The coaster rolls on

    So last night, Dad called Margaret and again said that he just couldn't stand dialysis and wanted to stop it and go to hospice. I called him and asked him just not to do anything drastic until I can try to make it better. He agreed to that. So this morning I called the dialysis facility and told them this. The office manager was trying to get me to call a hospice for advice on rousing his fighting spirit and I pointed out that what I needed was ways to improve his experience such that he wouldn't be in agony. She let me talk to the nurse.
    The nurse was amenable to letting him sit on a pillow, and further suggested that he be given a painkiller before leaving Lowman for dialysis. I pointed out that I couldn't order Lowman to do either and that my chief concern was to get these procedures in place by Friday so that he would be willing to continue dialysis at all. She volunteered to call and talk to the nursing supervisor on his unit.
    Anne then talked to the doctor at Lowman, who also agreed that Dad should be on a painkiller even when not going to dialysis. We are also continuing to try to get him a mattress that will fit him.
    So I went and talked to him and he agreed to try dialysis at least one more time. And I talked to the head nurse about whether they could do without the diapers (which seem to be worsening his pressure sores); she agreed to try leaving them off at night. So after an extremely pleasant day yesterday, we had an extremely stressful evening, night and morning, but things seem to be under control again. Maybe. (Note: when you're tired, all sentences begin with "So.")

Alarming day ends well

    Yesterday morning, I got a call from a nurse at Lowman Home saying that Dad had talked to the doctor there and said he wanted to stop dialysis and enter hospice. They were ending all his medications but morphine would be available to him for pain. I was gobsmacked; when I put out the word to siblings and Margaret, they were equally so. We planned on talking him out of it; Anne who was closest set out to talk to him.
    As it turned out, what Dad said was that he didn't want to go to dialysis TOMORROW (now today). After that, it was all miscommunication. The doctor apparently hasn't noticed that Dad is very hard of hearing, nor that he tends to answer yes to whatever he is asked. There was some rigmarole, but we got him reinstated at dialysis and I had the pleasure of telling the hospice people (when they called), no, not yet.
    Cannot begin to express our degree of relief. Nor how mad we were. I expressed some of that to the social worker at the facility in hopes that nothing of the kind EVER happens again. And we're starting the process of getting him relocated to Rice Estate, which is under the same ownership but the experience there three years ago was much better. I was planning this anyway to get him away from Irmo Dialysis, whose work we aren't happy with either.
    Sure I'm still mad, but this time yesterday, I thought my dad was going to be dead two weeks from now. So I'm so relieved I'm jaunty. And maybe we can get his care improved now and his physical therapy reinstated. Maybe.

Morons again

    And I was going to tell you all about my dreams! Aren't you disappointed? I went to SCE&G to try to change Dad's billing address. They needed a copy of the power of attorney. I explained that I was trying to get them paid, not trying to get anything from them. I guess it could be an element of identity theft, but I had just paid his rather large bill. It seems like a cunning plan worthy of Baldrick to pay out money to get nothing back. Regardless, the business office is just around the corner. I can easily bring the PoA around when I pay my own light bill in a few weeks. Just an unnecessary PITA.
    Anyway, the better dream leaked right out of my head when I had a further weird wacky dream. In this one, I was back in school taking a class that was totally pointless. Instructor required a lot of expensive textbooks, which he ignored entirely. I hijacked the class and made it all about old-time radio, presumably because of the shows playing in my real-life sleep. But I was annoyed and decided I wanted my money back. One of the textbooks, I just held out the window while driving (on a street called Adger Road, which is the name of the street where my high school is located even though it looked totally unlike the real street and the dream was otherwise about Penn) and somebody offered me more money than I paid for it. So I deducted it from my claim. I liked the fact that instead of the traditional "OMG, I don't understand this class and now the finals are coming! What do I doooooo?!" response, I just wanted my money back.
    There was also some kind of business about trying to steal a gas station. I just remember being disappointed that it had a foundation because that would make it harder to steal. Maybe it was part of the class.

Food fun

    I don't usually eat out for lunch and dinner. (Or dinner and supper. Or lunch and supper. Or the afternoon meal and the evening meal.) I usually do eat Sunday lunch at Bombay Grille, but with Paul rather than my sister and brother. My brother declined the opportunity to eat raw vegan food at Good Life Cafe for supper. Anne was at least willing to give it a go. She wasn't electrified, but liked the guacamole a LOT and also the chocolate coconut balls. She was fairly warned that the burger is burgerish and the pizza is pizzaish, etc. So we didn't have any "WHAT IS THIS STUFF?!!!" type scenes. Would have been fun, though. My favorite thing on the menu is the manicotti. As it's made with zucchini and she doesn't like zucchini, I was able to have my favorite. Although she was pleasantly surprised by the bit that she tried.
    I had weird wonderful dreams again last night, but couldn't remember any of them. I'm sure everyone is relieved.

Reset button

    Had horrible, then neutral, then amusing dreams last night. The horrible part was more like unpleasant, I guess. I was living in a tiny little home in a terrible neighborhood (nothing like real life!), more or less a shotgun shack. Somehow, one little wedge-shaped section was curtained off. Behind the curtain was somebody I would have to fight. Apparently, I would have to fight somebody daily. Also, outside in the terrible neighborhood, were ne'er-do-wells seeking to break in. The part I liked about the dream was looking for the reset button, so it was sort of supposed to be real life and sort of supposed to be a game.
    The neutral part of the dream was just a continuation. I didn't hit the reset button, but everything just receded. All the unpleasantness just went away. Of course, that also makes for a pretty dull dream. The next thing I remember was more like real life, in the sense that I had my two actual cats. Only difference was that Harry was a test tube cat. I was impressed; Amelia not so much.
    Speaking of nightmares: Downtown U. is about to play their bowl game in Shreveport. No knock on Shreveport, though we've had bad luck there in the past. But apparently the weather there is awful. Best of luck to the fellows! Maybe they can find a reset button on the season.

Crazy stupid fun

    Friend Robert and wife and son are visiting his mom in Spartanburg. I've been wanting to drop by IKEA in Charlotte to see if they have anything that would solve my minor furniture problems. (Suspense relief: they do.) And of course to eat Ethiopian, since now this town has TWO (2) Ethiopian restaurants that aren't gluten-free. The idea!
    They were amenable, Mom, too, so we went today. Unfortunately, traveling with a five-year-old is seldom trouble-free, so basically all they saw of IKEA was the cafe. But I got a good look, and we ate Ethiopian, and young Orion then got to go to Discovery Place, which he strongly desired doing. So everybody was happyish, and I was happy to see old friends. Orion is at that difficult age between 2 and 16 where he says whatever the hell occurs to him, so he told me that my teeth stick out. Fortunately, I'm one of the rare people that you can say something like that to (since I was boundlessly amused). I think what he actually meant to say was that I was smiling a lot, since I was, being delighted.
    Family travel was a little messy this time, as Anne only got to town late yesterday and Malcolm is leaving tomorrow. But we were able to get together for suppertime at a new and untried Lizard's Thicket. As they had sweet potato souffle, sweet potato fries and sweet potato pie, this was a hit, although we didn't try the pie. Malcolm pointed out that Adam Ant was a play on "adamant," which I never realized, thinking it was derived from the cartoon character Atom Ant. Of course that was probably also a pun on "adamant," but I was really small then and probably didn't know that word yet. Although by tomorrow I'll have myself convinced that I knew it all along.

Merry little

    Well that was fun! Everything came together nicely and all of a sudden, and Margaret left the house for the first time in a couple of weeks (not counting the emergency room) and was able to see Dad and to have Christmas dinner with her daughters and extended family and to see Dad again and it was all all kind of fun. Dad was not at his liveliest but he was certainly awake and alert and all kinds of glad to see Margaret again after so long. And we were all ultra pleased that the rain had gone away in favor of a totally clear and beautiful day. So huzzah! I hope you had an equally wondrous Christmas day.

Come again another day

    Rain continues. Not happy about it. Didn't walk yesterday; won't walk today. I did, however, do the exercise pedals for about ten minutes for probably the first time this year. It was funny, since Harry had never seen me use them. He was most delightfully puzzled. Much to my surprise, he never tried to pounce my foot, though.
    More to the point, I may be flooded in (as in, can't leave my neighborhood) as may be Margaret (as in, can't leave her house). This stinks, but it'll all run off. Rain is supposed to stop by tomorrow. Our statewide (regionwide) Christmas present.
    Last night, brothers Malcolm and William and I went to Pasta Fresca, a fave from pre-gluten-free days. They have gluten-free pasta now and try hard, but it wasn't the same. Still delightful, though. They also had a jazz combo because it was Tuesday. Tuning up sounded like they were going to play "Badge" by Cream; now all we want to hear is a jazz version!

Very damn funny, winter

    This is what I think of when I think of winter in South Carolina: cold rain. Lots and lots of cold rain. Days and days of cold rain. This year, just for fun, winter decided to kick off with days of cold rain. It didn't really start the minute that winter did; it just seems like it.
    Mind you, I'm very grateful that by and large, this is the worst that winter sends us. I'm not raising my hand to volunteer to move to Buffalo any time this lifetime. The mizzable rain is not my favorite, but it is seldom life-threatening. If my fellow South Carolinians had the first clue how to drive, I could make that never. Pretty big if, though.
    Then again, all morning, instead of rain there was rather cool fog. I dug the trees looming out of the mists, even though I was sorry I couldn't make a photograph out of them. So there's that.

Global warming conference

    The wackiness of my dreams seems never-ending. I dreamed last night that everyone I know and I went to New York for a conference on global warming. "Everyone I know" should be in quotes (you know, like that) because they were all fictitious and even illusionary (which I'm hoping is different than "illusory") except for one person whom I'm Facebook friends with but whom I've met in real life only once. He is concerned about global warming, though.
    We rode up on Amtrak; most of the dream concerned trying to get off the train and into NYC. As usual, the train station of my dreams was a multi-level Rube Goldberg nightmare of a mall, but the kind of nightmare I get a kick out of. What I remember best is getting off a stairway or escalator and having to get in a convertible to proceed. Moreover, I had to drive it, but only something less than a foot. Then mysteriously the doors wouldn't open; lucky thing it was a convertible! (Did I mention that the top was down?
    As far as I know, I never did get to the conference. I could have given a great presentation on sports cars in train stations. Meanwhile in real life, Margaret is getting better, but still isn't well enough to go see Dad. Dad is holding up pretty well. Because of rescheduling of dialysis around the holidays, he was off today so I went to see him. We had a nice visit, though he slept a lot. He seems more comfortable. Brother Mal is on the way, as in now, arriving within mere minutes. It will be nice to see him, though presumably that will be after he's slept off the 18-hour-plus drive. Yay!

Brain flu

    I feel like my brain has the flu. I'm tired all the time and can't remember much of anything. Today and yesterday, I had perfectly good blog entries composed in my head during my daily walks, but they had fled by the time I got back home. Thus this kind of "I've got nothing" post instead.
    I'm pretty sure it's no kind of flu at all, even though I see Margaret, who still has the flu, most days. I have practically no symptoms is the main thing. I suspect that it's just the solstice; all the darkness makes me extra tired, and the extra fatigue saps my little brain and my tiny, fragile memory.
    If so, it ought to clear up pretty fast. I always love the winter solstice, because the days get longer every day. Even though it gets colder for quite a long time, once the days are getting longer, I start feeling better. In the meantime, I'll make notes on the phone about what I'm planning to blog about. When I figure out how.

Adjustments

    My friend Michelle shared a gluten-free recipe on Facebook that sounded really appealing. Also it called for ripe bananas, which I have sometimes and have no bright ideas what to do with them since I am not a fan of the ripe ones. It called for peanut butter and honey and chocolate chips and vanilla and honey and not much else. I tried making the recipe, but found it to be chocolate chip heavy. Nice, but I couldn't taste much but the chocolate.
    I tried it again with raisins and raspberry preserves instead of chocolate chips. That didn't work so well. Just too many flavors, I guess. So yesterday, I tried it with a cup of dates and a tablespoon of cocoa. Really tasty, but really, really, really sweet. I like 'em, but then, I used to eat 10X sugar with a tablespoon. I'm not sure how earthlings will react.
    Other thing is that they're supposed to be muffins and I don't feel like buying enough muffin tins to make that many muffins or to cook that many shifts. But trying to use a pan or Pyrex dish leaves me with the middle all raw, which probably isn't too brilliant considering there are eggs in there. Also, all those thick ingredients killed my favorite blender. Ah well. So when I get the sweetness modulated, the recipe ordered such that blenders survive, and convert it back into a muffin recipe (from a brownie/ energy bar type thing), I'll post the adjusted recipe. In the meantime, I think I invented butterscotch.

Sorry about the gators

    I had some damned elaborate dreams last night. Consider yourself lucky that I don't remember much.
    Oddest thing is once again that there was a continuation even though I woke for a little in the middle. I only remember this happening once or twice in my life. There also was a certain element of comedy amidst the chaos and horror.
    In the first half of the dream, my brother William and I were tapped to join some college equivalent of Anonymous. Apparently, declining was not an option. So we were facing the prospect with some trepidation. Then we found out what this group was planning to do. They wanted to steal chalk from the cheerleaders. Just, you know, blackboard chalk. Just for the heck of it, apparently. So not the most dangerous cats ever.
    However, when I got up and went to the bathroom and then went back to sleep, things turned more sinister. I received a largish envelope which somehow transmogrified into a gigantic box, which when opened, proved to contain two live six-foot alligators. And then they proceeded to eat my younger cat before I could get him away from them. Mostly off-camera, I'm glad to say, but still not the most cheerful dream ever. This will teach you: never go to the bathroom. When I woke up, I apologized to Harry: sorry about the alligators, fella.

Obsessed with size, of course

    What? I'm talking about boots. (And clothes generally yesterday.) Of course.
    Months ago, I started getting the kind of foot pain that indicates it's time to get new boots. (The well-known broky-foot sensation.) As I probably blithered about at the time, the good folks at Mast General Store, who had sold me the boots, felt that they still had some wear in them and suggested I buy some really expensive insoles instead. They also suggested that I take out the built-in Keen insoles.
    I did the former and not the latter and the soles of my feet felt all bruisy. I did both and my feet flopped around in my boots. So I went back to plan A (double insoles) but unfortunately the bruisy sensation never did go away. Now finally I've taken out the Keen insoles once and for all, and though the boots still seem too large, the bruisiness is much better. So I suppose I'm happy.
    The thing is, the boots with one insole in should be exactly the same size as what I bought (10); I don't know why my feet would be loose in them. I've tried buying 9 1/2s before, but they were always painfully tight. So I guess I'm legitimately a size 10. The only thing that makes sense is that I broke the boots in with two sets of insoles (the original Keens plus a Dr. Scholl's) and now they're stretched out. If I hit a quiet minute, maybe I'll try out a 9 1/2 of the same boot and see how I do.
    Dad was sitting up today and was reasonably lucid. We had a visit from Santa in running shoes; he brought Dad shower gel. If we'd known he was coming, we would have left out cookies. Dad said he had been dreaming that my brother Frank had 15 children. I said, yes, I think that was probably a dream.
    I had wacky dreams of my own, like being on a toilet in front of dozens of people. The weird thing about dreams is how often weird events in dreams seem perfectly normal and workaday. Lucky thing I'm not Rob Lowe, I guess.

Average

    I'm a shade under 5' 10" and weigh somewhere around 160 pounds, which is still just about average for an American male, as far as I know. I find it weird that I have trouble finding clothes. I understand why it's hard to find clothes in thrift stores, since there are a gazillion average-sized guys looking so the racks are picked over. (What's weird, as I've mentioned before, is how much XL clothing there is for men in thrifts. Spread the word!) What's odd is that it's hard to find clothes my size in department stores. I suppose that my average height and weight don't necessarily equate to an average build; I understand that some people have shoulders. But still!
    Now I find that furniture also tends to be built for people shorter than me, on average. Of course, this might be much, much less mysterious. The limiting condition being "furniture that will fit into a Camry" and yes, I guess that might by and large be better suited to shorter people. But still, still!
    I heard from the Lowman Home that Dad's left arm is again swollen and feels hot, so they're starting him on an antibiotic. I'm glad they're paying attention and looking out for him.

Innovation!

    Hey, it only took 100 years or so! Every city I've ever visited and driven in (which limits us to North America) has a very active Department of Digging Holes and Filling Them In Again working the city streets. And often as not, there's a fairly significant gap between the digging and the filling in again. So gigantic metal plates are placed over the holes. These are sometimes hard to see and can make for an unpleasant, jarring surprise.
    Today I went over one and at the edges were orange rubber (or plastic) wedges. I don't know if it really made the passage all that much gentler (I had already slowed down both for the metal plate and for railroad tracks just ahead), but I was really pleased that somebody at least was making an effort to save our precious CV joints. I hope this thoughtfulness spreads, and salute the DODHAFTIA for their forward thinking. Now of course, somebody will tell me that all the other cities have been doing this for 20 years.
    I know I have made an effort over the years to have the minutest minutiae on my blog and that I may have just set a new standard. But wait! There's more! Last night when I opened the door to let Harry in, I heard "(jingle jingle) murf! (jingle jingle) murf!" from quite nearby, but Harry didn't appear. Then he came down the tree next to my front door, like Dan Aykroyd on the fireman's pole in "Ghostbusters." Very comical. I guess he had been gallivanting on the roof, as there aren't any leaves on the tree for birds or squirrels to hide in. Just another skill for young Harry.

Just a little sad

    I got the notification today that Dad needs to renew his driver's license (if he wants to) by his next birthday. Now he hasn't driven in 3 1/2 years, although he insisted for a long time that he was going to drive himself to dialysis. And if we're honest, he shouldn't have been driving for a long time before that. (Driving off at night with the headlights off, and stuff like that.) And even if he were getting out of the bed and getting around again, and even if he were coming home (which I still haven't quite given up on), there is no eye care professional on Earth who would certify that he sees well enough to drive. If all of those things, he could get an ID from the DoT that would be just as good for check-cashing type purposes. So it's all totally academic. But still sad.
    Not sad is that Margaret is doing much better. Not enough better for her to visit Dad tomorrow, but a lot a lot a lot better. She still insists on doing his laundry. I tell you, don't mess with the Greatest Generation!

Little things

    I didn't visit with Dad long today, partly because I had my friend Paul along and didn't want to impose. Mainly I wanted to make sure that Dad had a football game on TV, that his phones were charged, that he was comfortable, and that his clothes situation was OK. Margaret is still sick, but wasn't admitted to the hospital, so hopefully she'll bounce back soon. But I was able to let them talk on my cell phone for a little while, which was nice, too.
    I got Dad squared away, except for having his feet against the footboard. That I couldn't do anything about without a Procrustean bed, and fortunately they don't have any of those. I will see if they can get him an extra-long inflatable mattress, though. But the great thing was that he remembered Paul. He has only met Paul a couple or three times, most recently some years ago. And on the way out, he said, "Goodbye, Paul." This may seem like a tiny thing, but this is a guy who has been asking what day it is every ten minutes, or announcing the time on his clock even more frequently. I think being able to breathe is really letting him think a lot better. I was more than a little choked up. Huzzah!

Ten years

    This week has seemed about ten years long. I seem to be having a lot of those lately. This time it was because of the heaping helpings of uncertainty, and in nearly every dimension. Unfortunately, next week is not looking a lot better in that regard.
    I was hoping that getting lung function back would give Dad back some more brain function. It is possible that this will happen, but it's hard to say at this point. He's still pretty exhausted, so I haven't had a real conversation yet. He is at least more on the ball than he was at his worst, but it would be pretty hard not to be.
    Margaret finally got some sense and got her daughter Linda to take her to the hospital to find out why she isn't getting better. They found a) that she is dehydrated; and b) that she has the flu. She's probably fairly starved, too, as she hasn't been eating. No word yet on whether she will be admitted, but I imagine that she would be. I expect that food, drink and rest will have her up and around pretty shortly. Knock on wood.
    In general, I seem to be getting over the shock of the past few months' events finally. I feel a lot less paralytic than I have been, and considerably more able to cope. Of course, I'd just as well have a little grace period of not HAVING to cope, but this is unlikely at this stage. I will try to bear and to measure up.

Back to Lowman Home

    Margaret is still sick, unfortunately, but she called this morning concerned that she hadn't heard from Dad yet, since she usually does. I called the nurses' station, and it turned out that he was getting dialysis yet again, then returning to Lowman Home. So I got my groceries, started my beef stew for supper, took my walk, and headed on out.
    I got there ahead of him, since everything takes longer than it should, including ambulances. I stuck around for a half an hour, charging his phones and generally getting the place as set up for him as I could. Unfortunately, though, I had to head home to finish making my beef stew. I did have the pleasure of seeing him in the corridor on the stretcher, looking good if sleepy. Well you would be, too; I think he had five dialysis sessions in six days. I thought it best that I let him rest, but look forward to seeing him tomorrow and Sunday. Hopefully, Margaret will be well enough to come along at least one of those days, too.

Not hearin' nothin' from nobody

    It isn't exactly an eerie silence, but it is maybe a little odd. Usually I would have heard from somebody, especially on the day that Dad is expected to go back to Lowman Home. But maybe there's been a hold up. I can phone out of course, but old folks aren't so good with stuff like call-waiting and voicemail, so I prefer to wait and let them call me. Anyway, compared to the anxieties of a few days ago, this is a soft-shoe shuffle. What seems to be holding him up is that the physical therapists want more time with him. The idea as recently as a week ago that he would ever again be seeing a physical therapist seemed quite remote. So color me thrilled with the delay.
    I woke about 5 with very odd dreams. I don't think they kept me up; I think it was the noise from the HVAC blower. But I was very puzzled. I'm not sure if I was in Montreal or watching a news report, but for some reason I dreamed that Toyota does the vast majority of its import and export activity through Montreal. Even in my sleep, I cried bullsomething. Other dreams were also business-oriented, reflecting the tendency of motels to bunch up in sixes or sevens. In the dream, though, they did so every half mile or so. Apparently, the Columbia of my dreams is a tourist destination!

Hospital food

    Margaret has a bad cold today and thus couldn't visit Dad. He was driving her to distraction with phone calls about how he was starving. Apparently, his appetite has come back but not alas his short-term memory. I called and talked to his nurse who is another peach (if men can be peaches); he said Dad had had breakfast and that his lunch was on its way.
    On the whole, I was dreading visiting, but he had indeed gotten his lunch and was no longer saying things like, "I'll just sit here and starve then." He wasn't well pleased with the food, though, pretty much reprising the old joke, "The food here is TERRIBLE! And such small portions!" He's most likely going back to Lowman Home tomorrow.
    Honestly, I don't know. He looks much, much better, and his speech is much clearer and more coherent. But he blanks out on words like "dialysis." It's still a bit worrying. Still, compared to Sunday, when it looked like I would be picking out a burial suit, things are really rosy. Even if he DID want to watch "Ellen." Now THAT'S some scary stuff!

Today today: Dad better

    The difference between yesterday's post (i.e., this morning's) and today's (this afternoon's) is that I have a little more information. Margaret has talked to Dad several times and he was speaking well and apparently making sense, which is a pleasant change. Only thing is that he's in dialysis yet again, making three days in a row. And since they wanted to keep him on schedule, he'll probably be going again tomorrow as it's his regular day.
    So visiting is likely to be tricky. Presumably he'll be headed back to Lowman pretty soon, too. We might not get to visit until Thursday, possibly there. Still, I'm looking forward to it, rather than dreading it (I mean because he was doing so poorly before), so that's pretty great. So yay!

Yesterday today

    I totally forgot to post yesterday, but I'm glad to say that it wasn't because of bad stuff. I am in a little disarray certainly, but things are getting better. Dad was in ICU yesterday, looking lots better. I went by in the morning and got to watch him sleep and talked to his nurse, an extremely nice fellow. He said that Dad would have dialysis again that day. I called later and found that in the ICU, they do dialysis in the room, so we could visit.
    That didn't really turn out to be the case. Margaret and I tried to get there before dialysis started but didn't quite make it. Especially as he was having an EKG at the same time, we had to wait a half hour before we could visit, and then he was too glad to see Margaret and wouldn't keep his right arm still, so we had to go. But Margaret was glad to see him and to be seen, so that was great.
    I had the pleasure to go out with my celiac group for early Christmas dinner, which was major awesomeness and good for morale, and even better for morale, got a call when I got home that Dad had moved to the step-down ICU and was asking the nurses to call Margaret for him. So yay! Today today to be posted later.

Alarming stuff

    I got a call this morning that my dad had passed a restless night, that he was breathing about 40 times per minute, that his oxygen saturation was hovering around 92% and that his lips were going blue/purple. Staff wanted to know if it was OK for him to go to the emergency room. I resisted the temptation to say, "Ya think?" and gave the goahead for him to go to Baptist. They said they would call when he was under way.
    When they did, I ate a sort of lunch (since it takes almost an hour even for an ambulance to get from Lowman to Baptist) and headed to the ER. I was very apprehensive, but he looked good. The doctors were mostly reassuring. The chest x-ray showed that he had a lot of fluid in his right lung and also in his right chest. All he needed, they said, was more dialysis. So I waited with him while he got further tests and they got him set up for dialysis.
    As this went on, his oxygen saturation started falling again, alarming me a lot. But finally, they had him a room in the ICU. (You have to have a room to have dialysis even though you go to the hospital's dialysis facility rather than it coming to you; makes no sense, but there you go.) First, they were going to use a BiPAP machine to get as much fluid as possible out of his lungs. Hopefully, between that and the dialysis, he'll be a lot better. Hopefully, someday he gets fed, too. Helluva day he's had. As I type, he's probably halfway through the dialysis session.
    Even before this, I was going to write today about fairly alarming stuff about Dad, although it seems mild now. When we arrived yesterday, he threw the blankets off and was trying to get up, saying that he thought he could pee. He hasn't walked in weeks and probably wouldn't be able to do that, let alone pee. (He hasn't made pee in a long time, although he still did for the first couple of years of dialysis.) I assume that he was dreaming. He was attached to an oxygen machine, so trying to go to the bathroom would have been fairly disastrous regardless. I pointed out that he was in a diaper; if he could pee, he should just go ahead and do so. Eventually, he calmed down, I guess. I just hope he doesn't get further ideas to go walking when we aren't around.

Cat hair

    I'll probably be brief. I am, and have always been, allergic to these rotten stinky cats. It's not a terribly bad allergy, but if a cat hair gets up by my eyes (stuck in my glasses, say) I can have a pretty bad day. Today I found one stuck to the nosepiece, but by then I had the most astounding splitting headache, just next door to a migraine. It's getting better now, but not to the degree that I much feel like looking at a computer monitor for long periods.
    My niece-in-law, after giving birth, developed allergies to a dozen or more of her favorite fruits. She's taking injections with the idea of lessening the allergies. Also she's carrying an epipen. My allergy is so mild that I don't need such stringent measures. On the other hand, Harry will probably live at least ten years and I like to think Amelia has nearly that long herself. It might be worth a try. One more headache like that and it certainly will seem even moreso.

They're giving my dad rat poison!

    Well they are! Coumadin sounds a lot friendlier than Warfarin, though, and is of course a standard blood thinner. I doubt the dosages they're giving him would even kill a rat; I like to think not anyway.
    Let me back up. Yesterday during our visit, the ultrasound tech appeared and did the ultrasound on Dad's left arm. today, Dad's nurse called to say that the ultrasound confirmed that he had a clot in his arm and that they were going to give him Coumadin. I expressed my worries about blood thinners and dialysis; in the past when he was given them, he had grave difficulties stopping bleeding at the end of the session. In the past, he was a lot more on the ball than he is now. He wouldn't even notice himself bleeding these days. They are only starting this evening after dialysis. Hopefully, the treatment won't last long.
    Also yesterday, I figured out that staff wasn't ignoring Dad, that his call button wasn't working. They replaced it immediately and response to his calls was very, very prompt thereafter. Glad that I noticed.
    Today, I got my first bill for his care at Lowman. It was vast, significantly higher than I was expecting. Well, he's worth it!

Further malentendu

    Before the daily anecdote, let me pass along better news about my dad. He phoned last night to say that he was back from dialysis and that his arm wasn't troubling him. I'm not clear whether it's still swollen. He doesn't usually call me; just Margaret. I have a feeling that the nurse told him to call me because she has in the past (and he did) and she's an ace.
    Last night as I mentioned was my last time hosting Columbia Drinking Liberally. Only one friend showed up, but we had a pleasant wake. However, there was some kind of misunderstanding with the waitress. I ordered, clearly I thought, their burger of the day, the Moroccan burger. As it's a vegan raw foods gluten-free establishment, it wouldn't be much like a burger, but I was still charged about it. And it never came.
    My friend arrived, ordered guacamole (which isn't weird if raw, vegan and gluten-free) which we shared and it was very good. Still no burger. After an hour, she checked on us and asked if we needed anything and I asked what became of my burger. She assured me that I said I didn't want anything and I assured her that I had ordered the Moroccan burger. Finally, I just said forget it, I would pay my friend's bill and we would be done. She came back with the bill and a burger in a to-go box, saying I didn't have to pay for it. And I really enjoyed it when I got home. Her tip went up markedly, by the way.

Feet too high

    On our visit yesterday, Dad kept complaining about something that sounded like his feet were too high. I'm pretty sure my hearing still works, but I certainly got an insight into how he feels when he thinks everybody is mumbling. Because what he was saying is that his feet were too hot. I took a blanket away and then he was happy. But it is frustrating when communication is so hard.
    Today has been worrying because I got a call in the morning that his left arm was very swollen. They thought it might be a clot but weren't sure. They had ordered an ultrasound; this fortunately can be done onsite. I haven't heard further, so presumably it wasn't anything dangerous or life-threatening. The plan as of this morning was for him to go to dialysis like usual. I assume that this is what happened. He also had a lot of coughing and congestion yesterday. Hopefully he has been given something for that.
    Today is also my last night hosting Columbia's chapter of Drinking Liberally. Possibly it's the last night for the club altogether, but hopefully not. Anyway, two years from now when the President, Congress and the Supreme Court are all Republican, no doubt there will be an uptick in interest. Regardless, it was a fun time and I wish I could continue. I'm just too stressed to do it justice now.

Solving problems

    Let's see if I can get all this in order. When I moved here, I didn't bring my almost very good stereo setup from my Dad's house because of the almost part. The tuner had been hit by lightning at some point and the sound would drop out frustratingly. Rather than hunt down a new tuner, I just bought a cheap radio/CD player at Big Lots. And it worked ok, but developed an annoying short in the volume knob, such that there was a lot more snap crackle and pop than I needed. I also had a portable CD player that would play CD-Rs, even data ones. It worked great except that I bought it without a power supply and the one I got from Radio Shack doesn't really fit. So Amelia the cat knocked it out of commission regularly and getting it plugged up again took many tries.
    So my brother got me a keen mini-stereo system that would play CD-Rs, including data ones, and also the iPods that he also gave me. (Quite a guy!) The deal with the data CDs is that I have a couple of dozen of them with old-time radio shows on them. As I mention now and again, I listen to them regularly. Now life was satisfactory for years, until some yahoo broke the antenna off my car. Then I felt the need for something that would play cassette tapes so that one day I might replace the stereo and antenna in my car. (One assumes they don't make them with cassette players anymore.) So I bought another mini-stereo system. This one has a 3 CD changer and plays CD-Rs, but not data ones.
    And THEN... (I sound like a four-year-old telling a story.) We had a cold snap and none of the CD players would work. (The one in the car won't work if it's chilly at all, one reason why I'd like to replace it.) So I went out to find furniture to put the mini-stereos on to get them off the cold floor. And I have succeeded. AND I got Dad a radio to listen to football games on, but the season's over, and it plays AM stations better than any of my other radios, including especially the first one with the short in the volume knob that started this story. SO I can listen to Columbia's Spanish station Ocho Cuarenta 840 AM again. Whew! That's a long way to go for little point! Point is, I've got better noise choices than before and am pleased.
    Last night's dreams were again bizarre, but all I can remember is my Dad inexplicably buying a mansion in Charleston, then I was driving around town because he was in his current real-life condition looking for a better facility for him to stay in. The town in question looked a great deal more like New York than Columbia or Charleston. Then I was in a museum but it had a canyon through it. Struck me as normal at the time.

Anyway I liked the earthquake

    Not to suggest for a moment that my dreams are more interesting than my real life, but they certainly continue to be odd. Last night's involved my bete noire. You know a subject's bad if I won't blog about it. It was somewhat in the direction of a nightmare, since I was mainly banging my bete noire on the head, but it was fairly cartoonish/ Three Stoogish violence. My dad and mom were around, more or less in command of their faculties. Then there was an earthquake, which was even more cartoonish, or perhaps stagy. Outside rows of trees were sliding by one another, exactly like stage props. It was a dream, though, so I took it as an earthquake. I got a big kick out of it, and quit banging anybody on the head long enough to call everyone's attention to it. Sooo a wild, wacky, obviously stress-induced dream with a certain amount of levity.
    I don't know why the cats have quit sleeping on my legs. After 9 years of Amelia doing so and several months of Harry doing so, it's almost weird having them sleep elsewhere, no matter how much I may have wished they would from time to time over the years. Mind you, it's only been two nights. But still. I guess Harry chased Amelia off and then when the territory was won, he lost interest, and she's either afraid to come back or she likes the new heated cat bed. On the bright side, if somebody comes along who wants to get married, she can finally do so without fear of claws in the night. Probably.

New dimensions in odd dreams

    Or directions, perhaps. Well in real life I was horizontal at the time, so maybe that affected it, but in the dream I was horizontal too, but more like quadrupedal. I've been hanging out with kitties too long I guess. My friend Robert had phoned me, but I received it on a gigantic unit built into the wall, like a combination computer/TV/phone, which as I say I was stretched out to. I couldn't quite reach it though. What he was sending me was a program that allowed me to scream out all my stresses and anxieties. Although I couldn't reach it, I gave it a pretty good shot, quadrupedally or not.
    The rest of the night I kept dreaming I was getting phone calls as in hearing the ring. This may be a shortcoming of a) listening to old-time radio shows that might feature ringing phones and b) choosing an old-time phone sound for my cell phone ring tone. Calls in the middle of the night are never good news, so I wasn't the least bit bothered, just relieved that there were no real calls and thus no real bad news.
    Margaret hit her leg with her cane, causing a painful bruise, so she isn't up to visiting Dad today. I may or may not go just to show the flag and make sure he has his football game on. I now remember that there was additional craziness yesterday that I left out of the craziness post. That was high levels of potty-mouth behavior on Dad's hall. Not us, for a change! There must have been something in the water yesterday. Or tryptophan flashbacks.

Too much crazy

    We had a pleasant visit with Dad this afternoon, except a lady from somewhere on the hall was loose in her wheelchair and kept rolling in. She just mumbled to herself, so there was no way to find out what she wanted; all we wanted was for her to leave. The first time it happened, I had stepped out due to a phone/WiFi problem, so I missed much of the adventure. Later, though, she tried to come in again. I told her politely but firmly (and fairly loudly) that it wasn't her room and she couldn't come in; eventually a staff member turned up and rolled her away.
    Dad said she comes in now and again; Margaret didn't like that. When we were leaving, we just about closed the door, and I said to the same staff member (probably not as softly as I should have), "We're just closing the door to keep the crazy lady out. Everybody else is welcome." She said that that lady would be having her medication soon. Presumably, that will slow her down.
    Not that it's cray-cray exactly, but the other issue of the evening was that Dad's egg salad sandwich was cold. I didn't tell Margaret that all the other 8 billion people on Earth eat their egg salad sandwiches cold on purpose; I just let her run down, and it warmed up by itself anyway. I did suggest putting the saucer on top of the bowl of soup that was too hot, but this idea did not seem to appeal.
    Dad's OK, but he still thinks it's a good idea to burp like b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b, i.e., exactly like crazy people have been portrayed in cartoons for the last 80 years or so. Pointing out that this isn't actually burping doesn't make any impression either. No big problem, so long as he doesn't mind going to the dementia ward with wheelchair grannie.

College gets easy

    I've mentioned and others have mentioned the often-seen dream where you're back in college and it's finals time and you completely forgot to drop a class that you never attended and OMG! And I've noted that recently my college-type dreams have gotten a lot more warm and friendly. Last night's entered a new realm, however. I was getting a little stressed about my classes and somebody (official) told me that it was no problem, all I had to do was keep a count of how much time I spent in the library. A few hours per day would be enough to ensure good grades, regardless of my actual class performance or grasp of the material.
    Now things in real life are getting pretty damn bad when your stress dreams are taking a stand and trying to help you chill out. I admit that I was rather delighted. Also I was in school with a lot of my Facebook friends (a lot of whom of course were people I was really in school with decades back) which was also fun.
    The family got together at Pizzeria Uno for a late lunch, early dinner. Grand-niece Mia had had enormous fun at EdVenture children's museum, so she was quite well-behaved and even smiled for a picture. (The other 95 or so pictures were also cute.) A lovely time was had by all.

A sweet Thanksgiving

    Well I for one was a little anxious about how Thanksgiving would go, because we couldn't bring Dad to Margaret's family's gathering without an ambulance, or rather two, one coming and one going. So that wasn't too workable. And we all wanted to go, but we none of us wanted to leave Dad alone on Thanksgiving. A quandary.
    As luck turned out, all planning was thrown off by a toddler having tantrums. My brother Malcolm was with Dad waiting on my sister Anne, who was waiting on her son James, his wife Cristina and especially their two-year-old Mia. This left all of them hungry except for Mia, but Dad was never left alone. When Anne arrived at Lowman Home, Malcolm joined us for Thanksgiving food and fellowship; shortly afterwards, I joined Anne. When James and family arrived, they visited briefly, then I led them to Bunny's house. Anne found her way when Malcolm came back to sit with Dad. Everybody had a pretty fabulous time. Well, Dad would have preferred to have the staff put him back to bed, but I know he was delighted with both visits from Mia. And we got some cool pictures. So hey-- everything turned out well. It's good to have a Thanksgiving you can be thankful for!

Slave to habit

    I've noted before what a slave I am to force of habit. Still am. My front door no longer closes too well. In short, you don't need to use the doorknob to open it; you can just shove your way in, even if it's locked. No problem; I can just turn the deadbolt. However, six years of habit do not shake loose easily. I cannot get myself to remember not to bother to lock the bottom lock nor to lock the deadbolt. Ever. Not once. I'm sure I'll get used to it, or it will get warm again and the door will expand. No bets on which happens first.
    Surprisingly, Dad has dialysis today. Normally on holidays at the other facility, he and everyone else would get all their days rearranged to give staff a day off. I guess ambulance cases get priority because of the number of personnel involved. I wouldn't have guessed.

Turned out well, though

    By today, sister Anne was feeling enough better to visit with Dad, so she, brother Malcolm, Margaret and I made a very nice visit. Malcolm and Anne had gotten Dad a new TV, which they set up for him, miraculously just in time for "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?" Then we found TCM and were captivated by "That's Entertainment" sequels, which everyone should go out of their way to see.
    All but Dad were joined by William at Lizard's Thicket, where we had a lengthy wait but then were pleasantly surprised by the much better than usual food. Well I wasn't, but I only order one thing (baked chicken, dark meat) and it's always good. But everybody else was. Other than that, due to grody weather, it wasn't such a great day. But hey! The cat's behaved. That counts as a miracle in my book every time!

Rotten stinking luck

    My sister Anne has been sick all month, so she couldn't come down to see Dad. (She, brother Malcolm, and her son James and his young family, all live in the Boston area.) As of Sunday, she thought she was getting better so she made her drive down. But unfortunately, she got worse instead, so now she's in town but can't see any of us for fear of passing it on to Dad, if not directly than through us. It's nothing serious, just a bad cold/flu type thing, but nothing to share with 94-year-olds. I'm sure it will clear up enough not to be contagious, and anyway there's such a thing as surgical masks. But it's just rotten stinking luck, and just not Thanksgivingy.
    I've been buying art and furniture. Cheap art and cheap furniture, of course, but still. It's almost like I've finally decided to move here after 6 years. Or like I've finally admitted that I won't ever be moving out with a girlfriend (since the place isn't big enough for two).

Dream movie

    Last night I had an ultra-weird dream even by my standards. Let's see if I can remember much of it. I was in the usual vast dormitory-like place. This time, though, my dad was there, too. Generally, it was a college dormitory, but apparently there was a nursing home attached. My dad had just been reassigned to a new room which was a leaky basement under a staircase. His bed was in a non-leaky section though, and they had sent along an extra mattress and box spring in case this set was uncomfortable.
    In real life, it was raining at the time, which might explain the rain in the dream. What I don't understand is why I kept hearing machinery noises; at approximately 6 on Sunday morning, there shouldn't have been any of that around. Anyway, in the dream, I had some extra sisters, all of whom were busily trying to get Dad into a private home.
    I wandered out to another room, where a movie was playing and I fell asleep. I thought I heard Robin Williams and identified the movie as "The Best of Times," a movie real John has never seen. Rapidly though it turned into a Richard Gere-Billy Crystal vehicle, wherein the two stars trade families and apparently communicate telepathically (even in Yiddish) with the new families. Even in the dream, this struck me as weird.
    There were a couple of strict old ladies, one of whom wrote me a bill for $7 for the movie. I was outraged, saying she should tear it up, that I was asleep during the movie. Then magically the movie turned into a meal. Stuffed flounder, I guess, but all I remember was the stuffing, which was all crabmeat and shrimp. Delicious! Suddenly I wasn't mad anymore and thought that they should charge me more, but for the seafood (which was still somehow part of the movie) and not the Richard Gere part.
    I hardly ever get to eat in a dream and it's hardly ever good if I do. The last time I remember doing so it was a gluten-inflected dream where I was eating pizza and then remembered that I can't. I don't remember any good dreams about food. Moreover, when I woke up, I badly needed the bathroom. I had been wishing that my brain could come up with some other approaches to waking me up in that situation other than having me dream about looking endlessly for urinals. If this is that solution, I hereby embrace it.
    Also also, in real life 35 years ago, Andy Durham and I and the daughters of the families we were staying with in Mulhouse, Alsace, France went to see "Days of Heaven" (Les Moissons du Ciel, or something like that) with Richard Gere. Can't speak for the girls, but Andy and I snored through it. Just a coincidence, no doubt.

Must be the comfort zone

    I got nothing, I'll admit it. However, I have been puzzled the last couple of days by wondrous weather that feels a lot different. Fifty degrees felt cold to very cold two days ago. Sixty degrees felt warm yesterday, but today feels cold. On the one hand, that must mean it's right around the human comfort zone. On the other, simpler explanations are also at hand. Two days ago it was windy, while yesterday was sunny. Today is sunny, too, but I didn't take my walk until the sun was coming down and I had to pass through a lot of shadows.
    Similarly odd is moving from environment to environment this time of year. The house is basically cold and dank. Outside is pleasant (daytime) or chilly (nighttime). The car is cold until I get going, and then because it's basically a greenhouse on wheels, it's too hot. Can't win, can you? Sorry about another content-free blog entry, but you were warned. Hey, no bad news from Dadville, so at least there's that! Due to the last home college football game, I couldn't visit him today either, but I'll be back on the job tomorrow. Sister is coming down early for Thanksgiving, so that'll be fun, too. Yay!

Yes he really did

    In the ultimate reversal of parent-child roles, Dad really did call me last night for a drink of water. Now I'll say again that I freely admit that I may be in denial about his condition. But still, he had had a long day. What wound up happening yesterday with regard to his gall bladder drain tube (which had fallen out) was that the hospital decided that he was asymptomatic and just left it out. What with transportation and waiting for same, this wound up taking nine or ten hours. So I guess he had a right to be a little tired and confused.
    Not that confused; he just couldn't find his call button. Anyway, he asked me to call the nurses's station and ask them for a cup of water and I did. They assured me that they would deliver, and also put his call button within reach. We were well pleased that his hospital trip turned out unexciting and are hoping that he continues to be asymptomatic and can do without the yucky gall bladder drain tube and bag. And that he got his drink of water.

Another minor disaster we can live with

    I got a call this morning from one of Dad's nurses that his drain had fallen out and so they were sending him back to Baptist Hospital to get it hooked up again. This is not the same as before; it didn't fail, but just fell out. There's no surgery involved this time. She thought that he would be back there this evening.
    Assuming all this turns out to be the case, I'm relaxed about it. Compared to the alternatives, I'm practically giddy about it. I'm sorry Margaret and I don't get to visit today. Hopefully, next time we'll remember the way. I think I forgot to mention that we park in a new place, that it's a bit of a hike to his room, and it's fairly easy to get confused, though hard to get too lost. The sight lines are good, I mean.
    It is a little nerve-wracking waiting to hear anything, and not knowing. Is the hospital going to keep him? Is he getting food? Will he be back in time for dialysis tomorrow? I'm optimistic and hope for the best, but I'd rather know than wonder.

If I don't walk, I forget to write

    That's it. That's the whole blog entry. Thanks for stopping in.
    No, but it's true. I habitually put off writing until I've taken my walk, in hopes that it might provide ideas, clear my mind or at least give me something to complain about. With this very cold weather, my desire to go out walking does not match that of my young cat Harry. (He has a much nicer fur coat, after all.) Today I went to both Walmart and Lowe's and to get a simple floor lamp, a light bulb and a filter for a replacement humidifier, I must have walked a couple of miles. I decided that that was enough walking for anybody. More to the point, I had to make supper, which took a while.
    William and I brought Dad a new lamp to make his room brighter, but we missed getting to visit by 10 or 20 minutes. As it's dialysis day, this wasn't a surprise. His missing phone had been found and he has a loaner TV now, so all is about as well as it can be.

Moved

    So they moved Dad to the long-term care area today. It went smoothly enough. The new room is more spacious than I was thinking, though smaller than the one he was in. It's also pretty dark; I'll have to go get him at least one floor lamp tomorrow. The social worker said they would loan him a TV until we could get him one, but word of that didn't filter down. Anyway, he says he can live without a TV.
    Weird thing was that he called both Margaret and me after he had been moved using his main cell phone, the one that he can use most easily. But although we could find the backup one easily enough, the main one was nowhere to be found. Calling it just got an immediate "Call ended," as if the battery were dead or the phone is switched off. We figured it was probably in the wheelchair with him, but we couldn't find it there. We alerted the staff at least, so they'll look for it when putting him to bed.
    We really like the staff in the new section, but of course we liked the staff in the old section. A good bunch all the way around, it seems. When we arrived, they had taken him down to the Activity Room where a bingo game was happening. He sat with them, but didn't play, but nor did he seem to mind. After bingo wound down, I asked about the TV in the room and they said we were free to watch, so we did until 5. I rolled him back to his room pulling the oxygen along no problem.
    The young man who brought Dad's supper didn't have any idea what to do with the tray table in relation to the wheelchair. I didn't either but had the advantage of knowing that he'd eaten from one while in the wheelchair before and figured it out pretty easily. I'm not sure how much he ate, but it seemed tasty. (Barbecue ribs sandwich, fries, ice cream.)
    Other funny thing: I figured we needed chairs and that although they would lend us a couple, these would likely be uncomfortable. So I stopped by the Habitat for Humanity ReStore. They had a dozen or more matching office chairs that were unusually comfortable. I got one for $7. Left the price tag on; hope it stays there!

Guilt by transference, football edition

    South Carolina has gotten another coach fired. We have made somewhat a tradition of it. It seems like every time we beat a favored home team, that school fires the coach. Truthfully, though, the only two I remember for sure are Philip Fulmer and now Will Muschamp.
    It was certainly an astonishing game. After three straight games where SC was leading in the fourth quarter by two touchdowns and then somehow managed to lose, this time they were playing staunchly and stoutly and still were headed to another loss. However, they blocked a field goal and then a punt, a man recovered his own fumble in the end zone for a tying touchdown and then they won it in overtime. Two days later, I'm still charged up about it.
    But all I wanted to say about firing of coaches was that sure we aren't Alabama, but we always put a lot of guys in the NFL. Sometimes our record isn't that great, but we've always had more than our share of bad breaks. Maybe these schools ought to wait a bit and think about it more and then fire their guy after he loses to somebody else. Come on! I feel guilty. (Granted not very. What a game!)

Juggling act

    This will be brief. For no reason that I know of (the kitties were even behaving!) I woke up at 4 in the morning, and then barely got back to sleep. I was functional as long as the sun was up (or illuminated cloudage anyway) but have been fading badly since getting back from Dadland. So here's a couple of very brief anecdotes before I go fall down.
    Aldi has a lot of gluten-free products these days. That isn't to say that they always will, but it's a little golden age. One is a mix for corn bread. I totally forgot that I usually don't eat GMO corn when I bought it, but what the hey. My idea was to buy this and a can of sliced peaches and see if it magically became peach cobbler.
    It sort of did. Anyway it wasn't terrible or even bad, but neither was it terrifically good. Needs vanilla pudding, I kept thinking. So when I tried to remove it from the fridge to cut off a piece and instead dropped most of it on the floor, it wasn't particularly tragic except for the doubts this engendered about my future as a professional peach cobbler juggler. And I was going to make a mint!
    Other anecdote even shorter. Especially without subjects and verbs. Dad was pretty sleepy again this afternoon and in fact woke up surprised that we were there even though we'd said big hellos when we got there. But when we were leaving, Margaret said that she would see him Wednesday and he corrected her! Hey, I know I'm grasping at straws. I remember saying similar things 3 1/2 years ago: it's always good to see that he's still in there! That's all.

That's no reason to take my blanket!

    Dad continues... not that great. His conversation was pretty limited today. At some point, I noticed that he didn't have his blanket so I asked him if he wanted it and he said he guessed so. Later, Margaret asked if he was warm and he said yes. So I asked if he was warm or cold and he said yes. So I took the blanket back, thinking he was warm. He said, "Why did he take my blanket?" And I said because he had said he was warm and he said, "That's no reason to take my blanket!" And of course he's right; I should have asked if he were uncomfortably warm. I certainly offered to give it back again but he declined. (It was very warm in the room, by the way.)
    It still appears that he's pretty on the ball in the morning but pretty feeble by the time we see him in the later afternoon. So it's hard to draw any definitive conclusions about how he's doing. I'm going to give the number of the facility doctor to my sister (also a doctor); maybe we can find out what she's thinking.
    Dream last night involved shows and shoes. I had free tickets to a big reunion show and was quite excited. I think the only name my brain could come up with was Duran Duran, but since I never cared for Duran Duran I think my brain just made it into big reunion show, unspecified. The venue was right across from my house, so I ran over. I'd forgotten to wear shoes, so at first I kept stretching my pants legs down over my feet. Then I realized I was carrying these clear plastic shoes, glass slippers more or less, so I put those on. But somehow I got relocated to a version of my parents' house with a version of my mother present. Then a bunch of people I know in real life but mainly interact with on Facebook lately came by to give me a ride to the show. But I decided to walk. This time the shoes I was carrying were weird hard plastic clogs, which I was reluctant to put on, but did. The things we'll do to see Duran Duran, or somebody like them!

Pop hates the Beatles

    Actually, Pop doesn't; this is the title of an Allan Sherman parody song from back in the day, maybe not before my time, but before my ability to remember anything. Dad liked the Beatles, or at least "Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da"; I don't know about anything else. No, but it has occurred to me over the years of driving Margaret about that it's interesting to hang around with someone old enough to have disapproved of the Beatles. The other day, "Sergeant Pepper's" and "With a Little Help From My Friends" came on the radio, so I asked her.
    She couldn't remember. When I mentioned that it was the '60s, she said that that was 33 years ago. "Would that it were true!" I said. When I noted that the song we were hearing was 47 years old but that Beatlemania was 50 years ago, it didn't help. I asked if her daughters, now in their 70s, liked them and she said she guessed so. Apparently, I'm hanging around with someone old enough to have been indifferent to the Beatles, which is also kind of impressive.

Hey, new dream architecture!

    I've blithered at length before about how so many of my dreams take place in one immense building, like an entire university in one building, also including a mall, parking garage, hotel, etc. Last night, the scene shifted. A series of discrete (or discreet, depending which one's funnier) buildings, all boxy, all made of clear glass. I don't remember what the first two were, but the third one was something like a library with many computer terminals. I was looking for one that was unoccupied and couldn't find one. When I woke up, I was shocked and pleased to have had a dream where I was looking for something and it wasn't a urinal. Sorry, I get so tired of that kind of dream.
    There was also some business where I was outside, walking along the sidewalk and some woman spoke very loudly. I said, "Shut up!" or something like it. It turned out that she was a jogger passing me, and I was very embarrassed. What I can't figure out is under what circumstances it wouldn't have been rude to say that. The real one, I guess: the voice almost certainly came from the old-time radio program I was playing at the time. I guess sleeping me realized it and then dreaming me provided a person for the voice to have come from, and then I was embarrassed for being rude in my sleep. Or some damn thing.
    I saw Dad's new room. It's smaller than his current one, and spend-his-entire-pension expensive. But he can afford it and certainly deserves it. And as I say, it might provide a kick in the butt for him to try harder to get home. Or at least stronger. Let's hope it does.

Medicare A

    The social worker at Lowman Home called to say that because Dad was no longer making progress in physical therapy, he would no longer be covered by Medicare A. Who cares?, I thought, we can afford to pay, but apparently the rehab area is only for Medicare A patients. Or anyway he has to move, and it can't be due to crush of business, because there are quite a few empty rooms just in his section.
    I'm puzzled because she says he hasn't made progress in weeks, whereas less than a week ago we had the care meeting and the physical therapists were praising him for his progress. Still, I suppose it's a matter of semantics. The overarching point is that he just hasn't got any stamina, and attempts to build it up don't appear to be working.
    So tomorrow we go to look at a private room, which I'm told is very nice, and talk about money, which I suspect isn't. As a piece of news, it's meaningless by itself; rather, the question is how does he take it? If he regards this as the facility giving up on him and he gives up on himself, it's bad news. If he regards it as a challenge and rededicates himself to recovery (like he did 3 years ago) then it's good news. Then "Any day without physical therapy is a wasted day" was his motto. We sure hope to hear it again.

My sweetheart's here

    OK, today's visit with Dad wasn't the greatest. He was in bed again and so again mostly sleepy. And the ringer on the Jitterbug phone had somehow been turned off and I could find no way to get it back on again. But he did get a thank you certificate from the facility for his service as a veteran, and that was nice. And he did provide another indelible moment.
    He seemed to be struggling so I asked if there was anything he needed. "No," he said. "My sweetheart's here. That's all I need." I'll pause while everybody says, "Awwwww!"
    Almost as impressive, I got home and the kitties had not destroyed the house. At all! After four hours! I think somebody switched them for lookalikes.

Not silent but still deadly

    I went out this afternoon and found Harry over another dead squirrel. I bought him a breakaway collar with jingle bells-- actually three of them now-- expressly to avoid this happening. The collar is still on him and is still jingly. Maybe he can move without moving his neck somehow, but I doubt it.
    I'm really bummed out about it. I feel the same when I run over a squirrel. I feel responsible for the unnecessary and pointless death of another creature. And I'm not much comforted by circle of life reassurances. When a creature we brought here from Africa kills a creature we brought here from England for no reason but because he can, it says a lot about us, but not a lot about the circle of life.
    Of course it's possible that the squirrel just dropped dead. It still seems unlikely that any animal not a baby or a cripple could be caught by a jingly cat. In rigor mortis, the squirrel appeared to be in mid-step; I would think a squirrel killed by a cat would go limp. Regardless, I'll redouble efforts to indooricize this kitty, and try to come up with more fun things for him to do indoors or outdoors than killing squirrels. Or just feed him so much that he's too slow to catch them.

What a difference WiFi makes

    I did in fact take the laptop to today's visit with Dad, hooked it to Lowman Home's WiFi, and seconds later had the They Might Be Giants live first album downloaded. Then Steve Wynn (not the Vegas douchebag but the Dream Syndicate singer) posted a link to a free download of the Dream Syndicate's reunion show in Atlanta a couple of months ago that I had wanted so badly to go to. That one took a little longer, like 15 minutes, but considerably better than an hour and a half only to fail, like last night.
    We had a frustrating visit. Apparently, he's alert and perky all morning and all early afternoon, but by the time we get there, his stamina is gone and it's like visiting a two-year-old. He napped most of the time we were there, fiddled with the bed's elevation endlessly when he was awake, and then complained about the food when it arrived. So not big fun. However, he was calling Margaret all morning and she says he sounded good, speaking clearly and intelligently. I wish he could just nap in the morning and stay up for us, but I guess when you're sleepy you're sleepy and when you're not you're not. Ah well.

Still the king of poor timing

    They Might Be Giants, for the last year or more, have been performing their first album as a live show. Now they're offering the live version of this album as a free download. I received this news just as I was about to use up my monthly data allowance. I thought I might get in under the wire. I thought wrong.
    Shortly after I started my seven-minute download, I got the push notification on the phone that I had used up my 3 gigs, and my 7 minutes suddenly became a half hour. Then an hour. Then an hour and a half. Then the laptop went to sleep (You've heard that about me, haven't you?) and the phone no longer had anything connected to its hot spot. So I changed the laptops setting so it would never go to sleep when plugged in and there was still an hour on the download. A half hour later, I checked whether Harry wanted to come back in (he did) and also checked the download. It had failed.
    Why not just use the phone? A) because I needed an email address and I don't know how to get email on the phone and B) because They Might Be Giants said not to, and I'm very obedient. I get fast internet again in a week so I should be able to get the download then no problem. Or I can take the laptop to Lowman Home and borrow their WiFi tomorrow. I probably wouldn't have mentioned it at all except that it took so freaking long that it's now too late for me to think clearly enough to write anything clever. Oh and in hopes that everybody will go get TMBG's first album live downloaded for free. Just don't do it when your data allowance has run out. Believe me!

High tea

    Or I May Never Eat Again. Since my lunches started being nearly always vegan, I've been making it a habit to have something around 3 or 4 so I don't feel too hungry. Nothing gigantic as a rule; usually chips and hummus. Today, however, I had another factor: a recipe. A recipe that called for ripe bananas. And the bananas, finally, were ripe.
    So off I went! The recipe was for peanut butter chocolate chip mini-muffins, gluten free of course. My friend Michelle found it and shared it on Facebook. And heck, I had all the ingredients except for the ripe bananas! (And the vanilla, as it turns out, but I'll save that sad story for another day. I will gladly post the recipe if anyone is interested, but mine didn't turn out so great. The chocolate chips, even though I didn't have the full cup's worth either, overwhelmed everything else. This makes them hard to stop eating, but I could have just eaten the chocolate chips and saved a lot of time and cleanup. I can taste the banana and there's a hint of peanut butter, but so far they're a bit of a disappointment. Maybe with half the chocolate chips, or all of the vanilla, or even riper bananas. Ah well; I got over the muffin idea quickly and made a loaf with most of it, so at least it was a quicker disappointment than it might have been.
    But my go-to tea-time treat since Aldi came out with their excellent gluten-free bread is egg-salad sandwiches. It's like 2006 again! Michelle had a brilliant suggestion when I mentioned getting McCormick's garam masala, which was that it's yummy in chicken salad. Well it's yummy in egg salad, too! The quest to curry everything continues! But first, I have  to eat some more of these terrible muffins. Supper is unlikely to happen.

That one that isn't cognitive dissonance

    So Dad had his second care meeting today. And it was quite reassuring. He's doing quite a lot better rather quickly at his physical and occupational therapy. Meanwhile, as I mentioned the other day, he's calling Margaret rather frequently, particularly in the morning. All of this presents quite a different picture from what I get from visiting with him four times a week. We visit in the later afternoon, by which time he's pretty much tuckered out and mostly inclined to sleep. So it's really cool to see or at least hear about another side. I don't know what this is called except that it isn't cognitive dissonance. Perspective on the limitations of one's perceptions is not mellifluous, but more or less covers it.
    Since I was out there already for the care meeting and brother Malcolm is in town and available, I asked him to take Margaret out for her afternoon visit. I was able to run some errands and most importantly catch up on paying Dad's bills. Funny how easy it is to put stuff off another day because you've already missed the last pickup of the day. Maybe that's-- naw, that isn't cognitive dissonance either. Just plain laziness and procrastination.

Feets finally doing their stuff

    I mentioned at the time getting Superfeet insoles ($50) instead of new hiking boots (c. $150). I have been unclear ever since as to how brilliant an idea this was or wasn't. They seem like really good insoles, but I spend nearly every night with odd pins and needles sensations in my lower legs, especially the left one. I am a boy who has had entirely too many odd pins and needles sensations already due to decades of B12 shortages, so I haven't really enjoyed their resumption.
    However, it seems like it's more a hit-a-nerve kind of thing rather than a throwback to gluten-eating days. We find again that Johnny does not in fact know how to tie his shoes. ("Again?!" Again.) When I keep them slightly looser, whatever nerve was being hit is hit no longer, so I'm finally starting to feel normal(ly?) again in the pedal areas. Should still probably get new boots, though.
    By the way, there was an election yesterday. I'm still open to brilliant suggestions for emigration destinations. Slightly more so since yesterday. AmeriKocha is no place for me.

That famous river in Africa

    Look, I know I'm in denial; I've got no problem with it. Dad is probably not dying, but things are not likely to be the same again. However, I've been carrying around his shopping bag with a blanket and pillow that we took with him to dialysis three times a week for three and a half years. Well, not carrying, but it rides in the car with me. Now Margaret wants to do Dad's laundry all the time. Something about making sure there's fabric softener in there. Today, she didn't bring a bag and couldn't find one. So I went out to the car and found the shopping bag no problem. Quickly, it was an empty shopping bag. I may be in denial, but I'm not crazy. Much.
    Brother Malcolm is down to visit and we had a fun visit within a visit walking the grounds out there. We are endeavoring to get him weather that is at least as warm as Boston's. It's been kookoo lately, though.
    Also kookoo was the banana the Home served Dad with supper. I am an admirer of green bananas, but even I wouldn't have tried to eat this one. Not that it was all green, but it definitely is too green. No sweat for Dad; he didn't want it anyway. I brought it home to ripen. And generally he is pleased with the food service out there. And that's all that counts.

I want out! Oh.

    Amelia the cat has spent about 9 years indoors and more or less happy. Last night and again this morning, she decided finally that she was jealous of Harry's right to go out whenever he demanded, so she went out, too. On the night of the first freeze of the year. Not surprisingly, Miss Norwegian Forest Cat decided with great alacrity that indoors isn't so bad. Twice. I don't know if this will be repeated; given our climate, it's almost certainly going to be warmer again, so she can go out if she wants. I'll just get another jingle bell breakaway collar.
    Harry, on the other hand, spent ages outside, particularly this morning when it was definitely below freezing. He's the shorthair, so he ought to have more trouble with the cold than Amelia. On the other hand, he has a very high metabolism, or where does all this food go? I prefer that idea strongly over kitty bulimia. (Also, he sleeps on my legs and gives off a lot of heat.) I still think when it gets colder he'll adapt to being an all-indoor kitty. I still wish I knew for sure that he knows how to use the litter box. All will be revealed in time, I suppose.

Oh, a mixed bag

    Yesterday, Margaret called before going out to visit Dad and said that she'd been talking to him on the phone and that he was back to himself, talking clearly and making sense and also apparently up and ordering people around. So hopefully she and William found this to be the case during their visit. Unfortunately, it wasn't so much on our visit today. He was wrapped up in bed and very cold and was very hard to hear. Mostly back in sleepy guy mode.
    I had bought the iPad because my sister Anne had wanted to video call via FaceTime some Sunday. We did and it was pretty neat. But midway, I noticed that Dad didn't have his oxygen in his nose. The machine was still on, so presumably nobody had discontinued it. A member of staff was in the room to bring him ice so I asked her about it. She hooked him up; I wish I could say that he perked up immediately, but he didn't. Still, if he needed oxygen and wasn't getting it, that would explain why he was cold and his energy was low. We also video called via Google Hangouts on my phone, which was also fun. It was a big day for technology.
    Brother Malcolm is heading down roughly tomorrow. It will be good to see him. Hopefully, he'll be able to see some improvement during his visit. Knock on wood.

Snow? Seriously?

    Yeah yeah, where you live it probably isn't weird to have snow on November 1st. Here it's a record for earliest ever. The accumulations happened maybe 20 miles west of here, so "here" is here construed loosely. But the official weather station is at the metro airport and they got snow, so I think it counts.
    Here where I am no snow was to be seen except for a second on the windshield. Where they got it though, it even accumulated, up to 3 inches. Kind of weird to have that much so near and none here. Might be a heat island effect; might be that government weather control apparatus Art Bell used to talk about all the time.
    Anyway, it's nice it happened on a Saturday and doesn't seem to be affecting roads at all. There's a football game this evening which is likely to be pretty sloppy, but I like to think everybody will be safe. Because of football, I can't take Margaret to see Dad (or at least I can't and then ever get home) but William's car is newer and he's a good driver. I have high confidence that they will have a good visit. Only drawback: kids don't get a snow day! And I already have my gluten-free bread and almond milk, so I can't join the panic buying. Pretty minor drawbacks, I'm thinking.

DNR

    A nurse at Lowman was talking with Dad about his situation. We had it set up for them to use heroic measures to save him if he seems to be dying. She feels that in his case, this is a bad idea, that heroic measures would mean broken bones and if it somehow saved him, he would be in much worse shape than he is in now with little ability to recover. So essentially she talked him into a DNR (do not resuscitate) order. This was before he went back to the hospital. In fact, the night before he went back to the hospital, at nearly 11, she called me to tell me about it, which seems ultra-creepy but is almost certainly mere coincidence.
    Yesterday, she brought it up again with Margaret present. Dad said that he didn't want CPR, it would hurt and it wouldn't do any good. This seemed more than a little coached, but there you are, he said it. Margaret was upset, but said she would abide by Dad's wishes. I pointed out that although he has had congestive heart failure, nobody can say for sure that he's had a heart attack. The probability is that CPR wouldn't be called for anyway. I just wanted to make sure that nobody gave up on him in the event of some other problem. She said that they wouldn't. I signed, Dad signed, and he wanted Margaret to sign, too, which she did bravely.
    Then it turned out that there was another form that also needed to be signed. That one was for the attending physician. It said that the doctor had explained to Dad the options. He didn't want to sign it because "that would be a lie." (She hadn't explained the options; the nurse had instead.) The nurse was puzzled until I clarified what Dad was objecting to and I said he wouldn't sign it until the doctor came and talked to him. Then he relented and said he would sign it. But hell, I was just thrilled that the old fellow was still the sharpest person in the room.

Good for morale

    Dad had an appointment at the heart clinic to have his pacemaker checked today. Lowman Home sent him via wheelchair and van, which made me a little nervous since he travels by ambulance and stretcher otherwise. But it went well. They needed me along to sign things, and I was glad to help.
    Midway through, in one of the waiting areas, a well-regarded local reporter from yesteryear named Clark Surratt introduced himself, though not by name. He was with the State newspaper (our daily) back when both the state and the newspaper were seeing better days; he was a kick-ass political reporter. He recognized Dad (or saw his name on the sign-in sheet, or both). He said he remembered Dad as a great interview, with excellent command of his facts, unlike the politicians he had to interview. And that Dad had a terrific reputation. It was good for morale.
    The appointment ran over two hours since he had to have his pacemaker checked, do labs, get an echocardiogram and see the doctor. Eventually his oxygen started to run low. So the woman from Lowman borrowed an oxygen cannister until she could get Dad back to the van. When we were done, I ran their cannister back up to the third floor, my first time running up two flights of stairs with an oxygen cannister.
    Doctor said his heart is weak, but not weaker. His labs were great except for the kidneys. So in other words, he might not be looking his best, but he's doing pretty well. So yay!

Me and furniture

    I wonder why my brain doesn't work around questions of furniture. It occurs to me lately that I could live in this small apartment better with simple stuff like shelves and side tables. I honestly don't think it's because I'm cheap; I think there's some part of the brain involving spatial relationships that's missing. Or I guess it's mostly inactive. I have bought and used shelves in the past. So it can be done. I just mostly don't. Of course, having cats might have something to do with this. One does get used to the idea that stuff that can be jumped or climbed on is best avoided. But maybe the cats or I are evolving.
    Forgive goofiness. I had curry for lunch and am extra double sleepy. If this wasn't in English, all apologies.

Escape (NOT the pina colada song)

    Knowing me, I've probably used that one before. Regardless, I'm thrilled to say that Dad is out of the hospital. I wish I could say that he's well, but at least he's better, with a high probability of continuing to get better. We had a nice visit and were just giddy about him being out of the hospital. He was fairly confused, though, including thinking that it was the middle of the night. But hey, it was another long day.
    We weren't expecting an exciting ride home, but there was a vehicle fire on our (i.e. the non-rush-hour) side of the interstate. Not one of those flames-coming-from-under-the-hood type fires. The entire car was engulfed; it was really dramatic. I'm happy to say that rubbernecking was at a minimum and we got by it in good time. And Margaret saw some civilians, so apparently the people in the car got out ok. So one hopes anyway!

Inertia, or momentum

    Did not want to get up this morning. Once up, just wanted to go back to bed. Once out of bed again, didn't want to do anything still. Finally decided to go to Congaree Creek Heritage Preserve for old time's sake and do the quick 15 minutes in, 15 minutes out stroll just to say I'd done something. And of course once on the train, I went like a freight train and couldn't stop. I forgot my iPod though and so alternated between beeps and boops on one create your own music phone app and Indian raga drone on another. Yes I know I should be enjoying the silence of nature, but where I was I was more likely to get the noise of 12th St. Extension or the interstate. So beeps and boops were an improvement.
    When I reached Congaree Creek, something very large jumped into it. Or anyway something that made a big splash. Should have been an otter but I didn't see its head swimming away. Could have been a gator. Definitely not a fan of beeps and boops. The wary and silent hunter I will never be, I'm afraid.

Zzzzzzz

    Well we had a very dull visit with Dad today, but we didn't mind. He pretty nearly slept the entire time, but we enjoyed the fact that he was breathing easily, barely coughing at all, and not bedeviled by copious phlegm when he did. So yay for Mucinex!
    He told the nurse that he was looking forward to seeing us and told it to Margaret on the phone, too. We were wondering if he was drugged. But honestly, I think he just was exhausted from weeks of bronchitis and coughing and was finally catching up on his rest now that he was able. So it sucked for us that we didn't get a fun visit and even more for him. But we were very, very relieved that he's doing better and we'll look forward to seeing him again either in the hospital or hopefully at Lowman Home.

Maybe a little progress

    Margaret was very worried talking to Dad on the phone last night; he seemed to be out of his head. But there's no question that dialysis takes a lot out of him in the best of circumstances, and that being in the hospital is not the best of circumstances. So presumably he was out of sorts because of having had dialysis earlier in the day.
    Our visit today wasn't great, but was somewhat reassuring. He's still confused and clumsy, but he was rational and reasonably cheerful. He's still frustrated that he has trouble calling Margaret on the phone, but he practiced with us present and was doing a little better. He seemed to be skipping numbers, understandable with macular degeneration.
    Again we were there when his supper arrived, and Margaret again fed him all he wanted to eat. And we did get him to sing to her a little bit. We didn't like that he had to ask repeatedly what day it is, but then we considered that half the time we don't know what day it is either. We just have a lot more places to look it up. So not too alarming.
    In another realm, I left the cats together with not too much food, and they didn't destroy the house a bit. I was so proud.

Angrying the blood

    My friend Terry, also known as one-fourth of the readership of this blog, likes to quote Satchel Paige on fried foods. Satch said to avoid them, because they "angry the blood." I think I know exactly what he was talking about. Folks back then, especially Southern blacks, tended to fry in pork fat, usually from fat back. I just did something like that.
    The other week, when the Fair was still going on, I was having difficulty getting to my usual Publix store. So I started improvising. I found to my surprise that Aldi sells uncured bacon with no preservatives. I was looking for some kind of meat for my pasta e fageoli (or in pop culture speak, pasta fazoo). The first attempt didn't turn out too great because I had forgotten over the years how to make bacon, and Aldi's directions weren't too useful.
    So yesterday, I tried again. Also in the interim, Aldi brought back their brown rice spaghetti noodles. The result was much better. However, I'm finding it to be quite angrying to the blood. And so I don't think it's the frying; I think it's the sodium. Sodium in bacon; sodium in fatback. It's nice that the uncured bacon doesn't have any nitrites, but dang; still too salty for me. Also I got a lot more indigestion than I did in the olive oil version of the dish. (Yeah, yeah yeah; bacon AND bacon grease. Probably gilding the lily.)
    So bacon sketti probably won't be tried again unless I half the bacon and throw out the bacon grease and use olive oil instead. It's tasty, though, and fun. Ahhhh what the hey! I need some angry blood anyway.

Progress, officially

    Dad is headed out of the ICUniverse, back to the 8th floor on his way back to Lowman Home. The leaving the IICU part happens later this evening; I think they're just trying to feed him first. Lowman Home might take a little while, or now. I don't think most places take admissions, even readmissions, on weekends. Also he's still sick. The Mucinex is not so making a lot of headway, although I guess there's some. As to brain activity, he still says he can't get the phone to work and can't understand why it works for everybody else. I imagine he just has a block. He's hoping there's a better phone in the new room.
    I absolutely can't get straight that it's still Thursday, but if you were puzzled by my reference to the weekend above, that isn't why I said that. He has dialysis again tomorrow, which will suck up most of the day, so Friday's forfeit. For us, it's pretty much already the weekend.
    I like the 8th floor; I like the stairs. I like running up... oh, about half of them. Although whether I run or walk, I always run out of steam at the same place, the 6th floor. Spirit willing; knees weak.

The usual roller-coaster ride

    Yesterday, Dad didn't seem well at all. The congestion had gotten even worse, but more to the point, his brain didn't seem to be there hardly at all. We were more than a little worried. However, before we left, his supper was delivered, and Margaret was happy to feed as much as he wanted of it to him.
    Today, he went to dialysis a third day in a row. I'm pretty sure that two of these weren't full sessions; Monday they must have brought him late, so yesterday they took him back to finish it. And no doubt that contributed to strain and nervousness. I had the strong sense that he was more or less asleep with his eyes open.
    We didn't visit today because of full dialysis and because Margaret is again having leg problems. But she talked to Dad and to the nurses; apparently he was eating everything put in front of him. He said that he hadn't eaten in three days, which either demonstrates that he's still out of it or that he was so out of it yesterday that he can't remember it. I prefer the latter interpretation.
    I recall that in the past, anesthesia knocked Dad for a loop for days. One assumes that getting a drain installed, even replacing an earlier one, might require anesthesia. So hopefully that's it and we're passed it. They also started giving him Mucinex for the congestion so hopefully lessening that is helping, too. We'll look forward to seeing him tomorrow and hope for the best.

PB&J

    Since Aldi started selling REALLY good gluten-free bread, a lot of stuff has come back into my life, from French onion soup (of sorts) to egg-salad sandwiches. But the humble PB&J is no longer particularly humble. Organic peanut butter costs $7. Raspberry preserves are $3 or $4; I can't remember. The bread is $4 for a little loaf. And it winds up tasting like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
    What this tells us is that the manufacturers do a good job making fake crap. The cheap peanut butter with all the preservatives and ingredients having nothing to do with peanuts really does taste like real peanut butter. All those ingredients presumably make it possible to make it cheap and sell it for a long time. (That's what preservatives do after all.) And the same is true of the jelly and the bread.
    But I think companies underestimate us, and always have. I think people want companies to figure out how to mass-produce food without all the preservatives. If the costs came down, everybody would eat healthier food. It stands to reason that if the crappy food is cheaper, most people will save money and buy crappy food. I myself know that I should eat organic, but I just can't see paying the surcharge required to do so. I don't know, but I think the glut of preservatives are what is producing all the autistic kids today. My own autistic tendencies have at least tempered a bit since I started laying off preservatives. Try us, won't you companies? We might surprise you.

Can't Touch This

    Boy am I glad I made yesterday's posting short! Even though it was an hour-plus into MC Hammer's State Fair closing show, (and keeping in mind that he doesn't have (cough) much material), I nevertheless got to hear "You Can't Touch This" very clearly on the walk over to the fairgrounds for one last set of photos, that time with the real camera. I was a lot happier to hear this than I would have expected. Not that I ever had any kick against Hammer; I just liked "Superfreak" so well that I've always been disappointed to hear the imitation instead. But last night it made for grins. I wish I could have gone to the show; I would have liked to hear "Addams Family" and "Pray," too. Ah well, it was for a good cause.
    I should have paid and gone in anyway, because you really can't get any useful pictures from across a busy road on the wrong side of a fence. But they were OK. It was mainly just an excuse to take my daily walk, which I had missed, anyway.
    Much as I love the Fair, I am ridiculously pleased that it is gone. To be able to go to the store, and if I forget something, I can just go back-- what luxury! The football team is on the road this weekend. They play Auburn, which is unlikely to be fun, but at least there's the silver lining that I'll be able to get around for almost two weeks straight. Quite a change! I've got to move out of this neighborhood one day.
    What I was planning to write about was my weird feet. I seem to have reached a resolution in the old boots/ new insoles struggle. But I guess I'll wait on some kind of definitive results to share such exciting news. Stay on the edge of that chair!

Much relieved

    Yesterday's reassuring posting proved to be accurate. Granted, Dad is still coughing frequently, but he was so much better today than before. And he ate his supper like a hungry man. And he was friendly to staff and not the least bit irascible. But oddly, what I was most relieved about might be construed as a negative: he's eager to go back to Lowman Home. I guess I was worried that he wouldn't like it, but apparently he does. We had a very nice visit.
    Also I'm relieved that the Fair is over. As much as I love it, it's a major pain in the butt. That said, I'm signing off now to try to get one last set of photos. I guess I'm too late to hear Hammer. Darn it!

And better yet

    Or so I hope. I got the call last night that Dad was already in the stepdown ICU (which is such a less alarming name than the double ICU, which they also call it). He was having trouble remembering Margaret's number, so they called me to get it and I was glad to help. He had the king-hell day of all days yesterday, having surgery in the morning, dialysis all afternoon, and then being moved to a new room in the evening. I haven't talked to him but my sister did and said he seemed more than a little frazzled. I would say that that's pretty reasonable.
    I'm trapped in Olympia by football and fair traffic. I know fair traffic will be minimal in the morning, so I'll check in on him then. But I probably won't be much help taking Margaret to see him before Monday. With any kind of luck, he'll be back to Lowman Home by then, or maybe Tuesday. Oddly, they haven't been in touch at all about Dad's room, his stuff or anything. They had some rooms free, so maybe there's no pressure. Well, we'll see.
    In another realm, the outside kitty worked himself free from another jinglebell breakaway collar and wasn't falling for having a new one put on him. So I waited until he was sleepy and snuck up behind him. Getting the "dirty cheater" stink-eye, too!