Woids Fail Me

I've been struggling with bursitis in my right knee for a few weeks--it's improved markedly, thanks to this amazing product:

That's a Smart Temp Reusable Hot/Cold Pack, and holy cow!  I asked hubby to pick up some Icy Hot or something on that order, but he came home with this, and I couldn't be more glad.  I use it as an ice pack--it straps in place, it molds to the knee (or whatever body part), and it works like a dream.  If you've got joint problems, a sore back, arthritis, bursitis, or any injury that requires heat, cold, or alternating, this is the thing! Seriously, and it's CHEAP, too.  Check out my review here:  

SMART TEMP HOT/COLD PAD: TOOK THE SMARTS RIGHT OUT OF MY KNEE!

I can't recommend this hot/cold pack highly enough.  For a measly 12 bucks, it's done more for my pain than steroids, NSAIDs, and PT combined.  Give it a shot, you won't be sorry.  Use my link to do so, make us both happy!

I'm "working" for a new writing site--Veryhelpful.net.  Basically moderating, doing spam control, etc.  No pay yet, but I'm hopeful.  It's a terrific site, the gentleman who put it together is marvelous.

And that's about all.  Hoping to visit a few cemeteries out west of here next weekend.  Supposed to be over 80 degrees, so I'm not sure how much fun it's going to be, but we'll see.


Oh, did I tell y'all about the goats at the last cemetery?  One of them fell utterly in love with our boy--followed him everywhere, it was beautiful.  Here's the goat (a girl) who loved our boy:

And here's her pal, Ben, who was jealous of anyone who paid her attention:

An update here:  the landlord is booting us, has given us 60 days notice to vacate.  This isn't an eviction--he says we're the best tenants he's ever had, has offered a glowing reference.  But he's selling, and he needs us out so he can do that.  Which leaves us utterly screwed and possibly facing homelessness.  Truly.  So please.

Please.

To What Purpose?

Here we are, 12 days out, and my dad is still on a ventilator.  Vague promises of weaning him off, but fact is, he's still having food jammed down a tube.

Did I tell you they knocked out one of his teeth while intubating him?  His wife was very concerned, didn't know where the tooth had gone.  Feared he may have swallowed it.  Which is probably the case.

Things sort of blend together, so I don't know if I mentioned he's been moved to a long-term care facility. Step-mom doesn't think he's being "warehoused."  But then again, she thought he'd be home last weekend, too.

She wants to call today, in ten minutes, in fact, so I can "take part" in a meeting with doctors and nurses.  I have no idea what use I may be.  Considering they've got that crap-assed "VOIP"-type phone service, all cut-outs and blank spots and echos and voices cancelling each other, I get the feeling this is going to be a total wash.  What do I ask (provided they can hear me)?

Are you warehousing my father?

How many tens (or even hundreds) of thousands has 12 days of ICU already chewed through?  Have you bankrupted him yet?

Is he ever going to be able to be HIM again?

Is he going to go home in anything but a wheelchair or an urn?

If his lungs look good, his heart function is improving, and his color improved, why do you still have him sedated out of his gourd and on a vent?

What were the results of the CT scan you performed two days ago?

Really, that last one is the only one for which I can imagine getting a real answer.

He is never going to recover from this--it goes against everything he's cobbled onto that bullshit facade of his. That "I'm healthy as a horse (hack, hack, hack), I don't need to see a 'mechanic,' I'm the strong one in this marriage/family/neighborhood/town" crap.  And it is crap, and I've always recognized it as such.  But I had no idea he had a umbilical hernia so large it affected his pants size (I have one, too, but mines about the size of the end of my thumb, and I've had it for 16 years).  Apparently, NO ONE knew he was diabetic. I'd asked about it, but he always made it sound like diabetes was something that happened to sloppy fat people (like me), not to strong, healthy guys like him.

Except, it turns out, my dad is weighing in at over 250 pounds. And, while he likes to brag he's 6+ feet tall, fact is, he is not.  Closer to 5'9.  I was struck by how NOT tall he is when I saw him back in 2003.  I can't imagine he's gotten taller.

Just got off the phone.  It's sounding like the ventilator may be a "forever" thing.    It's already been 12+ days, and he's still at 20/60%.  So it's time to look at a tracheostomy.  While the doctor did say that doesn't necessarily have to be a permanent thing, fact is, he sounded like he was talking permanent.

Thankfully, my medical jargon filter is still mostly intact.  Here's a refresher.

What a mess.  Apparently, "Lungs look good" was something they said to my step-mom to reassure her that the didn't find any clots or cancer.  Fact is, his lungs look like utter trash--severe edema, and the nether regions utterly worthless, at least right now.  "Air space issues," the doctor said.  He's on Lasix, and I did ask to make sure that the Lasix is entirely for the edema and not for blood pressure problems.  It is.

Here's a little something about Lasix and pulmonary edema, if you're curious.

In the blink of an eye, huh?  Just two weeks ago, he was, in his own mind, strong as an ox.  Now his wife is having to bend his arms and legs and they're working to keep him safe from bedsores.  He hasn't been able to speak for almost 13 days.

His wife says he smiled when he heard my voice.  That's something, isn't it?

If you're still smoking, stop.  Because this is what you have to look forward to.

I don't see how he's going to survive this.

__________________________________________

Back to a little bit of regular blogging--we bought an incredibly sad, ugly tree. It's not as hideous as the Charlie Brown trees, but it's pretty sad.  But it was cheap, and cheap is important right now.  Maybe decorations will perk it up.

Our trip to Higgins for that one, last time (they close forever December 31st) is going to be . . . miserable.  Hubby's boss wouldn't let him take an extra day (even though he's got "use or lose" leave out the backside), so we're going to have to drive for 7 hours, stay one night, hit Higgins the  next morning, then drive BACK another 7 hours.  That sounds like pure hell to me.  We'll be taking the dog and, because it's so cold in Massachusetts, we'll have to take turns going out to the car and running it to keep him warm.

Doesn't that sound fun?

Prepping for the "pre-surgical" appointment for my biopsy.  They moved the physical up by 2 weeks, not happy about that.  Gearing up for the "statins and metformin" battle.  Because doctors aren't happy if they can throw drugs at you, and the more often they can make you come in, the more money they can get from the HMO.  Do I sound jaded?  That's because I am.  I am so close to canceling this biopsy entirely.  Four physician copays plus the surgical center copay, Plus any scripts.  

Plus anything that goes wrong.

I'm scared to death that this guy's idea of a biopsy is different from mine.  Markedly different.  He wants to put me under with Versed.

Same stuff they're using to keep my dad sedated with the ventilator.

And the final bit of fun?

I think that root canal is failing.  In fact, I feel pretty confident of it.  And our insurance won't cover a "retreatment" until 12 months have passed.

So I'm likely losing that tooth.  After sinking 500 bucks into it.  Let's hope it doesn't take the other teeth around it with it when it goes.

Oh, and one last, funny thing.  I think I got "out-atheisted" at the Christmas tree lot last night.  Guy handed us our ugly tree, and I said, "Merry Christmas."  Because hey, no skin off mine and I felt pretty confident of my audience--North Carolina hills tree farm?  Guy paused for a moment, and then said, "Happy Holidays to you, too."

Hmm.  Either I miscalculated, or he's been told not to offend anyone by being non-specific.  Either way, I felt I'd been outdone.

So hey, Fancy Festivus, huh?  Snappy Saturnalia, too!  Yummy Yuletide!

Or whatever does it for you.

How to Build an Atheist and Other Things to Irritate

I remember, years ago, my ex-husband and I were living in Layton, Utah.  He was Muslim, I was . . . vaguely (dubiously) theistic, mostly ex-Christian, I suppose.  One night, there was a knock at the door.

It was a Baptist.

A rather enthusiastic, "taken by the spirit" Baptist who wanted very much to conquer my poor then-husband and bring him over from the dark side.  A guy who'd spied himself a likely "Islamist" and was bent on saaaaaaving him.

These days, I'd see that for how insulting it is.  Back then, I just found it irritating and somewhat amusing.

Perhaps it was a kinder, gentler time (this was the mid-to-late 80s), but the relationship between the two was actually quite amiable.  The guy kept showing up with his Jesus stuff, and my husband would greet him at the door with the Quran.  They'd settle at the table, drink coffee, eat cookies, and fight faith.  

Did Mr. Prosthelytizing Baptist effect a change in my then-husband?

Oh, gosh, he sure did.  You see, my ex had already rejected Christianity.  In fact, like pretty much ALL believers, he had already rejected EVERY faith but his own.  So, when Mr. Prosthelytizing Baptist, point-by-point, tore the Quran apart, he didn't create a new Baptist.

No, he cleared away that last mythological holdout in my then-husband's brain.  

He created an atheist.  

Something to keep in mind next time you find yourself driven to preach at someone who doesn't believe as you do.  You may be creating the perfect heathen.

Which is just fine as frog's hair with me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Speaking of deities and deific-type things, hubby and I were talking the other day.  We were talking, specifically, about prayer and asking whichever big guy in the sky for some bit of divine intervention.

Some bit, but not a HUGE bit.  Ever notice that?  Sure, if Tyson falls and cracks his skull, everyone joins hands and asks their deity to heal up Tyson's poor, cracked head.  Even if Tyson's head is super-bad cracked and his EEG looks awful, they pray because, hey, as we all know, every once in a while, folks recover even from really astounding head injuries.  

Ever notice, though, that when Tyson gets his legs amputated at the pelvis in a tragic "chicken with a freight train" incident, no prayer groups gather 'round and ask that deity to regrow Tyson's legs?  Seriously, nobody sane EVER said, "Oh, dear GOD, please regrow Tyson's legs!"

Ask yourself why not.  WHY NOT?  Isn't your deity ALL powerful?  Can't he make seas part, messiahs walk on water, and incendiary bushes chatter?  Why can't he regrow a couple of legs?  For a kid?

I think, deep down, we all know the answer to that.  

We all know it's bull.  We know there are no big favors coming from some invisible ghostie in the sky, and so we don't ask for things that might actually, definitively establish a deity.  No, we don't do that because we know it won't happen.  Instead, we ask for things that could, conceivably, happen WITHOUT divine intervention.  And then, when they happen, we say, "See?  I prayed and it HAPPENED!"  Not surprisingly, when we pray and it DOESN'T happen, we go pretty mum on the issue.  Else we kick out some trite platitude about "mysterious ways" or "sometimes we just don't like the answer."

We are, above all else, experts at self-delusion.  And the best way to hold tight to a comforting delusion is to suck others into it.  And the way to do that is to claim causation when, in fact, all you have is loose correlation and energetically expressed wishful thinking.  Most folks in these parts don't know the difference.

And it shows.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And (I think) lastly, because I'm in a "piss 'em ALL off" sort of mood, let's talk about Wyoming.

Specifically, Wyoming and smoking.

Back in the bad ol' days, we used to drive up to Evanston, Wyoming from Utah just so we could sit in a crappy JB's restaurant and smoke.  See, we felt like we were somehow entitled to foul up other folks' air, but Utah's Indoor Clean Air Act disagreed.  So you can imagine our grief and consternation when we drove up to Evanston one Sunday morning to find that smoking was no longer allowed in restaurants.

On Sundays.

Oh, we were SO offended!  So terribly butt-hurt!  How dare they, ONE day a week, decree that the folks who are devastated by inhaling cigarette smoke get to have a shot at dining out?

Oh, the NOIVE of some people!

I'm not exaggerating--we were the worst kind of entitled smokers.  We were of the "if you don't like it, go somewhere else!" variety.  Because, when you're so addicted to a substance that you have to dose 50-60 times a day (the number of cigarettes I was smoking), you HAVE to convince yourself that you're in the right and everyone else sucks.  Otherwise?

You just might wind up seeing what a mess you are.  And then?  Well, then you'll have to stop.  I mean, really, what else is there?

Now, don't mistake me--I would ask someone if they minded if I lit up, I would even offer to walk ten feet away.  But what I never realized until I quit is that ten feet away doesn't help at all.  Twenty feet doesn't much help.  When I sit in my back yard, watering my flowers, the guy three places up can light up and the smoke ruins my morning.  And THAT'S what I refused to believe, that's what I claimed was "militant non-smokers" exaggerating.

Hey, I'm sorry.  It's all I can say.

Anyway, Wyoming. Read a story today about how the bustling cow town of Casper, Wyoming has repealed its own ban on smoking in bars.  The Libertarian contingent was shouting about the evil New York City nanny state-ism kicking the proud, independent Wyomans in the yellowed teeth.  The bar owners were crying that they were losing business.  

Another BS argument I remember that turned out not to be true.  Bars survive smoking bans just fine.  But Wyoming has this "don't you tell me what to do" thing going on, and they take their "rights" very seriously.

Wanna make someone squeal and swear (like I did this morning)?  Explain to them that smoking isn't a RIGHT.  That just because something is LEGAL doesn't mean you have an unqualified RIGHT to do it.  Driving is legal, too, but you don't have a RIGHT to drive.  No, you have a PRIVILEGE, and that privilege comes with a broad array of restrictions and regulations.  Same with drinking alcohol--all sorts of rules and laws about where, when, how much, by whom, and what you can be doing when imbibing.  

Smoking isn't a "right."  It's a behavior that is legal within certain boundaries and with particular restrictions.  Your "right" to smoke ends where everyone else's lungs and sinuses start.  

I won't lie--it is incredibly embarrassing to hear smokers scream about their RIGHTS, see them point their angry, tar-stained fingers at non-smokers and say, "If you don't like it, stay home!"  Because I was that desperate junkie.  I was that miserable, scared (yes, SCARED) person who lashed out at any suggestion that my smoking might in any way interfere with another person's comfort, safety, or happiness.  To my (very small) credit, I did start smoking back in the late 70s, before there was much uproar.  But by college I knew I was lying to myself and lying to others.

And by the time Evanston decided to give the poor, shell-shocked non-smokers ONE day a week to eat in peace?

I knew I sucked, my addiction sucked, and they were right.  But it took me another six years or so to admit it and do something about it, because I was SCARED.  Scared I wouldn't be able to quit, scared it was too late to make a difference anyway, and scared half to death that, without that neurochemical crutch, I wouldn't know how to operate.

Turns out I operate just fine.  

So smoke on, Casper.  Drag those Tony Lamas in the dust.  You're on the wrong side of history, and eventually you'll have no choice.  But for now?

Smoke 'em if you got 'em.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oh, hey, one last thing, just in case I missed anyone.  Let's talk about "seen."  You know, like, "I've seen a narwhale" or "she's seen Russia from her house?"  That is the proper use of the word "seen."  I have, they have, we have seen.  Heck, even she has and he has and it is they are and it shall be seen.  Let's get everyone in on it!  The magical, necessary component?  

"Have/has/is/shall be."  Without those, you haven't (and she hasn't) seen.  So please, don't say, "I seen it," or "he seen it."  I SAW it, he SAW it, they SAW it.  

If you don't have a have, you haven't seen.  You saw.

Here--like THIS.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have hardly any pictures today.  I may wander in and work on a photoshop of some sort later, should I feel particularly creative.  

A Smoking/Car Aside

I have a story about smoking and rental cars.  It comes to mind because our car is in the shop, having the semi-hits-new-car repairs done.  The rental provided by our insurance company through Enterprise?

Reeks of smoke.

Not just smoke, mind you.  Smoke and about ten gallons of some Febreze-type substance.  Even from outside the car, we can smell this mix of smoke and fabric refresher. 

This is funny/embarrassing to us. See, back in 2005, just six months or so before we quit smoking, we rented a car and took a two-night trip up to Yellowstone.  It was a bare-bones trip heavily subsidised by my Mom, meant to give my poor niece and nephew a break from the disastrous divorce their parents were clawing through. 

Yes, we smoked with the kids in the car.  Yes, I absolutely understand what a crappy, awful, stupid thing that was.  We actually told ourselves that cracking the windows would somehow magically protect them.  I plead addiction, and accept blame for my actions.

After a few days of smoking up that car, we got it back home.  We then spent hours trying to de-stink the vehicle.  We vacuumed, carpet fresh-ed, vacuumed again, Febrezed, used cleaning wipes to wipe down all the vinyl and chrome spots, and even sprayed air freshener into the vents.  We used our carpet cleaner to shampoo the floors and floor mats, though we didn't dare shampoo the upholstery because we feared somehow staining or otherwise discoloring it.  Then we left the car windows rolled down overnight.  And we actually thought that they wouldn't know we'd smoked in the car.

For years, we've suspected that it must have been obvious, just judging by just how sharply invasive cigarette smoke is to us these days.  But now, with this rental car, we have evidence.  Someone has obviously gone through a lot of effort to cover up the smell of smoke in this car.  And it hasn't helped a bit.

We should have the new car back by next Monday.  What that accident is going to do to our insurance rates?  Well, I guess we'll know that come March.  Dang.

Hubby figures out that the rental car stereo is touch screen and nearly faints from joy.

Vegans and Sex Offenders and Facebook, oh, my!

So, I'll start with the vegan.  We've been Facebook friends for a long while now--never met "IRL," but she's the friend of friends, and she can be very smart and funny.  Unfortunately, she's also frequently strident, condescending, condemning, intolerant, and flat-out insulting toward folks who don't share her dietary peccadilloes.  Yes, this is the same woman I wrote about the other night.  Well, last night, she reposts a story I'd posted (here:http://www.upworthy.com/bully-calls-news-anchor-fat-news-anchor-destroys-him-on-live-tv?g=3), but uses it as a weird way of defending her smoking.  That's right, the woman who spends at least a little time every day insulting folks like me who are omnivores pumps cigarette smoke into her body on a daily basis.  Her argument?  Why isn't it okay to slam this woman, but it's perfectly fine to slam me for smoking?

As someone who has struggled with both weight and nicotine addiction?  I felt uniquely qualified to answer that one.  And I did.  I said, "Because my fat doesn't waft across the room and clog up your lungs, your sinuses, or cause asthma attacks.  My fat doesn't cause YOU to suffer chronic ailments.  My fat doesn't stink like a wet, lung-y ashtray, and it doesn't coat the walls and blinds in homes I rent." 

Harsh?  Maybe, but it was a stupid comparison for her to make--smoking and weight are like apples and anvils.  Weight is its own problem, and you can't make smoking LESS bad by saying, "Yeah, well, what about fat people?"  That's just a dodging tactic.  I know, I did it for years.

She gave me every crappy excuse *I* ever gave when I was caught up in the throes of nicotine addiction.  She argued that SUVs put off more pollution than her cigarettes (yes, but I'm not trapped in a room with SUVs, cigarettes can't carpool six people to work, and aren't you old enough to realize that pointing at someone else's failings doesn't excuse yours?), that health insurance costs more for smokers (sometimes--ours never did), etc.  And, being a little tired of her, I said, "You know, I used to say the same silly crap when I was trying to avoid facing just how lousy an addiction to smoking is--it was silly when I said it, and it's silly when you say it."

She dropped me.  After almost two years of my biting my tongue and not fighting back when she told me what a slob I am, what an uninformed, sloppy pig I am for eating meat, how my diet is single-handedly responsible for every ill in the world, she dropped me.  After almost two years of her posting "natural news" article after "natural news" article, post after post on the magical wonder-qualities of veganism, after her astoundingly silly posts about how it's abusive to train dogs because . . . oh, hell, who knows why, she dropped me the moment I actually argued back. 

Saved me the trouble, I guess.  See, that's why I never argued back for these nearly-two years--because I had her pegged as one of those who can dish it out but can't take it.  I was right.

Now, on to the sex offenders, eh?

I got a message from one of my dearest friends that an old classmate of ours--a classmate who is a registered sex offender--is back on Facebook.  This guy has a history of "enticing minors," and he knows he's not supposed to be hanging out on Facebook (he knows it because he's been tossed off Facebook before because of his sex offender status).  She reported him again, and, no doubt, he'll disappear again.  For a little while.  Since it's been a while (and because my niece and nephew still go to my Mom's house pretty frequently), I pulled up the state sex offender registry and started checking.  And WHOA, there's some guy who's on my Facebook friends list!   AND he's non-compliant!  Wow!  And what's that?  Some sex offender with multiple charges and child victims just moved in two houses down from my Mom's place!  Obviously, all I can do is warn my niece and nephew, and let the poor woman with the two young daughters next door know. 

Before you think I'm some pitchforks and torches type, I'm not.  I absolutely believe that sex offenders should be rehabilitated and given another chance.  However, this guy's already been convicted twice, with the offenses more than three years apart.  So he's had his second chance.  He blew it.  That aside, I still don't want him driven out or hurt, but I believe wholeheartedly that the parents in his vicinity have a right to know so they can protect their children.  Imagine how awful it would be if this man attacked one of those neighbor girls and I had never warned them?  This isn't the first time there's been a sex offender on the street--there was one just across the street a few years ago.  We all knew, all our kids knew, but no one harmed him, no one damaged his property or treated him badly.  We just watched our kids and made them aware that they weren't to hang out there or in any way engage in depth with the guy.  It worked.  No one got hurt, everyone was safe, and the guy wasn't hassled.  Like I said, I'm all for rehabilitation and a new chance at a good life, but, as a parent, I need to be aware.

On a totally unrelated note, what's happened to my Muscadines?  Last year, there were tons of them at the stores, but this year I only found them ONCE at Walmart!  None at Wegmans, none at Shoppers or Giant--what the heck?  I've been waiting all year for more Muscadines!  If you've never heard of or seen a Muscadine grape, they're an east coast phenomenon, they're native to Virginia, the Carolinas, etc.  They don't ship well, so I'd never seen one in Utah.  The flavor is very sweet, with an intensely tangy, smoky skin that slips right off (though I eat the skin).  Amazing!

Muscadines--yes, they are that big.  If they were green, they'd be "scuppernongs."

And that's been my excitement for the day.  Tomorrow is Charlie's birthday.  Our one year old puppy!  We're going to take him to Petsmart and get him a treat.  We sure do like him.

Charlie, fresh home and ears flat-no clipping, just needed tape.

Charlie, with Fala and the boys, ears taped up with medical tape.

Charlie and his beautiful ears today.  Singing.

Oh, and one last thing--tonight our President, Mr. Barack Obama, is facing off against Mr. Mitt Romney in this campaign's first debate.  With all due respect, Mr. President, hand him his backside and gently nudge him on home.  Thank you.  For everything.