some kids didn't want any milk so they didn't pay. I've wondered, off and on since then, whether or not their parents needed that nickel to pay bills with a quarter a week saved on milk money, or figuring out how at the end of every week those kids could go to one of the two service stations in town, and hang out drinking soda pop all Saturday morning. Nothing was open on Sunday, that was truly the Sabbath in that small town, so no one worked or you'd miss one of the Masses held by Father (i can't remember his name, dang it). I broke my left arm that fall as well. This is the one the Dr set in his office without anesthesia. No crying or yelling about that, just vomit on the Dr. That'll teach that rat bastard!!!
In school we had grades one through three in one room, fourth and fifth in another room, grade six hand their own room. (those guys, i thought, were spy's of some kind. I never saw them come to school, have recess, or eat lunch. They were there, though). We changed teachers in the grade 1-3 room like we all changed underwear. I don't know why that's true, but it was. I would imagine that their husbands were either rail road men, or worked for one of the bigger oil companies in the area. I honestly don't know why we never saw them.
The food at that school was so much better than the damn garbage we got when we moved and I had to go to school in Russell, at Bickerdyke. This to me was a big city, it had TWO grade schools and there was at least one room for every class in the school. I was terrible at math, and I thought the teacher hated me. It turns out, he pushed me so I could learn it better, and retain more. I wish he could have followed me to all the schools after that. For looking like a mean old S.O.B., he was a nice man, with the intention of teaching every kid so that kid would learn something to carry him home on his shield. I did learn a lot from him. The mark of a real educator. Back to the food at Gorham Elementary. It was prepared by two older German ladies. Like a lot of the older folks in town, they could speak and read German before we Protestants could learn one language, they were well on their way to the second. My God was that food good!! In the late fall we got chili at least once a month. Chili came with a Cinnamon roll that looked like it would cover your head and have enough left over for some gloves. Writing about it now, I can still taste the roll. Seconds were allowed, as long as your serving tray was empty, they'd give you a small serving. Generally, and here's the weird thing, they'd give you just enough the first time through that you would be stuffed and couldn't hold another bite. I remember seeing kids that had a little more on their plate than others, seldom more than I had, and some kids that had very small servings on their plates, but when we were all finished, they'd be stuffed, or couldn't eat everything. Spinach, at the time, would make me barf if I even smelled it up close. Somehow, the cooks got wind of that, and I had something different than spinach on my tray every time they fixed Spinach. That little school is also where they first picked up that I had a speech impediment.
I had (and still would have if I could talk, and didn't watch myself) trouble with "CH" become "SH", so I'd say Shicken, instead of Chicken, and consequentially "Flowers" became "PLowers". I learned to fold my tongue in two to make a tunnel. I think that became a beer funnel. As soon as I find out myself, I'll bring along medical turn for what I had from grade school right up until the time I lost my voice"
Alright, I've dicked around with this long enough today. Be Good, hear? You in the back, do you hear? Okay. Damn well better fly right, Mister.
I sound more ghetto if I use some of that shit when I'm trash talking with the buddies
Side note. Grandson Wyatt, at his day care, puts his index finger over his throat and says "This is how you have to talk to Wyatt. Pretty funny. I'm glad my oldest son has brought Wyatt and his mom into our family.
Other shit that goes with this fucking "Death with Dignity" thing. I lost time this week. It's not like it just ran fast, that's every day. This I really lost. I can't even piece together what I was doing. I see flashes of things, but not enough to tell me what I was doing. For me, that's damned scary. What I realize now, I was going to change dressings on my trach tube. I would have gone to the bathroom, cleaned up all the wounds, (nothing like gun shot wounds) and put a cleaned and ready to go tube and collar. Then I'd come back to the recliner and continued my sleep. But NOOOOO, I had to do this all by myself. Only I couldn't. This is really a simple task for me, since I've been doing it for almost 7 months now. It wasn't, it turns out, so simple after all.
I'd left spotty evidence as to what I was doing. Including two smaller tegaderm strips over the pain patch on my stomach. Apparently I'd get one thing partially finished, start another, almost finish that particular job, start another, get the picture now? So anyway, when I did get around way early that next morning, it wasn't to get ready for work, it was to continue to rub on my neck. In the end, this is what I decided, since I slept almost 19 hours out of the 24. The pain relief pills doesn't ask to see the kids at the park all day, to use it like the pulse counter as a ruse to bring the kidnapper into the light of day. I couldn't even get that part correct. Damn. Then after all the diddling around and not getting done, or even remembering what I was doing, I slept nearly all day and into the early evening yesterday. I slept right at 19 hours, counting the time I went to therapy. That's a lot of sleep. Not all of that is cancers fault, either.
So, I promised you a theory as to why my behavior and cognitive skill went down the shitter. I believe my blood oxygen was pretty low. How low, I couldn't tell you. It was mid 80's to low 90's at therapy. Not good at all. By the way I felt all day, sleeping, showering, seeing people, I couldn't tell you what I was actually doing because I simply can remember. That's FUCKING scary to me. I've never been like that, at least not when I was on some heavy duty pain killers. Percodan comes to mind at the Five State Fair in Liberal. My sister and her husband took me to the fair. Secretly, I think they wanted to follow me around and laugh. Within 15 minutes of sitting under the O2's machine, I was feeling more awake and more aware. To test my theory, I got off the O2 myself, and paid attention to my actions. None of them were very good. So I went back on the O2 and feel more like myself again. Spooky, and that's not bullshit.
This is just another one of those "fuck me, I didn't know that about myself" moments. There are, I'm sure, going to be more as this shit scoots along with me. Yuck, I say, yuck. I'm off to get coffee with the boys. I shall finish this upon returning. Don't hold your breath waiting.
I, like MacArthur, have returned. At least for the time being, I take The Son to school around 0715. To continue on for now, and in doing so, use the O2 generator to boost my blood/ox mix. Sucks to be breathing like I had good sense, and not being able to hold my O2 level high enough to function like a real live person. I figure that if I don't keep my O2 level high enough, they'll put me somewhere I'd really rather not be, just to sit there hooked up to oxygen and vegetate until my body dies. In order to be on top of my cancer and pain, I'm taking a rather hard position to put the morphine under my own tongue. Sublingual is a fairly fast fast way to get the medication into your blood stream. I also would fancy a guest and would want the kid to bag his limit well ahead of myself. That doesn't mean the entire portrait is at a loss, just that I am, for lack of a better word, impatient.
Okay, that paragraph above this one is a bag of "WTF did that come from?" and I can tell you I'm as radical as ever. Let's get this show moving, shall we?
One year ago today, January 14, 2013, I was on my way to see the radiology Dr. . Something that had already been spoken with me in depth. But we started off with the usual small talk while the Dr goes over my case file. I had a pretty good idea as to what she was going to tell me, because my Radiation oncologist had already told me. She tells me that since I've had so much radiation around all points of my neck that any more would more than likely kill me. Yep, I was right, that's what my Oncologist here told me. Because I had so much radiation, particularly on the left side of my neck that, both my carotid arteries where very thin. Good place for a blow out, that's for certain. No shock there. I thanked her and off about my merry way I went. Now to see my plastic surgeon (no, he's not made of plastic, silly's) about reconstruction after my surgery is finished. I had no other appointments on this day, so the rest of the day was mine to do as I pretty well pleased. I went to a place called The Spicy Pickle for lunch. I got a Rueben Sammich, which was passable, but not blow your mind delicious, the Campbell's Soup was pretty good for canned soup. But the pickle. Wow. Seriously, just Wow. It's not a bad place to eat and I've gotten far worse food in Houston than that. I'm not certain why I didn't travel around Houston more, but I was more of a hotel body. It's not that anything is so hard to find, even if you travel on the freeways, but that in general it's a big place, no two ways about it. I went across the street to CVX to pick up some breakfast cereal and some milk. A box of Grape Nuts, a box of Krux? Anyway, I liked it's taste. I'm bored stiff. When I get bored I tend to snack. Not just a little snack either. A big snack. I picked up a quart mixing bowl and went back to the room to have a snack and watch some of the hearings on the house and senate floor. The hearings got to be a sham, so I fixed a snack, hoping for enough of a debate that I could enjoy my snack. FYI: So I didn't explode as the grape nuts expanded. And I'd left very damn few in the debate bowl. Mine included a less than healthy dab of sugar as well. I was wound up tighter than Dick's hatband, I had more than enough colon blow, I've had enough of vitamins and minerals to run me, and a pile of both bottled water and bottled Diet Coke and Diet Dew as well. In two settings, one about 3 hrs apart from the second trip to the Bodine Bowl for a snack. Two times to have a snack, and one box of Grape Nuts. Shoot, an entire box of Grape Nuts, a quart of milk, and a Bodine Bowl to wash, and it's not even 0900. This is going to be a loooong week. This is how my month in Houston begins. Wednesday nothing was scheduled, so rather than write a ton of "Didn't do shit" I'll call it good right here, and move on to Thursday in tomorrow's blog. It should be said here, I was still very optimistic that my surgery will fly along quickly and we can move on to healing me up and my going back to work just bit ahead of my Short Term Disability runs out. We all know that's not the case, but I'm working on telling about the week prior, with maybe some hospital time included.
Here we are, polishing up, the time until I finally was allowed to come home. Hang tough, we'll get there.
When I was a little kid in Gorham Kansas, I was in the minority of residents of Gorham. Probably not the entire county, but also the probability of being a minority in the county as well. I didn't pay that much attention, and still don't. The Parochial school had closed it's doors for the last time after the school year in 1967 came to a close that May. The public school was in a three class room building, that as a first grader, I thought was absolutely HUGE. Anyway, there was an influx of kids I didn't know, which wasn't unusual, since I'd get my ass in a bind if I left the yard against the parents wishes.
Like any kid, school was a little scary at first. But I liked it just the same, it was from. I was also pegged to be the first month of school "milk man". I collected the nickels that were used by us kids, some kids didn't want any milk so they didn't pay. I've wondered, off and on since then, whether or not their parents needed that nickel to pay bills with a quarter a week saved on milk money, or figuring out how at the end of every week those kids could go to one of the two service stations in town, and hang out drinking soda pop all Saturday morning. Nothing was open on Sunday, that was truly the Sabbath in that small town, so no one worked or you'd miss one of the Masses held by Father (i can't remember his name, dang it). I broke my left arm that fall as well. This is the one the Dr set in his office without anesthesia. No crying or yelling about that, just vomit on the Dr. That'll teach that rat bastard!!!
In school we had grades one through three in one room, fourth and fifth in another room, grade six hand their own room. (those guys, i thought, were spy's of some kind. I never saw them come to school, have recess, or eat lunch. They were there, though). We changed teachers in the grade 1-3 room like we all changed underwear. I don't know why that's true, but it was. I would imagine that their husbands were either rail road men, or worked for one of the bigger oil companies in the area. I honestly don't know why we never saw them.
The food at that school was so much better than the damn garbage we got when we moved and I had to go to school in Russell, at Bickerdyke. This to me was a big city, it had TWO grade schools and there was at least one room for every class in the school. I was terrible at math, and I thought the teacher hated me. It turns out, he pushed me so I could learn it better, and retain more. I wish he could have followed me to all the schools after that. For looking like a mean old S.O.B., he was a nice man, with the intention of teaching every kid so that kid would learn something to carry him home on his shield. I did learn a lot from him. The mark of a real educator. Back to the food at Gorham Elementary. It was prepared by two older German ladies. Like a lot of the older folks in town, they could speak and read German before we Protestants could learn one language, they were well on their way to the second. My God was that food good!! In the late fall we got chili at least once a month. Chili came with a Cinnamon roll that looked like it would cover your head and have enough left over for some gloves. Writing about it now, I can still taste the roll. Seconds were allowed, as long as your serving tray was empty, they'd give you a small serving. Generally, and here's the weird thing, they'd give you just enough the first time through that you would be stuffed and couldn't hold another bite. I remember seeing kids that had a little more on their plate than others, seldom more than I had, and some kids that had very small servings on their plates, but when we were all finished, they'd be stuffed, or couldn't eat everything. Spinach, at the time, would make me barf if I even smelled it up close. Somehow, the cooks got wind of that, and I had something different than spinach on my tray every time they fixed Spinach. That little school is also where they first picked up that I had a speech impediment.
I had (and still would have if I could talk, and didn't watch myself) trouble with "CH" become "SH", so I'd say Shicken, instead of Chicken, and consequentially "Flowers" became "PLowers". I learned to fold my tongue in two to make a tunnel. I think that became a beer funnel. As soon as I find out myself, I'll bring along medical turn for what I had from grade school right up until the time I lost my voice"
Alright, I've dicked around with this long enough today. Be Good, hear? You in the back, do you hear? Okay. Damn well better fly right, Mister.
I sound more ghetto if I use some of that shit when I'm trash talking with the buddies
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