Tuesday, March 29, 2011

less than five hours to go....

... until I'm on the operating table...getting cut open, limb sawed off (well, just the bone gets sawed...) and the other gruesome details of a total hip replacement I will spare you. I'm trying to remain present in the moment. I'm wondering if my husband will be able to leave his desk for long enough to come upstairs and hold my hand while I'm in the holding area....(LOL...wonder if that's why it's called "HOLDING AREA" because there's a lot of hand holding going on there.)

Yesterday there was a code called for the OR Holding Area. I am wondering now if that person made it. Or if they didn't. There's ALWAYS a concern in major surgery...like the one I'm having....and when the person has asthma there is more concern. And then there is my other flakey self conditions....which always are good for a worry. The only one that really worries ME is that I will NOT regain clarity of mind after the anesthesia. With every surgery, the confusion is worse and worse and lasts longer and longer. And I feel like with every surgery another chunk of my mind gets lost...that more and more I am compromised. And that at some point, I will simply run out of chunks to blow. lol. (sorry, gross...couldn't resist) ...Anyway. I worry that the confusion, that fog and those hallucinations, will NOT lift and go away as they should...or have thus far.

So if when I come back, my serious remarks are funny and my jokes are NOT, and it stays that way...you'll know what happened.

Friday, March 25, 2011

Gypped a Hip

So.
I have one more day of freedom. And then I will be admitted to the hospital for three days of IV sodium to raise my blood levels to a safe number for my impending surgery.
And after next Tuesday I will be post-surg after a Right Total HIp Replacement. (and YES, I know I've had three hip replacements in one year. And Yes, I did start with only two hips. And actually; That is the number I still am left with. (I think somehow I've been gypped a hip somewhere along the line, don't you??)

So, here's the question I pose to you.
If you had ONE day left of freedom and relatively less pain than you'll have for weeks...how would you spend it?? What would you do??
If you had some money....and also a pile of doctor bills higher than you can hope to pay in a LONG time....and one day of freedom....what would you do?

Save the $ and pay the medical bills?
Or go out and do something nice for yourself?

What might I do?
A leg waxing sounds mighty tempting.
AS does a pedicure.
hhhhhmmmm

Can you say "massage" boys and girls???

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Missing You....

Hers are the only ears left who perk up at the sound of my footsteps. Hers is the only body now warming my bed at night. The only one left for whom I'm responsible. She is the one who will look for me forlornly when I'm gone...who will open my bedroom door hopefully, thinking maybe I'd mysteriously returned without her seeing. She will wait by the window next to the door for me...each morning. She will become sadder and sadder as the days go on by without my return. Food will disinterest her. I'm the one she will long to play tag with; the one whose voice on the phone will make her look around hopefully..."Is she here? Is she back?"


She will sleep in my empty cold bed nestled amongst my blankets and the nightgown I'd left flung onto the bed. And sadly, she will give up hope of my return.
Maybe.

Her name is Mayo.
And she is the Princess. 10 pounds of adoration.
The one who makes me smile rare smiles these days.
As I pack for the trip to the hospital and prepare for my two or three week absence...I think of the heart that will mourn my absence. Of the loneliness and sadness she will feel...and I wonder:
Is a new hip worth a broken heart??

Monday, March 14, 2011

The Eating Machine

I just worked really hard to lose over 50 pounds. Why is it then,that for the past two or three nights, every time I stir or are roused at night (which is pretty frequently when you have a cat who thinks you need a face washing in the wee hours of the night and you are also in sheet-twisting pain), I head into the kitchen, stick my head into the refrigerator and ROUT..snuffling through the food which after some days of this, is getting pretty sparce, select several items and head back to my pen for the feast?? It's a simple explanation...one word really:

STEROIDS. My arch enemy. My anathema. My worst fear.

And they came from a subtle source. NO, I was not taking a course of prednisone. (My pulmonologist recently prescribed a 12 day regimen of them and I decided that death from asthma was preferable that this....so I didn't take them. )

But then my shoulder was recently Xrayed because of increasing pain and the feeling that I was a breath away from a dislocation...and they discovered that this body-eating disease I have, has gnawed its way through my shoulder cartilage and the bones of my joint and that it, too, needs to be replaced. (no wonder I couldn't get a jacket on and off!). So my rheumatologist sent me to my ortho surgeon to get a shot into the shoulder joint which they hoped, would enable me to hold off on that surgery until after I'd recovered from the impending hip replacement surgery (coming up in two weeks now). Sigh.

Anyway...that unobtrusive injection held....you guessed it....cortisone. STEROIDS. And yes, I am eating my house once more. I've worked my way through the kitchen and am now about to start on the living room. My cheeks are puffed out, my stomach is protruding (both of these changes in the location of body fat, are a consequence of steroids....Lovely, right?) and I am HUNGRY. The ''if you don't hand me that candy bar-slice of pizza-fiber bar-banana-whatever-it -is-you-hold-in-your-grubby-little-hands RIGHT NOW, I will break your arm"kind of hungry.

The other day, my husband came home from doing the grocery shopping and I spied a package of SIX Snickers candy bars. My spirit soared. I had great plans for that candy! But I didn't have any right THEN. Then the very next day, said husband confessed to eating all SIX of those candy bars...and I did not get even ONE! Needless to say, my husband will be fending for himself for meals this week. (have to punish him SOMEhow! lol.)

Did I mention that I HATE steroids?

Did I mention that everytime I take them, I vow it will be the last time?

yeah, sure.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

A Recliner in which to Lay; Perchance to Pray

This last Sunday was the first Sunday (at least in a long time) that I found myself unable to attend church because of the severity of my pain. In fact, the whole week was one of those, "Go to bed, go directly to bed...do not pass Go, do not collect ...."weeks-that-feel-like-eternities' You get the picture. Maybe.

I didn't go anywhere; see anyone; do anything...just laid as still as possible trying to avoid stirring up the little man who loves to stab me with those red hot pokers. ...Is this what hell is like? (lol. No, I'm sure hell is much worse...which is exactly why I'm doing all I can to avoid going there :) ) But how hell is, is rather irrelevant to me now, because my problem NOW, is simply to find a way to function, even minimally...as in get showered, change PJ's occasionally and eat a bit of food...I would like to say that I succeeded at all those tasks this week...but honestly: I didn't.

And days...and weeks like this are becoming more and more frequent...when sleep is impossible; eating is unimportant; and any other pursuit: unlikely. Pain yawns like the abyss...unavoidable and inescapable. It roars like a freight train with me tied to the tracks and no Captain Marvelous or Lone Ranger or any other hero in sight to rescue me. And it finally dawned on me this week, that church attendance is really no longer possible. Now you must understand that church has been my last bastion of social contact...my self-pretense that all will be well...that all IS well.

But lately, it has changed for me. It has gone from being a joy; an escape from the mundane to the eternal and sublime...; a time to connect with my faith family and to sing and worship my Lord and God...and become instead....an exercise in endurance. A teeth-gritting, lip tensing, nail-biting, hand-wringing hour of torture. My spine cannot put up with being perpendicular to the floor for longer than ten minutes without smacking me in the head and demanding to go lie down somewhere: OR ELSE. And usually about a quarter of the way through the service, I need to stand up, slip through the back door and pace in the foyer...just trying to convince my body to shut up and hang in there for a little while longer. But the "hour" stretches in to a mere century or two....and by the time I crawl into the car to go home, all the furies of hell have been let loose upon me.

So, this week, I made that really difficult ...but I felt, unavoidable, decision to end the charade that my body is anything like a normal one; and to stop saying, "Ok, thanks" or "hanging in there" when asked how I am; and to stop trying to go to church regardless of how important it is to my faith; or to me socially and relationally. It has gone far past the point of "gains outweighing the losses" and it is time to stop denying that huge purple elephant that is dancing in the corner of the room....

When I told my Home Bible study this last night - while comfortably ensconced in their overstuffed recliner - there was a ripple of consternation...and the ideas started coming... The idea began as a joke, "Why not put a recliner in the back of the church for her?" and as the sentence settled in and made itself at home in our thoughts...it didn't seem so crazy or impossible. There was discussion and it was agreed to try to get permission to bring my recliner from my basement over to the church so that I could eke out yet a little more time until that day arrives when no accommodations will alter the fact that my church-going days are over.

Hopefully the heavens will split open with a shout before that point and we'll be seated in the heavenlies together where there will be no more pain or tears, sorrow or sighing....and we wil be worshiping in the place where the worship goes on and on.

Saturday, March 5, 2011

Goin' to the Body Shop...

...to get me a new body!!

This one is simply crapping out...two bad hips, a hopelessly messed up spine, and now a shoulder that needs to be replaced in addition to the hips. Hands twisted up far worse than my grandmas' fingers ever thought of being...and lungs that refuse to breathe just to top it off.

I'm tired.
Tired of doctors, (sorry guys...I know you've worked hard to save and piece me back together...but really, if I never saw you again...I might send you a birthday card or say "hi" in Shop Rite...but I wouldn't miss you otherwise).
And hospital rooms. And hospital trays of food.
And sitting on the sidelines when I really, really want to be in the touch football game.
I had a good summer and a good fall.
I really did.
Other than a hip which kept dislocating (I kept right on walking my morning 3 or 4 miles lugging a huge brace along), I felt healthy and strong.
Then came a hip revision.
And an asthma attack.
And now, another hip replacement.
And then a shoulder replacement.

This after a full ten years of one hospital admission after another. Countless stays in rehab...endless bottle of pills...
Long LONG nights of pain. Sleepless tossing, sheet-twisting nights.
Coughing til I throw up.

Today I posted on FB that I'm so SO ready for heaven. (The question is really: IS HEAVEN READY FOR ME?? lol.) One of my friends responded with a frown. I really don't see anything wrong with saying that or feeling it or anticipating it. When every moment is a struggle...there's REALLY nothing wrong with looking forward to the end of the race.

And still.
I have NOTHING to complain about.
Not really.
I don't live in abject poverty. My daughter had what she needed growing up...I didn't have to watch her get sick and suffer horrible diseases as a result of vitamin deficiency, as my friend's children now are...far off across the globe, where it is hard for me to help them.
I'm not locked in prison...(just in this house...lol.)
I HAVE the medical care that I need...don't have to suffer these joints completely melting into nothing...but can get them replaced as they get destroyed by the PsA.
I have a husband who has not walked out on me...after all these years of "this"....yet....
I have a beautiful, healthy daughter....

And I have a God who loves me.
You might wonder how I can say that when it seems that the furies of hell have been poured out on my body....But he went through much worse for me to bring me to that incredible moment when Eternity invades my time and snatches me into His Presence...so what right do I have to complain??

Sometimes I pray for that moment to come quickly...like this morning...after a long hellish night...
Come Quickly Lord Jesus.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

A Sagacious, Lonely Mom Speaks

My daughter has recently escaped from our home and is on an adventure...spending 5 months staying with a friend down South and also then doing some traveling. Our house, predictably, is not the same without her and her leaving has not been with out stress for all involved. I think it has been hardest on my husband...she is our only child and the apple of his eye. So now he's blindly groping (without that apple in your eye, blindness can only result, right...? Although I would have THOUGHT you'd see more clearly...go figure) and trying to find his footing.
For me, I have the hardest time when I'm away somewhere and, (this is a mom-thing, I think) I'll see something...a brownie, a nice shade of nailpolish etc... and think, "Oh, I'll get this for A. and bring it home for her." Then like the floor falling out from under my feet comes the thought, "She not AT home." Or pulling into the driveway and anticipating her greeting me...again, the same lurch in my stomach.

For A., the hardness of it is now becoming harder as maybe some of the initial excitement and adventure has worn off a bit and now SHE MISSES MOMMY. (sorry , just had to capitalize that...it's a mom-thing.) Thank God for technology...when I"m a Facebook chat away...or her dad can text her and find her whereabouts at any given moment... WHAT did parents in Colonial days do when their little one went off to his life and to get even a letter to him or from him took WEEKS??? ("Thank you God for not placing me in a little house on the prairie in the 1700's!!) My husband doesn't know how good he has it. (I don' t think he'd be much for splitting logs either!)

But, (and here's my point)...last night when we talked and again this morning, my daughter (AHehmm , AHEM, may I have your attention all you moms of 12-16 year olds!) My daughter called me WISE. She even called me a SAGE! and best of all she meant it. NOT A DROP OF SARCASM there. So you see, moms, do your job and do it right (not that I'm any model there....but my daughter is forgiving...or has memory issues)...and they will come back and call you wise. HMMmmm Isn't there a verse about that???
Proverbs 31 maybe???