March Is Coming In Like An Idiot

Last night was a bad night.

A very BAD night.

Terrifying dreams involving me being crushed by a skinny dying woman at a beauty salon; chasing criminals towards an open , non-functioning elevator;  and the overwhelming smell of spoiled food.  Three separate dreams. not just one.

New stabbing pains in my right cheek.  Well, new at night anyway.  Blindness approaching I bet.

And seriously escalating leg anguish.  Usually night is a bit of relief because the pressure is literally off.  Not last night.  Sheez!  If I was my neighbor I would have called the cops to find out who was torturing the old crazy lady next door.  I did my best to stifle screams of agony;  but I feel I should post a written apology on my hallway door.

This pain is almost indescribable.  Like contractions of labor they recur over and over.  They make me think of how I've heard crush injuries are experienced.  Twisting razor wire and pummeling cinder blocks and machete-like bone slivers also come to mind.

Sleep is impossible and a comfortable position does not exist.

My kingdom for a chainsaw and the guts to use it.

And snow is expected yet again.  So far this month sucks.

Snow Bound Yet Again

This is what it looked like last week.

Stay tuned.

It will be here again on Wednesday night.

In all likelihood I will have to cancel yet another doctor's appointment.

Might not seem insurmountable; but with one barely functioning leg, one leg almost useless and agonizing, two aluminum canes, no boots, ice covered parking lot, and little physical confidence even this level of snow is able to cripple me.

Just kill me now.

What Do You See?

Well?

What do you see?

If you are a regular person you probably see several DVD cases scattered on the floor.

Wrong!

Wrong-Oh!

What it really pictures is a torture device.

My own personal trail of tears and one of many.

Allow me to explain:

Yes, I dropped them and thank heaven nothing else broke.

But then I had to figure out how to pick them all up.

Minutes spent imagining the proper positioning of naked feet and shivering legs.

More minutes sliding canes and chair in optimum support area.

Locating phone in case of fall to ensure 911 reachability.

Raising the bulk.

Suppressing scream of pain.

Hobble, hobble, hobble, grab.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Live to fight another day,

Lost

Even if Kubler- Ross had it right, this knowledge about the grief cycle is not helping me.

Physical and emotional losses have hit me like a ton of bricks in the last several years.  I never denied them. I realized clearly what was going on; no denial was involved.  Intractable pain is not something I could ignore or pretend that it wasn't happening.  Banishment by former dear ones was also made undeniable.   SMASHO!

And maybe that was the problem right from the start.  Maybe if I had pondered the impossibility of these events I would have been better prepared for what came next.  In any case I've been stuck at anger for far too long. Every morning the pain wakes me up, then literally brings me to what is left of my knees during the day, and crushes me into bed at night.  Does this make me furious?  You betcha! The emotional wounds by people I thought I knew better cause  me to fantasize serious science fiction type torture for them all.  Anger is what I've got these days.  But, whoa, if I ever got hold of real weapons on an especially bad day; and there's no telling how much or how many I would annihilate.

Still, perhaps I've been lagging at this stage longer than is helpful.

I don't think bargaining is for me.  No one I know is willing to change much less listen to what I'd need to say.  Not much talking goes on in my sibling circle.  Drama, yes.  Photo opportunities, yes.  Serious conversation, NEVER.  Not with me anyway.  Who knows what they are scared of.  And there is no bargaining regarding medical care.  I am poor, old, and over weight.  Limitations prohibit any optional discussion.  YIKES.  Working around all this stuff is exhausting.

So what's left is acceptance.  And, 'dear holy god and matrimony' I am trying.  But, I am seriously considering the chain saw aisle at the big box.

Sad Rolls In

Made literally thirty plus phone calls attempting to complete doctor homework.

 Yes, I'd be happy to see you, sir, in another month if I could ever get through to your office to make another appointment.  That's a joke, right?  The earliest opening is the week before Christmas?

Hello?  Please.  To whom do I speak to request referral to specialists?  No, I don't have the name because the insurance has not located anyone nearer than 100 miles.  Well, she told me to get the referral first?  But, you say I should get the names first?  Tell you what, why don't you just sign the damn thing and send me a bunch of copies?

Morning and how sick am I of medical topics?!  Jillions!  There must be other subjects.  And fighting with the post office does not count.  And realizing all the sexy locations I am never going to be able to see don't count either.  I'd love to discuss the neighbor lady who abscond with one of my best lines to flirt with the UPS guy.  Damn her.  A conversation with someone interested in ephemera (Isn't that the coolest word?) projects and the crazy houseplants would be sweet.  First in line would be also.

And DO not tell me to stop whining and just get going.  This IS me not whining.  You ain't just NEVER seen the whining me.  As far as getting going is concerned?  Bite me.

Weekend Cha Cha Cha

• Beef stew turned out remarkably well.  Cooking for one is not especially complicated, but it does make for many leftovers.  This version will be welcomed on those freezing days ahead.  This time I poured in a can of golden mushroom soup.  Yum!  And since I had forgotten actual mushrooms again this was my pretend addition.
• Hope for one of the Pumpkin Selling Places could set up some sort of presidential voting.  Maybe: After the pumpkins are purchased the customer drops a clothespin or a penny or something in a glass jar for either candidate.  Tally up and winner takes all.  Announce on debate days.  Better photo op than Ann in her designer duds or the President passing out pizza.  Good for the pumpkin growers of America, too?
• Please do not let this be a hernia.
• Brother talk is becoming one of my favorite part of the day. Wherever would I learn so much about the art of leaf removal?
• New neighbor here at Elder House.  I hope they learn the parking rules fairly quickly.  I can ignore the three hours of rented truck on Saturday; but the extra overnight visitors nonono.  Get across the street with the drivers who can also walk or take a chance of being towed.  There are clearly "Tenants Only" signs. Please leave the spaces to us gimps.
• Rain finished at the perfect time.  Thanks very much. 
• What's happening with all the bloggers?  Not the fakers who read and sneer.  The actual writers who extend themselves, entertain, share and inform and become welcome sections of the day seem to be taking many days off.  Perhaps they are stashing up many nifty posts for the future.
• Right now, that's all I got.  Tune in another time.

Last Legs

So far September has been a lovely month for weather, however it seems to be taking its toll in many other areas:

• Three ambulances yesterday and last night here at Elder House.
• Personal arthritic limb torturing with new level of agony. I didn't think it was going to get WORSE.
• Mitt the Man is wishing he had been born in Mexico.
• Internet Explorer is now completely unable to display several of my favorite blogs for no apparent reason.
• Rice will kill us all.
• Bullies from the past are raising their heads.
• Ancient Vehicle, which has been treated with two brand new tires, is glistening with dashboard threats.
• Medical Catch 22's.
• PT fear is raising.
• Out of raisin bread.

Someday I owe myself an effort to post a version of "first" leg list.

Humdinger

Every single day I'm loving this little spot more and more.  If I could walk I'd be sweeping, dusting, and rearranging like I had never done before.  Sadly everything below waist level is very difficult.  Using my sweet carpet sweeper takes hours to complete one hall runner. 

But every single day seems a bit of joy.  The bedroom window is the best and least expensive form of entertainment I'd discovered.  Yesterday the cooking aromas were transporting me yet again.  Bacon crispy.  Garlic potatoes.  Peach pie or coffee cake.  And, oh man! grilled hot dogs.  I was tempted to carry a sign outside:  "Will sing for your leftovers!"

High school friend visited bringing a frothy, chocolaty, whip creamy, chilly beverage.  Yummy!  And I'm sure I am the only American who has never spent $5.00 on fancy schmancy take out coffee.  Now I know why everyone does!  She stayed hours into the dark.  She risked letting her husband make his own dinner and we talked about our childhood similarities and spiritual beliefs.  What a gift.

Able to give a birthday present to Sister.  And Son helped hang the prototype bedroom curtain.  Both successful.  Good day.  Thanks.

Spy School

Before I get started I just want to point out that the Sartorialist has a post up already for today's date that allegedly has been "up" for one minute.  ONE!  And it already has six comments!  Not to be believed!  I love that blog; but come on!  Do these commenters set their watches so as to be the first to write how much they adore the fact that madras is making a fashion comeback?  Or maybe all his college roommates signed a posting pact.  Could he have that many relatives?  Beats me.  I'm going to keep peeking in because I adore seeing what the rich and sometimes famous are up to in picturesque places around the globe.  But don't expect me to believe six comments in one minute.

Now...

During my first months here at Elder House I spent many hours flat out in bed peering at the parking lot and the houses across the street.  Not the ivy covered walks or beachy, pebbly shores I prefer; but lots of trees and surprisingly quite a bit of human motion.  Lots of automobile traffic.  (This is where I learned about spoke wheels for cars which are so ridiculous I refuse to discuss them any further.)  The everyday parade of children during the school year and the skateboard competitors this summer.  Families out for post dinner strolls and kids (lots of kids) on bikes make me happier than I ever imagined.

The physical pain and emotional upheaval I was enduring at the time made getting up a terrifying prospect and so I imagined myself working as an undercover agent observing my neighborhood so that I could singlehandedly save my country from reprehensible Bad Guys.  Instead I got Industrious Guy and his wife.  HHHhhhhhhmmm.  A year later I have a bit less pain: and so am up and around a bit more.  (God bless drugs!)  I haven't watched with much enthusiasm for several months.  And, I furtively glance from side to side, I think he might be UP TO SOMETHING!

YYYyyyyyyeeeeeesssss.

He waits until the wifey leaves at around four. Walks in and out of the house five or six times and ultimately squats down in his driveway with a sheet of paper about the size of the maps you used to get at gas stations and talks on his cell phone.  Once he walked all the way through my building's parking lot, up the steep hill street, and ended up leaning on some kid's basketball stand while still on the phone.  He makes wild gestures with his other hand, too.  Isn't that a sure sign of evil doing?

He never lets anybody come in his front door.  He doesn't clean his gutters, which is going to be a huge issue this fall.  He idles his work truck for almost twenty minutes every morning.  And he swats dust off his pants before going into the house.  Then he comes back out in different clothes and makes another mysterious walking phone call.

Total Bad Guy behavior, right?

Anyway I'm glad my drugs are working.  But I was a good observer of human shenanigans before.  I'm also a very good listener.  So in case anybody wondered:  Yes, I heard what you said.

Fashion Nincompoop

Along with everything else, I envision myself as one of the great undiscovered fashion stylists of our time.  Being the relic that I am, and the self-proclaimed arbiter of good taste, and that I have frequently been labelled "all talk and no action" I can pretty much say whatever I want.  Slowly but surely I am closing my ears when that nagging childhood voice leaps in criticising every choice I make.

Gaining self confidence is tricky when most of one's developmental stages have already been achieved.  Still, it is a battle I choose to fight.  And I can hear the snide chuckling in the background.  Hopefully there will be enough "big words" in this post so that those saboteurs will be completely confused.  Anyway, I like to tell myself that I am gaining ground.  At least I know my choices are mine.

As a young lady I kind of missed out on fashion.  I was (and am to this day) the quintessential Fat Girl.  I cannot remember buying clothes off the rack; I sped past the available sizes in area department stores quite rapidly.   Luckily for me, Mommy Dearest was an accomplished seamstress and so I did have something of a wardrobe.

Skirts were required at church, of course, and at school too for most of my adolescence.  The dress code was relaxed for my final two years of high school.  These years were the transition from hosiery to panty hose.  Both were nightmares for fat girls.  Hosiery required girdles and garters and twisting stockings over bulging knees.  Panty hose could be sliced in two: one side of one pair yanked up on the right.  The other side from the other pair yanked up on the left.  A tight squeeze  but at least the crotch landed in the right place.  When a run or snag appeared, the damaged leg, so to speak, could be changed out for a leg from one of the remaining cut up pairs.

Runs were the death knell for stockings and panty hose.  Clear nail polish or hair spray could sometimes halt the progression of the run.  Or the ruined leg could be twisted even further so the (runned? ran?) area with the run was positioned on the inside of one's leg and would be further camouflaged by taking very small steps.  In any case a good girl, a nice girl, a stylish girl did NOT let herself be caught with runs in her stockings.  Which is why I've been so surprised to see photos like this:

This one is from the Sartorialist but Zana Bayne favors this look also.  And, I amaze myself sometimes, I don't hate it.  It makes me wish I could do my teens and twenties over again.  Im-poss-ee-blay!  I know.  I also can't help but wonder (thanks, Carrie) what their mothers must think.

Karmic Screwjob Or Just Plain Clumsiness? You Make The Call.

Very bad week finally ended with an entirely too brief but incredibly welcome visit from two of my Darling Daughters and the Winsome Granddaughter.  I must say that little girl is becoming even more of a delight.  Dug her chubby baby toes into my tummy as she jounced around.  Blew innumerable spit bubbles as we spoke fart noise/zerbit language to one another.  My shirt was soaked and I loved every minute of it.

Next day long awaited visit from my Downstate Best Buddy.  Tears, reminiscence, good Asian take-out, more tears, and solving most of the world's problems.   (If only the guys in charge would listen to the elder women things would go much more smoothly.  Alas, it is not to be.) Lots of hugs.

That night, in terror, I began the new drug regime.  Blah, blah, blah.  I woke up and was still alive.  Okey dokey.  I'll give this thing a shot.  Gritted what's left of my teeth and swung both legs over the side of the mattress.

Yikes! The same  pain in the same place with the same intensity.  AND I knocked a pile of folded shirts onto the floor.  Damn.  Gimps will understand how a little goof up like that can spin a morning almost out of control.  Let's just skip it.  I soldiered on.

Kitchen to cobble together the usual breakfast.  The margarine tub winds up on the floor.  Who did THAT?  It fell opened but right side up; so that really was a comparatively minor set back.

Hobble hobble hobble to the chair with coffee and toast. Sit-um-down gingerly adjusting for leg position.  Place canes at the ready near the bookcase.  KEE-RASH!!  Glass container with rooting pothos smashes to the floor.  Damn, damn, double damn,

I wasn't crazy about the vase and the plant was pilfered from the lobby anyway.  But cleaning up this mess may take me the better part of the day.  Reaching, bending, sweeping, carrying.  All are chores that are on my "Almost Impossible To Accomplish" list.  To say nothing of the microscopic glass shards I know are lurking.

Almost forgot!  Sloshed half a cup of luke warm coffee all over my phone.

Never the less.  It shall be done.  Tune in next week.

Kill All The Incompetent

This has been another frustrating week; and so in order to preserve what little is left of my sanity and to save the economy I am putting my foot down once again.

Filling a prescription should not require an act of Congress.  It should also not require a translator or the use of nuclear weapons.  There is no excuse for illegible prescriptions in 2012.  There is no reasonable reason why it should take more than a week to remedy the situation. Medical offices should be quick to admit their error, rectify it, and apologize.  Not returning phone calls does not make for good PR, nor does it aid the ailing and desperate patient.

Delivering a package is another task that should be painless for all involved.  Bringing the item to the receiver as promised and WHEN promised are not complicated tasks. Delivery companies should make their policies clear and when those policies fail the very least they should offer is a live human who can answer questions.  They do not offer that as an option.  "Our menu has changed" is not an excuse for the endless looping and avoidance of responsibility that a call to an 800 number has become.

So...

Office managers.  ESL telephone receptionists.  Doctors with attitude.  Lying delivery people.  Anyone not doing their job to the best of their ability.  All of you lazy, worthless fucks who contribute to making my life the living hell that it has been this week.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

Jumbled

Is this what it means to be at sixes and sevens?
 
My brain keeps flitting from one topic to another.  All are terrifying.  All hinge on the great "what if."

This I know for sure:  Today is the last day of this.  Either it improves or it ends.

Decisions used to exhilarate me.  Some still do.  But this.....this is too much for me.  It makes me so sad and so grief stricken.  I know it hasn't happened yet and I always feel as if I am drawing the bad, dark, twisty stuff to myself.  But I don't know if I really believe that.

I think I've just finally gotten the lesson.

Oh god!

What if this really is the lesson? I'm so damn scared.

Well......goodbye maybe.

End O The Week O

Blessings this week:

A really cool call from my best friend whom I never see informing me about an opportunity to obtain some much needed medical aid.  She's such a sweetie for thinking of me.

Really good news for Darling Eldest Daughter and her boys.  Wagons Ho!

The potential for really good things to happen soon for Sister and Son.  I'm always baffled when I hear that "siblings" begrudge her any good fortune.  Some of this family "just ain't right."

Really weird failure at making dark chocolate peanut butter fudge.  Let's call it a learning experience.  Tastes great but ugly.

Lots of really good books from Library Guy and a special order magazine that came in its own sealed delivery pouch.

Finding the really magnificent "little red rock" I've been searching for.  Take THAT, Big Box.  The item was discovered in Tennessee.

And, could it be?  Here at Elder House the distinct aroma of a pot smoking geezer.   Summer has officially begun I guess.

Losses

I've blogged about the ambulance sitch before.

Most of the time the people who go are folks I either don't know at all

or are simply acquaintances.

Most of the time they never come back.

I might find out from an overheard laundry room conversation

or I might see one of the office workers showing a newly vacant apartment.

Last week somebody I consider to be a friend left.

I saw them take her away.

She was awake and as feisty as ever.

I had spoken to her the day before.

Like most of us here, she talked about her fear of falling.

Sweet Carol.

She didn't fall.

She had a stroke.

A BAD stroke and is not expected to recover sufficiently to ever live by herself again.

Today I saw my friend Trish loaded up and driven away.

She saw me in my window and waved.

We had last talked two days ago

One of the topics was falling.

Now I'm going to call  her.

I hope it was just a fall.

Sweet Trish.

Bushwhacked

Having the government as a landlord is not always such a bad thing.  Twice yearly inspections mean the grounds get spruced up fairly often.

Those fragrant lilacs have been supplemented with two new bushes.

The arbor vitae received a dramatic shearing.  The remaining branches look like they have been flayed.  If they were made of human flesh there would be blood everywhere.  But the aroma of fresh evergreen is intoxicating.  I'm not an arborvitae fan;  so I'm not sure if it's worth butchering a healthy plant for such delicious fragrance.

We are due for some sweltering weather.  I hope the fragrance lingers while we are locked into the air conditioned air.  Old gimps do not care for sweating.  Beside that I forgot it was a holiday weekend.

My celebration?  Doing laundry!

Drain

Another week of beautiful weather.
Outside.
Where I rarely go.
Pain is such an inhibitor.
Fear also.
The breeze is incredibly enticing and windows are open wide.
I share what I can.
I am grateful.
Yes.
I am grateful.
A week on the blasted cell phone.
Trying to make contact.
Trying to understand.
Trying for answers.
Trying.
Trying is exhausting.
Especially when there is nothing to show for it.
This state of affairs masquerades as laziness or lassitude.
The fight begins before I am out of bed.
That doesn't count.
No space on the score card.
Get over it.
Go on.
Go.

Numbers

34   Trees outside my bedroom
35   Months without a cigarette
3     Precious Jewels
2,345  Messages deleted from my old aol account
7     Phone calls completed
2     Calls returned
This is where the video for "Dance 10 Looks 3" from A Chorus Line The Movie is supposed to go.  Anyone who knows how to find it, copy it, and actually figure out how to insert the damn thing, please let me know.  Thanks!
88   Steps to the exit
17   Cars usually in the parking lot
8,450.00  Price of a motorized wheelchair
19   Trips to the bathroom
6    Nightmares last night
47  Pain on a scale of one to ten
11  Days til the card reloads
96   Sad

62  Minutes wasted waiting for program to boot up
5  Snarky emails sent to said program's network
4.09  Dollars in my account
1  Hideous runaway dog
8  Daily meds
11/2 Remaining time

Caint

All shampooed and showered and off to the Big Box.  The beets I grew as foliage (and stunning foliage it was!) are finally spent and so I decided to treat myself to some potted herbs.  Rosemary for chicken.  Sage to make fake sausage of ground turkey.  Mint because it has one of the best, cleanest fragrances in the flora kingdom.  And because I think I'm going to add fresh mint to some of my new smoothies

Replenishing yoghurt and cheese when I happen upon tubes of chorizo.  Reasonably priced and within reach of my gimpified self.  When I was a young married, I used to shop at a teeny Mexican grocery.  There was an actual butcher.  He'd hack off a chunk of ground chuck and a half pound lump of chorizo and grind them together before my very eyes.  Made the best grilling burgers I have ever tasted.

Since then I have read Eating Animals and learned how the last edible dregs are literally exploded off a hog's face.  It's a hideous procedure and the men (and it was always men in the book) get sick and die or get killed when the machine, with its many knives, misfires.  I have also learned from Hannibal Rising that cheek meat of any beast is the most tender.

So......in the aisle, at the Big Box, I turned over the chorizo tubes and actually dared to read the ingredient list.  "Pork salivary glands, lymph nodes, and cheek meat."  Uh Oh.

These might be delicacies in other cultures or on other planets, but I very nearly retched.  I replaced the tubes of alleged human food (yes, my perception changed that quickly) and I sped off.  God bless the electric carts.


Cheese and crackers for me tonight, thanks.

Greenery

Can you see them?

Way up there at the tippy top?

Two brand new variegated ficus leaves!

Not only are they actually alive, but no leaves have shrivelled up and dropped off from the bottom either.

First time I ever had a ficus survive!

And here I proudly present the return of the gentian.

This delicate little lovely was gifted to me here at Elder House.

I had my doubts about its survival.

The Nazi Nun used to grow them on window sills and she had a demented system.  I was assigned to watering detail.  If they perished it was due to "that stupid girl over watering" and I was to blame.  If they thrived it was due to her strict supervision of "that stupid girl".  Me again; but she took the credit.

Ah Catholics...

Anyway, I placed my gift too close to the stove and scorched most of the leaves the second day.

Stupid girl indeed.

Google search (my trusted buddy) advised whacking off the dead stuff, watering a smidge and waiting for the plant to magically regenerate.

It's working!

Take that you crazy Nazi!

And finally...

This is what happens when a gimpy old lady forgets one of her canes.

Plant was saved.  Pot was destroyed.

A minor heart breaker: purchased pot with a weird outer space flower in it during a very happy excursion with two darling daughters and equally darling grandson several summers ago.

I could still almost walk and I got to throw paint sample cards on the floor with the little guy.

Fun