Nurse resigns!

Yesterday my sweet husband graduated from walker to a cane. I even caught him lusting at the refrigerator. The guy is definitely on the mend. Not exactly cooking Moroccan meatloaf yet, but he does well toasting and scrambling. He's even emptied and filled the dishwasher several times. He promises meatloaf before the end of the week. All in all -- he walks, he talks, but he doesn't bend down and touch he toes yet.  What does that mean?  He can't pick up his pony tail band off the floor when he drops it.  He can't wash the bottoms of his feet in the shower and he can't put on his compression knee socks himself.  Guess I can still be helpful to the guy.   However, my last "official" act as the good nurse Ratchet was to take John to the doc this morning for his two week checkup.  As we talked, the doc plucked the staples out of John's thigh as if he were simply plucking an eyebrow.  Quick, easy and painless -- if you have the right tool.  My office staple remover would not have produced the same bloodless results, I'm afraid.  Doc told him to back-off the Percocet, stop the Aleve and move to Tylenol.  John, with a bit of a sigh, thought that was all doable; however, like most men, he is reluctant to endure plain ol' aches and pains.  Not enough to martyr yourself like the bone-on-bone hip pain from before the surgery.  With that kind of pain you can solicit grand sympathy from friends and family.  And, this he did.

His days for the next month will be highlighted with continuing physical therapy, short outings, daily walking and extra exercises (he will have to touch his toes one day), and restful naps.  He's totally enjoying the naps part.

Party time?

John greeted the day after a good night's sleep, feeling different -- like normal, like perky, like "Oh, my god" I'm coming out of the fog of the surgery. His voice over the phone today was John's old voice -- a cheerful, happy to be alive voice. The sunshine was peeking through once again.

I arrived home after work bearing prespcription refills and new bandages to protect the slice in this thigh to find him still in good spirits with only low grade, not high grade pain in that swollen thight. Our friends Piotr and Liz came over and we proceeded to party with Chinese food, berr and white wine (except for John) and much conversation and laughing. Even Toby, their sweet Beagle, came over for a good sniff about and an many pats on the head.

By 9:30 I was cleaning up and Liz, Piotr and Toby had gone back across the hall with left overs in hand. Within five minutes, John was once again stretched on the couch, leg elevated above his heart and snoring. His left leg is covered in frozen peas and ice packs. He's been asleep for almost an hour now -- TV blaring, lights on and me making noises while loading the diswasher. He's totally out to the world...so much for my party guy. Night all. Sleep tight!

Not sweatie balls -- just fuzzy balls

Our last day together as patient and care giver was fairly bright. John took his meds on schedule, drank his prune juice, and tackled his thigh inflammation with 20 minute rounds of frozen peas. Discussions with insurance companies and "heath care givers" continued. Prepare yourself for old age and infirmity -- you'll spend most of your time on the phone with agents, nurses and clerks trying to untangle the mesh of confused information and communications. John must have repeated the same information about who he is, the surgery he had done, and the prespcription drugs he is taking a dozen times. Our advice -- get organized before old age sets in. People very nicely don't answer your questions or answer then differently. Everyone - docs, hospital, insurance companies and visiting nurse and physical therapist live in their own unconnected silos most of the time. Don't get me wrong -- everyone means well and is trying to help John. It's just overwhelmingly complicated to get it all untangled.

On a sillier note, it's shower time for the first time in a week. We're going to have a couple of hold bars installed in the master shower, but until then John is on his own to balance while he washes his hair.  He got the walker into the shower (after I removed the fuzzy ball -- see next paragraph for details).  It all went every well.  As sous nurse, I washed and dried his feet (please, no religious references to men in long hair!).  


Oh, the fuzzy balls...found two practice tennis balls, punched holes in them and popped them onto the back feet of the walker. Makes the little bugger glide over floor and carpets. Lesson learned -- you pay $130 for the walker and 63 cents to make it work right. What's weird about this picture?

First day home -- lesson learned

I brought John home late Friday afternoon. As you can see in the photo, flowers from his FedEx team welcomed him.  The condo was filled with their fragrance.

Panic struck a few hours later when he couldn't get his Celebrex (anti inflammation) drug prescription filled because of insurance company pre-authorization rules.  John had visions of his staples popping out at any minute.  I tried to calm him with  ice packs while he waited to hear from the on call doc.  At 3AM I was standing in the local 24 hour CVS picking out the best version of Aleve that would have to fill in for the Celebrex until Tuesday when the doc could talk with the insurance company.  By morning, the swelling was under control, but we were both at "wits end". 

We figured out the drug schedule (I did a nice spreadsheet). It took an hour for us to figure out what was supposed to be taken, when.  Our brains are still "on" so we can only imagine how difficult it is for really old people to figure it. 

The home health care nurse came to check John out.  She was pleased with his progress and his ability to move around.  Told him to keep at it, took his vitals and checked his drugs.  He passed her inspection with Flying Colors.

Here's was we have learned:

• Care giver should not sleep with the patient if you want a caregiver with enough energy to give care the next day.
• Patient should always open a request with "Please, could you" or "When you have time" and not be cryptic with "order like" tone or language.  This will ensure that the patient lives through the recovery period.
• Care giver should remember that the pain is not your fault.  Chronic pain makes even the nicest dude loose his sense of humor.  The world feels like its caving in on the patient. 
• Patient becomes very self-centered despite himself.  Conversations center on prune juice, Colase and other remedies for the side affects of those "oxi" drugs.  Care giver should smile and endure it for about one hour then shove the New York Times at patient. 
• Patient should not race while using the walker. 

As the day ended, more flowers arrived to cheer John on. Our thanks to Sandy and Al for good thoughts coming our way.

Amazing progress in just two days

John's not exactly running down the halls today, but he's walking without a gimp down the 6th floor hall here, can slowly climb stairs and can swing himself in and out of bed.  As you can see from the picture on the right, he's stunning in a skirt and knee socks.  He'll look even better without the walker.

The only thing stopping him from moving faster is stress on the thigh incision and stiff muscles when he walks.  He'll stay in hospital tonight and tomorrow.  I'm going back to work (I think I'm about to drive him crazy here at the hospital) and will pick him up after work. 

All he needs for his clean bill of health is to poop (gross as it may be, it is important given all the pain killers he's on).  Physical therapy at home starts on Saturday.  My guy is smiling and cheery again!  Yeah!

Hard day at the hospital

It's 5PM. The sun is setting.  The anesthesiologist just dropped by to see how John is recovering.  He reported that John woke up several times during the surgery.   The spinal anesthetic cut out all the pain; however, the "la la land" sedative didn't keep him completely asleep.  One time John awoke to tell his operating room audience about his "intense intellectual curiosity about what was happening."  another time he declared "I feel the pounding on my side."  The doc quickly upped the medication and sent him off to "la la land" again each time.  We all laughed. John's research got the best of him.

This morning it was painful to stand the first time and he took some morphine; but in the afternoon he was scooting around the room and out the door into the hall using a walker.  No morphine needed. But the other three pain killers are on regular doses.  He's excited about walking the whole hall and trying stairs tomorrow.  After the morning walk, he spent the rest of the day in his chair doing cross word puzzles and reading his beloved New York Times. He also talked with the insurance company and had a great talk with our friend Ginny who had her hip surgery several years ago.  Much comparing went on! 

Don't get too excited about his progress though, he snored his way through most of the afternoon sitting in his chair in a well reclined position.  Before I leave tonight we do leg exercises.

Surgery Day + 1

I left the John smiling and well medicated last night about 7PM.  It's now 9AM and I am back in his room watching him chow down on his "southern" breakfast -- cheese eggs, biscuit and grits. He says the food tastes good.  I can't say it's the most healthy diet.  Oh, well. 

He's due to walk for the first time in about an hour so he's taking another round of Oxycondone and Tylenol cocktail.  Whoopee!  That will be followed by a slow release Oxycontin and a bit of morphine if he needs it.  Doc wants the pain numbed so he can move to sit and walk.  He also gets Chelebrex to reduce the inflammation.  I here to watch the fun! 

He's got a private room with great nurses.  Everyone is very attentive.  Before I arrived, doc stopped by early this morning, but he was asleep. The good news -- he's still smiling this morning.

John is out of surgery

I just talked with the doc at 2:45 PM. Doc said there was no cartilage separately the hip and pelvis bones.  They gave him a spinal epidural and la-la land sedation.  Surgery took about 2.5 hours.  John is groggily, but painlessly, resting in recovery.  He should be in his room within the next two hours and then I'll get to see him.  Happy dance!

Who's anxious?

Valentine's Day and John's surgery day.  An interesting combination, but I was prepared, stalward and ready to go. I had bought a romantic Valentine card and delivered it to him as he woke up this morning.  It must have scared him that it wasn't my normal quirky card, because he didn't smile or say anything, except, "I didn't get you a card."  "Of course you didn't," I laughed.  "You can't walk more than 50 feet and I had the car at work yesterday."  I kissed his cheek, walked into the living room and began to pack up my papers and computer so I could work at the hospital  while he was under the knife. 

I knew he was a bit anxious.  This is his first big surgery.  However, the pain has gotten the best of him and he was more than ready to get if over with.  I, of course, assured myself that I was not anxious nor worried.  John had told me that the doc does 5 or 6 hip replacements a week and Georgetown has a great hospital. When I met his doc in the pre-surgical room I found him to be not handsome -- a good sign of the lack of a big ego-- and patient -- he answered all of John's many last minute questions without a single sigh.  But, as I sat next to him John looked small and fragile in his compression hose, hospital gown, blue hair net and IV dripping a clear solution into his body.

Almost an hour later than scheduled, two men wheeled John down the hall to the OR.  I trailed a bit behind him.  At the elevators that took me to the surgical center waiting room, he gave me a slurpy smile and a kiss.  I smiled back and waved good-bye.  I checked in at the center's front desk, went for a bit of lunch, then came back to settle in a chair to do some needed work.  Only then did I discover that I left my RSA key on my key ring that was with the parking attendent.  "That's ok," I hissed to myself, "I put the documents I need to work on a memory stick yesterday so I won't need to access the work network."  I scavanged my bag only to discover I'd left the stick in my other purse.  I would have to work from scratch or just wait.  Who's anxious now?

Youngest grandson morphs into teenager

From the time Ian could walk, he loved clothes. As he grew, his passion for them grew. He organizes them, hangs them, carefully selects outfits before he goes to bed on school nights and has been known to change his outfit several times a day on weekends. He is an official clothes horse. When we arrived at my daughter's house on Christmas Day he immediately brought out his presents, all sorted by style and color -- enough clothes to make a new wardrobe. Skinny jeans, baggies, tee shirts, dress shirts, and hoodies, most with logos and numbers of his favorite football teams. When he opened our present - a "fur" lined hoodie from Abercrombie he didn't take it off for two days --- Amazing.

This Tuesday this sports fashionista of a kid became a young man. He's now an official teenager. Speaking to him about what he'd like for his birthday (meaning what clothes should I buy), he told me with great authority that he wanted a gray cardigan sweater and a pink plaid dress shirt. Overnight, he's turned from sports to prep. Amazing again. He called Thursday to say he gotten the package and they items were "just right". His mother told me he had already lined them to wear to school the next day. His soon-to-be 17 year old brother, who I could hear in the background, just sighed. I know he was shaking his head wondering how he could actually be related to this fashion plate.

Waiting

We're waiting. It's that time between John deciding to get his hip replaced and the operation. He's scheduled for Valentine's Day and none too soon. After a week in the office in Memphis, he arrived home Friday night barely able to move. He had to walk everyday from his car to the hotel and from the parking lot to his office. The most difficult walks were in the airports. He has to stop every 50 feet or so to brace himself against the pain. It's bone against bone.

We drove out to the boat today. The sky was clear blue and the air almost warm. We wanted to check on Forte Vento to reassure ourselves that the lines are holding well and that the bubbler is ready for preventing water icing up around her hull. John had to wait, sitting in a chair overlooking the harbour while I walked out to slip. He's side lined.

We wanted to go see an exhibit at the Corcoran, but he can't walk the museum's corridors. He can't stand to view the pictures. He tried to grocery shop with me on Saturday. He had to offset the weight on his hip by leaning heavily on the cart as we strolled through the store to pick up a few things. He pretty much stood while I gathered what we needed.

It's frightful for us. We're learning just how fragile our health can be. It's out of our control. It's not like he did some stupid thing that hurt his body. His hip just broke down. It's genetic. We worry together. But, to worry does as much harm as the fragile health itself. I am optimistic that the surgery will be a success and that my sweet man will recover. We'll be urban hikers once again by mid-April when we are off to London to see our friend Martyn. We will. We will.

Reconnecting

Reconnecting with a childhood friend made my whole body smile today. Rich Clymer, who I've know since second grade, looked me up while visiting his brother here in DC this weekend. In just a few hours, we shared years of memories and laughed at what the 47 years since we graduated from high school has done to our bodies as well as our minds. With a facebook screen in front of us, we went down a long list of classmates -- What happened to her, do you know? What about this guy, is he still alive? What is so and so doing? We filled each other in as best we knew. In the end, our alives have played out differently, but we are both pleased at our choices and looking forward to what the next stage of our lives brings. Thanks Rich. It was a great day!

Understanding where our lives are going

Donald Hall, past Poet Laureate of the United States, wrote in the New Yorker this month (January 23, 2012) about where is life has taken him now that he is 83. Like his grandmother and mother before him, now sits at his window watching his narrowed world of barns, birds and weather and laments his invisibility on becoming of "the old people -- of another world".

I read this article at 2:30 AM last night. It helped me put my work worries into perspective. No matter what I do, in the end, it just won't make much difference in the greater scheme of things -- I, like everyone else who will survive a rapid death, will end up in front of a window waiting for the last of life to past. In the smaller scheme, I do need to do the best I can -- to do no harm -- to be kind -- to keep my friends close while I have them -- and to live each day fully. That way sitting in front the window will make me smile.

The Silly Season

Following the Republican primaries these past months been heartstopping at times. To have so many men in suits (or kakais and one woman) pandering to crowds with language can only drive us farther apart. Any time anyone said anything sensible "the base" rejected the candidate. For example, when Rick Perry said he'd rather make education funding available for illegal immigrant children and children of illegal immigrants rather than create a larger underclass made real sense. It was one position I agreed with "W" on - he understood the need for a sane immigration policy.

Now that Gingrich has won South Carolina, his ability to make his weakenesses into strengths made me sit up and stop laughing when he spouts some new grand idea. I recommend the New Yorker, January 23 article on his wife, "The Good Wife" to understand more about why he his behavior is so off the wall uncampaign-like. I do think Romney, the Republicans Mr. Stiffneck, will eventually be the nominee. Why? Gingrich will eventually say something so out-of-the-box that Mr. Stiffneck will look reasonable to Republicans who have a bit of sanity left in them...so much for being a pundit. But, I am addicted to the following events blow-by-blow. You couldn't write fiction this good.

Back to work

The three day weekend is spent. Tried to use it wisely -- two movies -- Tinker, Tailor, Solider Spy and The Iron Lady; a bit of shopping -- a small red cabinet for the front entrance now sits where the seven year old beat up bargain from Pier I used to reside; a bit of home repair -- wood puttied the door hinge gaps in the archway between the living/dining room and the sitting room; a bit of home cooked dinner -- John roasted lamb and root vegetables; and some exercise -- I dragged myself off to the gym at 8AM for an hour of heart stopping treadmill.

I look forward to the rythum of the office tomorrow -- a selection memo to write; a senior staff meeting to attend; projects to watch over; and strategy sessions to schedule. If the weekend was all that there was, I could not sit about and read all the books I promised myself to read. I would go to work the Arlington Food Center. I must have purpose and that would give me purpose -- until sailing time again and then I don't need purpose. I have the water, the sun and the wind.

What keeps me up at night

It's 3:56 AM and I've been tossing for the past hour. I pulled myself out of bed and came to the living room. First, I did a cross word puzzle; then I logged onto "Words with Friends" and tried to place clever words on the scrabble boards of two games. Still my eyes poke open, refusing to shutter.

Silly stuff seeps out of my mind. It refuses to go into the rinse cycle. It washes ideas out into the air from the knooks and crannies of my brain. Maybe if I write them down, it will calm and let me sleep. Let's see -- should I go to Home Depot tomorrow to return the backsplash samples we have decided not to use? Where would we put our kitchen art that's strung around the space over the counter tops, John asked this evening? He's right. Not the right project for us now. Can we fit all the odds and ends from the old office set up into the new drawers? Maybe we can stow the wire mesh storage drawers into the closet and fill it with tools instead of having them strewn about odd bags and tool boxes. Can we find a small table to place the printer on then so the room can come to gether? Should I have a pot luck dinner next month for some senior staff women from work? Should I cook the main course? Should we start at 6PM or 7? Should I nominate one of my managers for a small reward? How might the staff perceive it? Should I try to exercise more? Can I have the discipline after working more ten hour days? Is it time to see an opthamologist to check my eyes? Might he find the beginnings of cataracts? I can't seem to read for a long time -- my esight get fuzzy, especially when I read from paper and not a screen.

Ok. One more crossword puzzle then it's back to bed. I'll turn on the radio and listen to the BBC. That should put me to sleep.

Winter Weekend

The holiday decorations are put away. The thrill of the new year has settled into "here we go again." It's cold and sunny, but there is no snow on the ground. We sit in front of the fire, watching Sunday Morning, reading the papers. John has his New York Times and I read my favorite pundits in the Washington Post. John is planning a lamb roast with root vegetables. The plants are watered and trimmed, the shelves in John's office are organized, the laundry is done and the bills are paid. Sounds ideal? It should be, but I'm at loose ends. I sit just waiting...waiting for the the weather to warm, so we can return to weekends on the water. I know it's silly. There are museums to tour, art to appreciate, restaurants to linger at, live theatre to see, and shopping to enjoy...and we do, but it's not the same as waking to the sun pushing through the companion way as water birds call across the water. It's not the same as coaxing the sails to catch a light breeze as we head home after a night or two on the hook across the Bay.

Christimas Holiday December 2011



Washington Square

We transversed NYC this year in taxis during our annual Christmas visit. John's hip has done in his ability to walk long city blocks without pain, despite the physical therapy, exercises and numerous joint remedies over the past six months. He's ready to get a replacement and will meet with the doc on January 4th. That said, despite his hip, we had a delightful NYC holiday, complete with mild weather, dinner on 98th Street on the west side with friends, visits with families, visit to the 9/11 memorial, several afternoon movies, two museums visits, several fabulous restaurant meals and a meditative mid-night mass at St. Francis of Assisi on 31st street.  All is well with both families.

Happy Holidays everyone!

That 65th birthday

On November 19 my genetic clock rang out. I received tons of cheerful Facebook messages, but, really, how can anyone be so cheery about becoming an official medicare card carrying old person, complete with chin wrinkles. It's just me and Joanie right now, but on December 4, Holly joins us....then the rest of our class of '65 falls in line.

I know I should welcome this next stage of my life, but that warm and fuzzy mantle of grandma just doesn't bring contentment. From what I've witnessed, this next stage of life -- the golden years -- doesn't live up to those sweet annuity advertisements. I want to eat like I want, but can't without adding inches to my waist. I want to run three miles without getting winded and I don't want my shoulders to feel like they are being pulled out of their sockets every time I pull a pillow around my head. But, most of all, I want elders to look up to, but my elders are dead and people without wrinkles ask me for advice. Who are we kidding here?

But hope is not lost. I got an orgasmic thrill when we bought a new vacuum cleaner last Sunday. It's self-propelled.

Season's end

The first two hours were easy. As light dawned, it was clear that there would be no sailing as we planned. We had to stow ourselves inside for the day. The rain beat on the deck and whipped around around the rigging. The heating kept us from freezing. I woke in the predawn light, threw on all the salon lights, brewed up some tea and read the last of the New Yorker and Sail magazines that had been laying about the boat since the beginning of the season.

By 8:00 I was restless. Ate come cereal then turned to do a bit of internet surfing, write a blog, do some email or read my pick up my Kindle to continue reading my book. But alas, I hadn't brought the laptop or the IPAD or the Kindle. The SIRUS radio brought filled the salon with smooth jazz. I was bored, but not crazy yet.

9:40. I dug out some old cross word puzzles and finished them off by the time John rose and tramped to the head with his cell phone in hand. I couldn't read the paper pages anymore. My sight became fuzzy as I stared at the pages. Am I getting cataracts? I put the day old New York Times down and fell into a mid-morning nap right where I sat.

11:40. Woke to 20 knots gusts knocking the boat around the slip. No harm. Our lines held well. I paced. "I can't stand listening to NPR anymore. I can't do our financial planning, pay bills, shop, write a blog or read my book. I'm going up to West Marine for some bilge cleaner." Bundled in winter foul weather gear, I left the warmth of Forte Vento.

1:00. We clean the bilge. Laying face down on the salon floor, I push rags into the bilge to soak up dirty water and oily residue. John shakes his head, but assists.

2:00. We play 500 rummy. John wins twice. The wild mushroom soup I cooked up from dried mushrooms, but my seasoning was off. It was too, too peppery. However, I rescued the mushrooms, sauteed them in butter and made a toasted cheese and mushroom sandwich with a week old bun. All I had to do was pick off the mold.

4:00. John wanted soup. He was not feeling well. Braving the elements, tromped down the dock again to gather some chicken broth just as the snow started. Errie. It clings to the dock. I almost slip off dock as I made my way back to the boat. Birds flocked all over the marina, perching on rigging. It could have been a scene right out Hitchcock's "The Birds".

9:00. We played more cards -- I won this time. It's all boring so we pulled out the Chapman's and the boat specs to review our winterization work for Sunday.

Sunday am. Sun is bright. Sky blue. Saturday never happened. It must have been a bad dream.