Deadline pressure

    Firefox has a new update this New Year's Eve, and I'm afraid if I write anything particularly weighty or verbose I won't have time to download it, too. So all you're getting at the moment is a "Happy New Year!" and I'll write the real blog post later as an edit if time permits.
     Edit: Hey, I don't have to feel like a heel anymore. Margaret had pain in her back and in her leg, so she wasn't feeling good enough to visit Dad. So they couldn't have gone to the New Year's dance anyway. Not that I feel good about that; I feel terrible. But the silver lining is that I can go see George Clinton with a reasonably clear conscience.

B12 and coping skills

    (Or lack of same and lack of same.) So as I've mentioned here and there, though maybe not on this blog, I recently discovered that Aldi changed their spice supplier at some point this year and their spice labels now read "may contain wheat, soy or milk." I learned a valuable lesson about trusting corporations. Don't. Ever. So when I noticed that my cinnamon (eaten every day) and cumin (every third day, say, on average) were most likely contaminated, I threw them out and bought McCormick's. McCormick's is much-admired in the celiac community for never putting gluten in any of their single-spice packages.
    And it was like 2007 all over again. Clinical depression went away. Suicide watch was lifted. Good cheer returned. Problems start looking like challenges to be confronted and solved rather than roadblocks to be avoided. Granted, there are a lot of problems, some scarier than ever. But I can see being able to handle them, or anyway to laugh at them. I've mentioned but I'll mention again that the chief problem I have from celiac sprue is that I can't get enough vitamin B12, which leads to all this nervousness and crippling depression.
    I'm not quite out of the woods yet. I'm taking B and C supplements to get my B12 levels up quickly. But I'm returning to the point where I can remember that this is the Johnocentric universe and I'm John; things have a way of working out.

More fiasco-like

    Last night after his dialysis, we took Dad to Lizard's Thicket. That didn't work out so well. He had no energy and little appetite. Malcolm took him back to Rice Estate and I drove along behind to backstop him. Inside the door were a couple of wheelchairs, and Dad suggested we give him a ride. This is a fair measure how exhausted he was. We did, of course. We got him back to his room and he settled in pretty well, phoning Margaret as I left. He had another supper there, too, if he wanted it, so if his appetite returned later he wouldn't have any problem. Anyway not a fiasco exactly, but probably not the best idea ever. (The ham I had was very nice, though! And Anne got to try the chocolate meringue pie. Chocolate meringue pie?)

One of the best fiascos ever

    So yeah, it WAS fun. Dad's appointment went no problem at all. We were dreading having his eyes dilated, and he did have, but he didn't have any problems with it except he had trouble seeing or getting around unless all the lights were on. While Malcolm and I waited, Anne called to propose going out for early supper. Dad preferred Outback Steakhouse and as late as we could manage, so we went over to Margaret's to hang out and wait. Malcolm brought Margaret's notebook computer up to date after 7 months in abeyance and we watched TV.
    Outback was pleasant. For some reason they had the air conditioning on and it was flaming death (well; not literally) getting them to turn it off. Also the steaks were cold. But we had a pleasant time. Unfortunately, service was unbelievably slow and I had to abandon them to get to Drinking Liberally on time. Where... nobody showed up. Still a commitment's a commitment.
    Upshot is that Dad's vision is fine. He can keep his license. He thinks he's going to be driving and no one can dissuade him; I'm hoping this turns out to be wrong. Doctor just wants him taking fish oil with vitamins. Sounds like a super idea in any case. His balance was OK, and he said several times (in between complaining about the bitter coffee) that he was glad he chose Outback. So that was fun.
    Meanwhile, Margaret and he want to go to the New Year's Eve dance at the Senior Center. Much as I love the idea, they neither of them are getting around that well and we don't have a couple of NFL linebackers handy to keep them from falling. At the same time, for the first time in my life, there is actually something I want to do on New Year's Eve. (George Clinton and Parliament Funkadelic are going to be on Main St.) So I feel like a heel, but at the moment I'm putting the kibosh on it. Maybe we'll find a way. That would be neat.

This'll be fun

    Earlier this month, Dad got a letter from the DMV saying that he had to have an eye exam by an eye doctor to continue to have a driver's license. Turns out that this was because his eye doctor had told the DMV two years ago that he would need an exam in two years. Sooo I begged and pleaded and got him an appointment before the deadline, and the appointment is today. It's raining. He isn't moving well. There is no one on Earth besides himself who wants to see him driving. I haven't cleared this or even discussed it with the nursing home. What could possibly go wrong?
    Fortunately I have Malcolm along for backup, and the rain isn't too bad. Dad can talk and has no doubt notified the staff that he's going for an eye exam. I would normally be going out there with Margaret a half hour later anyway, so it's pretty much my normal routine. (She asked that we call her when the appointment's over, so I will. Hopefully we can pick her up so they can be together for part of the day at least.)
    So there's at least a chance that things can go smoothly. Knock on wood!
    Meanwhile, I haven't seen so much of visiting family, but Malcolm came around last night bearing tunage. We found that the new mini-component setup handles jazz pretty well. Also Pepper Adams was (or is) pretty cool.

Hung by the chimney with care

    We successfully delivered Dad to Margaret's daughter Bunny's house and back with no major mishaps. One stumble, but he was caught before he could fall. And he looked very nice. But he did not look a lot like a man who was going to be dancing out of the facility any time soon. However, the dialysis folks think that they've figured out why his blood pressure has been too low (he was drinking too much water) so hopefully he will rally again in the new year.
    Meanwhile, nephew James' new bride Christina celebrated her first Christmas in the US. She's from Mexico and had previously gone home to celebrate. And they announced her pregnancy. We did our best to look astonished, having been forewarned by proud future Grandma Anne. It was nice that Christina got to have her first US Christmas in warm family surroundings. The fact that there were a lot of ladies there who could give her tips on getting over morning sickness was probably also a plus.
    So a good time was had by all, and we got Daddy back to Rice Home in time for supper. Yay!

It's come to this

    I finally had a happy dream. And what could my brain come up with as a happy dream? I dreamed that I found the gluten-free soft corn tortillas that Publix carried for a few months, then didn't anymore. When I woke up, I was really pissed that they weren't really in my refrigerator. Boy, my hopes and dreams have narrowed down a lot, haven't they? I used to believe in romance and hope; now tasty gluten-free tortillas are my highest aspiration. Then again, it's at least attainable.
    Not meaning to bring people down on the big day; take all that with tongue in cheek, and a merry, merry Christmas to all!

What does "Stop Push" mean?

    Brother Malcolm gave me an awesome mini-component system for Christmas. It plays both CDs and MP3s. The latter function makes me especially happy, as I have several CDs full of them. (And I mean FULL; between 100 and 200 tunes on each.) So we were trying to figure out how to work the Shuffle function so I could get maximum joy therefrom. The instructions said to push the Play Function button on the remote. I did several times but the display just read "STOP. PUSH." we were flummoxed. Then I just went, "Oh," and pushed stop. Then the Play Function button worked perfectly straightforwardly. I'm tellin' ya, I'm a genius; just ask anybody.

Get thee behind me Santa

    I'm so childish. The phrase is as above, except with the anagram. I thought it was "Get behind thee, Satan," and said so publicly. And even though nobody corrected me and nobody cares, I'm pissed because I was wrong. And even though the one-liner above is at least more than a little cute (if not exactly original), I can't enjoy it because I had it wrong at first. Childish.
    It is true that I don't much like buying gifts and am seldom as enthusiastic as I should be about receiving them. But Santa's jake with me. I would even leave him cookies and milk... if I ate either cookies or milk.
    Dad is having a run of low blood pressure. We don't know what the deal is. One would guess that it might have something to do with the Heparin they give him for dialysis and the consequent difficulties to get him to stop bleeding at the end of dialysis. One hopes they will maybe lessen the dosage. One worries. A lot.
    It doesn't help a bit that Medicare sent a giant package of information about coping with End Stage Renal Disease. I don't know who the idiots were who thought that that phrase would be an improvement over "kidney failure," but I'd like to punch them. I'm sure he would like to read all this stuff, but I'm equally sure that Christmas is not the ideal time. Boxing Day, on the other hand...

Solstice

    BOY I'm glad we passed the solstice! Long ago, dealing with a depressed girl friend (as opposed to girlfriend), I was able to cheer her up, or at least back her away from the precipice, by pointing out that even though it was cold and grey outside, the days were getting longer again and Spring was coming back soon. Sometimes it even works on me.

FINALLY got to do my joke

    At Aldi, Dee, the best checker in the known world, always asks customers, "Cash or credit?" However, she never asks me since I always pay by cash. Which is a shame, since I have had a great reply ready for just ages. Today I was a little slow bagging up my purchases, so I was still there when she asked the next customer, "Cash or credit?" And I thought of a back-channel way to do my joke. I said, "She never asks me that 'cause she knows I'll say, 'Shopliftin'.'" Dee laughed. The customer, I think, was more than a little non-plussed. I live for these moments.

The quiet Beatle

    It's almost a truism of music fandom of the last 40 years that Yoko Ono broke up the Beatles. However, one can't help but notice that George Harrison played on "How Do You Sleep?," John Lennon's savage denunciation of Paul McCartney from "Imagine." In many ways, his guitar solo (my memory and ear says it was a dobro, but the Internets are refusing to back me up) is more blistering than Lennon's lyrics. The lyrics are mainly wistful and regretful except for that whole "The sound you make is Muzak to my ears/ You must have learned something in all those years" thing.
    So it probably wouldn't be unfair to infer that it was actually Paul (or if you're really that misogynist, Linda) who broke up the Beatles. If I recall correctly, Ringo played on the LP "Imagine," too, though not on that track. I think he said all he needed to say in "Early 1970," helpfully posted on YouTube at least as of a year or so ago: "When I go to town, I want to see all three." Forty years on, I still bawl.

Countermeasures

    A while back, I noticed that if I listened to jazz all night, I would tend to dream about my misspent youth in the jazz clubs of Philadelphia instead of having nightmares. So having had a batch of nightmares lately, I took a blank CD and put all the jazz that's on my old PC except any with vocalists (for no known reason) and prepared my counterattack. The first night I tried it, it didn't really work, but at least I didn't have any dreadful nightmares. Since then, I've mainly been falling asleep listening to football, but I'll try again. Anyway, it was a good feeling to be fighting back.
    Also, the trick of putting coconut milk in everything does indeed seem to be improving my thyroid and my mood. Tastes good, too!

Another dilemna

    (I really do know how to spell it.) I developed a problem with hearing popping noises from my rib cage pretty much whenever I moved. I figured I was low on calcium, so I started putting kale in practically everything I eat. And... popping noises go away. But as I say, I've been very depressed lately, even taking into consideration external stressors.
    So maybe I have another dilemma: poppy chest or happy skull? Or perhaps it's not a dilemma at all and I just have to get up nerve to take more iodine. (The maximum RDA of iodine is 6 times the minimum, so it's not all that risky.) Or maybe I should amp up the avocados again. I could always add an avocado-cucumber drink to suppertime.
    I'm also starting to put coconut milk in everything. Some of the Crazy People On The Internet argue that all coconut products are good for the thyroid. We'll see.
    Meanwhile, Dad got tired of waiting for the podiatrist and decided to cut his own toenails. With a scissors. And cut his toe instead. Which is WHY WE WERE WAITING FOR THE PODIATRIST. (Sorry!) Didn't say it, but thought, this is how one winds up in an institution for the rest of one's life. Hopefully, he learned a lesson.

Anyway, at least I was right

    I buy my shoes from a discount joint called GB Shoe Warehouse. The last time I was there, I measured my feet and found out why my shoes never fit. My feet are conspicuously narrow. The store has a huge selection of regular width shoes and possibly even a better selection of wide ones, but no narrow widths at all. I also noticed a sign that said if you can't find your size, just ask a salesperson.
    That day I didn't feel like it. The other day I did. It was quite a wait to find a salesperson to ask. I caught his eye and he asked if I was finding everything OK. I said no. Eventually he came over. I explained the situation and he said that the only narrow sizes they could special-order was Florsheim. We went over to check the Florsheims and he meanwhile double-checked. About the time I found a Florsheim I could live with, he came back to tell me they couldn't special-order those either.
    He was conspicuously skinny, much more than I am, so I asked him what he did for shoes. He said that was what he liked about working there; he could just keep searching until he found something that fit. Also something about wearing two sets of socks. So I thanked him, then pointed out that at least I was right about not being able to find anything. He laughed a bit.

Dilemma

    For one thing, shouldn't that be dilemna? Guess not.
    It seems clear that with my condition, whatever you want to call it (Asperger's, chronic depression, anxiety disorder, the human one) I have a choice between being smart or being happy. I can eat avocados all day long and make my thyroid and mood happy but find myself more or less unable to think or remember clearly. Or I can eat a more normal and more thyroid-adverse diet and be smarter but more miserable.
    This is how it seems today. Of course when the solstice comes and the days start getting longer again, I'll probably feel differently. Or if the crazy external stressors relent a bit. Or I kick the heroin.
    What I find frustrating is that when I doubled the cucumber in my lunch-time avocado-cucumber drink, a beverage that previously led to happy feelings just doesn't anymore. The cucumber is just supposed to counter the avocado's vasoconstrictive properties, not its pro-thyroid ones. As far as I know, even the Crazy People On The Internet don't make any claims that cucumber is bad for the thyroid, but maybe it is. Goodness knows everything else that's good for you is.
    Still and all, except for despair on waking I feel great. My earlier idea of staggering my iodine intake still sounds good to me, but I can't figure out how to split the pills. Of course, I could just take two. Might be worth a try.

There's something strange going on tonight

    Or rather, this morning. Woke up today with an odd twitch in my forehead. It went away when I went for my walk but returned when I did. (OK, that was a little twee; it returned when I came home.) Maybe the kitty allergy is finally getting out of hand. Maybe it's just stress. Maybe it's guilt about not playing with the kitty enough. (Obviously, she favors this explanation,) Whatever, it's very annoying and I hope it goes away soon. For one thing, as a confirmed hypochondriac I'll have myself convinced it's a stroke or some damned thing in no time.
    Would that I had the wherewithal or the space or the wherewithal to have the space to be able to get another kitty. The Monkey deserves a playmate more dedicated than I can be. She's a sweetie sweetie sweet sweet and has saved my life numerous times just by being there. She deserves a companion. Or a 20-foot-long Slinky, I'm not sure which.

Obsessed with cooking

    This should be a very intelligent, in depth, focused and detailed discussion of my dad's situation, as the staff came around and explained to Margaret and me about their concerns for him and his need for in-out catheterization. But I'm still not too confident that they'll be able to sway him. They're going to try tomorrow and I certainly wish them all the luck in the world.
    But I'd rather talk about my muffins. They really, really, really turned out. And now I'm obsessed with the idea of replicating the feat with apple sauce in there instead. I'm just not sure how much it would take. Nor how well apple sauce goes with pecans. Nor whether I want to try to slip some raisins in there as well. Where's the flavor sensei when I really need one? Anyway, a neat distraction from the more important issues of the world.

Stop! Went too far

    On the Cayce Riverwalk, there are assorted green chalked arrows pointing further along the trail, and at least one message saying "Keep going." Then on the handrail is a green chalked Stop sign followed by "Went too far." I never saw the green chalked "You are here." However, there is no rain in the forecast, so I can always look more closely tomorrow or on following days. Or it will always be a mystery. Pretty fun stuff anyway.
    Also on the Riverwalk, I encountered a couple of young women, one of whom was wearing a "Beat Clemson" sweatshirt. I thought, "Hey! It worked!" Boobies of power! (This of course would have been a much better subject line, but I really don't need that volume of visitors.)

Zzzzzzzzz

    It is a thing of less than perfect joy when I bring Margaret to see Dad and they both sleep for more than half of the visit. Common sense would say that maybe if we turned the heat down (from its very, very, very high levels) during the visit, staying awake might be a little easier. Also, when either of them wakes up, he or she is unwilling to awaken the other, even though clearly one wants to visit and the other wants to be visited.
    Still, they're very sweet together when both are awake. And it's a sweet thought to let the other sleep even though it cuts into their limited time together. And maybe maybe maybe it'll help them evolve toward the idea that Assisted Living would fit their current abilities better than trying to live at Margaret's house. But it's a trifle frustrating. Way better than a lot of the alternatives, though, of course.

It's nice to have my playful kitty back

    As I think I may have mentioned before, if the kitty is going off to hide in high, inaccessible places (and also grooming maniacally), she isn't trying to be cute; she's trying to tell you that the carpet has fleas. After I treated her with Feline Advantage, she returned to the frolicking, rollicking kitty I'm more used to. In short, the World Arena Kittyball Champion is back in town. (Just don't ask.) Now if only my lower back would cooperate, I could be just as playful...

I work at Publix in Georgia

    I had just paid for my groceries at the good-looking people's Publix at Gervais and Huger (they let me in on a special pass) when a woman buttonholed the checker with, "I work at Publix in Georgia, and a picture of this building comes up on my work computer every few minutes, so when I saw the building, I had to come in!" At last! We have a tourist attraction!
    (The building in question was the Dispensary when Pitchfork Ben Tillman (I think) decided that the state should be in charge of distributing all liquor in SC. However, Publix being in the building is something of a con because most of the store is in a new building built on to it and only a small part of the store is in the actual Dispensary. Most of the Dispensary has turned into high-end housing, or it would be if anybody ever moved in.)

Assisted Living not a hit

    We got to go see the model Assisted Living unit. I was very, very favorably impressed; Dad and Margaret, not so much. It's very compact, with a small living room, a bedroom, a bath and a kitchenette-ette (fridge, sink) in the foyer. The TV was in the living room; Dad wasn't overly happy that he would have to bring his own TV to be able to watch TV in bed. He just doesn't see any benefit to Assisted Living. One difference would be that he would no longer have to ride the ambulance to dialysis, but he says as long as the facility is paying for the ride he doesn't mind the ambulance.
    In other news, the doctor at Rice Estate talked to Dad yesterday and confirmed Juanita's view that he doesn't need to do in-out cath unless he wants to (which he doesn't). Gail, the social worker (also a nurse), still thinks that he just has to be able to do in-out cath; I told her we're at an impasse, and we'll just have to agree to disagree. As this is just an issue if he wants to be in Assisted Living (and he doesn't), it's just not the biggest problem in the world. I just want to see him keep getting stronger.

Common sense threatens to break out again

    Juanita, one of the nurses at the Rice Estate called yesterday. What she wanted to talk about was Dad's order for in-and-out catheterization, specifically with regard to its no longer being necessary. As I was FULLY in agreement, we mainly took turns saying "Exactly!" a lot. She said that they continue to scan his bladder, and though there's some urine left in there, it isn't causing him any discomfort or problem, so why worry?
    Unfortunately, Juanita isn't the deciding vote and she won't be there today to talk to the doctor. But she left a firm recommendation in the notes that the order be discontinued, and recommended that I be firm about supporting the idea. I won't have any problem with that.

This facility fiasco-free for two (2) days

    Yeah, I can't believe it either. I still think there's a fiasco out there heading my way at something better than double nickels. Or a major limb is going to fall off. I'm glad to say that for once I don't think anything horrible is likely to happen to Dad or to Margaret, though he too seems horribly depressed. I asked him if he wanted to renew his Consumer Reports subscription and he said that he just looked at it when he wanted to buy things didn't think he'd be buying all that much more. So this kind of thinking has to be headed off.
    As to me, zippiness is far, far away, though I did inadvertently smile a couple of times yesterday. The kitty has fully recovered from her funk, so at least I have a playful kitty again. That helps tons and tons. Morale improves with every fiasco-free day at the facility. May they continue.
    (Just to be totally clear, "facility" refers to me, not to the place where Dad's staying.)

Also I'd like a pony

    The above is what I say whenever I wish for something impossible. The good news about the weekend's fiascoes is that nothing worse has happened since. Or at least nothing that I've heard about. The tightness in my throat and far far further down the digestive system indicates that this situation will not continue. But a fella can hope.
    In the larger world, there's an election year coming up. One dreams that the people will see reason, or even common sense, and vote for people whose chief concern is for them, the people, and for the long term. And if the people's best interests come in conflict with those of corporations, maybe now and then our representatives might opt for the former. And as the Christmas season dawns, it would be nice that while we're talking about peace on Earth and goodwill toward men, maybe we could try implementing these concepts a little.
    Also, I'd like a pony.

Picked the wrong weekend to quit sniffin' glue!

    As I said, Margaret fell in her yard Saturday morning and had to wait a half hour in the cold for somebody to help her. However, she is if anything more determined to stay by herself (or preferably with Dad), even though she says herself, "I've fallen and I'll probably fall again." And even though she clearly needs better nutrition and more physical therapy. I'll keep trying, but I am keenly disheartened.
    Also yesterday, a person I had thought of as a dear friend told me to drop dead, only much more firmly and colorfully. Hope that things work out somehow. Can't help but think that things are likelier to get worse than better.

Tho much for Thtockholm Thyndrome

    I was starting to think that Dad was getting irascible with us to make up for having to be ingratiating with the staff at Rice Estate, sort of a variant on Stockholm Syndrome. (This was going to be titled, "And I bet Patty Hearst was a real bitch when she got home, too.") Yesterday, however, undercut that idea more than a little. A member of staff came in to get Dad to come out to be weighed. She asked if he was done with his lunch and he said, "NO!" She asked if he was going to put shoes on and he said, "NO!" He was smiling, mind you, but it appears that he's getting irascible with everybody. He's more than ready to get out of there, I don't doubt.
    Also yesterday, Margaret called to say that she had fallen down outside earlier in the morning when she went out to get the paper. When she couldn't get up, she had to sit on the ground for a half hour until a neighbor helped her up. Hopefully, this will cause her to think more seriously about trying assisted living. Or at the very least remember to carry her cell phone at all times.

Finally, a true-to-life dream!

    Last night, I dreamed that I had accidentally gotten several specks of Wite-out on an otherwise new and unused envelope. And I tried to Wite-out the Wite-out. Even asleep, I thought it was funny. And absolutely true-to-life. That is what I would most likely try to do in those circumstances. Must have really needed a laugh!
    I do notice that I despair in the night, and then am cheerful again after breakfast. I take my kelp-for-iodine with breakfast. I'm wondering if I took another one at lunch, or split one in half and took half with breakfast and half with lunch if I'd get through the night better. Unfortunately, they don't split but rather pulverize, so I'd need a different kind of tablet. Something to think about.

Well they listened

    So yesterday when it was almost time for Margaret and me to go, Dad told her that it was time for them to make some decisions. They needed to decide, he said, whether he was going to move in with her or whether he was going to go back to the house. This was wildly premature, but it didn't seem politic to say so. Instead I suggested that they both try Assisted Living for a while so they could both get stronger and more ready to live independently.
    They didn't laugh me out of the room at least. Margaret said she wanted to see what the Assisted Living facility is like. She's always objected to Skilled Nursing on the grounds that most of the people there are fairly catatonic. I know that she'll find the Assisted Living residents a lot livelier since we've already seen them.
    Mostly I just want to have them together for Christmas, and it's just too soon for Dad to move out. He can't even sit up in bed by himself. Neither of them can open a twist-off bottle without help. Neither of them get around too well; neither of them drive too well either.
    I don't know if they'll go for it. I'm sure Dad's fed up with nursing home care, and I'm sure Margaret is far from eager to volunteer for it. But at least I tried, and there's some chance it might happen. We have an informal appointment to see the Assisted and Independent Living rooms next Thursday. Yay!

Medicare pays for the walker

    OK, maybe I am such an idiot. The head nurse at the Rice Estate ordered Dad a walker, the tallest one they could find. We were pleased with this solicitousness, but I at least assumed that we would be paying for it. Now they're ordering him a cane as well (the tallest they can find), and very nicely explained that Dad would have to pay for this, because though Medicare will pay for the walker, they won't also pay for a cane.
    This reflects just brilliantly on UniHealth. They never provided Dad a walker except during physical therapy, leading directly to all his bodily function problems. It's of course possible that they were on the lookout against liability problems, but really I'm not sure they're that bright. If Medicare pays for the walker anyway, I can't see any argument against them having ordered him one. The only conclusion I can draw is that they're totally clueless. And that we're happy to be shot of them.