How cool is that?

From The Tipton County Tribune, December 29, 2016

 

Our health care providers take pride in their work, we take pride in our health care workers.

Look at the company they keep.

My Daughter and Me

 

Bright sunny day but colder than bears. 4^oF when I looked a few minutes ago.  I am in hospital as I write this.  The patient is my daughter, Ivanelle.  The staff just wheeled her away for the procedure and I wait here in room 8, surgery.

Fifty-seven years ago I got the call telling me that her mother had been admitted to hospital in Ft. Wayne.  I was in Muncie.  An hour later I was at Frieda's side.  Perhaps it was a holiday for Indiana Highway Patrolmen.  But having arrived about 3:30 in the afternoon it was nevertheless 11:30 before Ivanelle made her debut.  Not saying she has always been stubborn, but she is tenacious.

I have changed her diapers, picked her up when she has fallen.  I have bandaged her skinned knees and I have taken her to doctors when the need was beyond me.  I was with her when she was in labor with her first child.  What she said then about her husband was not nice, but they eventually had two more kids and they are now loving grandparents to seven.  I have been with Ivy through birthdays of children and grandchildren, through graduations and the celebrations of them.  But today is the hardest thing I have ever done with her.  The symptoms she suffers are scary and we can but trust the doctors and the Good Lord.  It is in their hands.

Update: Doctor says there were no signs of cancer and the irritation in the stomach can be treated with diet and medication.  I brought the lady to the house and she is resting.

Now What?

The podiatrist examined my toe, advised me that a "procedure" would resolve my issue.

"So I need an operation?"

"Just a procedure I do right here in the office."

"Operation."

"Okay, it is an operation, but there is nothing to it."

"Do it."

My too-frequent visits to medical professionals this year taught me, and that early on, that "procedure" is the professional euphemism for "operation."  Dr. G stuck my toe with his needle while our banter continued a bit.  He left the room for a few minutes while my toe died.

The doctor returned, jabbed the toe in a few places, asked his assistant for his thingamabob.  Less than six minutes later the assistant was placing this beautiful bandage on the offended digit.

My sixth operation in 2016 encompassing the Me from head to foot!

Now.  We shall see.*

*a/o Friday night, toe looks good, pain-free.  Color me happy!

Rehash and Rehabilitation

 

Scrolling through some old pictures I found this one entitled "Pillow and Vanilla."  Brought back memories, memories best covered with chocolate sauce, the pain not recalled.

The pillow was my best friend from the latter part of January through most of March.  It was given me by the caring staff members at IU Methodist Hospital following the open-heart surgery.

Why then am I dragging this forward into an October post?  Simply this:  memories and gratitude.  2016 has been the year that we hope to look back on through the mists of memory and say "It was all good."

From the January experience through August I went through four "surgical procedures."  Misty memories? I don't think about the pain anymore, nor do I feel it.  Gratitude?  I thank the Lord for his tender mercies, for healing, and for providing capable and talented medical professionals of the caliber I dealt with so frequently this year.

I was not much more than back on my feet until it started with JoAnn who was diagnosed with breast cancer in June.  She has had surgery for removal of the offending lump and today will have her eighteenth radiation treatment.  Projection:  two more after today followed by cancer-free health and wellness.

Again, thank you, Heavenly Father, for your tender mercies, for healing, and for providing capable and talented medical professionals.

We are blessed.

My Beloved Beautiful Better Half has a birthday tomorrow, 10/5.

Three Good Days

Day 1.  Sunday last we were blessed to be able to attend morning worship service.  After church we went home where BBBH heated the tamale pie in the oven, then we drove to Frankfort for a family party.

Most of the people seen in these pix are either children or grandchildren and in many cases great grandchildren of BBBH.  The occasion: Granddaughter Michelle, her husband David and their children Mikayla and Lucas were visiting from their home in Germany.

Day 2.  Monday we were blessed with a visit from my sister Vee and her husband Elvin who came all the way from Kansas.  They arrived about 10:30 and stayed until sunset.  Eating of good food and visiting made up most of the day and of course there was not enough time to touch on all the things we wanted to catch up on.

Day 3.  I have suffered for weeks with swelling and pain in the left eye.  Tuesday another visit to the ophthalmologist resulted in the agreement to go with the surgery (DSAEK) which should relieve the pain and likely will restore vision to the eye.  Procedure is scheduled for June 8.  I am not wishing my life away, but it cannot come too soon!

Red Riding Hood and the Old Grey Wolf.

Pretty little girl, long dark hair, perhaps 27, appears at bedside, two a.m.  She had cared for me when I was on her wing.  She wore a red woolen winter coat and a grey scarf around her neck.

"Just got off shift and wanted to say 'Hi' before I go home."

"Hi.  Thanks.  I appreciate the visit."

"You are looking really good!"

And there it is.  I have grandchildren older than she; I am lying on my back staring up from the sheet tucked around my neck; just awake from three-hour sleep.

It must be the lighting, muted as it is filtering in from the open door.

A Tiny Note and Update!

Progress:  an hour in physical therapy is a welcome relief from the tedium (how many episodes of "In the Heat of the Night" can one watch? nostalgic in so many ways:  "back then" it was the nonagenarian mother-in-law's favorite show) from the tedium, I say, of the daily routine.

Update:  Trip to surgical team in Indy.  Passed the one-month test with flying colors!  I may now lift up to 25 pounds, raise my arms above my head.  And I forgot to ask if I could resume my normal sleeping posture.  I have slept on my back for the past thirty-two days.  Anyway, other good news: I can drive provided I am not on any opioids.. (I haven't had one of those in two weeks!)  I am to be released from nursing home on schedule: February 25.  Now that is more than an update, it is progress.

Downside:  (Because I don't always see how full the glass really is) There are a couple of unintended consequences of the procedure, but they are being addressed and are a minor annoyance in the over-all scheme of things.  Care to be taken until the end of April, for it takes three months for complete healing to eventuate.

I am elated.

Heart. Heart, heart.

Sometime during my stay in recovery following the open-heart surgery, I was given a red pillow, a red heart=shaped pillow embossed with a graphic of a real heart, veins, valves and all, on one side and the "IU Health" logo and "Methodist Hospital" on the other.  This, I was told, could be clutched to my chest to ease pain particularly when coughing or when attempting any sort of motion.

I soon found I was pleased, nay thrilled, to have the thing.

Nine years ago at the age of 44 Delbert, the elder of my sons had a heart attack culminating in a quintuple by-pass open-heart surgery.  He visited me in hospital while I was still in ICU.  Noting my pillow, he told me, "That will become your best friend."

He was right.  Today marks one month since the surgery and I have slept with that pillow clutched to my chest every night in the interim.  It got a "break" from cuddling me but once and that about three in the morning a couple weeks ago when I inadvertently knocked it to the floor.  I could not get up to retrieve it and I was uncomfortable with the idea of pushing the call-button to ask for someone to pick up a pillow.  So I bemoaned its absence for about two hours.  Help arrived, and I have cherished Pillow carefully since then.

Then.  Then after I was discharged from hospital and sent to rehab I received a call from my younger son, Ken, who told me that while I was in hospital he had had a heart attack at work, was helicoptered from the remote site of the occurrence to Lexington where the cardiologists were able to work their magic via placement of stents in his heart.  He had advised my spouse, my sister and his siblings but inveigled them to vow that they should not tell me, because he did not want me to worry about it while I was in my circumstances.  He called and told me after I was in the nursing home, and his co-conspirators had kept their word.  Kenneth was on his feet and back to work in a matter of days.

Recess

I am in the OR or in ICU.  I have no idea when I may be back here.  Meanwhile, enjoy your visits around the blogosphere.  Stay warm.

*Jim*         *Chuck*     *Grace*         

 *Pearl*      *Sharkey*

                    *Lin*          *Jono*
   
                                        *Murr*           *Vee*

The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in him, and I am helped: therefore my heart greatly rejoices; and with my song will I praise him.  --Psalm 28:7 (KJV) 

Heart of My Heart

I tend to be less forthcoming about my health issues but BBBH has plastered my "condition" all over her facebook page, so I might as well open up.

An earlier exception to my reticence was published here four years ago when I had the corneal tissue transplant because that is an interesting and relatively rare surgery, and besides the readers might have gotten a good laugh at the pictures of the swollen and bandaged me. 

I have according to my cardiologist a very strong heart but a seriously occluded aortic valve as well as some arterial narrowing in the heart.  Surgery is the only remediation.

I got a call today from the office of the cardiovascular surgeon.  They will see me on December 22.  The good news in this is that I will likely not be admitted for surgery before Christmas.  The bad news is that I will likely not be admitted for surgery before Christmas.

Further good news is that JoAnn's facebook friends and relatives have flooded her notes with good wishes and more importantly promises of prayers for our well-being.  This is appreciated immensely, more than I can tell.

Having started this here, I shall feel compelled to keep you updated.

Photo by BBBH,Galaxy S4, unbeknownst to the subject until it appeared on fb.

Out of the Office

Today my cardiologist will be guiding a probe into my heart for a look-see.

Woe

"The devil is trying to kill me."  BBBH looks the picture of health, given her age and all, but she is not exempt from physical woes.  She bears them stoically for the most part, but she made this statement yesterday.

My response was, "The devil cannot do that.  He may indeed create many woes for mankind, and for us individually, but he can't kill us."

"Why would you think that?"

"The Book of Job. The Lord allowed Satan to mess with Job but forbade him to take his life."

"That was Job,:" she said.

"That was a righteous person who was known of God who knew that Job was faithful.  He extends the same grace and protection to you.  Job's story is not just a story.  There is a message in it."

"Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him: but I will maintain mine own ways before him.  He also shall be my salvation: for an hypocrite shall not come before him."  --Job 13:15,16  KJV

More Adventures in the World of Health Care

 

In the nephrologist's office today we sat opposite this wall.  What, BBBH wondered, is going on behind that door?  We found out when an attendant came out to call the next patient.  She left the door open long enough, more than long enough, three or four minutes, for us to see that inside people were undergoing hemodialysis.  Beautiful was not encouraged by this.

But to my issue.  I am not obsessive compulsive, but my first glance at the wall impelled me to move forward in my seat, intent on straightening that mess.  I am not afflicted with OCD.  But before I could rise, I saw that it was not just the stuff pinned to the wall, but horrors! it was the stuff attached to and built into the wall as well.  I am not anal retentive, but this sort of things drives me nuts.  Good thing I am not obsessive compulsive.

So then we had an hour-long chat with the doctor.  There is no dialysis in the immediate future, but there were some suggestions to improve the quality of life.  God bless physicians.

Before we left I had to snap this picture in an anteroom.  To someone's credit, there was a sign on the chair reading "Please do not sit in chair."

I showed the picture to BBBH and said, What is wrong with this picture?

She told me almost instantly.  My woman is not only beautiful, she is very observant.  Smart, too.

Requiem for a Pile of Concrete

 My hospital is being razed, turned into a pile of rubble, which in turn is being transported to parts unknown.

No, I do not own the hospital, but over the past forty-five years I have developed some strong connections here.

The building which is going away is laid out as a giant

                             X

These views are from the south, as though you are looking at the two bottom legs of the above diagram.

During recent years, additions have been built, growing a much larger building than the original. As time went on, portions of the old building fell into disuse, and finally the entire thing was considered no longer viable for the practice of modern health care.  Goodbye. 

I have sat beside my dying wife in a room in this building on two separate occasions, nineteen years apart.  My children have been transported here for emergency care when kidhood booboos occurred.  

My first grandchild was born in this hospital, but transported immediately to the city for specialty care.  Two days later, my son-in-law and I came to my daughter still lying in a room in this building to tell her that her firstborn son did not make it.

I was in the delivery room holding my younger daughter's hand while she was in labor, long hours of labor, with her first child.  She was not saying kind and loving things about her husband. The good news is that she and her hubby raised that child and two others to adulthood and are now the loving grandparents of four.  And I was in the maternity ward again when this daughter of theirs gave birth to her first child.

I have myself been the recipient of "inpatient care" at this facility on two occasions, the last time during the earthquake that disrupted the World Series.  I have taken BBBH here on numerous occasions for treatments, and probings, and proddings, one test or another.  Over time, those services have been moved into the new facilities, and I got these pictures on a trip to the phlebotomist to relieve the lady of several vials of blood.

I have had some interesting doctor-related experiences here.  I once got into a rather loud exchange of opposing ideas with a cardiologist who was caring for my mother-in-law.  On another occasion, I had taken an injured student from school to the ER.  The physician would not touch the child without parental consent, whereupon I assured him that I stood "in loco parentis" to the child, and he informed me that he could not care less.  And that exchange got loud.  Two young professionals over-zealously guarding their turf.  He is now a good friend of mine, and like me, retired.

I was having a stress test on the treadmill one time, and the cardiologist was an old guy who should have been, and soon was, superannuated.  The oscilloscope flatlined during my strenuous exercise.  Doc got quite excited, and I said, "Looks like you lost me, Doc."  He was not amused.

When my second wife died, my doctor, who was not the attending physician to the late patient, came to me to console me in my loss.  She hugged me and comforted me.

The beginning of life, the end of life, the best efforts to maintain life while it lasts, the very essence of  "hospital."  I did not say that the memories I had were all happy ones, but they are important ones, and that old building, which I will no longer be able to see except in my mind's eye, has been a vitally important part of my life.

 On the lighter side, click on over 

to Bob Warr's  blog.
I just realized that last Sunday's "Regrowth"
is post number 2000 on STSTT and I let it
pass without comment.

2013 Retrospective

On the last day of 2013, a look back.  Do you remember that I told you it was not a "prime year," giving its factors as 1, 3, 11, 33, 61, 183, 671, and 2013?  Okay, so now it ends.  Not prime, perhaps, but not a bad year, either.  Oh, yes, there have been disasters, wars, turmoil, and grief.  Yet I write in terms of my personal survival of another transit of Old Sol by our puny planet.

As for the blog, it seems I have posted 298 times this year, far short of the one-time near-daily posting I once did.  And yet sufficient unto the cause, I find, is a number falling below the one-to-one correspondence level I once sought to achieve.  And I do not feel the least bit guilty about missing some days.  In point of fact, I find that taking time off now and then enhances the effort.  I think so anyway.

On a personal note, we are doing quite well in spite of the aging process which does take its toll, yet no more severely than we are able to cope with, praise be to God.  I will begin my ninth decade of life in a few months, should I live that long, and BBBH is only two or three laps behind me.  We are still able to care for ourselves, sweep the floor occasionally and dust once in a while.  You, of course, are welcome anytime you wish to drop by for a visit, but no white gloves, please.

As December closes out and January begins, we wish you well, and we wish you much happiness during the New Year.

Tin Cup. This Time, Honest

Saturday we were at camp meeting, ostensibly telling the tale of the tin cup.  Yet the cup appeared only pictorially.

Camp meeting ran for ten full days, actually starting on a Thursday night and ending after the evening service on the second Sunday next.  Plenty of time for prayer, praise, preaching, potatoes, and palaver with many from near and far.

Now our camp meeting typically started in mid-June, running, for example from the sixteenth through the twenty-sixth.  The days were long, without doubt, and could get hot, more than likely.  Thirst, and not speaking here of spiritual thirst, could get intense.  But provisions were made!  On the south side of the kitchen, on the outside wall, was a standard bib, or faucet, which one could turn on to obtain water.  Yet a container for the refreshing elixir was required, so hanging on the bib was a tin cup.  A beautiful, standard tin cup was placed there for the convenience of one and all.

Thirsty, we never gave it a second thought.  One wonders how so many of us survived, even unto old age.  Yet even in that unenlightened (and probably better for it) time, there were one or two who did give it a thought.  I am thinking of Mrs. W, wife of one of the pastors on the district, a lady always dressed just a tiny cut above the run-of-the-mill "outfits" worn by most of the women.  So Mrs. W gets thirsty, as do we all.  She traipses up the walk to the spigot, reaches into her beautiful black calfskin purse and pulls out a ring-like object about two inches in diameter.  She grasps the nether portion of the ring in her left hand, the upper part in her right, and pulls.  Behold! it becomes a drinking cup!  She runs the water, quaffs her refreshment, takes a hankie from the purse and wipes the cup dry, folds it and returns it along with the handkerchief to her purse.  She ambles away.

Three of us kids standing nearby watched this little skit play out.  Just as she was, we hoped, out of earshot, two of us started snickering.  "Some people are too good for their own good," said Wes.  "Yeah," I chimed in, "I hope there was snot on her hankie."  "No, no.  Now stop that," said Andy, who was two years older than we, and therefore presumably wiser in the ways of the world.  "You should be grateful that she was considerate enough not to smear her cooties on our cup."

Gleeful laughter as we all skipped off to see what other wonders might appear to further enhance our day!

.

This was not our tabernacle, but it is a look-alike.

Watch your 'tude

I met upon the street today a man more feeble yet than I

He hobbled toward me, leaning on his cane

A broad smile upon his face and a twinkle in his eye.

I greeted him with a cheery, “Good morning, Mr. D!"

It’s good to meet you this morning in the lane

Your smile is bright as ever; that is good to see.”

“The surgeon says he will operate on my knee.”

“You’ve been a few times around the sun;

Your decision will the right one be.”

“I am eighty-seven now,” he said, “and I can

barely walk anymore, much less run.”

“May God bless you, and guide the doctor’s hand.”

He ambles on, I go my way

I am chastised within my heart

I’ve met an example today

By which to live; for he wears a grin

While I grumble with each dart

of pain. Now convicted: that is sin.

A merry heart doeth good like a medicine: but a broken spirit drieth the bones.

--Proverbs 17:22

Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin.
James 4:17

We Need Each Other

Yep.  Sometimes you just feel like you need a hug.  Lucky Hedgehog, has a whole coterie of pals to make him feel wanted.

Open the Door!

How do you gain egress from a public restroom? For years I have washed the hands, taken the paper towel, dried the hands. Then, and this is where the expertise enters the picture, using the towel as a buffer, I grip the handle of the door, pulling it open. Next, blocking the door open with the foot, I wad the towel and expertly flip it into the wastebasket. No, one does not miss, for one does not leave trash on the floor for the custodian to handle.

But. Technology being what it is, someone has finally perfected an awesome hurricane-in-a-can which will dry the hands in a trice, thus eliminating the need, in the mind of management, to provide towels. So how to open the door? Clearly, someone has posed this question to the powers that be, for now I find (just yesterday for the first time, in fact) that someone has created a hook thingy to fasten on the inside of the door, along with a diagram showing how to use it. In a few words, insert arm, fingers up, and pull door open with the wrist, thus avoiding the necessity of touching a handle with the freshly washed pinkies.

Now if you have not tried this, trust me: it is trickier than the picture shows. Open a door with the forearm extended up its inside with the elbow plastered against it. And get your body out of the way. Wait! How do I move? Where?

Drat. I am going to have to start carrying extra paper towels in my pocket for just such a situation.

Walk, Walk, Walk

My friend, Chester, does not know I snapped this picture because 1) he is a dedicated and intent walker, and 2) I was at my dining table inside, shooting through the screen door.

This gentleman walks around the park daily. He does three and a quarter miles in the morning, three and a quarter in the afternoon. He is more disciplined than I, and probably in better physical condition!

Chester and Elaine are here every winter. We first met them several years ago on our first camping expedition to Texas. The curiosity is that our permanent homes are less than fifty miles apart! Fellow Hoosiers.