Yep, I've been frustrated lately. I'm back to the point very few people can make out very little of what I say. Back to writing everything out. In a fast conversation that leaves me sitting. Not really a bad thing, I guess, but frustrating. Recently it was getting the PEG tube changed, and not a soul owning up to the fact they dropped the ball. So much for responsibility, right? Hospice used to get that done in the ER in the hospital. Not any more, the doctor that did them moved on. ER says they haven't done one since. Communication, folks, saves looking like ass hats. I got the PEG tube changed, but not after considerable hassle, and having my ask my wife to make calls, because I can't speak. Frustrating. Yesterday kinda capped off a frustrating week, and I wasn't nice about it.
Liz and the Endoscopy Dr, Patel, and another woman all get the planets lined up and I get a new PEG tube put in at noon tomorrow. The Dr was running late, but his assistant came out and explained that to me. Therefore, I wasn't frustrated with that. I know that sometimes things happen when you're a doctor that can't be helped. In fact, they moved me to the head of the class. He gets there, and here is where the fun really begins.
Turns out my old PEG tube doesn't have a balloon at all. It's simply a piece of rubber that's looks to be about four to six times larger than the stoma opening in my stomach. So, four to six time larger than around one quarter inch. So an inch to an inch and a half bigger than that hole. That's substantial. Doc Patel says "This is really going to hurt. I have to pull the tube out. There will be some bleeding so don't freak out". Yeah, whatever doc, I think. I set my own broken fingers and toes. A doctor in Russell Ks set my simple fracture of my left arm in his office, with no anesthesia, when I was Seven. Big deal, pull away. Okay, yeah, that hurt like a son of a bitch. Hurt a lot. So much in fact that I had to ask for a few minutes until the sweating went away so I could get a placement x-ray to make sure the new tube was where it belonged. Painful, not frustrating. That comes later on in the day.
Yes, the taking the old tube out hurt like hell, and putting the new tube in really irritated an already sore spot. I drive home, feed myself so I don't get a hypoglycemia problem to go with the soreness, and set down in the recliner. I fall asleep. Slept maybe 45 minutes. Get up and fiddle around, out for another 45 minutes. Come about 1600, I got out for almost two and a half hours. So the tube ordeal was tiring. Here's where I got damn frustrated. Since I didn't trust my stomach not to throw up soon, I got up and had a snack. I didn't think the entire serving of the Obama was going to stay down so I didn't eat as much. I did my drugs shortly after. Here's the frustrating part. I didn't pay attention (so this is all upon me) and I find that the new tube doesn't have a line clamp to shut it off. Really? So in trying to crimp the line enough to get the drugs in is doing nothing but making a huge mess. They can't redo and put a clamp on the line. Not without taking the entire thing out again. So, yeah, I'm frustrated big time. On one end at myself for not being more observant when the doctor put the new one in so I could ask about a clamp then. And the Doctor, for doing, in my mind, a half assed job. Why would one not have a clamp to go on the PEG line to keep what's inside, inside me, without leaking? Got me, but I'm going up there and ask.
What I did, but shouldn't have done was give Liz a note that said "There's no clamp on this, it's making a mess and I'm about half pissed off". That pissed Liz off. Because she is frustrated as well. She finds an old hemostat she has, that I didn't know about, and slams it down next to me. Well, me being me, I didn't let that lie either. I wrote a note and gave back to her, then hunkered down in our bedroom to cool off. I think everything cooled off in thirty minutes or so, and I apologized for being a little bitch earlier. So I think it's blown over. We both went to sleep. New day, and so far I'm okay. I hope Liz is as well. I am, however, going to go back up to Endoscopy and find out if they have a line clamp of some sort there. I'm afraid the hemostat is a little rough on the PEG line. But we'll do what we have to do, even if that's carry around a hemostat clamp the line. I mean, really, it's not forever, right?
Cancer Update: The Hospice decided I need a steroid to help with some swelling and bleeding. Both things are inevitable, but I think Hospice is just trying to make me better. That's not a bad thing, and it may work. Hopefully that's the case. My legs feel a little better today, and I don't have such a bad limp. I am not sure what that's from. I do know that I still can't walk full steam for any distance, and I pay for being up on them for any length of time. Maybe my legs are adjusting to the rest of me and decided to behave in a like manner. I can only hope. On the steroid front. Even when they aren't supposed to make you angry, they do me. I couldn't figure out why I was so mad all the time five years ago. Until I looked up one of the medications. Steroid. Damn, I hate that. This time, if I feel myself getting more and more angry, I'm dumping the medication and getting over that shit. Like right fucking now. I'm not going to make everyone miserable again. Not if I can help it.
Lessons I've learned the last week: Frustration is like a cancer, it builds continually and that's not good with my attitude. Best to find an outlet other than family. I found a doctor who wasn't bullshitting about the pain. I should be thankful, because I was mentally prepared for it hurting, just not quite enough. I did manage to keep my core relaxed. That's a good thing. Judging by the way the doctors and staff talk to me, I can only imagine that most of their patients are clueless about what they need to do. I read and research, along with Liz, the things that we need to know. Knowledge is power. I do like the fact that once in a while I can tell a doctor "No thanks, that causes this, and I'm not interested" Kinda knocks them off their God pedestal a little. Everyone needs reminded they are just human from time to time
Today's lesson: Find something that frustrates you and try to find away to fix it so it doesn't. That's what I'm going to do today myself
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Pet Peeve Number 10,356 In A Series
My PEG tube (feeding tube) has gotten a section that is bubbly looking, far bigger around, and much softer than it was originally. Where I work, if rubber tubing gets like that you change it. It's close to bursting. Granted, I don't carry the same pressure as any of the applications in the oil field, but the principal is the same. Change the tube. That was fine with Hospice. I get a text yesterday asking when I could be at the ER to get the tube changed. That was 0930. I text that I would be there in an hour, that I needed a shower first. Fine, they'll be expecting you. Surprise. I get there, no one in the ER knows dick about me getting that PEG tube replaced. That manages to get my temper started. When the only answer I have for anyone is a very simple "I don't know anything, this is where Hospice told me to show up". To continually get questioned as to why, just blew my gaskets. I was short and shitty with several people. Including the Hospice messenger. I gave them 20 minutes to get their shit together, and I was leaving. I'm certainly glad that they took all my vital signs before that got started.
Here's why I got 50 shades of pissed off. You tell me to be somewhere, and I give you the time I'll be there, things better be ready to go to work. If I, in my job, say I need this equipment at this time, it better damn well be there. I'm early, 99.9% of the time. That way I know I'm not the one holding up work. For some reason, and I have no idea why, more and more people don't seem to give a rats ass about being punctual. You tell me to be somewhere at a particular time, your ass better be waiting and ready. Or at least let me know that you can't make it at that time. That's fine. You leave me hanging, baby the oil field ass eating has just begun. After all was said and done, Hospice got an explanation to the ER, at two minutes to 1100. More than 30 minutes after they told me it was all set up. I did apologize to three people. The nurse that kept asking why I was there. She didn't know anymore than I did, therefore I did not need to be so short. Same thing with the ER doctor. And to my Hospice nurse. He was simply relaying information he got from the Hospice doctor or PA. Not having a direct line to them, I let my nurse catch both barrels. Being the messenger myself, I would have expected the same thing. Either there's decent communication, or I'm keeping my temper gun loaded. I've had enough of hospitals to last me a life time. Literally.
Yep, I'm selfish and stubborn about this. As we all should be. Whether you work for a service company of any kind. Hospice and the hospital are service companies. They offer service to people who need them. I don't know if they believe that they have all of us over a barrel or not. In one sense they do. Folk in my position need them both. Well, Hospice is great for my wife, it takes a lot of the day to day burden off her. Can I get along without it? Probably. I'm dying, I'm home, I have insurance. So yes, I probably could. But the stress on the family would increase 100 fold, that I don't need. My advise to both is this. You are a service, treat your customers exactly like you wish to be treated. It's a pretty simple concept. But it seems like more and more people in the service industry could give a shit whether or not the service is as good or better than it had been in the past. I believe it runs along with the majority of folks thinking they deserve something, that they are entitled to it. They are wrong. I'm entitled to good service as long as I'm a cordial customer. If I come in ranting and raving, then no, I don't deserve decent or above average service. I always start out very nice and friendly. Days like yesterday, though, I do not generally stay that way. Mores the shame, because the nurse and doctor in the ER are very nice people. I did't thunder at them directly, but I get the feeling they got the point that I was upset with someone. It wasn't them.
On the Cancer Update front: One of the tumors is my mouth is in my tongue. It's big enough to see. When I got home, it felt like I had something in my mouth. Odd, because I can't eat or swallow, why would it feel this way? I go into the bathroom, turn on every light I can find and hold my mouth open with one hand. There she is! Big! Looks like another tongue is in there. I've not looked into my mouth for a long time, so I'm not certain when it started growing in my tongue area. I do know that the last part of August I could roll a tongue depressor from the right side of my mouth to the left, and it wasn't apparent then, or my SLP might have noticed something wasn't right. So maybe that big in a couple of months. That seems pretty fast.
I still have trouble catching a deep breath off and on. Although yesterday my blood Ox was 95. Four points higher than last Wednesday. Still about three points lower than when I smoked, even. I've tried being more active, hoping to keep my body from getting much weaker. I can see in my results that I'm losing ground. Still, I auger away.
I had a go round with my old friend Bleeding, early this morning. He has since stopped, but coughing up a couple of pretty good sized, nothing but blood, doses into the cough towel, and suctioning out a couple of healthy shots of beautiful bright red blood has a bit more than disconcerting look to it. They want to give me a steroid to help control that, but I don't bleed all the time, so I wonder if that's really necessary. We'll see.
Book Of Rock: Want an honest answer, ask away. Want a yes man? Then don't ask me, I'll just piss you off by giving an honest answer.
Truly, that has happened to me a couple of times. Both times I gave an honest answer to what seemed like a pretty straight forward question. Got my ass chewed from here to next week. Third time I'm a bit gun shy. So I ask "Want an honest answer, or the one you'd like to hear?". Who knew that was going to turn out to be a worse ass eating than the first two. With that particular person my standard answer became "How the fuck would I know?" Suited that person just fine. I guess it left his insecurity in possibly knowing less than I intact. He was the kind of person, that when I wanted to jump me about something he had some one else come with him. I'm not sure it if was a body guard or not.
Have fun, do NOT do as I do and let some little thing twist you're crank. Have fun instead
Here's why I got 50 shades of pissed off. You tell me to be somewhere, and I give you the time I'll be there, things better be ready to go to work. If I, in my job, say I need this equipment at this time, it better damn well be there. I'm early, 99.9% of the time. That way I know I'm not the one holding up work. For some reason, and I have no idea why, more and more people don't seem to give a rats ass about being punctual. You tell me to be somewhere at a particular time, your ass better be waiting and ready. Or at least let me know that you can't make it at that time. That's fine. You leave me hanging, baby the oil field ass eating has just begun. After all was said and done, Hospice got an explanation to the ER, at two minutes to 1100. More than 30 minutes after they told me it was all set up. I did apologize to three people. The nurse that kept asking why I was there. She didn't know anymore than I did, therefore I did not need to be so short. Same thing with the ER doctor. And to my Hospice nurse. He was simply relaying information he got from the Hospice doctor or PA. Not having a direct line to them, I let my nurse catch both barrels. Being the messenger myself, I would have expected the same thing. Either there's decent communication, or I'm keeping my temper gun loaded. I've had enough of hospitals to last me a life time. Literally.
Yep, I'm selfish and stubborn about this. As we all should be. Whether you work for a service company of any kind. Hospice and the hospital are service companies. They offer service to people who need them. I don't know if they believe that they have all of us over a barrel or not. In one sense they do. Folk in my position need them both. Well, Hospice is great for my wife, it takes a lot of the day to day burden off her. Can I get along without it? Probably. I'm dying, I'm home, I have insurance. So yes, I probably could. But the stress on the family would increase 100 fold, that I don't need. My advise to both is this. You are a service, treat your customers exactly like you wish to be treated. It's a pretty simple concept. But it seems like more and more people in the service industry could give a shit whether or not the service is as good or better than it had been in the past. I believe it runs along with the majority of folks thinking they deserve something, that they are entitled to it. They are wrong. I'm entitled to good service as long as I'm a cordial customer. If I come in ranting and raving, then no, I don't deserve decent or above average service. I always start out very nice and friendly. Days like yesterday, though, I do not generally stay that way. Mores the shame, because the nurse and doctor in the ER are very nice people. I did't thunder at them directly, but I get the feeling they got the point that I was upset with someone. It wasn't them.
On the Cancer Update front: One of the tumors is my mouth is in my tongue. It's big enough to see. When I got home, it felt like I had something in my mouth. Odd, because I can't eat or swallow, why would it feel this way? I go into the bathroom, turn on every light I can find and hold my mouth open with one hand. There she is! Big! Looks like another tongue is in there. I've not looked into my mouth for a long time, so I'm not certain when it started growing in my tongue area. I do know that the last part of August I could roll a tongue depressor from the right side of my mouth to the left, and it wasn't apparent then, or my SLP might have noticed something wasn't right. So maybe that big in a couple of months. That seems pretty fast.
I still have trouble catching a deep breath off and on. Although yesterday my blood Ox was 95. Four points higher than last Wednesday. Still about three points lower than when I smoked, even. I've tried being more active, hoping to keep my body from getting much weaker. I can see in my results that I'm losing ground. Still, I auger away.
I had a go round with my old friend Bleeding, early this morning. He has since stopped, but coughing up a couple of pretty good sized, nothing but blood, doses into the cough towel, and suctioning out a couple of healthy shots of beautiful bright red blood has a bit more than disconcerting look to it. They want to give me a steroid to help control that, but I don't bleed all the time, so I wonder if that's really necessary. We'll see.
Book Of Rock: Want an honest answer, ask away. Want a yes man? Then don't ask me, I'll just piss you off by giving an honest answer.
Truly, that has happened to me a couple of times. Both times I gave an honest answer to what seemed like a pretty straight forward question. Got my ass chewed from here to next week. Third time I'm a bit gun shy. So I ask "Want an honest answer, or the one you'd like to hear?". Who knew that was going to turn out to be a worse ass eating than the first two. With that particular person my standard answer became "How the fuck would I know?" Suited that person just fine. I guess it left his insecurity in possibly knowing less than I intact. He was the kind of person, that when I wanted to jump me about something he had some one else come with him. I'm not sure it if was a body guard or not.
Have fun, do NOT do as I do and let some little thing twist you're crank. Have fun instead
Monday, November 11, 2013
Sunday, You Kicked My Ass
Yep, I slept a goodly amount the past few days, and I should stop bragging about it or I'll be wide awake for the next two weeks.
We go to see THOR at the new theater that serves food, and has these neat seats that allow you to lean back a bit with very little effort. Sounded good to me. My tiny heart sank when I saw you buy everything from a computer kiosk except for the food. I hate those damn things with a passion. Grocery stores just love the "self check" lanes, they don't have to employ a person to fill that, and they haven't cut prices proportionately to cover the lack of human employees. And they fuck up. It's bad enough dealing with inattentive staff, but relying solely on a computer pisses me off. Anyway, that rant over, we get the tickets, head to our seats and find out 2 minutes before the movie start we are in someone's seats. I watched Liz put in the movie time, so I know that was correct on her part. Turns out the kiosk didn't want us to see an 1145 movie, it wanted us at the 1445 movie. I was on my feet a lot Saturday night, and my legs felt like jello when we left to go to the movie, so all the extra walking around and standing waiting just beat me into the ground. I got the shakes from my hands down to my feet, that made me more pissed off. Looked for a place to sit until Liz got things sorted out, but the able bodied men 16 to 60 that were covering up the benches wouldn't allow me or the pregnant woman a place to sit. Now I'm at fucking boiling point. Even as shaky and tired as I was getting, had I been sitting down, the pregnant woman was going to get my seat. Rude sons of bitches in this so called friendly city are really beginning to wear thin with me. Sadly I'm in no condition to brace up these lazy, worthless, butt munching bastards. So I stand and shake and get additionally pissed. This time at my body for not having the reserves left to call the pricks out. Oh well, damn. So, we get into the movie, after I said I didn't care where we sit, and with so few options left we got in on the low end of the seating. Not so close to the front you could look up the actors dresses, but close enough. I also didn't realize that I was so exhausted. I fell asleep and missed about the middle third of the movie. What I did see was pretty damn good though. Maybe I'll be around when it comes out on DVD or Pay Per View.
That was the Sunday that kicked my ass. The problem with me and my temper is that unless I have a really good outlet to vent it, it stays with me for several hours. I do try to contain the ugly thing, but it won't have any of that at all. Therefore I was touchy and a little bitch when I got home. Fortunately I fell asleep then, as well, so I was over the temper when everyone else was home. I apologized to my son for getting to be an ass while we were waiting to get into the movie. That's not hard to do, apologize to the family. It's damn hard to apologize to anyone else, and in most cases I won't do it, unless I was blatantly out of line. When I get overly tired, I get to be a real asshole. And lately I'm more tired all the time. At first I blamed it on the drugs, but that's being a bit of an escapist. It's not all the drugs, it's the drugs and the cancer. No two ways about it. Fortunately, for my own good, I know that I can't just jump out the people that are being rude and tell them they are rude. I'm glad I can't, because I'm not the diplomatic type, and definitely not the beat around the bush type. I'd have told the men on the bench to move their lazy asses and let the pregnant woman sit. That would have possibly been a little confrontational. And the physical shape I'm in now, confrontational is a bad thing. As hard as it is to believe, I'm still a little pissed off at myself for letting something as trivial as a movie ticket redo get to me. That's one of those things I've got to learn to just drop, something that may be hard to do with limited time that I have.
I watched some of American Horror Story: Asylum with my oldest. I slept through a couple of hours of that too. What I did catch in full episodes was really weird. I may have to go back and watch the first one. Not knowing what the hell is going on in a series is not a good thing. There's quite a lot of characters in some not so easy to follow story lines. And if I knew what was what from the beginning, it might make it easier to follow. Without knowing the entire story line, I can't say if it's good, bad, or indifferent. Although I know several people that love the series. On another front, I just never did get into Breaking Bad. People rave about it, love it, never wanna see it end. Me, I could not have found less to care about with the show. And yes, people have tried to explain/show me and I still am so ambivalent about it that I suck the fun out of it for other people. That's just me though. I like Boardwalk Empire, Strike Back, and several other cable TV series. As far as pretty decent drama goes, TNT has great series, as does A&E. So I'm not sure why I don't fall into the "I love Breaking Bad" group. Perhaps I should do a little introspective search to find that answer. Naw, I'll just go on as I am.
Cancer chat: As I talked about earlier, my chicken legs are going. Getting weaker. I've tried walking, but that distance gets shorter with every trip outside. I've worked on making them stronger at home. No such luck. I'm not sure why, of all things, my legs are misbehaving. Some more of what my body is losing in it's fist fight with Baxter and his minions. My blood O2 is getting lower. Used to run 96-98. Now it's 91-93. A three week swing. About the time I started to mention that it was harder for me to catch a breath when I was exerting myself. Walking a little makes me sound like an asthmatic steam engine. My nurse says I'm clear in my lungs, no rattling. Probably true, but that doesn't explain why I get so short of wind and then find it hard to catch it again. Nor does it explain why my blood oxygen is so limp. Hard to say. The Lymphedema is getting a little worse, and requires more therapy in more places to help hold the swelling down. If I swell too greatly, then I have a hard time breathing, period. I'm able to breath through my mouth and nose, some. But to lose those little pieces of sunshine, doesn't help me out at all. Sharing the breathing duty with the trach is a good thing, I hate to not have that option.
In order to piss off the people who do wellness screenings at your place of employment, requires several things. I had them all, BTW and managed to make the Wellness Company that covered our company. distrust their machines. It was some fun watching them check their equipment, recalibrate some, and argue with me. That's what cracked me up more than anything. Last year, I'd not been diagnosed with cancer yet, although I suspect it was creeping in on me by the time I got screened. Here's the stuff that made the screeners scratch their heads.
I smoked between a pack and two a day. With about 10 burning up without smoking them other than to light it.
Resting pulse: 64
BP: 120/70
Blood Ox: 98
They caught me on the government Body Mass Index. For my frame and height I should have weighed 165, I scaled in last year at 225. Sixty pounds over my "Ideal" body weight. Fat content based upon that, so they said, was 35%. I called bullshit and asked if the had a pinch test fat content set up. They did. It was 13%. They said that can't be, we did it again. 13%. That was even less than the average for a man of 51 years.
I asked them what kind of pencil neck geek set the standards for the BMI, they did not know. If the military went by Federal standards, nearly everyone that comes out of boot camp would be obese. My ex son in law put on weight in the Marines after going through boot. It was muscle mass, though, not fat. The Fed can't get it through it's thick assed skull that using generalities for a body mass index is not only short selling the physically fit, it makes them look stupid. Like they need help with that at all.
Weird blog today, my apologies. I'm going to let it stand even after rereading it. It came off as a bit bitchy and piss and moan. I don't like that, but that's what it is this morning.
Book Of Rock: I don't suffer rude people well. It's less effort to be even half way decent to people than it is to be a prick by words and/or actions.
It seems to me that the country on the whole is becoming less and less polite and far more self centered. It's one thing to be confident in yourself, it's a completely new animal to be so narcissistic that you have no thought of even the simplest form of proper social etiquette.
I'm reminded of a story a fella told about being pissed at Starbuck's coffee price, so he turned his cup over on the counter and walked out. I told him he was a total asshole, and so fucking stupid he couldn't read the price list on the big sign that's over every Starbuck's counter. He got forty shades of defensive. I found more humor in his telling me I must be some pencil necked floor mat. Gotta love that. I figured I hit the right spot with as defensive as he got.
Have fun, eat some carrot cake with that great frosting. One slice won't kill ya
We go to see THOR at the new theater that serves food, and has these neat seats that allow you to lean back a bit with very little effort. Sounded good to me. My tiny heart sank when I saw you buy everything from a computer kiosk except for the food. I hate those damn things with a passion. Grocery stores just love the "self check" lanes, they don't have to employ a person to fill that, and they haven't cut prices proportionately to cover the lack of human employees. And they fuck up. It's bad enough dealing with inattentive staff, but relying solely on a computer pisses me off. Anyway, that rant over, we get the tickets, head to our seats and find out 2 minutes before the movie start we are in someone's seats. I watched Liz put in the movie time, so I know that was correct on her part. Turns out the kiosk didn't want us to see an 1145 movie, it wanted us at the 1445 movie. I was on my feet a lot Saturday night, and my legs felt like jello when we left to go to the movie, so all the extra walking around and standing waiting just beat me into the ground. I got the shakes from my hands down to my feet, that made me more pissed off. Looked for a place to sit until Liz got things sorted out, but the able bodied men 16 to 60 that were covering up the benches wouldn't allow me or the pregnant woman a place to sit. Now I'm at fucking boiling point. Even as shaky and tired as I was getting, had I been sitting down, the pregnant woman was going to get my seat. Rude sons of bitches in this so called friendly city are really beginning to wear thin with me. Sadly I'm in no condition to brace up these lazy, worthless, butt munching bastards. So I stand and shake and get additionally pissed. This time at my body for not having the reserves left to call the pricks out. Oh well, damn. So, we get into the movie, after I said I didn't care where we sit, and with so few options left we got in on the low end of the seating. Not so close to the front you could look up the actors dresses, but close enough. I also didn't realize that I was so exhausted. I fell asleep and missed about the middle third of the movie. What I did see was pretty damn good though. Maybe I'll be around when it comes out on DVD or Pay Per View.
That was the Sunday that kicked my ass. The problem with me and my temper is that unless I have a really good outlet to vent it, it stays with me for several hours. I do try to contain the ugly thing, but it won't have any of that at all. Therefore I was touchy and a little bitch when I got home. Fortunately I fell asleep then, as well, so I was over the temper when everyone else was home. I apologized to my son for getting to be an ass while we were waiting to get into the movie. That's not hard to do, apologize to the family. It's damn hard to apologize to anyone else, and in most cases I won't do it, unless I was blatantly out of line. When I get overly tired, I get to be a real asshole. And lately I'm more tired all the time. At first I blamed it on the drugs, but that's being a bit of an escapist. It's not all the drugs, it's the drugs and the cancer. No two ways about it. Fortunately, for my own good, I know that I can't just jump out the people that are being rude and tell them they are rude. I'm glad I can't, because I'm not the diplomatic type, and definitely not the beat around the bush type. I'd have told the men on the bench to move their lazy asses and let the pregnant woman sit. That would have possibly been a little confrontational. And the physical shape I'm in now, confrontational is a bad thing. As hard as it is to believe, I'm still a little pissed off at myself for letting something as trivial as a movie ticket redo get to me. That's one of those things I've got to learn to just drop, something that may be hard to do with limited time that I have.
I watched some of American Horror Story: Asylum with my oldest. I slept through a couple of hours of that too. What I did catch in full episodes was really weird. I may have to go back and watch the first one. Not knowing what the hell is going on in a series is not a good thing. There's quite a lot of characters in some not so easy to follow story lines. And if I knew what was what from the beginning, it might make it easier to follow. Without knowing the entire story line, I can't say if it's good, bad, or indifferent. Although I know several people that love the series. On another front, I just never did get into Breaking Bad. People rave about it, love it, never wanna see it end. Me, I could not have found less to care about with the show. And yes, people have tried to explain/show me and I still am so ambivalent about it that I suck the fun out of it for other people. That's just me though. I like Boardwalk Empire, Strike Back, and several other cable TV series. As far as pretty decent drama goes, TNT has great series, as does A&E. So I'm not sure why I don't fall into the "I love Breaking Bad" group. Perhaps I should do a little introspective search to find that answer. Naw, I'll just go on as I am.
Cancer chat: As I talked about earlier, my chicken legs are going. Getting weaker. I've tried walking, but that distance gets shorter with every trip outside. I've worked on making them stronger at home. No such luck. I'm not sure why, of all things, my legs are misbehaving. Some more of what my body is losing in it's fist fight with Baxter and his minions. My blood O2 is getting lower. Used to run 96-98. Now it's 91-93. A three week swing. About the time I started to mention that it was harder for me to catch a breath when I was exerting myself. Walking a little makes me sound like an asthmatic steam engine. My nurse says I'm clear in my lungs, no rattling. Probably true, but that doesn't explain why I get so short of wind and then find it hard to catch it again. Nor does it explain why my blood oxygen is so limp. Hard to say. The Lymphedema is getting a little worse, and requires more therapy in more places to help hold the swelling down. If I swell too greatly, then I have a hard time breathing, period. I'm able to breath through my mouth and nose, some. But to lose those little pieces of sunshine, doesn't help me out at all. Sharing the breathing duty with the trach is a good thing, I hate to not have that option.
In order to piss off the people who do wellness screenings at your place of employment, requires several things. I had them all, BTW and managed to make the Wellness Company that covered our company. distrust their machines. It was some fun watching them check their equipment, recalibrate some, and argue with me. That's what cracked me up more than anything. Last year, I'd not been diagnosed with cancer yet, although I suspect it was creeping in on me by the time I got screened. Here's the stuff that made the screeners scratch their heads.
I smoked between a pack and two a day. With about 10 burning up without smoking them other than to light it.
Resting pulse: 64
BP: 120/70
Blood Ox: 98
They caught me on the government Body Mass Index. For my frame and height I should have weighed 165, I scaled in last year at 225. Sixty pounds over my "Ideal" body weight. Fat content based upon that, so they said, was 35%. I called bullshit and asked if the had a pinch test fat content set up. They did. It was 13%. They said that can't be, we did it again. 13%. That was even less than the average for a man of 51 years.
I asked them what kind of pencil neck geek set the standards for the BMI, they did not know. If the military went by Federal standards, nearly everyone that comes out of boot camp would be obese. My ex son in law put on weight in the Marines after going through boot. It was muscle mass, though, not fat. The Fed can't get it through it's thick assed skull that using generalities for a body mass index is not only short selling the physically fit, it makes them look stupid. Like they need help with that at all.
Weird blog today, my apologies. I'm going to let it stand even after rereading it. It came off as a bit bitchy and piss and moan. I don't like that, but that's what it is this morning.
Book Of Rock: I don't suffer rude people well. It's less effort to be even half way decent to people than it is to be a prick by words and/or actions.
It seems to me that the country on the whole is becoming less and less polite and far more self centered. It's one thing to be confident in yourself, it's a completely new animal to be so narcissistic that you have no thought of even the simplest form of proper social etiquette.
I'm reminded of a story a fella told about being pissed at Starbuck's coffee price, so he turned his cup over on the counter and walked out. I told him he was a total asshole, and so fucking stupid he couldn't read the price list on the big sign that's over every Starbuck's counter. He got forty shades of defensive. I found more humor in his telling me I must be some pencil necked floor mat. Gotta love that. I figured I hit the right spot with as defensive as he got.
Have fun, eat some carrot cake with that great frosting. One slice won't kill ya
Sunday, November 10, 2013
And A Good Time Was Had By All....I Hope
We threw the "Good Bye Rock" cook out and bull shit session yesterday afternoon and well into the evening. I had a blast. Before we get too far along into this little soiree, I have to absolutely give my friend John Moye more than props. He busted his ass helping get everything together, and cooked the burgers and dogs as well. I tried all I could to help, but I was worthless as tits on a boar hog as far as the physical work went. John took off work on short notice, rode his bike from El Paso to here. Truly, without his help, the cookout would have been a hell of a lot harder to put together, or maybe not been put on at all. He's been a friend for almost 40 years. It was a long time between chances to catch up, but when we did it wasn't years that had passed, it was weeks or days. Love him like a brother.
We called it the "Good Bye Rock" cook out, I wanted first annual, but since I might not make it until the second weekend of November next year, I nixed that idea. The concept was to get friends here in West Texas together for a cook out where we could eat a bite in the backyard, and shoot the shit over anything we wanted. That worked out great. We had people from both the areas I worked in West Texas. John Moye is a friend of mine from my days as a kid. The other guys, and I didn't look at it like this until this morning, weren't just friends made in the last 20 years, they really represented a specific period of my life. Damn cool. Bill and Angie Nall, Bill worked with me, became a well tech, and eventually a foreman and my boss. Jamie and Darlene Ellard. Jamie worked with me, as well as Bill, in Notrees area. GCDU and TXL North Unit. You guys have to forgive me a bit here, I'm fucking terrible with names, and it bothers me. Tommie, Eddie Joe, and Lane. Friends made at the SAU in Reagan county. Those three guys saw me go from a guy that was pissed off, to a guy that finally hit his stride being a well tech. Tommy's wife, Christy, and Lane's girl. I can't remember her name, dammit. My apologies Lane. We had a good group of men at the SAU when I left. I have to assume that there still is a good group of men working that field. They'd about have to be, it's a good place to work. Lane worked himself to the bone getting tank batteries rebuilt on short notice and with even a shorter budget. Liz had friends from her work come up as well. They are my buds, but not as tight with me as they are Liz. Di, Brandon, Cheri, and Kelly. Everyone of them are great women, and good friends.
Lots of laughing and story telling. Some imbibing of adult beverages. Just a damn fine cookout like we used to have a lot. Everyone grows and changes. It seems like we were all running around and managed to miss each other by just a hair. Life goes by pretty fast, fortunately Liz and I have friends that have stuck with us through the thick and the thin times. Damn fine blessing for both of us. Not everyone has that, and I feel sorry for them. They don't know what they are missing. I guess if you've never had something, it's not too tough to walk away. But still, look at the major pleasures of life a person misses without friends as tight with them as ours are to Liz and I. Liz and I are better people for knowing the people we do. It's a good thing
John just stopped by for a few minutes before he hit the road for home. It was all I could do to keep from tearing up. It's not that it would be a bad thing to tear up, but it's not really good bye, yet. More, "until we meet again".
On the cancer front, this is a blog about dealing with the slow fricking death that I'm riding out here, after all.
So, yesterday we worked on cleaning up the back yard, and getting ready for the party. My face and neck thumped and throbbed, so I took a dose of Lortab. Good stuff. I noticed a little blood in my hack and choke, but nothing in my lungs. At least not yet. As the day wore on, and we got closer to party time, I began to get a little more pain in my neck and face. I checked, and yes, I can take another dose of Lortab. It was early in the afternoon, but, I really needed it. I was beginning to bleed a little more, no sweat though. I got my last feeding in about the time people started to show up. Good timing on my part. So, now we are off in the back yard, John is cooking, Eddie Joe and Jamie are swapping stories. I'm wondering if it's a good thing I don't hear well now. And I am bleeding a little more. Big deal. My legs, on the other hand, are hating me at the moment and are ganging up on me to make me get something for some added support. I sat down instead.
I started bleeding a lot more, but still not like a blown artery, but it's enough that it's hard to slip off to suction the crap out of my mouth. And my legs are getting weaker and worn out. From the guy that worked a well servicing rig, walked countless miles of flow line, and threw in the Scottish Heavy Athletics, my legs getting weak and hurting is something new. The hurting I had before was just overexertion. This is different feeling somehow. Anyway, I'm laughing as best I can, writing as fast as I can, and just having an all around good time. Yeah, the cancer made me weak, short of breath, and certainly not the kind of guy I used to be, but I have help from Liz and my friends. So taking care of it isn't so tough. I pushed myself a little harder than I should have, but you know, those folks came to share some time with me, I had to do my best to stay out there with them. When I finally come in to set down, everyone but a few of Liz's friends had left, and I was out like I had some anesthesia. "Can you count backwards from 100?". No. And that's how I felt last night.
This morning I woke up twice, once at 2, went back to sleep, and once at 4, went back to sleep. I didn't get clear up. No pain, but still pretty tired, and my sticks still feel puffy and are acting up. Otherwise I'm in damn fine shape. Slowly dying, but in pretty good shape!
Book Of Rock: Finding an old friend, and being able to keep in touch, that's what life is supposed to be about. Stay in touch with the old, revel in you're life with your newer friends. Kinda hard to beat that out.
Hugs and burgers with a taco on the side
We called it the "Good Bye Rock" cook out, I wanted first annual, but since I might not make it until the second weekend of November next year, I nixed that idea. The concept was to get friends here in West Texas together for a cook out where we could eat a bite in the backyard, and shoot the shit over anything we wanted. That worked out great. We had people from both the areas I worked in West Texas. John Moye is a friend of mine from my days as a kid. The other guys, and I didn't look at it like this until this morning, weren't just friends made in the last 20 years, they really represented a specific period of my life. Damn cool. Bill and Angie Nall, Bill worked with me, became a well tech, and eventually a foreman and my boss. Jamie and Darlene Ellard. Jamie worked with me, as well as Bill, in Notrees area. GCDU and TXL North Unit. You guys have to forgive me a bit here, I'm fucking terrible with names, and it bothers me. Tommie, Eddie Joe, and Lane. Friends made at the SAU in Reagan county. Those three guys saw me go from a guy that was pissed off, to a guy that finally hit his stride being a well tech. Tommy's wife, Christy, and Lane's girl. I can't remember her name, dammit. My apologies Lane. We had a good group of men at the SAU when I left. I have to assume that there still is a good group of men working that field. They'd about have to be, it's a good place to work. Lane worked himself to the bone getting tank batteries rebuilt on short notice and with even a shorter budget. Liz had friends from her work come up as well. They are my buds, but not as tight with me as they are Liz. Di, Brandon, Cheri, and Kelly. Everyone of them are great women, and good friends.
Lots of laughing and story telling. Some imbibing of adult beverages. Just a damn fine cookout like we used to have a lot. Everyone grows and changes. It seems like we were all running around and managed to miss each other by just a hair. Life goes by pretty fast, fortunately Liz and I have friends that have stuck with us through the thick and the thin times. Damn fine blessing for both of us. Not everyone has that, and I feel sorry for them. They don't know what they are missing. I guess if you've never had something, it's not too tough to walk away. But still, look at the major pleasures of life a person misses without friends as tight with them as ours are to Liz and I. Liz and I are better people for knowing the people we do. It's a good thing
John just stopped by for a few minutes before he hit the road for home. It was all I could do to keep from tearing up. It's not that it would be a bad thing to tear up, but it's not really good bye, yet. More, "until we meet again".
On the cancer front, this is a blog about dealing with the slow fricking death that I'm riding out here, after all.
So, yesterday we worked on cleaning up the back yard, and getting ready for the party. My face and neck thumped and throbbed, so I took a dose of Lortab. Good stuff. I noticed a little blood in my hack and choke, but nothing in my lungs. At least not yet. As the day wore on, and we got closer to party time, I began to get a little more pain in my neck and face. I checked, and yes, I can take another dose of Lortab. It was early in the afternoon, but, I really needed it. I was beginning to bleed a little more, no sweat though. I got my last feeding in about the time people started to show up. Good timing on my part. So, now we are off in the back yard, John is cooking, Eddie Joe and Jamie are swapping stories. I'm wondering if it's a good thing I don't hear well now. And I am bleeding a little more. Big deal. My legs, on the other hand, are hating me at the moment and are ganging up on me to make me get something for some added support. I sat down instead.
I started bleeding a lot more, but still not like a blown artery, but it's enough that it's hard to slip off to suction the crap out of my mouth. And my legs are getting weaker and worn out. From the guy that worked a well servicing rig, walked countless miles of flow line, and threw in the Scottish Heavy Athletics, my legs getting weak and hurting is something new. The hurting I had before was just overexertion. This is different feeling somehow. Anyway, I'm laughing as best I can, writing as fast as I can, and just having an all around good time. Yeah, the cancer made me weak, short of breath, and certainly not the kind of guy I used to be, but I have help from Liz and my friends. So taking care of it isn't so tough. I pushed myself a little harder than I should have, but you know, those folks came to share some time with me, I had to do my best to stay out there with them. When I finally come in to set down, everyone but a few of Liz's friends had left, and I was out like I had some anesthesia. "Can you count backwards from 100?". No. And that's how I felt last night.
This morning I woke up twice, once at 2, went back to sleep, and once at 4, went back to sleep. I didn't get clear up. No pain, but still pretty tired, and my sticks still feel puffy and are acting up. Otherwise I'm in damn fine shape. Slowly dying, but in pretty good shape!
Book Of Rock: Finding an old friend, and being able to keep in touch, that's what life is supposed to be about. Stay in touch with the old, revel in you're life with your newer friends. Kinda hard to beat that out.
Hugs and burgers with a taco on the side
Saturday, November 9, 2013
WTF
I did a bit of experimenting yesterday and this morning, I put a little dab of coffee down my feeding tube, which you know, goes straight to my stomach. Personal Note: Eat something before you coffee up. It didn't used to bother me, now it gives me a kinda of upset stomach. Must be because I've not had any in me since January 21, 2013. The next day I had my first surgery, and the rest is history! So yeah, I like the Joe still. I've got some fucked up stuff going on in my mouth and throat. The surgeries, coupled with the large dose of radiation on my throat in 2008 and 2009, has messed up my esophageal sphincter. I know, I said "sphincter", and yes, the word makes me giggle too. It's nice to be twelve. So, my esophageal sphincter won't close tightly. That means I get a little taste of everything I put in the feeding tube. Believe me, my damn formula tastes like shit. I missed that taste of coffee, actually more than I thought I would. Must be a comfort food. Yesterday, I sat outside on the patio of a Starbuck's here in town, and poked a cup of Veranda down the tube. I got a couple of weird looks from people going inside. I thought it was funny. I have to admit, without knowing how my own body works, it's got to be funny looking. I mean, really, a feller sitting outside with a syringe full of coffee shoving it into a tube you can't see. I think my own reaction would be WTF??? I'm so brazen though, I'd more than likely at least ask what the hell you're doing. And probably just like this: "Hey bud, can I ask what in Heaven's name you're doing? It looks like you're shoving that coffee into a tube that looks like it runs to your pants. Coffee enema?" Yep, that's me, straight up, no diplomacy.
I'm not used to the caffeine buzz anymore, either. Back in the healthy days I'd drink eight to eighteen cans of Diet Coke (can't have the sugar, hypoglycemic), at least two cups of coffee, along with two or three bottles of Diet Mountain Dew, and mix in six to ten bottles of water. I spent more pissing than I did being awake, it seemed. On the other hand, I was so used to caffeine that I never had any problem falling asleep at night. I know that some folk who weren't as acclimated to the caffeine experience don't dare have any after 1800 hrs, or they'll never sleep. I just wasn't one of those guys. My lack of sleep was, and is, caused by something else entirely.
I didn't sleep well last week at all. And even a night or two this week. I lie down and can't shut the head down enough to sleep. And in the recliner, there's not much in the way of flopping around to get comfortable, so I stay awake. Sometimes 36 hours with only a couple of short naps scattered around in that amount of time. Other times I stay up thinking. I put on my thinking cap and the damn thing gets stuck. I think about all kinds of stuff. Worry about Liz and the kids. Hoping I got the father thing right for at least a couple of the four. Is Liz going to be okay financially, and not be so sad that she can't function. Those kinds of things. Also about things I need to write in letters to the kids. Oldest to youngest. I think I'm going to caveat those as needing to be read when they are all together. And then talk about what was in them among themselves. I kick back and think about that. The next thing you know, it's 0330, and only a half hour until I get up to start the morning drugs. Might as well stay up for that. Then, because I was awake 24 hours, I doze off a lot during the day. The naps run from fifteen minutes all the way up to forty five minutes. So that throws my day off. I can catch all that up, if I fall asleep the first night after being up all night. Sometimes yes, sometimes no I can't. Oh well, that's how the cookie crumbles I suppose. It is what it is, and I have to work around that.
I'm glad I got enough sleep last night. Well, almost enough, it wasn't straight through. I feel asleep about 2300 hrs, thought I'd slept all night when I woke up, but it was Zero hr. So, I had made myself believe it was the next morning, and I had hell falling back to sleep. I did about 0200, slept until 0415. Not bad, drugged up, went to have coffee. When I got home I hooked up the feed bag, then started the blog. Now I'm trying to doze off. I think I'll nap when I get this finished for today. So, this is not such an atypical day for me. I wake up at night to cough my trach clear, and sometimes I am so awake I have to stay up an hour or so before I can go right back out. Too many years on call, I think. I wake up, my body says it's time to "Go West, Old Man" to take care of a problem in the field. It thinks I'm lying when I say to it, "No, really, we don't have to go out anymore, let's sleep". My body is stubborn, but relents after an hour, give or take.
We are having the "Good Bye, Rock" cook out today. Just burgers and hot dogs, mostly to sit around and shoot the shit. We planned to have one right after I found out I was terminal. And we thought we should do it while I can still enjoy the company. Good plan. Two weeks ago I felt so bad, high pain that the meds only knocked down a little of it. It hurt to walk, breath, fart, or even pay attention. So I told Liz we better do this sooner rather than later. The last week wasn't much better, over all, but I was better than the week before. This week I feel damn good! Sleeping longer helps. Lymphedema Therapy pulled a lot of swelling out of my face and neck, so the pain level fell on it's ass. So much, in fact, that I didn't need the extra pain meds like I had. That's a plus, but I also thought, "Damn, we coulda waited now". But in reality, we really can't. In the last 3 weeks I've had two that I felt bad during that week. Not terribly bad, but not real good, either. My really good weeks and/or days are getting fewer and farther beyond. expected that. But not this soon, or is it this late? There are times I wish it would just speed the fuck up so it over takes me. Then there are times when I think, "You damn fool!!! You just got another week to spend with friends and family" Welcome to the only thing in life I'm wishy washy on. This is going to stop. Because I can't change how the cancer is going to make me feel on a day to day basis, I'm not saying "Hurry up" any more. That's defeatist. I will not be that, on any level. While I know that the cancer will kill me, I'm not going to make it enjoy itself because I can't decided what I want to do. I wanna stick around as long as I can. That's a no brainer, right? Well, duh, yeah.
I have a buddy in town I've know for forty years. That's a long time. In fact, via Facebook and e-mail, I'm reconnected with a couple of my good friends from Jr High when we moved to Liberal in 1974. Okay, they are almost 40 year friends. They will be come February of next year. This is close enough for that. John is the guy I did my trips to Daytona Beach with. We like to ride, and he does so more than I ever did. But that's okay, we like each others company. Even just sitting around doing nothing is okay. He's gonna help me get the back yard ready for the cook out. It's a mess since I haven't been watering. It wouldn't be a mess, but the city raised the rates on using over "X" amount of water. That meant usually using right up to that amount of water in one or two days of watering the yard. Ooops, that I can stop. Consequentially, the front and back yard look like shit. But it won't take us long, if we just go at it.
Like the friends, Daric and Kise, that came to visit a few weeks back. We seem to pick up right where we left off, even if it's been close to 25 years since we've seen each other. And being the slug that I am, this is a good reminder to catch up on my e-mail to them both. Somewhere along the line, I'm not going to be able to do that anymore. I'd like to, no I need to stay in touch. They were a big part of my youth, there's no reason I shouldn't be communicating more with them. Other than I'm a lazy bastard deep down. I also chat it up with folks from High School online. Not as nice as face to face time. But I feel better knowing they are safe, and not entering the Midland County Texas Kill Zone that are our highways here. 200,000 people county wide, maybe. Thirty-eight traffic deaths this year, to be even, Tarrant County Texas would have to have 380 traffic fatalities to match Midlands death per capita rate. It's nuts how shitty the drivers are here. And then blame it all on the influx of new people. They have driven for shit here, since I moved to Midland in 1993. The worst drivers I've encountered in an city of size I've driven in. DFW metroplex, Houston metroplex. OKC, Oceanside and San Diego Californian. All the way down to Daytona Beach in Florida. In fact, the only two times I was nearly clipped on the bike by some asshole in a car, the cars had Texas tags on them and were headed to Daytona Beach as well. And that was on fucking four lane highway. Assholes. And then Texans get bent out of shape when other states bitch about how they drive. It's true, though. So fix it, Texas, don't bitch about your feelings being hurt, or run down the other states because you can't drive well.
That was my bad driving rant. Pay attention, douche bags, and stop driving like you're the only car or pickup on the highway.
Book Of Rock: I wouldn't change a thing about my life, or the way I've done things. That's what's made me who I am today. Regrets are something I don't hold in any regard. Don't regret what you've done in the past, you can apologize for your actions, but don't regret anything. You're who you are because of the mistakes you've made, rather than the successes you've had.
Pet a dog, they like that. Hug someone, most people like a good hug.
Kisses and stuff like that. Laters Gators
I'm not used to the caffeine buzz anymore, either. Back in the healthy days I'd drink eight to eighteen cans of Diet Coke (can't have the sugar, hypoglycemic), at least two cups of coffee, along with two or three bottles of Diet Mountain Dew, and mix in six to ten bottles of water. I spent more pissing than I did being awake, it seemed. On the other hand, I was so used to caffeine that I never had any problem falling asleep at night. I know that some folk who weren't as acclimated to the caffeine experience don't dare have any after 1800 hrs, or they'll never sleep. I just wasn't one of those guys. My lack of sleep was, and is, caused by something else entirely.
I didn't sleep well last week at all. And even a night or two this week. I lie down and can't shut the head down enough to sleep. And in the recliner, there's not much in the way of flopping around to get comfortable, so I stay awake. Sometimes 36 hours with only a couple of short naps scattered around in that amount of time. Other times I stay up thinking. I put on my thinking cap and the damn thing gets stuck. I think about all kinds of stuff. Worry about Liz and the kids. Hoping I got the father thing right for at least a couple of the four. Is Liz going to be okay financially, and not be so sad that she can't function. Those kinds of things. Also about things I need to write in letters to the kids. Oldest to youngest. I think I'm going to caveat those as needing to be read when they are all together. And then talk about what was in them among themselves. I kick back and think about that. The next thing you know, it's 0330, and only a half hour until I get up to start the morning drugs. Might as well stay up for that. Then, because I was awake 24 hours, I doze off a lot during the day. The naps run from fifteen minutes all the way up to forty five minutes. So that throws my day off. I can catch all that up, if I fall asleep the first night after being up all night. Sometimes yes, sometimes no I can't. Oh well, that's how the cookie crumbles I suppose. It is what it is, and I have to work around that.
I'm glad I got enough sleep last night. Well, almost enough, it wasn't straight through. I feel asleep about 2300 hrs, thought I'd slept all night when I woke up, but it was Zero hr. So, I had made myself believe it was the next morning, and I had hell falling back to sleep. I did about 0200, slept until 0415. Not bad, drugged up, went to have coffee. When I got home I hooked up the feed bag, then started the blog. Now I'm trying to doze off. I think I'll nap when I get this finished for today. So, this is not such an atypical day for me. I wake up at night to cough my trach clear, and sometimes I am so awake I have to stay up an hour or so before I can go right back out. Too many years on call, I think. I wake up, my body says it's time to "Go West, Old Man" to take care of a problem in the field. It thinks I'm lying when I say to it, "No, really, we don't have to go out anymore, let's sleep". My body is stubborn, but relents after an hour, give or take.
We are having the "Good Bye, Rock" cook out today. Just burgers and hot dogs, mostly to sit around and shoot the shit. We planned to have one right after I found out I was terminal. And we thought we should do it while I can still enjoy the company. Good plan. Two weeks ago I felt so bad, high pain that the meds only knocked down a little of it. It hurt to walk, breath, fart, or even pay attention. So I told Liz we better do this sooner rather than later. The last week wasn't much better, over all, but I was better than the week before. This week I feel damn good! Sleeping longer helps. Lymphedema Therapy pulled a lot of swelling out of my face and neck, so the pain level fell on it's ass. So much, in fact, that I didn't need the extra pain meds like I had. That's a plus, but I also thought, "Damn, we coulda waited now". But in reality, we really can't. In the last 3 weeks I've had two that I felt bad during that week. Not terribly bad, but not real good, either. My really good weeks and/or days are getting fewer and farther beyond. expected that. But not this soon, or is it this late? There are times I wish it would just speed the fuck up so it over takes me. Then there are times when I think, "You damn fool!!! You just got another week to spend with friends and family" Welcome to the only thing in life I'm wishy washy on. This is going to stop. Because I can't change how the cancer is going to make me feel on a day to day basis, I'm not saying "Hurry up" any more. That's defeatist. I will not be that, on any level. While I know that the cancer will kill me, I'm not going to make it enjoy itself because I can't decided what I want to do. I wanna stick around as long as I can. That's a no brainer, right? Well, duh, yeah.
I have a buddy in town I've know for forty years. That's a long time. In fact, via Facebook and e-mail, I'm reconnected with a couple of my good friends from Jr High when we moved to Liberal in 1974. Okay, they are almost 40 year friends. They will be come February of next year. This is close enough for that. John is the guy I did my trips to Daytona Beach with. We like to ride, and he does so more than I ever did. But that's okay, we like each others company. Even just sitting around doing nothing is okay. He's gonna help me get the back yard ready for the cook out. It's a mess since I haven't been watering. It wouldn't be a mess, but the city raised the rates on using over "X" amount of water. That meant usually using right up to that amount of water in one or two days of watering the yard. Ooops, that I can stop. Consequentially, the front and back yard look like shit. But it won't take us long, if we just go at it.
Like the friends, Daric and Kise, that came to visit a few weeks back. We seem to pick up right where we left off, even if it's been close to 25 years since we've seen each other. And being the slug that I am, this is a good reminder to catch up on my e-mail to them both. Somewhere along the line, I'm not going to be able to do that anymore. I'd like to, no I need to stay in touch. They were a big part of my youth, there's no reason I shouldn't be communicating more with them. Other than I'm a lazy bastard deep down. I also chat it up with folks from High School online. Not as nice as face to face time. But I feel better knowing they are safe, and not entering the Midland County Texas Kill Zone that are our highways here. 200,000 people county wide, maybe. Thirty-eight traffic deaths this year, to be even, Tarrant County Texas would have to have 380 traffic fatalities to match Midlands death per capita rate. It's nuts how shitty the drivers are here. And then blame it all on the influx of new people. They have driven for shit here, since I moved to Midland in 1993. The worst drivers I've encountered in an city of size I've driven in. DFW metroplex, Houston metroplex. OKC, Oceanside and San Diego Californian. All the way down to Daytona Beach in Florida. In fact, the only two times I was nearly clipped on the bike by some asshole in a car, the cars had Texas tags on them and were headed to Daytona Beach as well. And that was on fucking four lane highway. Assholes. And then Texans get bent out of shape when other states bitch about how they drive. It's true, though. So fix it, Texas, don't bitch about your feelings being hurt, or run down the other states because you can't drive well.
That was my bad driving rant. Pay attention, douche bags, and stop driving like you're the only car or pickup on the highway.
Book Of Rock: I wouldn't change a thing about my life, or the way I've done things. That's what's made me who I am today. Regrets are something I don't hold in any regard. Don't regret what you've done in the past, you can apologize for your actions, but don't regret anything. You're who you are because of the mistakes you've made, rather than the successes you've had.
Pet a dog, they like that. Hug someone, most people like a good hug.
Kisses and stuff like that. Laters Gators
Friday, November 8, 2013
I Skipped a Day, Because I Can
Well, yeah, but actually it was because I woke up bone dry of anything to write about. "Shut your mouth!" is what I hear people saying. I never had a problem coming up with something to say, right? Ta Da!! The other times I didn't blog, I was either out of town, or sick. Or I just was bored with it. Hard to believe, right? Getting bored with talking about all the changes your body is going through while it decides to kill itself. What could be boring in that? Lots, trust me. It's not enough that the damn thing is wasting itself away on Cancer's behalf, but it lets me know it all the time. And it's a lot of the same stuff over and over. So yeah, I get bored with talking about it. And that, I hope, isn't something you all get from reading the blog. I know it's about education, and trying to die with my boots on and all that, so I hope I don't bore any of you. And honestly, it I don't, then why the hell do I bore myself? Hmmmm, good question. I'll have to think about that.
I also didn't bog yesterday, because I didn't sleep at all the night before. Not a wink. I did take two 15 minute naps yesterday, and slept a good long time overnight. A bit into my normal "drugs, wait two hours, feed" routine. So THAT got shifted a little. Not a bad thing, I don't think. I'm thinking, even thought I've got a lot of housework to do today, that after I drop The Boy off at school, of going and trying to put a little dab of coffee into the Feeding Tube. I generally like the flavor, today I'm going more for the company and the caffeine rush. That should be interesting to say the least. I may come home and have the house looking like Martha Stewart threw up in it......Naw, I don't like all that added stuff. Just cleaned and mopped sounds good. I've met a couple of people that read the blog there, they are interesting to visit with. I didn't know them from sic em, but they asked to be on the FB group, had a couple of mutual friends so I thought "Sure, come play". Nice folk, all in all.
Something that's not out of the ordinary, that I wish was out of the ordinary. The skin around my trach, because it's not a permanent trach, stays damp. From secretions I aspirate, to just plain old sweat. That means it's also gotten paper thin. I have to be careful with what I put on. Generally I put a couple of Band Aids over the area that the trach cover or collar rub the front of my neck. Last night I was too tired, or just plain too lazy to put the fresh band aids on, and this morning when I took it out to clean the trach and put on the clean gauze I saw why I can't do that again. Raw, bloody, sore spot where the outter edge of the trach cover rubbed. Two spots, in fact. So now, after a bit of bacitracin and band aids, all is almost well. Lesson: Don't be too Lazy to do what is needed for the trach area. Interesting side note. My neck is way out of proportion from surgery. Where you all would normally have a trach right out in front, mine sets in about 1/2 an inch. That makes it a bitch to do anything with. It's okay, though, it's not something I can't work around, just a pain in the ass is all. So, with in that area it's a pain in the neck, literally, to take care of the trach and skin around it. Also, something out of the ordinary today. I take off the collar and all to shower. I tried it without taking it off, dumb thing to do, so it goes off now. (side bar, my hole in my throat sets so far back, that without the tube in, if I lean my head too far forward, it shuts off the hole. startling the first time that happened) I did my shower, realized I left the gauze for the tube in the kitchen (no hole cut in it either), and I'm building an inordinate amount of icky shit in my mouth. So, I suction, got back to the bathroom, put the band aids where they need to go, and damn....My trach tube doesn't want to slide right in. WTF? I had to find some slick em to put on it, and it was still a struggle to get it in the hole. (Wise ass remarks are appreciated, but are often best left quiet LOL). First time that's happened. I wonder what the hell? My face and neck are sort of swollen, not like Wednesday when I went in for therapy, but a big swollen. That's what I'm going to blame the trouble on, swollen neck. And yes, it hurt a bit. A feller'd think that after 9.5 months it would be easy to do that daily routine. No, it wasn't. I fear now I'm going to have to change the gauze more than once a day. Looks like starting soon, it's gonna be at least twice a day. Dammit
Liz got me two "Handicapped Parking" placards. At first I looked at them as a sign of defeat. "Damn Cancer has gotten me so weak, that I have to use a walker to go any distance, but now "Handicapped Parking" placards as well? What the fuck?" I don't look at it like that anymore. I can park any damn place I choose. Touche' bitches. I didn't park in the Handicapped spots when I wasn't needing the parking, and generally would call people out on it. Including that great big dude in Starbuck's one morning when I was having coffee on the patio. Perhaps "Jesus Christ, you're so unhealthy you take a handicapped place to go get coffee? I guess the extra 20' walk would have killed your lazy ass", wan't as diplomatic as it could have been. He was miffed and vexed by my statement. To the point of "I'll whip your ass". On the other hand, he moved and cussed my ass with things I didn't think were cuss words until I had time to think about it. I did mention that yes, he could probably whip my ass, but he wasn't going to enjoy it after it was over. It does make people angry when you point out that only an ass hole parks in the handicapped spot when they don't need it. It seems so difficult for some people to do what's right in the first place. Something I don't understand. I don't always get there, but I certainly TRY to do what's right the first time out. So, yes, I use them. I also look around before I park in a spot. If I see an older person looking for a spot to park, I wait to see where they park before I use the Handicapped spot. I don't walk fast anymore, and sometimes it's not easy getting there, but they may be in worse shape than I am. Liz also can use them after I'm gone, if she wants. Not that that would be right, but they don't expire until 2017. Way later than my own expiration date!!
There was a change of plans. I started the blog before I took The Boy to school. He's off to San Angelo today to march at a football game there tonight. So, instead of coffee right after, it is home, blog, coffee. This should be fun. Watching the people have spastic fit over me setting in the Starbucks shoving coffee into my feeding tube. I have had one asshole there, when I was visiting with friends, (okay, they visit, I nod) tell me that was gross and maybe I should do that outside. I wrote, "You're an asshole, maybe you should stop breathing my air" and gave the note to him. He got huffy, said he was going to the manager. Whoooooo, buddy, I was terrified! Of course not. The ladies I was setting with cracked up. One of them knew I ran two guys off from behind the store one morning at 0415, about ten minutes before the girls showed up to get ready to open the store. I might have let it go, since they were behind a fence. You know, out of the breeze and just waiting. But when they saw my headlights, they leaned out, then snapped their heads back really quickly. Something didn't feel right, and being a believer in gut instincts, I hopped out of my truck and headed over to them. Yes, with a weapon, no not a handgun. They split. Suited me, and I waited for the cops to show up, in case they were innocent of thinking about pulling shenanigans. No cops came, I guess maybe they weren't so innocent.
Some of the girls there told me a few weeks ago they never felt unsafe when they saw my truck in the parking lot. They said they knew I'd look after them. Well, yeah, of course I would, but it was really nice they noticed, and more so that they said something about it. The stalker guy doesn't like me, the last thing I heard him say before he left town (no, I did NOT tell him to move out of town) was, "Cancer huh? I guess that cock sucker got what he deserved". Maybe, but I didn't tail two under twenty one year old women around, and take pictures of them going into their home. Or driving to work, or of them coming out of the store after 2300 hrs either. We had a discussion about that one morning when I wasn't working. Out on the patio. No, I never laid a hand upon his person. No, I didn't yell. No, I didn't make idle threats. What I did tell him was, if it didn't stop, there would be no police, just me. The problem he would have was that he'd never know when, how or where. All very calm, and more of a promise than a threat. I have a 27 and a 19 year old daughter. I would hope someone would step up and defend them if I wasn't there, or wasn't able. Right now, I may not be able to beat your ass for screwing with my baby girls, but I can still shoot. Let your imagination run wild with that.
Okay, let's give the wandering blog a shut down for the day. I do have to go try the coffee, and I'd like to nod while some folks and I have conversing. I've got a friend coming to town to help me with the "Good Bye Rock" hamburger and hot dog grill and get together tomorrow. BYOB, of course. Known him for forty years. When I was 13, forty years seemed like an eternity. Now, looking back, it was only a week or so ago. Hmmmmm, topic for tomorrow? Perhaps, and with an update on new and exciting symptoms.
Book Of Rock: Not happy with yourself? Tough shit, quit whining and fix it.
If you're willing to try, I'll help you as much as I can. Otherwise, stop your bitching, it's your life and only you can make it worth living.
Hugs and all that shit. Now go make your day worthy of you.
I also didn't bog yesterday, because I didn't sleep at all the night before. Not a wink. I did take two 15 minute naps yesterday, and slept a good long time overnight. A bit into my normal "drugs, wait two hours, feed" routine. So THAT got shifted a little. Not a bad thing, I don't think. I'm thinking, even thought I've got a lot of housework to do today, that after I drop The Boy off at school, of going and trying to put a little dab of coffee into the Feeding Tube. I generally like the flavor, today I'm going more for the company and the caffeine rush. That should be interesting to say the least. I may come home and have the house looking like Martha Stewart threw up in it......Naw, I don't like all that added stuff. Just cleaned and mopped sounds good. I've met a couple of people that read the blog there, they are interesting to visit with. I didn't know them from sic em, but they asked to be on the FB group, had a couple of mutual friends so I thought "Sure, come play". Nice folk, all in all.
Something that's not out of the ordinary, that I wish was out of the ordinary. The skin around my trach, because it's not a permanent trach, stays damp. From secretions I aspirate, to just plain old sweat. That means it's also gotten paper thin. I have to be careful with what I put on. Generally I put a couple of Band Aids over the area that the trach cover or collar rub the front of my neck. Last night I was too tired, or just plain too lazy to put the fresh band aids on, and this morning when I took it out to clean the trach and put on the clean gauze I saw why I can't do that again. Raw, bloody, sore spot where the outter edge of the trach cover rubbed. Two spots, in fact. So now, after a bit of bacitracin and band aids, all is almost well. Lesson: Don't be too Lazy to do what is needed for the trach area. Interesting side note. My neck is way out of proportion from surgery. Where you all would normally have a trach right out in front, mine sets in about 1/2 an inch. That makes it a bitch to do anything with. It's okay, though, it's not something I can't work around, just a pain in the ass is all. So, with in that area it's a pain in the neck, literally, to take care of the trach and skin around it. Also, something out of the ordinary today. I take off the collar and all to shower. I tried it without taking it off, dumb thing to do, so it goes off now. (side bar, my hole in my throat sets so far back, that without the tube in, if I lean my head too far forward, it shuts off the hole. startling the first time that happened) I did my shower, realized I left the gauze for the tube in the kitchen (no hole cut in it either), and I'm building an inordinate amount of icky shit in my mouth. So, I suction, got back to the bathroom, put the band aids where they need to go, and damn....My trach tube doesn't want to slide right in. WTF? I had to find some slick em to put on it, and it was still a struggle to get it in the hole. (Wise ass remarks are appreciated, but are often best left quiet LOL). First time that's happened. I wonder what the hell? My face and neck are sort of swollen, not like Wednesday when I went in for therapy, but a big swollen. That's what I'm going to blame the trouble on, swollen neck. And yes, it hurt a bit. A feller'd think that after 9.5 months it would be easy to do that daily routine. No, it wasn't. I fear now I'm going to have to change the gauze more than once a day. Looks like starting soon, it's gonna be at least twice a day. Dammit
Liz got me two "Handicapped Parking" placards. At first I looked at them as a sign of defeat. "Damn Cancer has gotten me so weak, that I have to use a walker to go any distance, but now "Handicapped Parking" placards as well? What the fuck?" I don't look at it like that anymore. I can park any damn place I choose. Touche' bitches. I didn't park in the Handicapped spots when I wasn't needing the parking, and generally would call people out on it. Including that great big dude in Starbuck's one morning when I was having coffee on the patio. Perhaps "Jesus Christ, you're so unhealthy you take a handicapped place to go get coffee? I guess the extra 20' walk would have killed your lazy ass", wan't as diplomatic as it could have been. He was miffed and vexed by my statement. To the point of "I'll whip your ass". On the other hand, he moved and cussed my ass with things I didn't think were cuss words until I had time to think about it. I did mention that yes, he could probably whip my ass, but he wasn't going to enjoy it after it was over. It does make people angry when you point out that only an ass hole parks in the handicapped spot when they don't need it. It seems so difficult for some people to do what's right in the first place. Something I don't understand. I don't always get there, but I certainly TRY to do what's right the first time out. So, yes, I use them. I also look around before I park in a spot. If I see an older person looking for a spot to park, I wait to see where they park before I use the Handicapped spot. I don't walk fast anymore, and sometimes it's not easy getting there, but they may be in worse shape than I am. Liz also can use them after I'm gone, if she wants. Not that that would be right, but they don't expire until 2017. Way later than my own expiration date!!
There was a change of plans. I started the blog before I took The Boy to school. He's off to San Angelo today to march at a football game there tonight. So, instead of coffee right after, it is home, blog, coffee. This should be fun. Watching the people have spastic fit over me setting in the Starbucks shoving coffee into my feeding tube. I have had one asshole there, when I was visiting with friends, (okay, they visit, I nod) tell me that was gross and maybe I should do that outside. I wrote, "You're an asshole, maybe you should stop breathing my air" and gave the note to him. He got huffy, said he was going to the manager. Whoooooo, buddy, I was terrified! Of course not. The ladies I was setting with cracked up. One of them knew I ran two guys off from behind the store one morning at 0415, about ten minutes before the girls showed up to get ready to open the store. I might have let it go, since they were behind a fence. You know, out of the breeze and just waiting. But when they saw my headlights, they leaned out, then snapped their heads back really quickly. Something didn't feel right, and being a believer in gut instincts, I hopped out of my truck and headed over to them. Yes, with a weapon, no not a handgun. They split. Suited me, and I waited for the cops to show up, in case they were innocent of thinking about pulling shenanigans. No cops came, I guess maybe they weren't so innocent.
Some of the girls there told me a few weeks ago they never felt unsafe when they saw my truck in the parking lot. They said they knew I'd look after them. Well, yeah, of course I would, but it was really nice they noticed, and more so that they said something about it. The stalker guy doesn't like me, the last thing I heard him say before he left town (no, I did NOT tell him to move out of town) was, "Cancer huh? I guess that cock sucker got what he deserved". Maybe, but I didn't tail two under twenty one year old women around, and take pictures of them going into their home. Or driving to work, or of them coming out of the store after 2300 hrs either. We had a discussion about that one morning when I wasn't working. Out on the patio. No, I never laid a hand upon his person. No, I didn't yell. No, I didn't make idle threats. What I did tell him was, if it didn't stop, there would be no police, just me. The problem he would have was that he'd never know when, how or where. All very calm, and more of a promise than a threat. I have a 27 and a 19 year old daughter. I would hope someone would step up and defend them if I wasn't there, or wasn't able. Right now, I may not be able to beat your ass for screwing with my baby girls, but I can still shoot. Let your imagination run wild with that.
Okay, let's give the wandering blog a shut down for the day. I do have to go try the coffee, and I'd like to nod while some folks and I have conversing. I've got a friend coming to town to help me with the "Good Bye Rock" hamburger and hot dog grill and get together tomorrow. BYOB, of course. Known him for forty years. When I was 13, forty years seemed like an eternity. Now, looking back, it was only a week or so ago. Hmmmmm, topic for tomorrow? Perhaps, and with an update on new and exciting symptoms.
Book Of Rock: Not happy with yourself? Tough shit, quit whining and fix it.
If you're willing to try, I'll help you as much as I can. Otherwise, stop your bitching, it's your life and only you can make it worth living.
Hugs and all that shit. Now go make your day worthy of you.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Sleep, it's pretty decent.
Before I get started, Pet Peeve. I'm a customer, you offer a service. Doesn't matter what service, but I'm paying you to do something for me, or supply me with something. If I hear "Look, I'm just doing my job....", you've pissed me off from one short fused end to the other. Saying that implies one of two things. First, you're too stupid to know any other way to tell me what the problem is about. That means you're too stupid to deal with me, go find someone who can explain it without a cop out statement like that. Secondly, and more importantly, you've just shown me you don't give a shit about what I may need to know, besides something isn't right, to rectify the situation. That's worse than being stupid. Stupid is a non repairable function, apathy is absolutely repairable. Given the opportunity to fill out a "Customer Satisfaction" survey, I'll put your dumb assed apathetic name on the the form. You'd better hope they don't have a place for added comments while we're at it. Okay, rant and Pet Peeve over. Thanks for you're continued support.
I've been sleeping again. At least for the last two nights. Eight hours Monday, six hours last night. Kinda nice. I do feel a little more refreshed. I've even taken a twenty minute nap yesterday, I guess because I'm so over active (insert classic eye roll) or because the damn cancer is making me tired. I actually vote cancer on this one. I used to get by one four to six hours. If I slept eight hours I was sick, or had been out for over 18 hours straight. Sometimes, back in the day, it was 36 hours straight or more. Those nights I might sleep nine or ten. Not very often though. I did sleep a bit more when I worked and also weight trained twice a day. That 4 hours a day in the gym seemed to take a lot out of me. In the end I was doing more harm than good and cut it back to 2 hours a day, five days a week. I blew past a couple of flat spots and added a lot of strength and flexibility. Good for me, yay. The extra rest didn't hurt that either. They gave us thirty minutes for lunch. I never took my lunch in the dog house, I kept it with me and ate in the truck as I got hungry. That meant a lot of times I'd have a bit or two or several as I was going between wells. It also meant that I could set my phone alarm and take a fifteen or twenty minute power nap for my lunch break. Talk about being revitalized. Especially if I'd been called out in the middle of the night. Depending on when I got finished, it was easier to just sleep in the truck than drive almost an hour home, sleep for 30 minutes, change clothes, make more lunch, grab a cup of Joe, fill up the truck and drive to work again. If I stayed, and I always took extra food, I could sleep 3 or so hours in the truck, and take that power nap. It was like getting a good night's sleep for me then.
So what's changed? Oh shit, pick a spot. I have to blow clear my trach tube at least once during the night as a rule. Sometimes more often than that. I can't sleep in bed, because I can't lie flat. If I lie on my side for any length of time, I get a hack and choke feeling that's hard to get rid of, even if I get on my back again. Once in a while I'll hit the bed, because by God feeling like a regular human once in a while is a good thing. As I've said, cancer takes a lot of things, but not any I can't work around or suffer through for a time. Sleeping in bed is one of those things I figure out and work around. So, yeah, cancer has interrupted my sleep. You'd think it wouldn't be a big deal after all those years on call. Well, I spent a year NOT on call all the time. A bit over, actually. Being a well tech had it's advantages. I was third on the call out list at the field I worked in. I got called out once. Hit a reset button, then waited for a couple of hours to make sure that was the only problem and went home. I did have a talk with the pumper about taking his phone everywhere, and that a baseball game was not an excuse for skipping a call out. I was going to tell his relief that as well, but he was on vacation. That's about the only excuse I took. You have to let someone know there's plans in play so they can expect a call if you're not taking them. But, again, I digress
Yeah, cancer changed a lot of stuff. This last time with poor sleep I'd been sick. Not wanting to run the risk of being caught in the chair throwing up, I just didn't sleep at night. Then I'd fall asleep for too many hours during the day and I'd be wide awake at night. Terrible cycle to be in, unless you work Morning Tower on any job. Then it's okay. I do this unconsciously. It's not planned, but something in me says "don't sleep, what if something happens?'. I think it started with twenty-one days in the hospital after all three surgeries. The nurses have to check on your regularly. I wanted my wife to get some sleep, so I stayed awake in order for the nurses to not have to talk to me. We just did our thing with simple sign language. I also left notes on my chest, in case I was asleep when they came in. Things that were either okay or not so good. Worked well, but I got a physical habit of a couple hours nap, up five or six, couple hour nap, up four or five. You get the idea. I think at times that takes over. Probably when I've got more pain, or have done something that just wore me out. It sucks, but what the hell, it is what it is. Now the Hospice Dr. wants to come talk to me about my sleep habits. You know, if I'm okay with the amount of sleep I'm getting, leave me the fuck alone. You aren't God, your service is to keep me comfortable, and that means just leaving me alone unless I've got a problem I can't handle. That's only going to be pain.
I'm dying. I'm not going to get better. I feel little bits of me being taken apart slowly. It's coming, it's not as fast as I first thought, and that's both good and bad. It's good because I get to spend more time with my family and friends. That's always good. It's bad because it's a mental battle as well as physical. Mentally I've got to be more on top of myself than ever before. Sliding into depression, or thinking about just giving up, that means the cancer has won. I won't let that happen. A long time ago I wrote a bit about "My life, my rules. My death, my rules". That still holds true. It's a bit tougher now that it has been, but it's still true. I've had to come to the reality of some things. I can't travel like I'd like. Not because riding the bike is out of the question, that's for certain. It's that I don't recover well, or at least as fast as I'd like. That makes it tough on me and everyone in my house. It's not worth the added concern I see in the family's faces to just take off and go. I figured that would happen, and it has. I went on two pretty big trips about a month apart. The difference in the 650 mile trip and the 350 mile trip was scary. I was tired on the 650 mile trip in September, but that cleared up pretty fast. I was tired, coughed up a lot of blood, and took almost most twice as long to heal up after the 350 mile trip. Time to stay home. My decision. Not the Doc, not the family. Mine. My rules.
Sounds kind of narcissistic, doesn't it. That's because it is, dammit. I've been a bit that way my entire life. This is how Rocky does it, because he wants to and can do it his way. Always has been. I got along okay at work. I'd get orders to do something, I'd make it fit Rocky's way, and still look enough like what the boss wanted that they didn't notice. Worked for me. I kept my mouth shut and they got what they wanted. Where that didn't work with me was in the "told ya so" area. Bosses don't like to hear their idea failed. Anymore than I did. Go figure. Took me years to quit saying that and just let shit lie. It worked better. That worked for me because I made it. My life, my rules. Cancer became the same way. I didn't wear the damn mask, I still went for coffee. I ate the first time when they swore I'd not be able to swallow for the pain. I did, I got some morphine spray to help. It did...and if one squirt would work, two or three worked better, right? So it's also how I worked this cancer. My rules. I decided to get all the surgery. I could have said no. I wanted a fighting chance. I got that. It's not my fault, the doctors fault, nothings fault that I can't swallow. Or was just making decent head way when I got diagnosed again. My rules, no chemo. No Clinical Study. No more being sick on drugs to gain a couple of weeks on the whip end. Not happening.
New motto. My death, My rules. Which also is part of the pet peeve. When I tell the nurse something, it's not some idle bullshit, it's real. Pay attention and don't give me the "I'm not sure about that" or the look like "if he only knew what he was talking about" look. I'm too tired now, but a year ago you'd be sneezing to take a piss if you'd acted like that around me. This is something I'm going to address next visit. I know what I need. You aren't in my shoes, don't treat me like you think you know Jack Shit about my situation. I'm grouchy, I ache some, and I don't like not being active. I'm not, however, some toddling old man that's afraid of dying and my own shadow. Time to get in line with Rocky, not try to make him get in line with you. Hospice is fine, but it's a chicken shit bureaucracy. They have to jump fifty kinds of red tape to get anything done. They are, however, a service. It's time they started acting like one. See Pet Peeve above.
Okay, that's my big bitch for the day. Right, wrong, indifferent, it's Rock's Way.
So. What shall the marching orders be? I can't say do what I do, because that wouldn't by Your Way, would it?
Book of Rock: Believe your own hype, then step up and make others believe it as well. You're the only person selling you. Be confident in what you are, how you wear yourself. It's your skin, be proud you're in it. This is you. There is no other one on the planet. You're one in Six billion. That's damn thin when you figure odds. Make the most of You, but be damn sure you can back that up. Otherwise you've made You look badly, and that's not good.
And a bang on the ear
I've been sleeping again. At least for the last two nights. Eight hours Monday, six hours last night. Kinda nice. I do feel a little more refreshed. I've even taken a twenty minute nap yesterday, I guess because I'm so over active (insert classic eye roll) or because the damn cancer is making me tired. I actually vote cancer on this one. I used to get by one four to six hours. If I slept eight hours I was sick, or had been out for over 18 hours straight. Sometimes, back in the day, it was 36 hours straight or more. Those nights I might sleep nine or ten. Not very often though. I did sleep a bit more when I worked and also weight trained twice a day. That 4 hours a day in the gym seemed to take a lot out of me. In the end I was doing more harm than good and cut it back to 2 hours a day, five days a week. I blew past a couple of flat spots and added a lot of strength and flexibility. Good for me, yay. The extra rest didn't hurt that either. They gave us thirty minutes for lunch. I never took my lunch in the dog house, I kept it with me and ate in the truck as I got hungry. That meant a lot of times I'd have a bit or two or several as I was going between wells. It also meant that I could set my phone alarm and take a fifteen or twenty minute power nap for my lunch break. Talk about being revitalized. Especially if I'd been called out in the middle of the night. Depending on when I got finished, it was easier to just sleep in the truck than drive almost an hour home, sleep for 30 minutes, change clothes, make more lunch, grab a cup of Joe, fill up the truck and drive to work again. If I stayed, and I always took extra food, I could sleep 3 or so hours in the truck, and take that power nap. It was like getting a good night's sleep for me then.
So what's changed? Oh shit, pick a spot. I have to blow clear my trach tube at least once during the night as a rule. Sometimes more often than that. I can't sleep in bed, because I can't lie flat. If I lie on my side for any length of time, I get a hack and choke feeling that's hard to get rid of, even if I get on my back again. Once in a while I'll hit the bed, because by God feeling like a regular human once in a while is a good thing. As I've said, cancer takes a lot of things, but not any I can't work around or suffer through for a time. Sleeping in bed is one of those things I figure out and work around. So, yeah, cancer has interrupted my sleep. You'd think it wouldn't be a big deal after all those years on call. Well, I spent a year NOT on call all the time. A bit over, actually. Being a well tech had it's advantages. I was third on the call out list at the field I worked in. I got called out once. Hit a reset button, then waited for a couple of hours to make sure that was the only problem and went home. I did have a talk with the pumper about taking his phone everywhere, and that a baseball game was not an excuse for skipping a call out. I was going to tell his relief that as well, but he was on vacation. That's about the only excuse I took. You have to let someone know there's plans in play so they can expect a call if you're not taking them. But, again, I digress
Yeah, cancer changed a lot of stuff. This last time with poor sleep I'd been sick. Not wanting to run the risk of being caught in the chair throwing up, I just didn't sleep at night. Then I'd fall asleep for too many hours during the day and I'd be wide awake at night. Terrible cycle to be in, unless you work Morning Tower on any job. Then it's okay. I do this unconsciously. It's not planned, but something in me says "don't sleep, what if something happens?'. I think it started with twenty-one days in the hospital after all three surgeries. The nurses have to check on your regularly. I wanted my wife to get some sleep, so I stayed awake in order for the nurses to not have to talk to me. We just did our thing with simple sign language. I also left notes on my chest, in case I was asleep when they came in. Things that were either okay or not so good. Worked well, but I got a physical habit of a couple hours nap, up five or six, couple hour nap, up four or five. You get the idea. I think at times that takes over. Probably when I've got more pain, or have done something that just wore me out. It sucks, but what the hell, it is what it is. Now the Hospice Dr. wants to come talk to me about my sleep habits. You know, if I'm okay with the amount of sleep I'm getting, leave me the fuck alone. You aren't God, your service is to keep me comfortable, and that means just leaving me alone unless I've got a problem I can't handle. That's only going to be pain.
I'm dying. I'm not going to get better. I feel little bits of me being taken apart slowly. It's coming, it's not as fast as I first thought, and that's both good and bad. It's good because I get to spend more time with my family and friends. That's always good. It's bad because it's a mental battle as well as physical. Mentally I've got to be more on top of myself than ever before. Sliding into depression, or thinking about just giving up, that means the cancer has won. I won't let that happen. A long time ago I wrote a bit about "My life, my rules. My death, my rules". That still holds true. It's a bit tougher now that it has been, but it's still true. I've had to come to the reality of some things. I can't travel like I'd like. Not because riding the bike is out of the question, that's for certain. It's that I don't recover well, or at least as fast as I'd like. That makes it tough on me and everyone in my house. It's not worth the added concern I see in the family's faces to just take off and go. I figured that would happen, and it has. I went on two pretty big trips about a month apart. The difference in the 650 mile trip and the 350 mile trip was scary. I was tired on the 650 mile trip in September, but that cleared up pretty fast. I was tired, coughed up a lot of blood, and took almost most twice as long to heal up after the 350 mile trip. Time to stay home. My decision. Not the Doc, not the family. Mine. My rules.
Sounds kind of narcissistic, doesn't it. That's because it is, dammit. I've been a bit that way my entire life. This is how Rocky does it, because he wants to and can do it his way. Always has been. I got along okay at work. I'd get orders to do something, I'd make it fit Rocky's way, and still look enough like what the boss wanted that they didn't notice. Worked for me. I kept my mouth shut and they got what they wanted. Where that didn't work with me was in the "told ya so" area. Bosses don't like to hear their idea failed. Anymore than I did. Go figure. Took me years to quit saying that and just let shit lie. It worked better. That worked for me because I made it. My life, my rules. Cancer became the same way. I didn't wear the damn mask, I still went for coffee. I ate the first time when they swore I'd not be able to swallow for the pain. I did, I got some morphine spray to help. It did...and if one squirt would work, two or three worked better, right? So it's also how I worked this cancer. My rules. I decided to get all the surgery. I could have said no. I wanted a fighting chance. I got that. It's not my fault, the doctors fault, nothings fault that I can't swallow. Or was just making decent head way when I got diagnosed again. My rules, no chemo. No Clinical Study. No more being sick on drugs to gain a couple of weeks on the whip end. Not happening.
New motto. My death, My rules. Which also is part of the pet peeve. When I tell the nurse something, it's not some idle bullshit, it's real. Pay attention and don't give me the "I'm not sure about that" or the look like "if he only knew what he was talking about" look. I'm too tired now, but a year ago you'd be sneezing to take a piss if you'd acted like that around me. This is something I'm going to address next visit. I know what I need. You aren't in my shoes, don't treat me like you think you know Jack Shit about my situation. I'm grouchy, I ache some, and I don't like not being active. I'm not, however, some toddling old man that's afraid of dying and my own shadow. Time to get in line with Rocky, not try to make him get in line with you. Hospice is fine, but it's a chicken shit bureaucracy. They have to jump fifty kinds of red tape to get anything done. They are, however, a service. It's time they started acting like one. See Pet Peeve above.
Okay, that's my big bitch for the day. Right, wrong, indifferent, it's Rock's Way.
So. What shall the marching orders be? I can't say do what I do, because that wouldn't by Your Way, would it?
Book of Rock: Believe your own hype, then step up and make others believe it as well. You're the only person selling you. Be confident in what you are, how you wear yourself. It's your skin, be proud you're in it. This is you. There is no other one on the planet. You're one in Six billion. That's damn thin when you figure odds. Make the most of You, but be damn sure you can back that up. Otherwise you've made You look badly, and that's not good.
And a bang on the ear
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