Better Late than Never

     Well I have not fallen off the earth, just off my blog. Some persistent health issues plagued me, then I had to make a trip up to Illinois to see my sister, who is dealing with a sarcoma in her leg. I know she is going to be okay but it is hard to see a family member going through all of the issues she has experienced.
      Diana has always been a healthy person, whereas I got the short end of the stick in the health department. My first health problems probably started around 2 years of age (I had a seizure, called convulsions then, scaring my family) and had to start wearing glasses. Throughout out my life I have had back troubles, knee troubles, and odd looking feet that doctors always look amazed at. I have had several hospitalizations, allergies and various surgeries. Hospitals have been my home away from home.
      Diana, on the other hand, has been annoyingly healthy all throughout my life. Other than braces, I can't think of a problem at all. Until she hit the magic age of after 50. Quite a bit after 50, in fact. Not only has she had some health problems but none of them seem related. It is like the warranty on some of her body parts has expired, where, in my case, probably my mother should have invoked the Lemon Law and sent me back for a newer model.

Spoon Antics by Diana

   I explained to my sister that you are not supposed to store up all your health problems but gradually release them at around, say, age 2, so that you space them out nicely during your life. At any rate, we are there for her for whatever she needs. Right now, she is suffering extreme boredom along with the pain. (See picture)
     Of course, for the trip, George had to accompany me, because while I was helping Diana he needed to be there to make sure I did not fall down any stairs, or get stuck in any car back seats or trip over one of her cats. What a pair we are!

George B.S. (Before Staples)

     Now that we are home, we have been very busy. Of course, George had to get into the act and garner a little sympathy for himself. He hit his head on an awning and put a nasty open gash on his head. Off we went for staples in his head, which I could have done for him at home with my Swingline.

Darn Map!

     Last night, going to a party across town, we discovered that if you print off a map on Google, don't forget to enlarge it. We got to the neighborhood. I was squinting at the map.
     "George, I can't read this."
      George asked, "What can't you read?"

Google or goggle? You be the judge.

     "The whole thing," I said, squinting more. I turned on the inside light. The only word I could make out was Google.

     Or maybe it said Goggle. Even with my high power glasses on, I could not read anything on that map.
     George took it from me. He examined it closely. "Well, let's just drive around the neighborhood until we see a house with a lot of cars at it."
     Good plan. The first house we found had a lot of cars but we did not recognize any of them. The second house, VOILA! We saw our friend, Joe's car! Who needs a map?

The Laser in the Stone

Well, it is pretty mysterious. The procedure was done at 8:30 this A.M. I of course have no notice of being blasted. The things I do remember are:
One surgeon who came through, clustered into a bevy of boomer humor type nurses, told stories of his bad headache and not feeling entirely well. I was glad he was not my doctor but he was very cute, kind of had that Mark Harmon look going on there. Chick magnet.
Another thing I noticed was that this Surgical Center is not going to be in the news any time soon for operating on the wrong side. They kept asking me which kidney it was and then I started to worry about myself. I told them to look on the chart if they were concerned but they wanted my professional opinion, an opinion, heavily drugged at the time.
I tried my best Boomer Humor on my nurse but she was totally professional, not one of the ones hanging all over Dr. Cutie. Damn.
Well we got home 3 hours later and I feel fine. I laid down just in case but could not go to sleep. I still can't go to sleep as a matter of fact. Hopefully they actually removed the kidney and didn't just sit around and joke about Dr. Cutie, who was supposed to be in another surgery by the way.
I liked the Surgery Center Care, I just wanted to be a little bit more involved with the "in" crowd, just just a horizontal body on a stretcher. Will try harder next time.

Urology 101

Well I finally had my first "procedure" with a urologist. A "procedure" is a civilized term for when a doctor inserts a foreign object into one of your orifices that you normally do not have on display for the general viewing public. My nurse was Angela and she had a ton of personality, considering she worked in an office involved with urine. She left the room, for my "privacy" so I could remove my shorts and underwear and sit on the chair with a stirrup on either side. Oh, I knew what those stirrups were for! Despite the time she gave me for privacy, she had a full view of my private parts anyway.
Her prepping job was to put iodine on my nether regions and coat my urethra with a numbing gel. That was her first problem.
"I can't find your urethra," she giggled. "I've never had this problem."
That figured. With the week I had had healthwise, I was not surprised.
I commented, "Don't worry. It's no different than the rest of my week."
Angela looked at me with wide eyes. "You mean someone else couldn't find your urethra either?"
She was cracking me up. "No, that's not it," I explained.
But she continued to talk. "Why was someone else looking for your urethra?" she asked.
I finally got it straightened out but she continued to frown at my private parts." I have to call the doctor in, " she announced. "I can't find your urethra anywhere."
Great. Another problem.
A few minutes later, they both breezed in.
Angela explained again, "I can't find her urethra."
They clustered around my "private" area, both looking intently. The doctor smiled. "Here it is," she announced. "It's kind of hidden and small."
Great news. There is something on me that is small. Wow!
She pointed out my urethra to Angela, who gushed over it as though it were a newborn. "Oh, a baby urethra! It's so little and tiny, just a teeny little hole. It's so cute!"
The doctor pointed out to her that it was not just tiny, but my bladder had dropped and the urethra was tilted. So, another age-related problem. But Angela did not care. She still felt that it was the most precious urethra she had ever seen.
After they both eyeballed my private area intensely for a few minutes, the doctor did the procedure and left the room.
Angela offered to leave to "Give me my privacy" but I declined and got myself dressed. I did not see any reason to have privacy for putting on my clothes when they had seen everything under them anyway. It's a good thing I have no modesty left.

Post Wedding Fun- The Medical Maze

As the bride and groom adjusted to married life, I still had a kidney boulder lodged in my body. I could not live on wedding memories alone. I've always hoped I could go through life without ever consulting a urologist but now I was entering Urology World.
The pain of a kidney stone is akin to an elephant trying to suck a bowling ball up into his trunk. I was ready to blast that sucker out.
The urologist scheduled me for a laser blasting appointment next week. She asked me for the CD from the ER, documenting where the stone was. Alas, they had not given me one. She was surprised. She told me to get an x-ray from the outpatient center and bring that to her along with the CD from the ER.
She gave me a paper to take to the Outpatient Center, which had no appointment needed. Sounded easy. Good thing, because I was not feeling up to par.
At the outpatient desk, a bulldog was running things. Not a canine bulldog but a human woman bulldog. She told me I needed a prescription from my PCP. I offered her the urologist's orders. She won. It was the PCP or nothing.
I had to go home and rest. I called my PCP and made an appointment for the next day. So the next morning we walked into my PCP. He was surprised that an x-ray was needed. But he obligingly wrote a prescription with STAT on it, so that would get me through quickly. A nice touch.
Back to the bulldog. I triumphantly waved my prescription. She looked it over through her thick lenses and said, "There is no diagnosis on here."
I had a whole purse of papers with the diagnosis from that very hospital so I fished them out and flung them at her. No good. Once again we were out in the street. My kidney stone was probably having a good laugh.
I called the PCP. The nurse promised to fax the prescription back over with the diagnosis on it. I rested for a bit and we came back to the now familiar Outpatient Waiting Room. It had taken so long that Bulldog was leaving as we came. She was not at all interested in the fact that I had finally achieved the right to an x-ray.
Another lady called me up to the desk. "We need authorization from your insurance."
I was losing it. "Look I have been here 4 times and each time they keep adding something on. Is there something about me you don't like?"
She called my urologist, not wanting to deal with an unstable person, and they put Angie on the phone. For some reason I could not get authorization for this procedure today at the hospital but I could go to a different place and walk in without an appointment.
Did that sound familiar? So we opted to go there, I called and got directions. We were told to be there before 3. It was 2:10.
We got lost 3 times. Each time I called I got a little more of the directions so that we were getting closer but not there. Finally I handed George the phone and he got the directions in his direct fashion. We arrived at 2:30. I had my x-ray.
Oh, one more thing. As George waited for me in the waiting room my cell phone rang. George answered it. It was the office where we were, asking if we were on our way. They were waiting for us. George had to tell them we were there already and I was already having my x-ray.

The Deadly Spork

Cafeteria lunches in the elementary school! I never had the luxury of eating in the school cafeteria. At Rupley Elementary we went home for lunch. I lived right down the street from the school and we went home where Mom made us tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, just like a Campbell's commercial.
Nowadays, though, children eat in the lunchroom and it is a scene like no other. Each child has a 5 digit number which they punch into the computer. Their account comes up and they are charged for the lunch. Things have changed in school cafeterias. Dessert has been eliminated from the menu. No more cookies or cake. However, carbs rank high in the food line. Children can choose from tacos with mystery meat surprise, very cheesy macaroni and cheese the consistency of denture paste.Rolls and mashed potatoes and plantains. There are a lot of names that fall short of the real food, like "riblets" and "chiken." Pizza is always served on Friday, a hit with the kids, as is Mexican pizza, little octagonal pizzas with what appears to be kibble on the top.
My favorite food is a corn dog. Call me an idiot but when Corn Dog day comes around, it's all I can do to not lunge at the trays as the kids go by with their weiner-on-a-stick.
Children can also get frozen pops with their lunch at times. Blue and red lips and tongues result. In addition, you can usually tell what was served at lunch by what the children are wearing on their clothes. More food gets on the child than in. Also on the floor, and on the tables.
It is hard work monitoring the cafeteria. If you are walking around, you spend your whole time answering questions during the kindergarten and first grade lunches. You walk all the way across the cafeteria, spotting a child with a raised hand.
"I don't have a spork." Fine, I have a whole pocket full of sporks here. Then the child next to him raises her hand. Soon I have a whole chain reaction of hands going up in the air.
"I have to go to the bathroom."
"She looked at me."
"He said a bad word."
"She took my sandwich."
"I feel sick."
"I want my mommy." Tears start at that point.
"Could I have some ketchup?"
I answer back, "Why do you need ketchup? You ate all your lunch already."
Shoulder shrug. No ketchup provided.
Just as you think that you are going to die if you have to answer one more question, a little girl calls you over and when you get there, she gives you a hug and says, "I love you."
I melt. I am ready to do it all over again.
I often station myself at the compactor. Now this can be a dangerous place because not everyone has mastered the art of aiming and putting the tray in the compactor in one smooth motion. It splatters and as the person helping out, it splatters on me. Call me Sticky. But it is interesting to note the eating habits of elementary children.
Most of the food, whether it is brought from home or bought in the cafeteria, goes into the garbage, especially anything that could provide any kind of nutritional benefit to the child. What is always eaten is candy, cookies, chips, ice cream (sold on Wednesdays) and juice (with 10% real juice and 90% real sugar). What isn't eaten is cafeteria broccoli, salads, green beans, and fresh fruit. Kids with lunches from home toss lovingly packed sandwiches, fruit, healthy snacks and salads. Well, they try to toss these things. I make them take them home to show Mom they are not eating them so that they will rethink what to pack.
So on a diet of sugar, sugar and preservatives, the kids then, covered with ketchup and mustard and chocolate milk stains get in line to go back to the classroom to try to learn for the next two hours.I know how that is going to go.
But my problem is a little more self-serving. Those carbs can look mighty tasty as they get swallowed up by the compactor. So far I have resisted the urge to yank a couple of chicken nuggets off the trays for a quick snack. And the corn dogs, well they are just not the same once the cornbread coating is eaten off the hot dog and all that is left is a naked wiener with a bite in it going down the chute. But I have been tempted, signs that I have been doing this for too long.