Yes, I'm skipping days, so there. Phhhtttttbbbb! I can if I wanna. There is more than one reason, but I'm gonna go with "THE" reason, or at least the biggest reason. I'm having pain in my right jaw. Bad enough it turns muscular and even makes my ear ache. I had Hospice check my ear, nothing wrong with it, and when I could make my jaw relax, the ear pain went away as well. The big deal is, I didn't used to notice it unless my pectoral muscle that's in the left side of my mouth was cramping and made the right side pop like it was being dislocated, then screaming MiMi pain for a split second in my right jaw. After that, everything was pretty cool. Not so much the last couple of weeks. I noticed that the jaw was aching more often, and in different places than before. It's also swollen along the bottom jawline from just behind my chin to where it turns up to make the joint connection. Then it didn't need my pec to cramp to cause that blinding, extra ouch, sudden burst of pain. I yawned on Monday morning, sent that sudden pain up so fast I didn't have time to relax, and it was strong enough it nearly dropped me to my knees. That kind of pain that makes you see colors, close your eyes, and nearly drop you where you're standing pain. Okay, now it's time to have it checked out. I don't blog or tell people about stuff that's going on with me unless I've tried several different directions of controlling or at least working around the pain, or what ever else might be mixed up in there. So, this time I couldn't fix or change anything.
My Hospice nurse shows up and we go over what meds I need, how I'm feeling, and all the things we normally go over on Tuesdays. This time, though, I have him check my jaw and ear. Ear is clear, and the jaw isn't trying to dislocate when I yawn. I didn't, however, have him check the jawline on the right side this time, but I did tell him about the dreams, and pain when I yawn and the left side tightens up. Just my luck I have to yawn, and "Man oh Man oh Manischewitz!" did that hurt! And he could see what it was doing. My left side got hard as a rock, pulled my head down and to the left, the right side of my jaw stayed relatively straight and only pulled down and left just a shade. Not enough to make it look like it was trying to dislocate. But man, the pain lingered a long time that time. Minutes instead of seconds. As I've said, I generally don't sweat neck and face pain, but I had to deal with this stuff like right now. It was getting bad enough that I was sweating, and about ready to boo hoo over the pain. Very unusual for me to let pain drive me to tears, at least since first grade. That included a broken arm, which I did boo hoo over (because I thought I was gonna get in troooouuuble!), I didn't shed a tear one when the set my arm in the Dr's. office without knocking me out. I did, however, throw up on the doctor.
So now for the jaw pain I get Morphine, really small doses, but up to a dose every hour. I don't do it every hour, and no it's not because I'm afraid of getting addicted. I hope that it's not cancer in my right jaw. They took out four lymph glands on that side, though, and my left jaw had cancer in it. If it is in my bones, that's gonna really fucking hurt. I am not sure I can handle that, but I'm not going to sweat that little area until it's absolutely needed. What really sucks is, I have enough sense not to drive once the Morphine is kicked in, because it makes me goofier than I already am. Not driving will suck assholes, but I won't put myself and others at risk because I just couldn't stand having to be driven to therapy or anywhere else I'd like to go. So I wait and take my Morphine around 1000 to 1200hrs. I'll suffer that constant throb for a while (turns out it's about 7-8 hrs) so I can have some Joe with my buds, go to therapy, or just dick around for a couple of hours. Sometimes it's a bitch doing shit my way, instead of what I'm asked to do regarding a pain med. The damn morphine makes me extra sleepy. I didn't take any yesterday until 2300, the went and picked Liz up at her department Christmas Party. Told her when we got home how lucky she was she called, since I'd just taken a dab of Morphine. It's taken sublingually, so it hits pretty quickly. Where some drugs take 30 minutes or so to begin to do their dirty work, the sublingual Morphine goes at it in around 10 minutes. Hit the recliner, said "Night honey" and this child was OUT.
I'm beginning to wonder if the being tired all the time doesn't have something to do with the cancer. I'd like to blame the morphine, but that's a stretch, since this is an all day restlessness and equally tired. So I'm voting cancer, that was one of the side effects my Surgeon and MD Anderson told me would happen. The nice thing about "compartmentalizing" my thoughts and memories, I can call the memory up any time I want. And I'm pretty accurate with that as well. So, yeah, it's cancer, I believe. The only thing I'm not certain about is if it's in the bone, or just in the jawline. I may have some lymph glands on that side of my jaw, I'm not certain. I'd have to look at my surgery summary to say positively. I do know they took some out farther back and one tumor that had attached and wrapped itself around my left carotid artery. It's a wonder I didn't have a stroke kill me, since I was hitting the gym regularly and heavily right up until January 11, two days before I went to Houston to start a weeks worth of tests and evaluations to get ready for surgery on January 22. And that, boys and girls, is gonna be another tale to tell later on. Since I've already got my mind set on doing jack shit for the weekend, since I've got no big plans and can get away with being stoned and not having to drive. See? Silver lining in every little cloud.
Back in the day, I think I was maybe 20, the Old Man left me and the other hand on the rig by ourselves while he went to meet up with the tool man and pick up a tool to run in to start testing casing with (turns out the casing was like swiss cheese just above the top perfs on the well. The truck hauling in the work string was there, and the driver was a total douchenozzle, but his swamper was a decent fella. I needed a way to scam some cash off the Driver Douchenozzle, so I come up with this bet. Knowing this guy thinks he's King Shit of Turd Mountain, I said "Bet ya $20 you can't go up the tubing board guy wire, touch the tubing board, then come back down without falling. You fall, I win. If neither one of us can get there, you're swamper and the other hand can tell us who made it farthest." I can see him looking at the tubing board, to the ground, to the guy line, to the board and back to the ground. He took the bet.
Up he goes, facing the rig, which puts you in an awkward position since the guy line is almost 100' long, and runs out to the anchor from the board at about a 45degree angle. I'm thinking to myself "OOOOO, I got this", and I was right. Less than a quarter of the way up he has to come down. Ha Ha Douchenozzle, my turn.
I turned around with my back to the rig, got a good grip on the guy wire and start going up the line backwards (Important part I left out, my bad) with no feet. Backwards gives your shoulders, back and arms a more strength oriented movement. I didn't need to see the board at all, I'll touch it regardless how I'm doing the climb, the guy line is attached to it. I climb away, touch the board and head back down. Being young, dumb and full of (inert proper term here) I didn't think about falling. Fifty five feet would have been a devastating drop. If it didn't kill me, I'd fuck up my legs so badly I'd probably never survive. Now, here comes the fun part. Getting my cash. Yes, Driver Douchenozzle coughed up the $20, but not without cry babying about how I went up the line. I told him that only a dickhead would go up the damn thing facing forward, he took exception to that statement. And once again, tough shit.
We didn't work over a BOP, and seldom off of a trailer. Generally railroad ties we used to rack the pipe up on. There were three joints on the ground that I used to center up and get ready to transfer pipe from the trailer to the pipe racks so we could tally and run the pipe and packer into the well. I just finished chocking the three joints in and flipped another off the trailer and chocked it on the far side from the trailer so when we were rolling pipe it didn't just roll off the far side. Driver Douchenozzle hooks up his "break out" metal so we can just slide the pipe off the truck and onto the rack. I am between the trailer and our three chocked joints on the rack, when that asshole breaks the rack on the trailer and pipe starts pouring off the trailer and threatens to either break my legs, or I could fall and then
pipe break my neck. I took off running so I could get far enough down the rack to jump over and be clear. I jumped over four joints of pipe that was rolling and made it to the end and was clear. I'm also panting my ass off. Driver Douchenozzle is laughing his ass off, his swamper is looking at me like he was about to die of fright and embarrassment. I walked over to the Driver Douchenozzle and told him to give me the other $20 in his wallet for pulling a shit head stunt like that. He told me to kiss his ass. I grabbed a small pipe cheater for an equalizer and start walking toward him, he takes off, the swamper trips him. Now I'm laughing. I've got a knee between his shoulder blades and his wallet in my hand. I got my $20, gave him the wallet. He said he was going to rat me out to the area Superintendent. Fine by me, because his swamper was already telling him he'd vote on my side about how he'd tried to hurt me with a trailer full of tubing. Three or four years later, the same driver, different swamper are out to pick up a junk string of rods. They were covered in paraffin, iron sulfide and oil. Everyone's gloves were just dog shit nasty. Driver Douchenozzle smacks his swamper in the side of his head, not hard, just enough to splatter that nasty shit all over his face and neck. Then digs out running…right toward me, I tripped him. By the time the other rig hand and I pulled the swamper off, Driver Douchenozzle had a mouth full of that nasty stuff, a black eye that was closing, and a really nasty split lip.
Some guys never learn.
Have fun today. Go through your list of folks you like but haven't seen in a long while, call them up just to see how they are doing and to shoot the shit. They'll appreciate it
Saturday, December 14, 2013
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Dammit! Throw Down or Sit Down
Throw down or sit down. I've said that half a dozen times or so when some peckerwood tried to brace me up in a bar. Most of the time, they were just trying to impress some nice little girl, and didn't really want to brawl, where in my case, I'd rather not as well, but I was always willing. Same thing with the damn cancer. Except this time it chose to throw down. Whipped it twice, but it came back with a roll of nickels in each hand (excellent fist fillers, do not ask how I know that for a fact). The cheating bastard cancer anyway.
Started out a rough morning. I woke up having a hard time breathing. That was around 0100, I got up and huffed and puffed like a worn out steam engine until things kinda ironed out. It wasn't like I was dying or anything from suffocation, it was just hard to pull a good breath. That is fixed now and I'm all aired up like a truck tire. The other thing is my right upper jaw. Like I said earlier, it's either a small fracture, like a crack, been dislocated from the pec in the left side of my face cramping up, pulled muscle from the same reason as the dislocation, or a nerve problem. Either way, it's been a pain in the ass (I know, wrong end) since 0100 this morning. Just to add insult to injury, I forgot to take off my "shuffle shoes" and put on at least my athletic shoes or biker boots. Oh hell yeah!! I want to go out in public like an old man that gives every kid a shiny new penny!….NOT!
Some of the stuff is what I was expecting, maybe a bit faster than I hoped it would, other's are a bit behind where I thought I'd be into the track of Terminal Velocity. It's nice, though, to wake up most mornings with things working in my advantage. You know, hungry, thirsty, full of piss and vinegar. The pisser of that is those type days are coming a bit farther apart, and the days I feel a little less than being able to tear the day down like I used to be able to accomplish. Today is the day, one year ago, I sat down in the chemo infusion room and started the last chemo I'd ever take. If my surgery hadn't been so extensive, and taking away so much of my mouth and throat, I'd more than likely have done the clinical trial chemo regimen. Not now, by God.
So, where does this leave me? Oh you know, about where I was three months ago, only with time and body wearing away. I'm not afraid of the end, but 95% of the time I don't want to rush into getting there. I'll be perfectly honest, there are days when I'm bleeding what seems to be buckets out of my mouth, throat, and trachea, I think "For God's sake, hurry the fuck up will ya? I'm tired, I'm hurting, and I can't even get a damn jalapeño , bacon, and double cheeseburger. That in itself is enough to make me want it to end. No, not really, but I do miss eating. Somehow the PEG line and cans of fucking formula just ain't cuttin it. There's a place on my right side, lower jaw, just a shade back from my chin that doesn't feel like fluid accumulation. It's pretty solid and doesn't hurt to the touch. It is, though, getting slowly larger. I thought they'd taken four lymph glands out of right along that stretch of my right jaw line. I vaguely remember the sutures in that side of my face and neck. I'll have to check with some pictures taken of the right side of my face. In the long run, since I'm already hurtling along at Terminal Velocity, it really makes no difference. It's one of those things that pops up in my head every now and then, but only deserves momentary thought. Not something to dwell upon.
My oldest and I were chatting (okay, she chats, I write it down) about being lost in your own thoughts, and how difficult that is to over come. I was at a loss with her, since I don't do that. It's how I'm wired. Something will pop up there, I'll go over it, and either have a way to fix what ever it's brought to me, so I can fix it, or just let it go into a different spot in my memory so it's waiting on a solution. I'm not sure if the way I'm hard wired is directly from my birth, or something I taught myself. Either way, it's not a bad way to be, at least for myself. I do understand, though, that it can be a crippling problem, and my heart goes out to those that are affected by that kind of thought process. One of my short comings that I am working on is to be more empathetic toward those folks, and others I know as well. It seems like I'm having more fun that one guy with terminal cancer should be allowed to have. But then again, I'm making my own fun now, and that just kind of goes along with how I was when I was healthy and whole. It's nice not to have to change a whole lot to be paraded around with the fun folks, if not in person, then at least online. Technology is amazing, as long as it's used more to augment your free time, not to become the replacement to conversation.
I need to spend some time with everyone in the family, just the two of us. That way, with some one on one face time, maybe I can find their worries and fears. I am not going to say I can fix that, but maybe together we can ease some of that pain off and share that a little. That way, it won't weigh either one of us completely down. I put up the strong face, the stoic, unafraid, father. That, though, isn't far off for myself. I'm not so out of touch that I don't notice that everyone is a bit worried, and afraid, or wondering how I really feel, pain level, mental state and all. If we can put THAT stuff on the table, slap it around a bit, I'm nearly positive we can put most of that to rest. This is something I need to square away ASAP. I will make this happen, for the sake of my family and myself.
Way back in the day, okay not quite 30 years ago, we had a round trip tubing and rod job to work in the EPMG field in the Oklahoma Panhandle. 5100', 5200', not a problem. We were already rigged up on the well, got there around 2030hrs the evening before, and had the horses head already on the ground, all we had to do was start pulling. I crossed my fingers, because they were going to pay us "Stand By" time for when we finished, and 10 hours on Saturday, in case the company had a big producer go down, we would be first out to pull it. So, taking the risk of that, I left my ex a note and see if our friends in OK City, OK wanted to have some company for the the weekend. It was a beautiful late spring day in the Okie Panhandle and SW Kansas, I just knew we'd be finished in nothing flat.
Up in the air I go, (no, I did and if healthy, still wouldn't, ride the blocks up) and out of the hole come the tubing and rods. Seemed like it was pretty quick. About 2 hours and everything was on the bank, awaiting the new insert pump and 2 joints of tubing and some clouds are starting to gather up, really dark clouds, with really tall thunder heads blowing up. We are still on track, only since I can't stop, run in and get my rain suit, I put on the rain suit to start. My old man and little brother are chuckling, little did they know that I was the sharp knife in the drawer that morning.
One sammich, one bottle of Diet Dew, and my ass is back up in the air at the tubing board slinging pipe into the elevators like I had good sense. Got it all in, I climbed down to help get the TAC set and the head back together so when the time comes, all we have to do when we run the rods and pump in, is straighten the pumping tee and turning the damn thing on. Also, bear in mind this is before one too many moron stuck their head with a metal hard hat into a panel box and electrocuted themselves. So yes, I had a turtle top tin hat. In your mind, picture me standing in the rod basket 85' off the ground, with only 15' more derrick above my head. Okay, got that firmly implanted? Cool.
We get the first sinker bar triple and pump going down hole, I hook onto the next sinker bar triple and it starts to rain. The damn thunder heads had scooted past on one side, but had now back tracked and where coming up my back. The wind was getting up, so the Old Man tied the blocks to the ground. (Yes, one day I'll explain how you do that, no companies down here will even try it). Now it's really coming down, Pop hollers up asking if I want to come out of the air. Nay nay say I, lets get this bitch hung on and get the hell out of here. Man, the sky got so dark I could see the light in the main tank battery light itself up. That's dark, baby. Ten or so triples and I can come the hell down, we can hang the well on, put chains on the pick up and rig and head out of this damn slippery loblolly of a field.
BOOOOM!!! Lightning does a ground strike so close to the rig I've got a copper taste in my mouth and the hairs on the back of my neck are standing strait up. About 80 or so feet from the rig, the ground is still smoking where it hit. Okay, I'm not dead. Even if the lightning had hit the rig, as long as no one was one foot on the ground, one on the rig, we'd be okay. Then it struck me funny. I'm 85' up, an open spot between me and the crown of the rig (the rod basket hangs out from the derrick). I'm giggling my ass off now, and it's hard to see with the rain and my own goofy ass laughing at the situation.
Yes, we got the well on in the rain, got the chains on everything and drove out of the field and into Harry's Welding's yard in Elkhart to have some minor stuff fixed. What a hoot baby
Strike while the iron is hot! Opportunity is knocking, answer the door! Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!!! Now we're shittin in tall cotton.
Several famous quotes that have nothing to do with the blog what so ever. So there
Hugs and shit
Started out a rough morning. I woke up having a hard time breathing. That was around 0100, I got up and huffed and puffed like a worn out steam engine until things kinda ironed out. It wasn't like I was dying or anything from suffocation, it was just hard to pull a good breath. That is fixed now and I'm all aired up like a truck tire. The other thing is my right upper jaw. Like I said earlier, it's either a small fracture, like a crack, been dislocated from the pec in the left side of my face cramping up, pulled muscle from the same reason as the dislocation, or a nerve problem. Either way, it's been a pain in the ass (I know, wrong end) since 0100 this morning. Just to add insult to injury, I forgot to take off my "shuffle shoes" and put on at least my athletic shoes or biker boots. Oh hell yeah!! I want to go out in public like an old man that gives every kid a shiny new penny!….NOT!
Some of the stuff is what I was expecting, maybe a bit faster than I hoped it would, other's are a bit behind where I thought I'd be into the track of Terminal Velocity. It's nice, though, to wake up most mornings with things working in my advantage. You know, hungry, thirsty, full of piss and vinegar. The pisser of that is those type days are coming a bit farther apart, and the days I feel a little less than being able to tear the day down like I used to be able to accomplish. Today is the day, one year ago, I sat down in the chemo infusion room and started the last chemo I'd ever take. If my surgery hadn't been so extensive, and taking away so much of my mouth and throat, I'd more than likely have done the clinical trial chemo regimen. Not now, by God.
So, where does this leave me? Oh you know, about where I was three months ago, only with time and body wearing away. I'm not afraid of the end, but 95% of the time I don't want to rush into getting there. I'll be perfectly honest, there are days when I'm bleeding what seems to be buckets out of my mouth, throat, and trachea, I think "For God's sake, hurry the fuck up will ya? I'm tired, I'm hurting, and I can't even get a damn jalapeño , bacon, and double cheeseburger. That in itself is enough to make me want it to end. No, not really, but I do miss eating. Somehow the PEG line and cans of fucking formula just ain't cuttin it. There's a place on my right side, lower jaw, just a shade back from my chin that doesn't feel like fluid accumulation. It's pretty solid and doesn't hurt to the touch. It is, though, getting slowly larger. I thought they'd taken four lymph glands out of right along that stretch of my right jaw line. I vaguely remember the sutures in that side of my face and neck. I'll have to check with some pictures taken of the right side of my face. In the long run, since I'm already hurtling along at Terminal Velocity, it really makes no difference. It's one of those things that pops up in my head every now and then, but only deserves momentary thought. Not something to dwell upon.
My oldest and I were chatting (okay, she chats, I write it down) about being lost in your own thoughts, and how difficult that is to over come. I was at a loss with her, since I don't do that. It's how I'm wired. Something will pop up there, I'll go over it, and either have a way to fix what ever it's brought to me, so I can fix it, or just let it go into a different spot in my memory so it's waiting on a solution. I'm not sure if the way I'm hard wired is directly from my birth, or something I taught myself. Either way, it's not a bad way to be, at least for myself. I do understand, though, that it can be a crippling problem, and my heart goes out to those that are affected by that kind of thought process. One of my short comings that I am working on is to be more empathetic toward those folks, and others I know as well. It seems like I'm having more fun that one guy with terminal cancer should be allowed to have. But then again, I'm making my own fun now, and that just kind of goes along with how I was when I was healthy and whole. It's nice not to have to change a whole lot to be paraded around with the fun folks, if not in person, then at least online. Technology is amazing, as long as it's used more to augment your free time, not to become the replacement to conversation.
I need to spend some time with everyone in the family, just the two of us. That way, with some one on one face time, maybe I can find their worries and fears. I am not going to say I can fix that, but maybe together we can ease some of that pain off and share that a little. That way, it won't weigh either one of us completely down. I put up the strong face, the stoic, unafraid, father. That, though, isn't far off for myself. I'm not so out of touch that I don't notice that everyone is a bit worried, and afraid, or wondering how I really feel, pain level, mental state and all. If we can put THAT stuff on the table, slap it around a bit, I'm nearly positive we can put most of that to rest. This is something I need to square away ASAP. I will make this happen, for the sake of my family and myself.
Way back in the day, okay not quite 30 years ago, we had a round trip tubing and rod job to work in the EPMG field in the Oklahoma Panhandle. 5100', 5200', not a problem. We were already rigged up on the well, got there around 2030hrs the evening before, and had the horses head already on the ground, all we had to do was start pulling. I crossed my fingers, because they were going to pay us "Stand By" time for when we finished, and 10 hours on Saturday, in case the company had a big producer go down, we would be first out to pull it. So, taking the risk of that, I left my ex a note and see if our friends in OK City, OK wanted to have some company for the the weekend. It was a beautiful late spring day in the Okie Panhandle and SW Kansas, I just knew we'd be finished in nothing flat.
Up in the air I go, (no, I did and if healthy, still wouldn't, ride the blocks up) and out of the hole come the tubing and rods. Seemed like it was pretty quick. About 2 hours and everything was on the bank, awaiting the new insert pump and 2 joints of tubing and some clouds are starting to gather up, really dark clouds, with really tall thunder heads blowing up. We are still on track, only since I can't stop, run in and get my rain suit, I put on the rain suit to start. My old man and little brother are chuckling, little did they know that I was the sharp knife in the drawer that morning.
One sammich, one bottle of Diet Dew, and my ass is back up in the air at the tubing board slinging pipe into the elevators like I had good sense. Got it all in, I climbed down to help get the TAC set and the head back together so when the time comes, all we have to do when we run the rods and pump in, is straighten the pumping tee and turning the damn thing on. Also, bear in mind this is before one too many moron stuck their head with a metal hard hat into a panel box and electrocuted themselves. So yes, I had a turtle top tin hat. In your mind, picture me standing in the rod basket 85' off the ground, with only 15' more derrick above my head. Okay, got that firmly implanted? Cool.
We get the first sinker bar triple and pump going down hole, I hook onto the next sinker bar triple and it starts to rain. The damn thunder heads had scooted past on one side, but had now back tracked and where coming up my back. The wind was getting up, so the Old Man tied the blocks to the ground. (Yes, one day I'll explain how you do that, no companies down here will even try it). Now it's really coming down, Pop hollers up asking if I want to come out of the air. Nay nay say I, lets get this bitch hung on and get the hell out of here. Man, the sky got so dark I could see the light in the main tank battery light itself up. That's dark, baby. Ten or so triples and I can come the hell down, we can hang the well on, put chains on the pick up and rig and head out of this damn slippery loblolly of a field.
BOOOOM!!! Lightning does a ground strike so close to the rig I've got a copper taste in my mouth and the hairs on the back of my neck are standing strait up. About 80 or so feet from the rig, the ground is still smoking where it hit. Okay, I'm not dead. Even if the lightning had hit the rig, as long as no one was one foot on the ground, one on the rig, we'd be okay. Then it struck me funny. I'm 85' up, an open spot between me and the crown of the rig (the rod basket hangs out from the derrick). I'm giggling my ass off now, and it's hard to see with the rain and my own goofy ass laughing at the situation.
Yes, we got the well on in the rain, got the chains on everything and drove out of the field and into Harry's Welding's yard in Elkhart to have some minor stuff fixed. What a hoot baby
Strike while the iron is hot! Opportunity is knocking, answer the door! Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!!! Now we're shittin in tall cotton.
Several famous quotes that have nothing to do with the blog what so ever. So there
Hugs and shit
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Wednesday, Which May or May Not Cover Two Days
So, I've been sleeping all night, and farting around all day. That's the excuse I'm using for not blogging earlier in the morning. That's my story and I'm stickin to it. There are possibly some extenuating circumstances, but I can't think of any that anyone would believe right off the bat. Actually, I really have been sleeping more at night, and a bit more during the day, which is beginning to not mess up my sleep patterns. That is a bit troubling, but I suppose I'll get used that as well. It is a sign that I'm getting worn out and my body is saying it needs more rest to function properly. My body is doing it's business fighting as hard as it can, which explains why I need more sleep. Weird too, though, but I've not bled any serious amount from my trach, mouth, and throat for a couple of weeks now. Which is fine with me. It's a mess. And since I'm never certain when it's going to come or go, I don't really go many places now. Sadly. The last time I started bleeding really hard, it was trickling down my chin, and enough that a guy in Starbucks's looked at me and asked if I was okay. He wasn't rude, but I couldn't feel the blood trickling down my dang chin. So yeah, it's a little disconcerting when that happens.
The battery on my portable suction went bad, so I traded it with the medical supply company for one that was supposed to work on battery. Strangely, this one won't work on either. I text them, noting. Liz calls yesterday and no one calls back. She called again this morning and was told they probably couldn't find one like the machine I got in Houston. She's about fed up I believe, and I don't blame her. It seems like no one feels like they should go more than the extra bout six inches to help out a client. It's more than just a little frustrating, to say "Screw you" we are are thinking of buying one online and telling the Medical supply company to pick up the one they sent, and stop renting from them. It would be nice if just once someone in the service industry in all walks of life would stop and say, "We don't carry that sir, let me find a way to get it for you." Or if they can't "Sir we don't carry that item, but this is where you can find one" and give you the internet address to the product, or a number of someone that does carry them. I figure I'll have to wait for hell to freeze over before that happens. More of the piss poor service rant that I started
My right jaw is pulling some crazy shit. Way up high, where it attaches to the bone of the skull, I get screaming, blinding pain, that only lasts a second. It hits so hard that I get that white light thing that is there for a second then gone. It's some miserable pain. But, like I say, it only lasts for a second. I'm not certain what it is. Muscular, nerve, fracture. I just don't know. I do know that it's fuckin A painful, and when it hits that "just right" spot, it's almost enough to drive you down to your knees. They've given me some morphine to stick under my tongue when the pain hits. It's pretty stout. I used a little last night and it was "Good night Irene" for me. I'll try it again here shortly, since in the time I started typing this the damn thing has hit me three times and now it's settling in as a dull throb. That's never any fun.
I say possible fracture, because it feels exactly like the last time I set a finger myself after it was broken. That, too, nearly made me pass out, and after a while, settled in on a nice, steady dull throb. Very similar effects and pain levels. Previously, if the left side of my jaw, which is now my left pectoral muscle cramped, it would hurt and if it was strong enough it would feel like it was trying to dislocate my right jaw. It felt like that a couple of days ago, and that was followed by a loud and pretty painful "SNAMP. Makes me wonder if it didn't work on some level. So, anyway, when the Pec cramps now it feels like it did right before the snap, only worse and it lasts longer.
So I'm getting ready to slip some morphine in and probably crash hard for a short bit this morning. I do that with great ease, and not a small amount of excitement.
Book or Rock: If it comes down to you or me surviving, I choose me.
That's not evil or bad or anything like that, it's just how it is. The only person I have to out run is the guy in front of me, and if bad shit was all you have to have rough, life is pretty simple
The battery on my portable suction went bad, so I traded it with the medical supply company for one that was supposed to work on battery. Strangely, this one won't work on either. I text them, noting. Liz calls yesterday and no one calls back. She called again this morning and was told they probably couldn't find one like the machine I got in Houston. She's about fed up I believe, and I don't blame her. It seems like no one feels like they should go more than the extra bout six inches to help out a client. It's more than just a little frustrating, to say "Screw you" we are are thinking of buying one online and telling the Medical supply company to pick up the one they sent, and stop renting from them. It would be nice if just once someone in the service industry in all walks of life would stop and say, "We don't carry that sir, let me find a way to get it for you." Or if they can't "Sir we don't carry that item, but this is where you can find one" and give you the internet address to the product, or a number of someone that does carry them. I figure I'll have to wait for hell to freeze over before that happens. More of the piss poor service rant that I started
My right jaw is pulling some crazy shit. Way up high, where it attaches to the bone of the skull, I get screaming, blinding pain, that only lasts a second. It hits so hard that I get that white light thing that is there for a second then gone. It's some miserable pain. But, like I say, it only lasts for a second. I'm not certain what it is. Muscular, nerve, fracture. I just don't know. I do know that it's fuckin A painful, and when it hits that "just right" spot, it's almost enough to drive you down to your knees. They've given me some morphine to stick under my tongue when the pain hits. It's pretty stout. I used a little last night and it was "Good night Irene" for me. I'll try it again here shortly, since in the time I started typing this the damn thing has hit me three times and now it's settling in as a dull throb. That's never any fun.
I say possible fracture, because it feels exactly like the last time I set a finger myself after it was broken. That, too, nearly made me pass out, and after a while, settled in on a nice, steady dull throb. Very similar effects and pain levels. Previously, if the left side of my jaw, which is now my left pectoral muscle cramped, it would hurt and if it was strong enough it would feel like it was trying to dislocate my right jaw. It felt like that a couple of days ago, and that was followed by a loud and pretty painful "SNAMP. Makes me wonder if it didn't work on some level. So, anyway, when the Pec cramps now it feels like it did right before the snap, only worse and it lasts longer.
So I'm getting ready to slip some morphine in and probably crash hard for a short bit this morning. I do that with great ease, and not a small amount of excitement.
Book or Rock: If it comes down to you or me surviving, I choose me.
That's not evil or bad or anything like that, it's just how it is. The only person I have to out run is the guy in front of me, and if bad shit was all you have to have rough, life is pretty simple
Monday, December 9, 2013
Monday Monday
Yes, it's really Monday. After all the days off around here for the icy conditions, I could have sworn we had two weekends and this should be December, 16. So much for being able to keep track. I fell asleep about 1930 last night, woke up at 2130 and wondered what the hell my oldest daughter was doing up at 0400. Hmmmm, I pestered her for a minute, fell back asleep and only woke up twice, and at 0500, decided a shower, drugs and feed would be a good thing, just not in that order. Feeding always comes last in my routine. There's no real reason why it should, it's just it shakes out. The weekend was uneventful as far as big deals go. Excluding the "discussion" with Massage Envy about them not being able to treat me, getting that fixed after sliding into complete asshole mode, and the actual massage (which is still with me, just not as strongly as it was) the only thing going on was football on Saturday, and one pro game. Yes, I swore off pro football, but that raging snow storm that they had yesterday was great to watch em play in. I can't even recall now who was playing, it was just fun watching them. I spent part of that time thinking "Yeah, I've worked in a blizzard more than once, what's the big deal?" I'm pretty certain a lot of people would say they could be seriously injured. True, but try climbing a ladder on the outside of a rig derrick eighty feet up to the rod basket, and not being able to see the floor. Nothing like something that could get you killed for not paying attention to put pro football in a blizzard in it's proper perspective. Not to disparage the players, but they get pretty well compensated, and the guys in the trenches don't get their fair share compared to the "stars" on the team. I think a lot of the time the QB, receivers, and running backs seem to forget who makes that all possible.
Sidebar: Cudo's to Jon Herod, owner of Schlotzky's Deli in Midland. His employees weren't treating customers to his satisfaction, so he closed the place and has been holding "Attitude Adjustment" meetings to straighten that out. They've been closed for more than just a few days working on it. Finally, the owner of a restaurant does the right thing. Even if it cost him revenue. Thanks, Brother, and even though I can't eat any longer, I've got your back.
Mike, the man who gave me my massage didn't want to take a tip. I kinda laughed it off, and kept after him to take the money. He kept refusing, until I said, "Liz will kill me if I don't", and he took his tip. He was telling me that out of all the employees that place has, that he and two others are the only ones that aren't afraid to touch me and give me a massage. I asked if that was because of the surgery or what, and he said "Yes" to both things, the surgery and "or what". Apparently I make some of the other folks nervous. I could tell when I went in Friday to try and sort out a way to get me a massage. The assistant manager, the young woman that turned me down, looked at me like I was going to attack her and leave her covered in scars and tracheostomy. Well, we all know that's not true, scars maybe. I realize as well that I can seem to be pretty "untouchable" and that not knowing where to start on me could be an issue. It's really very simple. I show them where I've got the most suffering from pain going on, and they massage that area/areas out for an hour. I'm still cruising from that massage. It's truly made a difference. Couple that with the Lymphedema Therapy and I'll be in pretty good shape down the road a bit. Of course, down the road a bit, I may not need either service. But until that time, I'm going to make good use of the services I've got working for me now.
Way way back in 1969 or 1970, some where along those lines, we lived on a section of ranch, wheat, and milo farm. We just lived in the house, we didn't own cattle or plow the rich soil around Russell County Kansas. It's where I learned to saddle a horse and ride. I got $5 a month to move 80 head of registered Black Angus cattle between pastures every month, and for taking care of the horse. He wasn't shod, so I had to learn how to look for splits in his hooves. I'd tell my Ma, she'd call his owner, and he'd sent out a farrier. I also learned not to talk him places he might get a stone bruise in his hoof. He was well trained, you could steer him with your knees. Something he liked better because he had a cavity so big you could park a truck in it.The vet came out to look him over and did something to the tooth, I don't know what he did, pulled it or filled it, I don't know. But I do know that you could ride him with a bridle, without fear of catching that bad tooth on the bit. I didn't like to use the bit, but there were times just using a hackamore wouldn't cut it, he'd ignore the hackamore, and go off on his merry way if you weren't careful and let him have his head.
So, anyway, we had a pretty large pond about 200 yards from the house. Great fishing, pretty free of trees and small shit to cut your feet if you went swimming. Which got a lot better when dad brought home a double deck, pontoon boat (the entire thing was home made, the pontoons were made from old barrels). It was fun to fish and swim off. You did, however, have to put the horse in the paddock with the calving shed. We didn't do that once, and the damn thing tried to get onto it with you. He could be around it all the time and not try to get on the damn thing. He got both front feet on the deck one time, liked to capsized the damn thing, so we locked him up.
We'd had a real turd floater of a rain. Three or four inches in the middle of the night. The anchor on the pontoon boat didn't hold and the water going over the spillway carried the boat about half way over. I was told by both parents to let the boat sit, and dad would be home and fix it for me. WRONG!!! I figured I'd get it off myself. Two car jacks and several creosote fence posts later, it was back floating on the pond. I was quizzed pretty hard about how I did it, and I never changed my story. I kept bouncing the front end and pushed it in. DUH, you can't do both. But I was sharp enough to put everything back where it belonged. I was 21 before I admitted to the parents how I got the damn boat back in the deep water. They weren't pissed, but laughed their asses off. Whew
Sidebar: Cudo's to Jon Herod, owner of Schlotzky's Deli in Midland. His employees weren't treating customers to his satisfaction, so he closed the place and has been holding "Attitude Adjustment" meetings to straighten that out. They've been closed for more than just a few days working on it. Finally, the owner of a restaurant does the right thing. Even if it cost him revenue. Thanks, Brother, and even though I can't eat any longer, I've got your back.
Mike, the man who gave me my massage didn't want to take a tip. I kinda laughed it off, and kept after him to take the money. He kept refusing, until I said, "Liz will kill me if I don't", and he took his tip. He was telling me that out of all the employees that place has, that he and two others are the only ones that aren't afraid to touch me and give me a massage. I asked if that was because of the surgery or what, and he said "Yes" to both things, the surgery and "or what". Apparently I make some of the other folks nervous. I could tell when I went in Friday to try and sort out a way to get me a massage. The assistant manager, the young woman that turned me down, looked at me like I was going to attack her and leave her covered in scars and tracheostomy. Well, we all know that's not true, scars maybe. I realize as well that I can seem to be pretty "untouchable" and that not knowing where to start on me could be an issue. It's really very simple. I show them where I've got the most suffering from pain going on, and they massage that area/areas out for an hour. I'm still cruising from that massage. It's truly made a difference. Couple that with the Lymphedema Therapy and I'll be in pretty good shape down the road a bit. Of course, down the road a bit, I may not need either service. But until that time, I'm going to make good use of the services I've got working for me now.
Way way back in 1969 or 1970, some where along those lines, we lived on a section of ranch, wheat, and milo farm. We just lived in the house, we didn't own cattle or plow the rich soil around Russell County Kansas. It's where I learned to saddle a horse and ride. I got $5 a month to move 80 head of registered Black Angus cattle between pastures every month, and for taking care of the horse. He wasn't shod, so I had to learn how to look for splits in his hooves. I'd tell my Ma, she'd call his owner, and he'd sent out a farrier. I also learned not to talk him places he might get a stone bruise in his hoof. He was well trained, you could steer him with your knees. Something he liked better because he had a cavity so big you could park a truck in it.The vet came out to look him over and did something to the tooth, I don't know what he did, pulled it or filled it, I don't know. But I do know that you could ride him with a bridle, without fear of catching that bad tooth on the bit. I didn't like to use the bit, but there were times just using a hackamore wouldn't cut it, he'd ignore the hackamore, and go off on his merry way if you weren't careful and let him have his head.
So, anyway, we had a pretty large pond about 200 yards from the house. Great fishing, pretty free of trees and small shit to cut your feet if you went swimming. Which got a lot better when dad brought home a double deck, pontoon boat (the entire thing was home made, the pontoons were made from old barrels). It was fun to fish and swim off. You did, however, have to put the horse in the paddock with the calving shed. We didn't do that once, and the damn thing tried to get onto it with you. He could be around it all the time and not try to get on the damn thing. He got both front feet on the deck one time, liked to capsized the damn thing, so we locked him up.
We'd had a real turd floater of a rain. Three or four inches in the middle of the night. The anchor on the pontoon boat didn't hold and the water going over the spillway carried the boat about half way over. I was told by both parents to let the boat sit, and dad would be home and fix it for me. WRONG!!! I figured I'd get it off myself. Two car jacks and several creosote fence posts later, it was back floating on the pond. I was quizzed pretty hard about how I did it, and I never changed my story. I kept bouncing the front end and pushed it in. DUH, you can't do both. But I was sharp enough to put everything back where it belonged. I was 21 before I admitted to the parents how I got the damn boat back in the deep water. They weren't pissed, but laughed their asses off. Whew
Sunday, December 8, 2013
Two Or Three Days Later
Two or three days later, since I last wrote something on the blog. You see, there are days I don't feel particularly witty. Other's I don't feel much like doing anything at all. Still other days are so damn monotonous that there isn't much to blog about. Strangely enough, I sometimes can't think of a damn thing worth writing about. That amazes some folks that I know, that I would be caught at a loss of words. I'm full of surprises.
I was thinking tonight, since I got a night's full of sleep way earlier than I would have normally liked, that I am missing a thing or two. I'm missing, mostly, sleeping with my wife. It's working on eleven months since I had surgery and in that time I believe I've only been able to sleep in my bed for a couple of months. At first, after the surgery, I was of course stuck in a hospital bed. That turned into twenty one days instead of the seven the doctors had first thought would be my full time stay. Liz stayed with me in the hospital the entire time. I can't even begin to find the words to express how humble, loved, and fearless her being with me made me feel. She sacrificed her life, to watch over mine. She became my voice and defender, and I'm still in awe of her, and probably will be for however much longer I have left. Does this mean we've never had words or hurt each others feelings? No, not at all, because we have. The farther along I get, the closer I get to the end of my time, I get a little more picky and grouchy. There are times when decisions are made without asking me what I think. That tends to bother me a lot more now than it used to bother me. It makes for some hard feelings, I dislike that. I'm working on fixing it as well, so I'm less pressured from myself. Now that I've managed to run clear off the rails from that I was missing, I think I can head back to that.
Yeah, I really miss sleeping with my wife. There is something that really comforts me in being able to reach out and touch her in the wee hours, when I'm in that between sleep and waking, and I am relaxed by that fact. I honestly sleep far better. It's nice to be able to touch her hand, rub her side. listen to her breath. Twenty two years of that and I became so accustomed to it, I still have trouble sleeping if she's not near me. It's funny how that works, isn't it? Here I am, this tough individualist, who can take care of so many things on my own now, and I strive to do that, and I feel more than a little lost without being in the same bed as my wife. It's because I have come to rely on her so much. Her help with doctors, her ideas and thoughts on about everything, and how steady she is when I'm on the edge of blowing my cool. Fun stuff like that, and it seems to all come together when I can lie down in a bed, put my hand on her, and fall asleep. She's become my protector, and is a damn good one. Probably better at it than I was being hers.
Short note. Oldest comes home from work. The cheese sticks that she ordered with pizza are gone. She is vexed. Apparently this is not what she said when she left. I am cracking up. Strange how this sounds and seems like an all too familiar occurrence when I had a house full of kids.
Excitement that comes along this week. Huge ice storm and damn chilly temperatures. For this part of the world, flippin crazy cold. Not just that it hasn't made it to 30 in the last several days, but it's because it's not made it to 30 in the last several days. It gets cold here once in a while, but it doesn't hold on this long as a rule. There had been loads of wrecks, schools closed (which didn't happen very often when I lived up in Kansas, but they were prepared for long cold spells and bad roads), as well as a lot of businesses. Probably very wise. Anyway, I thaw out my car daily, and go see what kind of fun the rest of the city is having, and I find that even when the roads are very slick with ice, the folks here still believe a four wheel drive can get around at regular speed. There is the reason for the wrecks. I got a few things done. One is fairly interesting.
I wake up early Thursday morning and my PEG line (feeding tube) has a piece that is for inflating the balloon that holds it in has come apart. Well, that's odd. So I find the pieces in my lap and put them back in the spot they belong, and I notice that I can see the balloon top sticking out of my stomach. Not so hot, because that means it's about to fall out. I put it back in and semi inflate the balloon (I thought I inflated it all the way, and may have), and take about a two hour nap. I feed myself about 0300, get my daily drugs in about 0400, have coffee about 0500, take the boy to school, and go to Lymphedema therapy. Home by 0930. Things cook along like a normal day about 1700 my damn PEG line falls clear out of my stomach. That's a bit of a surprise. I plug the hole, Liz gathers up some slick em, and we put the damn thing back in and re-inflate the balloon. I also text Hospice. They say go the ER and they'll alert them that I am coming. I get the text that the Dr who was to see me will be can at 1800. I get the text at 1805. Anyway, off we go. And I know it's going to be a while because it's nasty weather and the police are working more of the soon to be 90 accidents in town. Long story short, I was curt with Liz and didn't mean to be, and we worked that out. I felt like people were making decisions for me without asking me first. One of the things I'd like to do is make my decisions, with Liz's advise, while I'm mentally able. There may come a time when I can't at all. Until then I'd like to at least have a say in what goes on.
Friday it's miserably slick out in the morning, and at least until after 1200. So I go into Massage Envy to talk to them about getting a relaxation massage. I was told out of hand, before they asked me a question about any of my conditions or what I could stand and how I might be able to get a massage. So, what did I do? I talked to Liz about it, and what was told to her and what was said to myself appeared to be two different things. Hmmmm. I bailed on FaceBook, did a search, found the corporate page and messaged them with my feelings, as well as an alternative, in case this was just a simple misunderstanding. I added that in the past I'd referred people there, but that would stop, and I would be discouraging people from using the services. I posted pretty much the same thing on the local facilities FaceBook page. Low and behold, I get a call and give it to Liz since I don't hear well. They want us to come in and talk about how to get me a massage. Seems I am now set up with massages until I am unable. It's so frustrating that any more you get more done if you're acting like an asshole. Not suck a long stretch for me, actually.
Allrighty then! This ends another blog and it was brought to your by the letter "8" and the number "I couldn't careless".
Behave yourselves, it's Sunday
I was thinking tonight, since I got a night's full of sleep way earlier than I would have normally liked, that I am missing a thing or two. I'm missing, mostly, sleeping with my wife. It's working on eleven months since I had surgery and in that time I believe I've only been able to sleep in my bed for a couple of months. At first, after the surgery, I was of course stuck in a hospital bed. That turned into twenty one days instead of the seven the doctors had first thought would be my full time stay. Liz stayed with me in the hospital the entire time. I can't even begin to find the words to express how humble, loved, and fearless her being with me made me feel. She sacrificed her life, to watch over mine. She became my voice and defender, and I'm still in awe of her, and probably will be for however much longer I have left. Does this mean we've never had words or hurt each others feelings? No, not at all, because we have. The farther along I get, the closer I get to the end of my time, I get a little more picky and grouchy. There are times when decisions are made without asking me what I think. That tends to bother me a lot more now than it used to bother me. It makes for some hard feelings, I dislike that. I'm working on fixing it as well, so I'm less pressured from myself. Now that I've managed to run clear off the rails from that I was missing, I think I can head back to that.
Yeah, I really miss sleeping with my wife. There is something that really comforts me in being able to reach out and touch her in the wee hours, when I'm in that between sleep and waking, and I am relaxed by that fact. I honestly sleep far better. It's nice to be able to touch her hand, rub her side. listen to her breath. Twenty two years of that and I became so accustomed to it, I still have trouble sleeping if she's not near me. It's funny how that works, isn't it? Here I am, this tough individualist, who can take care of so many things on my own now, and I strive to do that, and I feel more than a little lost without being in the same bed as my wife. It's because I have come to rely on her so much. Her help with doctors, her ideas and thoughts on about everything, and how steady she is when I'm on the edge of blowing my cool. Fun stuff like that, and it seems to all come together when I can lie down in a bed, put my hand on her, and fall asleep. She's become my protector, and is a damn good one. Probably better at it than I was being hers.
Short note. Oldest comes home from work. The cheese sticks that she ordered with pizza are gone. She is vexed. Apparently this is not what she said when she left. I am cracking up. Strange how this sounds and seems like an all too familiar occurrence when I had a house full of kids.
Excitement that comes along this week. Huge ice storm and damn chilly temperatures. For this part of the world, flippin crazy cold. Not just that it hasn't made it to 30 in the last several days, but it's because it's not made it to 30 in the last several days. It gets cold here once in a while, but it doesn't hold on this long as a rule. There had been loads of wrecks, schools closed (which didn't happen very often when I lived up in Kansas, but they were prepared for long cold spells and bad roads), as well as a lot of businesses. Probably very wise. Anyway, I thaw out my car daily, and go see what kind of fun the rest of the city is having, and I find that even when the roads are very slick with ice, the folks here still believe a four wheel drive can get around at regular speed. There is the reason for the wrecks. I got a few things done. One is fairly interesting.
I wake up early Thursday morning and my PEG line (feeding tube) has a piece that is for inflating the balloon that holds it in has come apart. Well, that's odd. So I find the pieces in my lap and put them back in the spot they belong, and I notice that I can see the balloon top sticking out of my stomach. Not so hot, because that means it's about to fall out. I put it back in and semi inflate the balloon (I thought I inflated it all the way, and may have), and take about a two hour nap. I feed myself about 0300, get my daily drugs in about 0400, have coffee about 0500, take the boy to school, and go to Lymphedema therapy. Home by 0930. Things cook along like a normal day about 1700 my damn PEG line falls clear out of my stomach. That's a bit of a surprise. I plug the hole, Liz gathers up some slick em, and we put the damn thing back in and re-inflate the balloon. I also text Hospice. They say go the ER and they'll alert them that I am coming. I get the text that the Dr who was to see me will be can at 1800. I get the text at 1805. Anyway, off we go. And I know it's going to be a while because it's nasty weather and the police are working more of the soon to be 90 accidents in town. Long story short, I was curt with Liz and didn't mean to be, and we worked that out. I felt like people were making decisions for me without asking me first. One of the things I'd like to do is make my decisions, with Liz's advise, while I'm mentally able. There may come a time when I can't at all. Until then I'd like to at least have a say in what goes on.
Friday it's miserably slick out in the morning, and at least until after 1200. So I go into Massage Envy to talk to them about getting a relaxation massage. I was told out of hand, before they asked me a question about any of my conditions or what I could stand and how I might be able to get a massage. So, what did I do? I talked to Liz about it, and what was told to her and what was said to myself appeared to be two different things. Hmmmm. I bailed on FaceBook, did a search, found the corporate page and messaged them with my feelings, as well as an alternative, in case this was just a simple misunderstanding. I added that in the past I'd referred people there, but that would stop, and I would be discouraging people from using the services. I posted pretty much the same thing on the local facilities FaceBook page. Low and behold, I get a call and give it to Liz since I don't hear well. They want us to come in and talk about how to get me a massage. Seems I am now set up with massages until I am unable. It's so frustrating that any more you get more done if you're acting like an asshole. Not suck a long stretch for me, actually.
Allrighty then! This ends another blog and it was brought to your by the letter "8" and the number "I couldn't careless".
Behave yourselves, it's Sunday
Thursday, December 5, 2013
You've Got To Be Kidding
I've not slept well for a couple of days since the big cough, vomit, cough, vomit, thing on Tuesday. Where I've gotten most of my sleep has been during the day at an hour or two at a hitch, just doing that all day long. I slept a lot yesterday during the day, but had fallen asleep about 2215 give or take. Then, around 0100 or so I woke up. My shirt was damp and making me chilly. Couldn't for the life of me figure out why. I checked my Feeding tube and the two places to feed were capped. But the one that you use to inflate the balloon that keeps the Feeding Tube in looked weird. There's a reason it looked weird, part of it was missing. How strange. I checked and sure enough there were the two pieces that make up that particular end lying on my lap. I got those back where they belong, but that didn't explain the shirt. Then WHAMO! It dawns on me that if that part was completely out, then the balloon had to have deflated. Uh oh. Yes, I looked. Yes, the Feeding Tube had come far enough out that I could see part of the balloon sticking out of my stomach stoma. Uh oh. No sweat, I've got a place that's marked on how far in it should go. There's a round piece over the line that keeps it from going too far in, that's my marker. So I gently shove the line back in (okay not so gently, more like "Shove that fucker in before it pops out and you have to take your ass to the ER to get it put back"). Sweet. Uh oh, how do I re-inflate the tube? I remember I've got that tiny syringe for measuring the amount of Evil Steroid liquid. I grab that, hold it as tight as I can against the "Balloon" marked tube and push. It's working! Took a couple more times before I got resistance on the syringe, which I figure means the balloon is as full as it needs to be, and I'd better stop before I pop it. Talk about a royal pooch screw that would be if I blew the balloon up. For now, this tops my "What The Fuck Could Possibly Be Next?" list. I mean, really. Now that it's back together, I can't even pull the damn end marked "Balloon" pieces apart, let alone figure out how they came out to begin with. Perhaps I've got a Poltergeist messing with me.
I've had some questions from some folks that haven't been around since the beginning, so I'm going to take the time to kind of fill in some blanks for them, if you old timers will allow me the time to do so. For starters, I can taste some things not because I can swallow anything, but because my esophageal sphincter (the muscle that closes your esophagus between mouth and stomach) only works at about 85% efficient. It never completely closes. If I push really fast while I'm getting a drink, or if I'm putting soup, coffee, or even my feed, too fast, it will back up my esophagus and get onto the back of my tongue enough I can taste. Sometimes that's nice, other times it's a royal pain in the ass because my food tastes worse than it smells. It smells like a decaying raccoon. That's why I can taste somethings, and why it makes me vomit sometimes when I cough. The mucus I produce gets hung up between esophagus and mouth, and be coughing it triggers my gag reflex and I vomit. Yes, it's more fun that having an eye dug out with a rusty spoon, but only by a little.
Some of the other things that are trouble some is not having a soft palate any more. That's the small muscle and skin that covers your nasal passages from your mouth. It helps make the pressure differential that allows you to swallow more easily. It also keeps anything from getting into your sinus if you vomit. By not having that, every time I vomit I have my sinuses filled as well. And yes, that too is almost as much fun as having an eye dug out with a rusty spoon. And once again, just barely as much fun. Along with that is not having a base of tongue any longer. That's the muscle that moves your tongue forward and backward and really aids in swallowing. It gives whatever you're eating or drinking a big shove down your esophagus to get a strong swallow started. If not for all the surgery this time, combined with the radiation from treatment five years ago, I may have been able to swallow. In fact, I had started swallowing a little just ahead of July 7 of this year when I went in for reconstructive surgery. The first of what I hoped would be several that would also get me fixed so that I could swallow. It was also the time they found my cancer again. Damn stuff just couldn't stand leaving me alone. This time there's nothing more the docs could do and I became terminal.
Along with soft tissue removed, I had part of my left jaw taken out, and to reconstruct the bone and muscle taken, they used part of my right quad. That died and in turn gave me a lovely bacterial infection. They took that out (second surgery) and put my left pec in it's place. Then later they had to go in and surgically clean and washout my infected areas (third surgery. That put me around 28 hours in surgery, including dying for a short time on the table for the third surgery. I believe I have been under the knife for approximately 30 hours total. That's a long time to be knocked out, for sure. Although, there are people who have to undergo many more surgeries than I had, and are under the knife for a lot more hours as well. My hat's off to those folks. They are real troopers. By the time I got out of the last one, and found out they couldn't and wouldn't do any more reconstructive surgery, I was damn tired of being poked, pushed and prodded. Counting the week prior to surgery, I'd spent nearly 30 days in Houston, and 22 days of that in a hospital bed. Went in January 22 for my first surgery, left February 12th to come home for a week before having to go right back for further check ups. I got to Houston and MD Anderson on January 13, a Sunday, to get all my blood work and a weeks worth of meetings and tests run before surgery. My Houston friends, nothing personal, but I'm telling ya I never want to see Houston again, ever. I've not had the best of times when I was there.
I was waxing a little nostalgic the other day, and remembering back how much things have changed since I was a young un. We got two and a half channels on the TV when I was a kid. The first one I remember was a huge Zenith on a metal stand. Black and white, of course. I can still tell you what furniture and where it was sitting in the living room on the day Kennedy was shot and killed in Dallas. I'd not been three very long, but I can still see that clear as day in my memory. I told my mom, she didn't believe me, and seeing her come into the living room and seeing her sit on the couch and cry. She liked Kennedy, even though she and dad were big in the Republican party in Russell County Kansas at the time. I remember watching "How The Grinch Stole Christmas", "Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer", "Charlie Brown Christmas", and a lot of other shows along those lines in Black and White on the two and a half channels. Big time stuff when I was a kid were any musical that was on the boob tube, Ed Sullivan, The Smothers Brothers, Laugh In, as well as all the celebrity variety shows. Carol Burnett was a must see thing when I was a kid.
Some time around the time I was six or seven, the old man got us a 25" console color TV. Man, that was shittin in tall cotton, I'll tell ya. And yet, only about 50% of the shows were in color then. I remember seeing Bonanza, Gunsmoke, Wild Wild West, and several other shows going from black and white to "Living Color" as I got older. The console was also top of the line in that it had a remote control that turned the knob, instead of a kid or parent having to get up and walk across the room to change channels. It clunked when you changed channels. It had to, there were not digital numbers, so you either went up or down the available numbers, 2 thru 13, then a few UHF channels. Crazy shit.
In around 1972 or 73, when we lived in Great Bend Kansas, we got cable TV for the first time. Every channel had something on it. Twelve different channels, twelve different stations. Some repeated NBC, ABC and CBS, but there were channels out of Kansas City. KBMA was the big one. That was uptown baby. Jonny Sato and Giant Robot, Speed Racer, reruns of Gilligan's Island, and on Sunday, Tarzan Theater. It's also where I got into watching The Midnight Special hosted by Wolfman Jack. Great rock bands playing live on the show. Sometimes two to four different bands, all playing two or three songs each. If I'm not mistaken, David Bowie had what would be the first music video on there as well. Done to "Fame". Pretty cool shit.
I got my first shot of Monty Python's Flying Circus as well. Good lord what funny shit that was then, and still is. Shows were on in the 1970's that I don't think would ever see light of day anymore. They'd be far too honest for the Politically Correct crowd, and the producers and actors would be cast out as demons for even thinking of showing them. Shows like "All In The Family". Archie Bunker, America's favorite bigot. That show even dealt with his wife Edith being raped. You'd never see that now. It was an honest look at it as well. Edith was too embarrassed and ashamed to even call the police or tell Archie, and in the end, she did both. Pretty damn insightful for it's day and age. "Maude" was ahead of it's time as well. Although my parents didn't like that one. "Sanford and Son" with Redd Foxx. Funny shit. It's a shame we've gotten so politically correct that we can't even put shows like those that ran in the mid 1970's on the air forty years later, for fear someone will be offended. Quite frankly, I think those programs did more for opening up the public's eyes to what really went on in the American Society and closed some gaping holes in our beliefs. It seems to me, even with Watergate, the Iranians taking American hostages, that we were a lot less divided and more honest with each other than we are at this point in time. At least we admitted that there were bigots in all races, and pointed out how damn stupid they cam off. It's a shame we can't seem to be that honest with ourselves as a nation, all because it's not Politically Correct to point out that all races and creeds have their fair share of bigotry and racism. Perhaps one day we can get back to the point we were in the 70's, when race mattered a little less, and character mattered a whole lot more.
I'm sure my opinion will stir up some of my more liberal friends, and maybe some of my more conservative friends as well. That's too bad, because in doing so they'll have proved my point for me. I appreciate that.
Book of Rock: Get Comfortable in Your Own Skin First, before you start to tell me how I should behave, dress, or present myself. You can't enjoy other people as just people if you can't first enjoy your own company, and can laugh at your own silly shit. Do that, and the world becomes your playground, not something you have to put up with so you can grumble about how fucking unfair people are to you. Get used to it, it's not fair anywhere at any time. It's just life. Learn to enjoy it
Hugs, kisses, and cheap feels for the ladies. Hearty handshakes and BroHugs for the guys. Now, got out and Carpe Jugulum!
I've had some questions from some folks that haven't been around since the beginning, so I'm going to take the time to kind of fill in some blanks for them, if you old timers will allow me the time to do so. For starters, I can taste some things not because I can swallow anything, but because my esophageal sphincter (the muscle that closes your esophagus between mouth and stomach) only works at about 85% efficient. It never completely closes. If I push really fast while I'm getting a drink, or if I'm putting soup, coffee, or even my feed, too fast, it will back up my esophagus and get onto the back of my tongue enough I can taste. Sometimes that's nice, other times it's a royal pain in the ass because my food tastes worse than it smells. It smells like a decaying raccoon. That's why I can taste somethings, and why it makes me vomit sometimes when I cough. The mucus I produce gets hung up between esophagus and mouth, and be coughing it triggers my gag reflex and I vomit. Yes, it's more fun that having an eye dug out with a rusty spoon, but only by a little.
Some of the other things that are trouble some is not having a soft palate any more. That's the small muscle and skin that covers your nasal passages from your mouth. It helps make the pressure differential that allows you to swallow more easily. It also keeps anything from getting into your sinus if you vomit. By not having that, every time I vomit I have my sinuses filled as well. And yes, that too is almost as much fun as having an eye dug out with a rusty spoon. And once again, just barely as much fun. Along with that is not having a base of tongue any longer. That's the muscle that moves your tongue forward and backward and really aids in swallowing. It gives whatever you're eating or drinking a big shove down your esophagus to get a strong swallow started. If not for all the surgery this time, combined with the radiation from treatment five years ago, I may have been able to swallow. In fact, I had started swallowing a little just ahead of July 7 of this year when I went in for reconstructive surgery. The first of what I hoped would be several that would also get me fixed so that I could swallow. It was also the time they found my cancer again. Damn stuff just couldn't stand leaving me alone. This time there's nothing more the docs could do and I became terminal.
Along with soft tissue removed, I had part of my left jaw taken out, and to reconstruct the bone and muscle taken, they used part of my right quad. That died and in turn gave me a lovely bacterial infection. They took that out (second surgery) and put my left pec in it's place. Then later they had to go in and surgically clean and washout my infected areas (third surgery. That put me around 28 hours in surgery, including dying for a short time on the table for the third surgery. I believe I have been under the knife for approximately 30 hours total. That's a long time to be knocked out, for sure. Although, there are people who have to undergo many more surgeries than I had, and are under the knife for a lot more hours as well. My hat's off to those folks. They are real troopers. By the time I got out of the last one, and found out they couldn't and wouldn't do any more reconstructive surgery, I was damn tired of being poked, pushed and prodded. Counting the week prior to surgery, I'd spent nearly 30 days in Houston, and 22 days of that in a hospital bed. Went in January 22 for my first surgery, left February 12th to come home for a week before having to go right back for further check ups. I got to Houston and MD Anderson on January 13, a Sunday, to get all my blood work and a weeks worth of meetings and tests run before surgery. My Houston friends, nothing personal, but I'm telling ya I never want to see Houston again, ever. I've not had the best of times when I was there.
I was waxing a little nostalgic the other day, and remembering back how much things have changed since I was a young un. We got two and a half channels on the TV when I was a kid. The first one I remember was a huge Zenith on a metal stand. Black and white, of course. I can still tell you what furniture and where it was sitting in the living room on the day Kennedy was shot and killed in Dallas. I'd not been three very long, but I can still see that clear as day in my memory. I told my mom, she didn't believe me, and seeing her come into the living room and seeing her sit on the couch and cry. She liked Kennedy, even though she and dad were big in the Republican party in Russell County Kansas at the time. I remember watching "How The Grinch Stole Christmas", "Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer", "Charlie Brown Christmas", and a lot of other shows along those lines in Black and White on the two and a half channels. Big time stuff when I was a kid were any musical that was on the boob tube, Ed Sullivan, The Smothers Brothers, Laugh In, as well as all the celebrity variety shows. Carol Burnett was a must see thing when I was a kid.
Some time around the time I was six or seven, the old man got us a 25" console color TV. Man, that was shittin in tall cotton, I'll tell ya. And yet, only about 50% of the shows were in color then. I remember seeing Bonanza, Gunsmoke, Wild Wild West, and several other shows going from black and white to "Living Color" as I got older. The console was also top of the line in that it had a remote control that turned the knob, instead of a kid or parent having to get up and walk across the room to change channels. It clunked when you changed channels. It had to, there were not digital numbers, so you either went up or down the available numbers, 2 thru 13, then a few UHF channels. Crazy shit.
In around 1972 or 73, when we lived in Great Bend Kansas, we got cable TV for the first time. Every channel had something on it. Twelve different channels, twelve different stations. Some repeated NBC, ABC and CBS, but there were channels out of Kansas City. KBMA was the big one. That was uptown baby. Jonny Sato and Giant Robot, Speed Racer, reruns of Gilligan's Island, and on Sunday, Tarzan Theater. It's also where I got into watching The Midnight Special hosted by Wolfman Jack. Great rock bands playing live on the show. Sometimes two to four different bands, all playing two or three songs each. If I'm not mistaken, David Bowie had what would be the first music video on there as well. Done to "Fame". Pretty cool shit.
I got my first shot of Monty Python's Flying Circus as well. Good lord what funny shit that was then, and still is. Shows were on in the 1970's that I don't think would ever see light of day anymore. They'd be far too honest for the Politically Correct crowd, and the producers and actors would be cast out as demons for even thinking of showing them. Shows like "All In The Family". Archie Bunker, America's favorite bigot. That show even dealt with his wife Edith being raped. You'd never see that now. It was an honest look at it as well. Edith was too embarrassed and ashamed to even call the police or tell Archie, and in the end, she did both. Pretty damn insightful for it's day and age. "Maude" was ahead of it's time as well. Although my parents didn't like that one. "Sanford and Son" with Redd Foxx. Funny shit. It's a shame we've gotten so politically correct that we can't even put shows like those that ran in the mid 1970's on the air forty years later, for fear someone will be offended. Quite frankly, I think those programs did more for opening up the public's eyes to what really went on in the American Society and closed some gaping holes in our beliefs. It seems to me, even with Watergate, the Iranians taking American hostages, that we were a lot less divided and more honest with each other than we are at this point in time. At least we admitted that there were bigots in all races, and pointed out how damn stupid they cam off. It's a shame we can't seem to be that honest with ourselves as a nation, all because it's not Politically Correct to point out that all races and creeds have their fair share of bigotry and racism. Perhaps one day we can get back to the point we were in the 70's, when race mattered a little less, and character mattered a whole lot more.
I'm sure my opinion will stir up some of my more liberal friends, and maybe some of my more conservative friends as well. That's too bad, because in doing so they'll have proved my point for me. I appreciate that.
Book of Rock: Get Comfortable in Your Own Skin First, before you start to tell me how I should behave, dress, or present myself. You can't enjoy other people as just people if you can't first enjoy your own company, and can laugh at your own silly shit. Do that, and the world becomes your playground, not something you have to put up with so you can grumble about how fucking unfair people are to you. Get used to it, it's not fair anywhere at any time. It's just life. Learn to enjoy it
Hugs, kisses, and cheap feels for the ladies. Hearty handshakes and BroHugs for the guys. Now, got out and Carpe Jugulum!
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Yeah Yeah, It's Late In The Morning
Yeah, yeah, I fiddled around and didn't get the blog done early like I generally like to do. I didn't slept at all until this morning, though. After I got the Boy off to school. I had a coughing spell yesterday that turned into a vomiting event, that turned into an "I'm not going to eat anymore today, because my stomach is still too jumpy" event. Hospice came by while I was in the shower. Everyone assumes that the problem is nausea, making no mind that I've told them dozens of times it's not nausea, it's from my inability to swallow my own secretions, and having that make me gag or cough enough until I vomit. It's oh so fun!!! Geez. So he starts in with three different anti nausea drugs I can take so I won't throw up anymore. Even after I write it down twice that it's not nausea, it's gag reflex that's making me vomit. Twice. He finally soaked it all in and said "oh! you're not nauseous then?" No, no, I'm not. From vomiting, though, my stomach is too jumpy to feed again. So I'm taking Mucinex. We'll see. Last time all it did was make it easier to hack up out of my trach. Didn't do much for reducing the amount of mucus I'm producing. Which to me seems like it should be the objective. So I'll see how it goes. So far today it's going pretty well. One coughing spell about 0500 overnight isn't too bad at all. Speak of the devil, I just had one of those coughing spells. This one, however. had a lucky finish. It wasn't bad enough to make me hurl. I didn't sleep last night, I let that bother me. Waking up coughing, then puking didn't seem like all good an idea to me. So I'll nap more today. No biggy.
It's a pain in the ass to have that happen. It never does when I've got people around to help, except that time about 3 or 4 weeks ago when the Boy was home with. He was a lot of help in getting me towels to catch every thing, and clean up my mess. He didn't panic, and there are times when that's going on I'd love to panic. Yesterday I had time between the initial start until the next wave of heaves to hit the bathroom on my own. That is unusual in itself, but not unwelcome. I wish I had time to get there before they start, only I don't get warnings like you do if you're all in one piece and about to vomit. I could always feel it start when before I lost my ability to swallow. Now I never know and that is a bit spooky. Coughing hard then WHAMO! along comes the barfing. I don't even really gag all that much before, and nothing out of the ordinary with those that happened yesterday. Same old routine of getting a coughing spell, then suction, then cough, then puke before I could start suction. But it went one for what seemed like a long time. It even stopped for a while then kicked back in right before I stepped into the shower. That one was probably the most bothersome. Looking back, it was better than being finished with my shower than having to take another shower all together?
Today is "intake more fluids" start off. I will be taking a lit more slow today and see if I'm over the vomiting spell. Ive had a couple small coughing spells, but nothing like yesterday's. I of good hopes that I won't repeat that again. Although I can taste the icky stuff in the back of my throat again. This is not boding well to keep my vomiting to zero, but once again, if I'm quiet things should slip back into normal again. Well, as close to normal as they ever get around me these days. I would say normal would be a grand start! Anyway, taking in more fluids may help quite a bit. Never hurts to be over hydrate but being dehydrated is a bad thing. Of course all this is predicated upon my getting my ass of here and going to the kitchen and getting started. So, let's get that done and get to feeling more like my old self.
Book Of Rock: Most of what happens is of your own making. Don't try and lay it off on someone else or just bad luck. It's all about choices.
Have fun today, kids
It's a pain in the ass to have that happen. It never does when I've got people around to help, except that time about 3 or 4 weeks ago when the Boy was home with. He was a lot of help in getting me towels to catch every thing, and clean up my mess. He didn't panic, and there are times when that's going on I'd love to panic. Yesterday I had time between the initial start until the next wave of heaves to hit the bathroom on my own. That is unusual in itself, but not unwelcome. I wish I had time to get there before they start, only I don't get warnings like you do if you're all in one piece and about to vomit. I could always feel it start when before I lost my ability to swallow. Now I never know and that is a bit spooky. Coughing hard then WHAMO! along comes the barfing. I don't even really gag all that much before, and nothing out of the ordinary with those that happened yesterday. Same old routine of getting a coughing spell, then suction, then cough, then puke before I could start suction. But it went one for what seemed like a long time. It even stopped for a while then kicked back in right before I stepped into the shower. That one was probably the most bothersome. Looking back, it was better than being finished with my shower than having to take another shower all together?
Today is "intake more fluids" start off. I will be taking a lit more slow today and see if I'm over the vomiting spell. Ive had a couple small coughing spells, but nothing like yesterday's. I of good hopes that I won't repeat that again. Although I can taste the icky stuff in the back of my throat again. This is not boding well to keep my vomiting to zero, but once again, if I'm quiet things should slip back into normal again. Well, as close to normal as they ever get around me these days. I would say normal would be a grand start! Anyway, taking in more fluids may help quite a bit. Never hurts to be over hydrate but being dehydrated is a bad thing. Of course all this is predicated upon my getting my ass of here and going to the kitchen and getting started. So, let's get that done and get to feeling more like my old self.
Book Of Rock: Most of what happens is of your own making. Don't try and lay it off on someone else or just bad luck. It's all about choices.
Have fun today, kids
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)