Tag: health

Kicking the can down the road

Six and a half years ago I came out of anesthesia to find myself in a room draped in plastic, many beeping machines, looking up at a Doctor wearing enough protection to make me think that I had been exposed to Miley Cyrus. Through a mask, he asked me when the last time I had worked.

I clumsily and foggily replied, “what day is it?”

“It is Tuesday evening” he informed me.

“Monday.” It was coming back to me. I had worked until noon on Monday, my donor and I received a huge sendoff (we worked together) and we were at Tufts Medical Center at 6:30 AM the next morning. Deb and I had sat with our families, who made nervous small talk until we were called in for prep. Soon we would be counting down from 10 and hoping to open my eyes again in about 6-8 hours.

“Admirable”, he said with an obnoxious sarcasm, “Have you ever been on dialysis?”

“No, thank God.”

“Sir, we have guidelines for dialysis. A number, if you will, that determines how due, or overdue in cases such as yours, a patient is for dialysis. A typical number would be approximately 10. For conversation’s sake would you care to learn what your number was?

“Sure, indulge me.” His snarky attitude was pissing me off.

“110.” He paused for effect. “I’m glad to see you doing so well sir but your behavior was nothing short of reckless. Please be more careful in the future.” He then patted me on the shoulder with his gloved hand and left the room.

Other people may have been concerned, maybe even felt bad. But what I heard was a chorus of soccer hooligans yelling “YEAH, you pulled it off you wanka! Good job mate!” I had avoided dialysis. Reckless or not, I didn’t give a shit. I did it. His dire warning wasn’t even the first for me. Approximately one month before my surgery I received an email from my doctor. Most doctor’s don’t send personal emails.

Your lab work suggests you may be in danger of a heart attack. Please, Bill if you feel chest pain, shortness of breath or light-headed admit yourself immediately.

I read it and dismissed it. I assured myself that I will make it. Repeat after me, I told myself, Death before dialysis. I was kicking the can down the road and I didn’t care.

I have had Kidney disease since I was a teenager. I have met every single challenge with enough denial and/or bravery to move on to the next obstacle. I always knew that a transplant may be in my future and I even prepared myself for the possibility of death. One thing I refused to entertain was dialysis. The snarky doctor, despite his attempts to minimize my accomplishment, had actually validated it. I had vanquished my enemy.

Until now.

After yesterday’s appointment, my Doctor’s best estimate is that I am 3-6 months from dialysis. My transplant has finally reached the unpleasant milestone of failed. The moment that I have fought, nay, railed against since my diagnosis is upon me. I can’t wrap my head around it.

I am an exceedingly logical person. I believe that when you do the work you reap the benefits. I believe that if an expert says A + B = C then I will do my best to add them properly. In this case, A and B were to strictly follow my Doctor’s orders regarding nutrition, sodium intake, alcohol and caffeine and exercise. C would be the result, C would be extending the life of my transplanted kidney another 3 years (we had this conversation 6 months ago. I did it, all of it, and it accomplished fucking nothing and now I have to finally accept that my life is only going to be as long as the extension cord in my dialysis center.

joke break…

A man and his wife are discussing end of life matters. The husband loudly declares
“when it’s my time, I refuse to be glued to some machine living off of a bottle!”
The wife unplugged the TV, threw his beer in the trash and left the room.

I used to love that joke. It’s dark and twisted and completely inappropriate just like me. It also played into, or to be more clear downplayed, my crippling fear of dialysis

I don’t fear a lot. I always look to the bright side. I haven’t dwelt on the number of years and instead have focused on quality of life. Dialysis represents to me the end of quality of life. It is forcing me to (finally) accept my limitations and to admit that I am finally sick and, to touch on a familiar theme, I’m going to look it.
It represents a complete lack of freedom and independence. I may not have plans to spontaneously pack my shit and just go somewhere but in 3 to 6 months the fantasy is just that. I will need to plan everything based on that extension cord.
I can look forward to infections, setbacks and more hospital stays because dialysis patients always get sick from treatments.
I view it as death’s waiting room. Sit, listen to the machine whirring, wonder where you are on the transplant list (if I’m even eligible), read a book about how it’s not so bad and wait for the next shoe to drop.

I’m not ready for that shoe to drop. Despite how wrong I may be wrong about a lot of what I just said, I can’t change my mind about it. I hate it and I’m scared.

I know that I’ll pull through this as I have everything else. But I’m not there yet. Right now, I’m mad and scared. I know myself enough to know that I have to get this out of my system, regardless of whether my blog has read like a Sylvia Plath poem lately. If I don’t get my anger out of my system I will be unable to move on to fucking dealing with it and moving on with my life. See, I know that overly dwelling on the future only cheats me out of the present but at the moment I don’t see the future in a bright light. I need to finish this blog, go outside and scream with clenched fists some FUCK YOU’s to the universe for kicking me in the ball again and then, and only then, move on to what I’m going to do next.

If you have made it this far, this is not a post fishing for sympathy. I don’t need anyone to offer uplifting sentiment. I just need to get this off of me because I want to move on, get back to a position of strength, loosen up and find Superman again. Before the Kryptonite of Dialysis defeats me.

Thanks for listening…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A familiar view

It’s 3 AM and I’m wide awake. I’d been admitted at midnight.

The clatter in the halls and the soft, incessant beeping of machines, as familiar as they are to me, could not be ignored. Television wasn’t an option, I had turned it off at 2. Canned laugh tracks weren’t masking the all-too-familiar sounds and sensations of the hospital room. I’d never been in this particular room before, but if hospital rooms were hotels, I’d qualify as a certified TripAdvisor reviewer. Trust me, they’re all the same.

I was preparing myself for a sleepless night. Once a huge deal to me, now it was no big deal. In a former life, being awake at 3 AM was panic time. I would be so worried about being able to carry out the responsibilities of my work day on no sleep that I would obsess about it and be up all night. Alas, that was when my life was structured and meaningful. Now, being up all night barely affected me or my meager itinerary. As I sat up in the uncomfortable, narrow bed I looked forward to the one thing I could always count in during a hospital stay, some good thinking time.

The last 3 days had been a blur. After a 3rd day of failing to get out of bed for more than an hour at a time, shivering under blankets, a non-existent appetite, and experiencing complete exhaustion at completing even the most mundane physical tasks I had forced myself to take a shower at 8 PM. The thought of removing the 3 layers of clothes in order to even get in the shower filled me with dread. I ran the water until the bathroom steamed up a bit and I forced myself to get in. As I did that I was already dreading stepping out of the shower to get dressed. I have never felt so vulnerable to cold as I have lately. I ran the water hot, hotter than usual and hoped that it would wash away whatever toxins were stealing my life force from me. The effort that it took to wash my tired body sent me into a coughing fit. I nearly passed out I was so short of breath. I stayed in the shower longer than usual, enjoying the heat and steam, and still dreading the brief but brutal moments of drying off and getting dressed. After mustering the courage to do so, I found myself so winded by the mere act of getting dressed that I had to take a break. That told me all I needed to know, I was going to the ER. I was finally convinced that this wasn’t just another “episode” that CKD patients go through. I was more than run down, I was sick.

The 30-minute drive to the hospital was easy. Sitting was no problem. Walking the long corridor from the main entrance to the ER proved to be more of a challenge. By the time I got to the registration desk, they were already scribbling “shortness of breath” as the cause of my visit. Never having been to this hospital, I had to go through the entire registration process. By offering up “transplant patient” at the beginning of the visit, I certainly sped things along. I was immediately seen by the best doctor they could offer that graduated from the bottom 3rd of his graduating class. I’m not being cruel, it’s a small NH hospital that is only equipped for so much.

I explained my history, as I had done so many other times. They took vitals and made pages of notes. When they didn’t recognize half of the meds on my carefully crafted list I immediately knew I was in Mayberry R.F.D. They got the chest X-Ray done and, as I suspected, it was pneumonia. They immediately, and by that, I mean in 2 hours, admitted me. Which brings me to where I am now, wide awake, without comfort, body worn down and my mind searching for clarity.

Despite my serene surroundings, I am bombarded by my thoughts. The last month has been a blur of illness and disappointments. Flare-ups of symptoms once under control had dominated my time and energy. Medicinal changes and side effects have sidelined me from almost everything I enjoyed doing. I am annoyed that the pneumonia is back. This is the second time I’ve had it and the last time was the final blow that forced me out of employment. I’m annoyed at the perceived quality of care I am going to receive. The staff is nice, but they clearly have very little experience with a patient with a history such as mine. I have enough free time to embrace some bitterness also. I have been so disappointed by the events of the Friday before. I had gone to meet some friends at a long-anticipated event and despite the excitement and the planning, I had felt so miserable that I had to leave early. I had so many questions and things to learn from these people. But my expectations of tales and laughter and stimulating conversation over a bountiful meal turned out to be sipping ice water and picking away unenthusiastically at a meal that barely interested me at all, trying not to show my guests how nauseous, exhausted, cold and dying to get out of there and into my warm bed at all costs I was. It further annoyed me that I was already “writing off” the events of the past week as “just another setback” and a part of the new reality.

Is this my new reality? The silent room gives me no answers, and I haven’t the strength in my lungs to hold my breath for one. I am at the point where I know that I am losing the person I was just a month ago. It’s not the illness talking, I know myself well enough to look past how I’m feeling now but to the future. I have been able to pull myself up from so many of life’s beatdowns, dusted off and told it to Fuck off. But at that time, the good days greatly outnumbered the bad. Am I prepared for the days when my “episodes” outnumber my good days?

I have to do something. I thought I have been eating healthy. I can do better. I thought I have been making good choices. I have to make better. I thought I was feeling pretty good. I must do something better.

When I get out of here, I think to myself, I need to make some changes.

As expected, I was released with an antibiotic after only one day. Left to fend for myself again. Left with time to think, to assess and re-evaluate. Where is my source of power? How do I tap into it again? What needs to happen to make me again crave the challenges outside of my doors more than the comfort of my own bed?

I need to be a conduit of inspiration, not an object of pity. I don’t think I’m overstating this. This morning, when I looked in the mirror…I looked sick. That I cannot accept.

 

pushing it

I went to a blogging party

it was a much anticipated event

I should have listened to my body

And all of the signals that it sent

full of desire to lead a normal life

And to see friends who remove my strife

I took a chance

And had to leave the dance.

Sick and tired of being

Sick and tired

I made the trek

And ended up a wreck

To my fellow attendees

It was so great to see you

The faces behind the words

The heart behind the keyboards

I wish I could have stayed

To laugh and tell tales

But my cards had  been played

And I prematurely set sail

Better days ahead

I keep saying aloud

But something’s gotta give

Either be smart, or stubbornly proud

 

Not so super

The longer you are away the harder it is to come back. But here I am. I offer no promise of quality writing or even linear thought. It’s been 11 days since I have posted and I miss it.

11 days ago I had a good day. I haven’t had one since. Hard to imagine, but my good day consisted of my going in for my bi-weekly lab work. I wouldn’t say that I enjoy going there. I spend over an hour in an infusion center surrounded by some very sick people. I like to think, as I await the results of my labs and a determination is made whether I need a shot or a bag of iron or hemoglobin, that I make some of the nurses smile during my brief stay. I know that I had a pretty big smile on because my lovely Lilliputian Lisa was there. I haven’t seen her since the day I composed a post in her honor entitled Smitten.

Apparently, she doesn’t normally work Friday’s but when the infusion center door opened. there she was. 4 foot 10 of pure sexy awesomeness. And I think she was happy to see me also. We exchanged pleasantries as I dutifully followed her to a seat. I reminded myself to behave. Yes, I am newly divorced but she is married and there is a man-code. She took my BP. It was higher than Willie Nelson. I was reminded of the last time she took it. I had joked that if she walked away it would go down. But I behaved and didn’t do it again. She then said “maybe it’s me?” and gave me a coy smile. I told her that I was being good, she needed to as well. She smiled again and walked away. That’s it, I thought to myself, gloves are off. When she came back I pulled a gem out of my quiver of pick-up lines and said: Are you familiar with Confucius?

“Of course”, she replied.

“My favorite quote by him is ‘He who wants hot nurse must first be patient’.” I could almost hear her underwear falling off.

That was the highlight of my day. I couldn’t get an infusion because of my high BP, a very concerning problem, and she escorted me to the door. I joked with her that she should swap her shift again because I would be there in 2 weeks. She didn’t say no so that’s a sign I guess. To what end I don’t know, all I do know is that she was flirting with me, something that NEVER happens to me and I’ll fucking take it.

I’ve been sick since. My BP is out of control, I am on several new meds and nothing is working. I’ve basically been housebound since. I have missed work, only gone out when I had to and even then I had to force myself. I managed to pull off serving an Easter Breakfast for the die-hards who attended the sunrise service and after 2 hours I was exhausted. I used to be able to work 15 hour days in a kitchen and that 2 hours almost killed me. I went home, napped and went down to MA so see the family for Easter. When I got home I was cooked. I haven’t been out since.

The headaches, the pounding in my head like a John Bonham drum solo, the dizziness, the not-so-patiently-waiting for the new meds to start working is taking a terrible toll. I need to sleep just one night. I hope that night is tonight, I really can’t take much more of this. Old Superman can’t save the day until he remembers how to fly again.

thanks for tolerating my rant. Peace

 

A second chance at a first impression

I spend more than any one man’s fair share of time in Doctor’s offices, Labs, and Pharmacies. It’s a part of my life that I’ve had to embrace. In my endless travels of maze-like offices, antiseptic hallways, hack-and cough centers that double as waiting rooms and backed up pharmacy counters I deal with a lot of people.

I have spent years working in restaurants, retail and customer service and have answered a lot of phones with some angry people just waiting to tear into me. I learned early and often that there is only one way to conduct yourself in order to get any results, and that is to be nice. That’s it. It serves 2 purposes. It is the right thing to do (if you give half a shit about society in general), and when someone is expecting a fight it throws them off when you go the other way. I know for a fact that a receptionist, lab technician, Pharmacy Tech, or cashier are fully expecting customer’s to escalate all of the time. People seem to think that it is acceptable to raise their voice, argue and even belittle those whose job it is to serve them, bad attitude and all.  As a person, as well as an employee, they just don’t need it.

Since I’ve moved up here I have escalated my campaign of self-improvement. My high blood-pressure, coupled with a lifestyle I couldn’t keep up with was making me sick,  anxious, quick to temper, and impatient. It was a struggle to be patient and understanding as I struggled with insurance coverages. prescriptions, PCP’s, referrals and all of the small details associated with losing your family and moving in with your mother with only the shit that would fit in a 2013 Honda Civic. As my health, and consequently, my attitude improved over time it became easier to be the man I wanted to be. In short, it is nicer up here from the air to the people. Customer service, on the other hand, is a problem. There are plenty of workers but the skills aren’t there. Still, I resolved to be nice. And if I couldn’t be nice…apologize.

Nice was easy for me. Understanding was manageable. I wasn’t exempt from being aggravated.

Last week I was in the middle of a three-way, not the good kind, between myself, my Dr’s office and my Insurance company. I was in need of a dosage increase on one of my meds. Getting ahead of it, I called my pharmacy to make sure it was approved because I would burn through the current 30-day supply quickly and then be without. It wasn’t approved, I was told to come in on Monday (it was Friday at the time) and it will be all set. Stupidly, I didn’t call first and drove the 25 miles to the pharmacy. I had planned it perfectly, I could pick up 4 (of my oh so many) prescriptions at once. I wouldn’t be that lucky.

After driving through snowy, frost-heaved roads, a packed and crazy parking lot, and a long line at the pharmacy I was called. I obediently toed the line, recited my full name, DOB, marital status, confirmed that I was indeed circumcised (maybe I just volunteered that information) and properly insured. 3 were ready, the one that I was almost out of was still not approved.

I was incensed. I asked the young girl at the counter if she could check for me to see if it may be a mistake. She assured me that it wasn’t. Now, in hindsight, this is where the situation went in the wrong direction. The place was busy, there was a line behind me and she was the only one on the counter. She was stressed and couldn’t handle it. But I pressed her and she blurted out “that’s what my screen says, what else can I tell you?”

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I tried to explain to her that I was in need of that particular one and didn’t want to make another trip. She said again that it’s not ready. Would I like to take the other 3 prescriptions now? And then she made the critical mistake of rolling her eyes and looking behind me to the next person in line. I became annoyed and said,

“Excuse me, but you’re not listening to me. What are you going to do to help me get this resolved?”. She then informed me that the note in the system said: “See pharmacist for instructions”. I told her, as non-snarkily as I could, that such information would have been helpful in the beginning. I shuffled down the counter to meet the Pharmacist, the man behind the curtain. With a 5 minute call, the pharmacist had made the insurance company understand and approve. I was on my way.

I felt bad on the way to the car. While I could give a bunch of reasons why she was wrong and perhaps rude, I was supposed to be bigger and better than that. I could hear my 18-year-old son in my head saying “Well, so much for the kinder, gentler you, Dad”. He had remarked months ago that he liked the “new me”. He wouldn’t have been pleased with his Dad there. But, But, But..I was frustrated blah blah…too much driving blah blah…I need I need blah blah. It doesn’t matter, it’s all bullshit I could have done better.

The whole ordeal had slipped my mind until I went back today to pick up 2 more prescriptions (heaven forbid they could all be filled at one time). As I walked to the counter and toed the line again I saw the same young lady standing before me. If she recognized me she didn’t show it. We smoothly completed the transaction and I was about to leave when a little voice in my head said Superman do the right thing here. I turned back to the counter, apologized gently to the woman approaching the counter.

“Excuse me, but last time I was here I was less than nice to you. I feel bad, I was fighting with the insurance company and I took it out on you” I said.

“Oh, I don’t take that stuff seriously” she replied.

“Well,” I replied, “it doesn’t make it ok. I want to apologize to you.”

Her face visibly brightened, “Thank you so much for that, it really means a lot.”

I smiled at her and excused myself. As I walked to my car it occurred to me that I hadn’t been that rude to her. She had some part in it also. But then along came that little voice again.

It doesn’t matter jackass, It was the right thing to do.

People Watching

Hey there, I see you. Don’t think strangely of me if we make eye contact. Yes, I know it’s Saturday night and I am indeed in a booth alone. I’m not staring at you, I promise. I’m just people watching. It’s what I do. For a brief moment in time, you won’t even notice, I will simply absorb, perhaps steal a tiny portion of this moment from you. If you let me do my thing, I will move on to someone else in their room and I will steal moments from them.

It’s just one dinner, one cocktail or appetizer on one day of your life. It’s just one moment. But to me it’s more, I’m incredibly invested in it. You may not think of it as I do, but once this moment is gone all you will have is a memory. You may underestimate how precious that memory will be, but I don’t. See, I am not old enough to say that I will never be happy again, but I know that I am old enough that certain moments are forever past, others beyond my reach.  Vicariously is the only way I will experience them again.

I see you, sir. The young guy with the pretty wife and 2 young children. You are having dinner. Your daughter is trying to get your attention for approval on the puzzle she just completed on her placemat. You’re on your phone. I would trade a thousand tomorrows to have one like you are having. Moments when I was a giant to them and my approval was everything. What you don’t know is a lot of the time I also was too wrapped up in what I was doing to pay attention to them. I want them back, all of them. Please, put the phone down. The text can wait. That disappointed look on her face…you can change that. If you don’t appreciate this moment, may I?
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I turn my attention to the young couple in the corner booth, barely able to keep their hands off of each other. Don’t mind me for staring, I’m not a creep I swear. It’s just that I can’t get over the way you are looking at each other. As if one would simply melt if the other left the table. It must be wonderful to be in love…would you tell me about it? You see, I don’t think that I have ever looked into someone’s eyes as you two are now. I want to but I doubt it now. I think we skipped that part and went right to bitterness and resentment. If it pleases you, could you do better than we did? Regardless, can I just enjoy yours for a while?
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I catch the eye of Mr. Successful businessman at the bar. We nod and we then both look away. I see your $1000.00 suit, your Presidential Rolex and the drink that was poured from the top shelf. You clearly are doing great for yourself. Perhaps you are celebrating a promotion, a big close or merger. To your credit, you look like a guy with it all together. I’m happy for you. I struggled with money and success for my whole career. When I finally got close to wearing a smile like yours, I had to stop working. I hope you have something else in your life that makes you happy besides money. She’s a cruel mistress. But still, cheers. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous.
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I take a sip of my drink and I zoom in on the happy couple at the other end of the bar. Older, smiling, looking at each other fondly as they speak. You are a couple that has been together for a long time. Your love has stood the test of time. Maybe you had it easy, but maybe you struggled with the marriage-crushing burdens of children, finances and work. If you did or didn’t you look like you made it through. I always wanted a love like yours. I hoped to someday say, in a crowded banquet hall, the words “I have been married to this beautiful woman, my best friend for 50 years” and soak in the applause.  It just didn’t work out that way. I am about to be, on Monday, the first member of my family ever to get divorced. It’s too late for me, but I’m really happy for you. If you look my way I’m not staring, I’m simply thinking about my three favorite things…

Could’ve
Should’ve
Would’ve

Who am I you ask? What am I doing here? I’m harmless I swear. You see, I am the petty thief of your moments. My satchel is full for now and I must go home.

“Dad, I’m good”

 

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Sometimes when I first wake I have a blank moment before I start planning my day. It is like a suspended reality where I contemplate the dreams of the night before and I just feel without thinking. I love the “morning fog” as I call it, it is the calm before the storm.

This morning I woke earlier than usual. My first (of three) alarms goes off at 6AM each morning. I rarely get up until about 7:30 but today I was awake at first bell. The Sun was streaming in my window, teasing me of approaching Spring and that soon I will be woken by the morning chatter of the birds. As I lay there on my back I felt oddly at peace with myself. As refreshing as natural light in my room was, that wasn’t it. As my morning fog wore off I realized that 2 of my awesome kids were not 100 miles away today, but instead were downstairs sleeping. As they have been each morning this week. That was the peace, at that particular moment, all was right with the world.

The past 5 days have been some of the best in recent memory. They have been like 5 Saturday’s in our former life. They both slept late, my youngest son later than my daughter. I made pancake batter first thing when I woke and I drank coffee until the daughter woke up. I gave her a “temporary” breakfast to hold her over until the boy got up. At around 11 I went downstairs and made noise until he woke. I would then fire up the griddle and the first batch of pancakes would be on his plate when he stumbled upstairs. After the breakfast carnage, they went to watch TV and I cleaned up. Every day started like that.

We kept busy in the afternoon doing everything and nothing. We spent hours shopping and they also spent many hours fiddling with their iPhones. I didn’t push them to be busy, they were on school vacation and they were with me. That was all I needed.

The nights proved to be the most fun, as they always were when we were together. I would make a dinner from scratch and as I puttered around the kitchen they sat on the island stools snacking on tidbits and we just talked about whatever came up. The aroma of the food, the sorely missed sound of laughter, the chattering of my daughter as she frenetically tried to update me on everything I’ve missed since I’ve last seen her. The boy messing with her at every opportunity and trying to squeeze in his own stories. Then we ate, and they swooned at the meal stopping only to tell me how much they missed my cooking. After dinner, I lit the wood stove and handed the remote over to them. Whatever they wanted to watch was fine with me. At one time this was my normal routine, having been away from it for so long it was now magical.

The highlight of the week occurred last night at dinner. We were talking in the kitchen, I was throwing together a stir fry and sipping a drink when the conversation turned to the living situations we are all in. They wanted to know if I was going to stay here and the answer of course was yes, I have nowhere else right now. We then talked about theirs. They are both living with my wife, who is desperately trying to find someplace else to live. The boy likes it there, my daughter is absolutely miserable. Visibly upset about the situation I remarked that I wish I could have done better by all of them. My son then spoke and nearly floored me:

“Dad, I’m good. You really need to stop acting like this is your fault. I can only speak for me but it’s not that bad. I’m doing fine”.

It was a very surprising and proud moment. What a fine young man he was. If I could wish one thing for my children besides good health it would be adaptability. He has it. He rolls with things and deals with whatever comes his way. My moment was dampened when I looked at my daughter, she was not so good. I felt awful again but somewhat relieved knowing that her moving was in the works. I feel hopeful for her.

We talked for hours last night. It was candid, it was relaxed, it was revealing and it was real. It was also cathartic. It may be the first time since I have moved away from them that I truly felt that everything was going to be ok. We may never be together again but if my persisting dream is that they find happiness and consistency in their life again then there is hope after all. It seems that what I was unable to provide in money, housing and sustenance they overcame by flexibility, strength, and character. I would like to think that this is my contribution to the gene pool.

The day may be approaching where I can make peace with the recent past and focus on my future recovery. In the process of blaming myself and feeling bad, I’m not sure that I considered the outside possibility that they don’t need me in their lives so much as they want me in their lives. I would take both, but one is way better than the other. After all, if I am questioning my body of work as a father, wouldn’t strong and resilient children count as a mark in the win column?

What a week, easily my best memories to date.

Want to read a great post about memories? Check out my buddy Tom being Tom

www.tombeingtom.com/happiest-memory/

 

 

 

 

my week in review

I try to post something every day. In addition, I try to post something of quality. I committed to writing every day to improve my skills and I have rarely missed a day. Yet I have missed the last four. I was on the verge of missing today also but I have forced myself to sit down and put pencil to paper, as it were.

I’m going to tell you about my week:

Wednesday was to be a big day. It was the day of my first divorce hearing. Financials were gathered, forms were printed signed and Notarized. We were ready to go. Soon it would be official, I could finally have some closure. Additionally, I am carrying my entire family’s income on my insurance and if I show income I would put us over and lose my insurance. Once divorced I could start working legitimately again. The hearing was canceled with no reschedule date. Now we are in limbo.

So I went to work with the guy who so generously has let me work for cash to help with my situation. I gave him two great days, one of which was highlighted by his normally stoic and stressed out CFO making a point to thank me for the contribution I have been making. Always expecting the other shoe to drop, I wouldn’t have to wait long for it. As I left on Thursday afternoon, Ben pulled me in and told me that he will have to reevaluate our situation because our arrangement is too expensive for him. He’s right, I’ve been lucky so far. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate what I do, it is expensive to come out of pocket. He said he will leave it for now but with no divorce date in sight, it’s going to come to a head. This arrangement is not without its headaches as it is. It’s a lot of driving and extra time. But I have gotten so much satisfaction as I briefly returned to doing what I love.

Some good news, my mother-in-law has agreed to help my wife with an apartment. This was a surprise to me. I soon found out what had changed, my mother-in-law had made a deal with her: commit to going to therapy and she will help. My wife has finally acknowledged that she has a problem and I am so genuinely hopeful that she finds a way to be happy. But the hammer came down on the apartment, however, when the apartment complex she didn’t meet the income requirements and they wouldn’t accept the mother-in-law as a cosigner. Not exactly back to square one, there is now hope that she will be rid of the fucking Manson family she’s living with, but it is discouraging.

Yesterday I went to the local hospital so the vampires can suck more blood and copays to find that not only am I not anemic as expected, but my hemoglobin is getting higher. Which is good but makes absolutely no sense. For the sake of consistency at least my blood pressure was astronomically high. Stroke-level high. And my weight is up. They were so concerned they called my transplant surgeon’s office while I was there. The water retention in my legs is the culprit and it is not even close to funny anymore. Everything I drink goes to my legs like cupcakes to a fat kid’s ass. I was prescribed a larger dose of diuretics and went to the pharmacy to wait for it. An hour later I was told that it requires an insurance override that won’t be happening today. The only positive is that I walked the food aisles and read labels for sodium content. Something has got to change in my diet and I am prepared to cut/change whatever I have to in order to feel better and get my BP down to the point where I don’t hear bass drums pounding in my ears.

I spent yesterday afternoon slumped in my chair feeling generally shitty about things. Thanks so much to a good friend who was there for me (you know who you are) to talk me off of the ledge. I don’t often feel bad for myself but the entire week hit me like a sledgehammer to the face yesterday afternoon. I was disappointed at the possibility of not working at the job I’ve come to like so much. I was sad for my wife and my two youngest who are living with her in a bad house. I was disgusted and confused how I can be feeling good and yet so unhealthy, to be wearing the same clothes yet somehow almost 20 pounds heavier. I was daunted by the task of making extreme changes to my lifestyle and diet. And I was really starting to dwell on how mad I am that some miserable government desk jockey clerk has the fucking balls to make the decision that I don’t qualify for Disability! I rarely use this word but do you know what, this is one thing I deserve.

I do have one good thing to report, I am goint tonight to pick up my two youngest to spend the entire school vacation week with me. Maybe that will put me back on track and remember what it is that I’m fighting for.

Cheers and thanks for listening

a day of rest

I’m so tired today. It’s that feeling that kidney patients have difficulty explaining to others. I don’t have a virus, I’ve been washing my hands. Yes, mom I’m taking my meds. I’m just washed out. I woke up as tired as I was when I went to bed last night. Cold, weak and the very thought of doing anything is dismissed as impossible. Carrying my laptop seems a Herculean task.

I am prone to feeling useless on days that I don’t accomplish much. I’m still transitioning to the stage where I openly accept that I’m not capable of doing as much in one day as I once was. I’m getting there. I spared myself the mental beat down today. I actually feel quite accomplished for a refreshing change.

I put in 3 very solid days at work this week. I am starting to feel comfortable in the office. My co-workers seem to have accepted me. I don’t think for a second that they didn’t like me, instead they probably were just curious of my sudden appearance, my lack of a learning curve, and why the owner and I are so comfortable with each other. In addition, I have found a niche. Without getting into detail I recognised a need and tackled it. My ability to dig into the source of issues and resolve them by putting new systems in place has been a contribution. That’s all I ever wanted, to be of use and contribute.

In addition to a productive day, I made a date for last night. An hour after I left work, I was getting a giant hug from a very beautiful, special lady. My youngest daughter. We went to our favorite diner, ordered off of the breakfast menu and just talked. It was so great to just sit, listen (even when I had no idea what she was talking about sometimes) to her prattle on excitedly about everything from boys to school to makeup. She seems to be doing well and I am so relieved.

To think that I once joked that if she were Native American her name would be “Alcohol-related-accident”. She wasn’t planned but today I cannot imagine my life without her. My other children would hate me to hear this but in July the only thing I could come up with for a reason to live was her. It’s not that I don’t love all of them to death, it’s about how much I mean to her. If I had done what I wanted to, it would have destroyed her. As I looked across the table, I wanted to thank her for saving my life.

As tired as I am today, I feel better about things. That things are getting better for everyone. As if my dad was again sitting with me over a beer telling me his favorite, comforting sentiment…

Things always seem to work out.

I didn’t really believe that when he was alive. Now I’m starting to. Tomorrow is a new day and I’ll get as much accomplished as I can. And feel good about it.

Peace my friends

 

Smitten

For the last 3 weeks, I have been going into “town” for blood work at the local hospital. It’s a short 25-mile commute that’s only enhanced by its inconvenience. My doctor had told me 3 weeks ago that I was anemic, that I needed to get monthly blood work and a shot for the anemia. This wasn’t welcome news, it was towards the end last time that I started receiving these shots so these shots and I have a history. But I’m a good doobie so I went.

I had my labs done, checked into the oncology/infusion center and waited for the labs to come back. I scanned the room and evaluated the mix of sick people, bustling administrators, and nurses of all ages and *cough cough* body type. Hey, it passes the time. My bloodwork came back and yay, I was indeed anemic. But not enough for the shot. The real good news is that my BP was through the roof. I was asked to come back next week.

And I did. I was none too happy about it but I hauled myself out of a warm bed, stepped out into subzero temps and drove to the hospital. Again, I navigated the designated coughing and hacking area known as a waiting room, had my blood drawn by a humorless tech and headed over to oncology/infusion again. My lackluster mood changed instantly when Lisa opened the door and ushered me in.

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The sign above the door could have said “das Gas Chamber” and I would have followed her in.

Lisa introduced herself to me, said a whole lot of things and asked a whole lot of questions but all I heard was a choir of angels ringing in my ears.
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She offered me a coffee, I thought better of asking for an ice pack for a swollen area, and she was off. I took the time to compose myself.

Superman has been in a long, painful dry spell. Obama was in his first term the last time I saw a naked woman that wasn’t on my TV screen. The tight parking space I squeezed into on the way in was the most action I’ve had in years. But those years of isolation have made me numb also, and I’m rarely taken back by even the most wiley of charmers.

She came back and said that my labs weren’t done yet. I wasn’t complaining. We made small talk. Turns out she is married with two little ones. Not surprised there. She is also a former MA resident and we knew where each other was from. She was very nice and down to earth, which only complimented the fact that she was cuter than a duck wearing a hat. She took my blood pressure, it was really high again. Turning on the Super Charm, I motioned to the older, larger significantly less attractive nurse behind her and said: “have her take it and we’ll see if it goes down.” I was told to stop because of how “terrible” I am.

Alas, I still wasn’t anemic enough for the shot. But I didn’t mind this visit so much. She escorted me to the door and I remarked that she had to be about 4’11. She corrected me, her clogs were 2 inches and she was 4’10. I lamely exclaimed, “it’s a shame you’re married”. Her only answer was,

“with 2 rugrats”.

“I love kids, that doesn’t scare me off”. I was again told how terrible I was. I gladly made an appointment to come back the next week. “Ann, what’s your earliest appointment?”

I was back there this past Friday and Lisa didn’t greet me at the door. I was seated in a different area than last week. I put on my best disinterested, cool face and scanned the room. She was nowhere to be seen. And then, as I opened my book to kill some time she appeared. With a huge smile, she said, “you shaved your beard!”. Smooth as silk I replied,

“Oh, you noticed”. She’d better have I did it for her. She really seemed glad to see me and during the course of my stay she checked in on me often and I made as much small talk as I could. Wouldn’t you know that I was STILL not anemic enough and I have to go back this week?

I’m smitten. I’m GAGA. It’s also a fantasy. Even without my beard, I would have to hope she has Daddy issues and then learn what kind of cologne her father wore to even stand a chance. I’m also going nowhere with this. She is married and I would never touch a married woman out of respect for the husband. It’s guy code. It was just exciting to have an attractive woman pay any attention at all to me. There was just enough flirtation from her to make me feel alive. It also illustrated just how little it takes to turn me on. So many years of living with an ice queen and I have lost any swagger I may have had.

Superman needs some lovin’. I think it’s time to refine my lines. Get back out there. Maybe use the illness to my advantage. Something like,

“I may not be healthy, but I’m grateful!”

“I’m not going to be around in 10 years so there’s no chance of a long-term relationship”

“It’s been years, how long can it possibly take?’

“I’m Superman, I can ‘go around the world’ before you know it! And if it’s really bad I’ll just reverse time”

Do you think I have a chance?