Sadness and Bad News

A *gore alert* on this post, too, okay? Plus there's graphic medical stuff, without links or definitions, and I didn't even link the references to older posts.

Thank you all so very much for those wonderful comments. Once you've read this post you'll understand why they mean especially much to me right now. While I haven't written back my responses yet, I certainly have answered them in my mind.

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

I'm sitting here quietly, calmly, listening to the strong but muted rumble of thunder in the distance. I love that sound, I love the way it rains and storms here in Florida. When I first moved to Charlotte Harbor in 1980, I'd sit outside on this bayside patio at the secluded little motel where I lived. The harbor was just a few yards away from my door, and I'd lie on a lounge chair at night and watch the lightning overhead. It would strike from cloud to cloud for hours at a time, never once hitting the ground, and I'd watch it for hours, let it fill my shattered soul with peace.

Well, well. Today is so far away from that past. Now I'm lying, instead, in this hospital bed, here in my first and only very own house. My sanctuary. My shelter. Not even Katrina and Wilma broke through it, two trees on the roof and still it held me safe and secure.

But those were just hurricanes. Terrible, yes. Of course. But there's lots of other scary stuff out there too.

So much for all my fine bite-the-bullet type talk about just do it, just say it...It isn't that I've changed my mind in any way at all. That's absolutely not it. I was just hoping for a little breathing room, I guess, before having to dive right in to the sort of current hard news I had been avoiding blogging about. So much for thinking time might give us a small reprieve if we just talk to it the right way, huh? ha! Well, well.

For what it's worth, at least I feel I truly wasn't in denial about it. That matters to me, because where denial can be a useful temporary ploy, it can't be adopted as permanent strategy without getting into real danger. IMO, at least.

Here's some backstory.

Among the things that have kept me so sick for so long are the Big Awful Major Abdominal Surgery in March, 2010; and a years-old systemic infection by a germ called mycobacteria chelonae abscessus. It's set up some rather spectacular housekeeping in my upper right arm, where it occupies nearly all of it - the upper arm, I mean - in a huge, deep, complex, multi-layered abscess. On the surface it doesn't look like much. But it's had three surgeries, and has multiple openings where it volunteers, decides to drain on its own at unexpected intervals. Uh, I did post that goriness alert, I hope. This surely qualifies. Even for me, it can be unsettling to feel something wet rolling down your arm, and look over to see pus flowing out of your bicep and dripping off your elbow.

I go on regular and super-antibiotics for these things. Sometimes, as the myco and various other germs become resistant, we switch the permanent antibiotics, or make a cocktail of several different kinds, or stick me in the hospital again with IV antibiotics for bad flareups. Various types of infection are behind many of those 30 or so hospital admissions in the last couple years.

A couple months ago we got some blood test results showing it was time to change antibiotics again, and did. Now most of you probably have some experience with antibiotics and their side effects. One way they impact me has to do with that 2010 abdominal surgery.

See, it all started with really severe diverticulitis, which led to a really bad three-way fistula, a sort of tube, connecting my bladder, large intestine, and various female parts to each other. This isn't good. Among other awful things, my bladder filled with feces to the point of nearly rupturing. Which, in turn, left me two or three days to live unless I did the surgery.

But the docs only gave me about a 30-50% chance to survive the surgery, as near as I could force them to admit. I was way, way, way too sick with other things for such an operation. Surely my heart would fail. I explained to the doctors that those odds were still better than a three-day life span, and besides, I knew I'd survive their table. So they very kindly and sweetly said "goodbye" in various ways, and family gathered round, and of course I did make it after all.

By a hair's breadth, yes. Minus several inches of gut, my appendix, my left ovary and fallopian tube, and a big garbled clump of tissue the surgeon tossed into the bucket for the pathologist to sort out. Plus another ICU stay, a ventilator, food by IV, a long-time foley, loads of stitches and staples in great variety of type and place - and a long term temporary opening in my belly, which they still haven't closed yet.

Back to now: Now add back the good old immunocompromised condition, the recent change in antibiotics unsettling the digestive tract bacteria balance; toss in a previous bout with c-diff, plus the right arm abscess acting up lately (setting up a sicker-and-weaker, feverier row to hoe) and you can get...a messed-up abdominal condition which could be another c-diff infection, a thing not to be messed with; then throw in a bunch of blood and other gore I'll skip for now, AND, a patient who's been running around refusing to go back to the hospital even One. More. Time.

That would be me.

So I didn't.

Instead, I talked to a bunch of doctors and such on the phone, and almost called 911 twice; but after six days it seemed the new antibiotic had battled the New Problem back for a little while. Long enough to see my Infectious Disease doc and get some tests run; and next Monday, see a new GI doc.

Okay. Lots of old news on that March 2010 surgery. Today's New Problem, too. And it was all just background, because today's news doesn't actually pertain to my own health at all, really.

It's not about me this time. It matters for a whole different reason than me being sick and being stubborn about the hospital.

I truly heal better and faster at home. I have more energy. I can hang around with Walter, who is much less depressed if I'm at home when I'm sick, instead of at the hospital when I'm sick.

That's very important right now, because of the results Walter got last week of a routine follow-up cat scan on his left lung. That's where they removed the small lung cancer tumor ten months ago. They declared it 100% removed, and small, Stage 1; but it contained not one but two forms of lung cancer that rarely appear together. At the time, his pulmonary doc pushed very hard for a full battery of radiation and chemo. He'd had personal experience battling the same unusual cancer combination in a few other patients, and believed he knew what to expect and what the treatment should be. But the Cancer Board turned him down, which apparently carries great weight; and the doc couldn't do what he thought was necessary to keep the tumor from regrowing.

He was a lone voice in the wilderness. And -- he was right.

The current routine follow-up cat scan, then pet scan, showed not one but several new tumors. Big. Virulent. They'd grown from nothing as of a few months ago, when another routine CT scan and biopsy showed a small unidentifiable lesion. Suddenly, today, the biggest tumor is 45 x 37mm; the next biggest is around 22 x 22mm, and there are several smaller ones nearby. They take up about a third of his lung. This is fast growth. A bad thing.

Walter has a very important factor on his side: it hasn't metastasized.

Tuesday, we go to the oncologist. His radiation and chemo may start as early as next week.

So this is why I need to stay home from the hospital. You see? I can't take care of him. I'm too sick. But if I stay home and stay as strong as I can be, I can do some things: I can keep him company, I can help some, and most of all I can manage. I can try to put together all the insurance and social services help available to him. He'll need nursing care, and aide care, and for my own aide care to be increased so he won't worry about me not eating again. Things like that are what I can do to help him the very best that I can.

Now you know.
.

Happy Independence Day, Everyone!

Ah. Independence. Now there's a theme you've seen recurring here. And its revivals won't be going anywhere but up.

Because that theme - broad and universal, timeless, so uniting on a day like today in a country like ours - hits home just as powerfully on the microcosm of one small and inconsequential life.

Like mine.

The hushed but ever-present threat of not-quite-voluntary stays in nursing homes and SNIFS probably wasn't what the founding fathers had in mind on this day in history. Seems they had some loftier thoughts in mind. Taxes. Free assembly. The safety and protection of regular folks by a government of their own choosing. Heh! Self-governance. Such a prettier word than government, isn't it?

Independence.

Ah, yes.

My recent streak of good fortune continues. I haven't heard one single bottle rocket go screaming past my windows. So I'm not hiding under the hospital bed, or under the commode either. That one's worse, because you don't want to get suddenly startled and jump around while you're crouched down under there.

heh heh heh! I've acquired the most amazing new store of useful knowledge and experience, these last couple years. And if you don't mind hearing it, well then I don't mind sharing it. LUCKY you! Lucky lucky you!

I hope all y'all had a wonderful sunshiny day full of fireworks and corn-on-the-cob and parades and watermelon and BBQ and salad and fried chicken and iced tea and family and friends and neighbors and swimming and, and, and all the good stuff you might like on a day like today.

Including a simple little joy like being able to post Happy Independence Day, Everyone! once again.
.

A Thousand Apologies

What I'm truly sorry for is this: for not finding some way of letting you all know that Walter and I are both okay.

We are. That's not to say we're doing fine, or even doing very well; but we are okay, and that sees us through. And before I go one more step, go anywhere else, first, first - recently, we've been doing better. I want to assure anyone and everyone who might be even mildly interested that we've had some smallish but significant pieces of good news lately.

The biggest one is this: Walter's been approved for social security disability, and his 5-month *waiting period* is over, so he now has an income. I keep running around saying we're rich. Ha! No, of course it isn't much. It has no bearing on the house still being in foreclosure. But when you no longer have to make those awful choices between essential heart medications and food, you sure do feel rich. It's enough. It gives me enough of a boost of energy and hope to find the strength to try to speak again.

I don't know why I lost my voice. I only know I want it back. Maybe understanding *why* could help me figure out better how to overcome it. But I see no point in waiting any more to figure it out first; in fact, that's probably been slowing me down. Instead, I'll try - try - to just bite the bullet and let myself talk.

One thing that's surely been holding me back is how rough the path life's got me on has become. The combined and accumulating weight of the illnesses, the poverty, the losses, became crushing. Choking. I'm way beyond caring whether anyone thinks less of me for *letting it get to me,* or for admitting out loud that it hurts that bad, or for appearing weak, or afraid, or blind to how much this entire country is suffering. Anyone who never felt these impacts is either a sociopath or a stone cold fool, and I'm neither. No more than I'm weak, or a coward. I have the facts, and I know better.

Mingled in with the devastation are these extraordinary episodes of peace and joy, of fabulously good luck, of hope that seemed so unreasonable early on, yet turned out right and true. For whatever reasons - yes, probably including that I make the effort to watch for them - those episodes have long been another part of my life's path. In the midst of the worst, those wondrous blessings keep coming.

So, then: What changed? Not so much the occurrence of the events, I guess; rather, it was their intensity.

It's never been a secret that we bloggers blog, in varying degrees, for our own good. For therapy. Oh yes, me too. You betcha.

But that intensity, especially the levels and degrees of the wretchednesses that kept coming up, made me not want to dump those harsh realities on you, my readers, my blessed, faithful, intelligent, discerning, incredibly kind, patient, forgiving readers.

From the comments and emails that you've continued to send in spite of my silence, I see you figured it out anyway.

Meaning...I might as well go ahead and tell the whole story, as best I can.

I may have to leave tiny bits out, but not by much. The hard stuff gets pretty bad sometimes, and gory, and I want to be sure you understand the risk of continuing to read here. I'm still myself, of course I am; but where I'd rather be telling you about these beautiful three flowers slowly unfolding by my driveway, and how my entire ponytail palm burst into bloom from every separate head at the same time, and posting their gorgeous pics - instead of all that, I'll have to start with things like the day I learn how to work my camera again. And the day I go outside onto my driveway in my motorized wheelchair, all by myself. I've done neither for a very long time.

For two and a half years, since March 2009, I've been bedridden 99.9% of the time. These days I live in a hospital bed in what used to be my home office. All day, all night, day after day, week after week. I'm on oxygen 24/7, and sleep sitting up. I have an aide that comes in for a few hours four days a week to help me take a shower, and to change my bed and do light housekeeping and laundry. This costs the insurance company far less than another awful stretch in a nursing home would.

On an average day I can walk around 20 feet at a stretch - not steadily, and not always; and I still fall sometimes, or pass out. That part is dangerous. Very. I bleed and bruise and peel skin off at the drop of a hat. There's a bedside commode to pee in; and although I can't put a meal together for myself, I can feed myself when someone brings my meal to my bed. There's an over-the-bed tray table on wheels, hospital style but smaller, that holds my laptop, pitcher of light iced tea, the daily stack of little pill cups, and a few pens and such. I fit my plates or bowls in when it's mealtime, and some nice person brings me good tasty diabetic food.

That person is highly likely to be Walter. To our mutual joy, we have reconciled, something we both thought impossible. We are better partners than we've ever been, all these years since 1993. Understanding how his porphyria affects personalities and relationships played a big role there. Not to forget, of course --

Cancer changes everything.

We'll have an update on how he's doing with that pretty soon.

Okay. There's so much more I want to say. I haven't even answered your comments yet. My stamina for posting is not what it was; and not making concessions for that fact has left me with a good handful of nearly-finished posts and emails, never sent. I'll try to keep talking, more as a sprinter than long-hauler, hoping it may help me keep on going on.

Writing and posting this is one of the harder things I've done in my life. My God. I miss you all so much.
.

Walter Pulled Through

Oh yes! He made it through surgery. He made it through post-op. Through a night in Cardiac ICU, CICU. Back upstairs to Telemetry, the heart unit. Slowly but surely they've pulled out this tube and that, let him take off his oxygen cannula here and there. Our bad hearts always complicate our other surgeries, so he's on a heart monitor.

He still gets a gazillion breathing treatments a day, and they put him back on IV fluids today. Hmmm. The chest tube is still in, draining and draining.

But they decided to transport him to his next stop, a Respite Care place.

And the first news on the tumor came back.

They got it very, very early. Stage 1A. Very small, almost too small to operate on him. Walter didn't know which kind it is - we hear there are several. But if it were the awful one, small cell, they'd be throwing everything but the kitchen sink at it.

Which they aren't. He won't have to do chemotherapy. He may have to do some radiation therapy, but not for very long.

It looks like this awful thing, lung cancer, might have a good outcome after all. Am I happy? Is he? Oh my goodness, YES!

You know what else? If we hadn't broken up, they would not have caught it so early. Perhaps not for a long, long time. It was only through an odd series of coincidences that they gave him a chest x-ray. And that he agreed to have it. See, he'd just had one three weeks before.

That x-ray showed nothing there at all.

I'm Still Here

I have been tremendously ill for a long, long time.

Communication has been difficult - with anyone, in any way. I see your comments from time to time and feel it's been a one-way street. Yet you're endlessly patient with me. I see footprints from you checking back, wondering what was happening with me. That means a great deal to this blogger, living in a hospital for a year and a half, battling onslaught after onslaught that many a strapping healthy young person would not have survived.

It's been another world, and a distant one. I've had to devote all my physical and mental resources to staying alive. But now it looks like I've turned a corner. I may, at last, be relatively safe. More on that another time, okay?

I want to assure you all that I haven't had a stroke or anything as permanently devastating as that. Some permanent changes? Yes, of course. Mostly, though, of the type that will heal. The lack of communication from my end isn't due to that. It's just been the battle fatigue.

Walter and I have split up. It was in the works for a long time. I've needed 24-hour caretaking for all that period of illness, and still do today. It's a terribly difficult job, caretaking someone who's seriously ill. Essentially, he burned out. He could never let himself rest. Going our separate ways has been very good for both of us.

And are we friends again? You betcha. Groan or snicker all you want, we don't care ;- )

Today, though, I'm back at the same hospital - but our roles are reversed. Today, Walter is the patient, and I'm the visitor. I'm getting a taste of what I was so certain of every time I've gone into another surgery - that it can be harder for those who wait than for the patient.

Help us, please, with all the positive energies and prayers and good thoughts you can summon up.

It looks like Walter has lung cancer. He's in surgery now, as I speak. The docs are removing the mass they discovered, together with surrounding tissue. He opted not to have a "lobectomy." That would remove about half a lung, and leave him totally and permanently disabled. His five-year survival expectancy would only increase by about 10%. It wasn't worth it to him.

Perhaps you noticed I said --it looks like lung cancer.-- That's because, even with all the tremendous technology at hand, they weren't able to do the usual biopsy first.

The mass that appeared in the cat scan was hiding behind a rib - nearly perfectly obscured. They couldn't get a clear image to guide the biopsy needle; and the straight needle they use couldn't get behind the rib to grab a piece of the mass anyway. So, while everyone is convinced it is lung cancer - and I believe it probably is - I don't forget there's a tiny chance it could just be an infection or something, We'll know in a few days, after Pathology has a chance to do the definitive analysis.

So now that I've finally broken my silence, what do I do? Very first post back, I ask for your help. Sheesh.

I'm not sure I really know what Walter's beliefs are. Maybe I'm wishing for those positive energies for myself instead. I keep thinking of Bane's prayer warriors...and a rare yellow rain lily, something with strong Bane associations in my mind, has been blooming in my front yard.

I'm OUT!

.
I'm OUT! I'm OUT! I'mOUT!I'mOUT!I'mOUT!

Yes indeed, everyone. You heard it straight from the horse's mouth. Oh, happy day!!!
**************************************************

Well. It was true when I said it, anyway. And you, my faithful readers, gave me enough time to start a post instead of answering comments, which is one of my FAVORITE things to do. And therefore, ever so distracting.

Now I'm going to gross you out, or bore you - whatever - with more medical tales. It's become my life. I've lived at this hospital for more than a year now. And while the subject material may not be as fun as I've wished, it's what I've got, for telling tales of the present at least.

I spent about two days at home. I slept most of them away. Then I woke up, bright and chipper.

And that's all she wrote...

until I woke up in the ER around 8 pm last night.

Walter and Mom were with me. They told me a blood test showed infection. That when they brought me in, I was radiating heat, so hot they could feel it from a few feet away, A wonderful paramedic, sweet and kind - and extremely competent - was determined to set an IV. It became a challenge to him. It does to a lot of them, actually.

See, I'm a very "hard stick." That means it's hard to find a vein that will accept an IV without "blowing,' infiltrating, where the needle comes out the other side of the vessel instead of sliding into the vein.

Even if they succeed in setting an IV, the IV's aren't usually in strong enough veins. They have to hold up against these super-powerful antibiotics they pour into me to kill off the various resistant germs I get. The IV's don't usually last more than a couple of days.

But that's another story.

Last night, what we needed was an IV. Difficult, difficult. And our shining hero of a paramedic actually did it! They drew blood for tests, and then slammed me with Vancomycin - one of those super-antibiotics - and lo and behold, I came to.

Understand, I was comatose through all the excitement. It happened that way last time too, grrr!!! I mean, I paid for the darn ticket. Then I don't even get to see the show. But everybody else did! hmph!

It appears my left arm is deeply infected for about a foot long area, with my elbow in the middle. Red, and hot. And - please forgive the indelicacy - same goes for my entire left breast. Ouch!

I'd hoped to have more time to post. Now, as long as I don't get the sleeps, I will.

Be careful what you wish for...
.

HAPPY EASTER, EVERYONE!!!

.
I really like holidays.

Since we live in this great American melting pot, or stew, or tossed salad - whatever - this can mean holidays of LOTS of different religions. Such a fine variety of holidays to choose from!

But how to avoid stepping on one's toes, congratulating someone for the wrong day?

It's easy. You don't need to try to remember who believes what. No no no! Get yourself a cheap calender with Important Days outlined in red, or bookmark same - just for ya know it's Special - and tell everyone you like:

HAPPY HOLIDAY!!!

See how easy? This way you have many other fine advantages, to-wit:

You don't have to worry that you just said *Happy Easter* to, say, an Orthodox Jew. Plus, no one will question you closely about the nature of the holiday, for fear they'll look like a horse's patootie - which you just saved your ownself from doing, right? PLUS, it puts lots of people in a nice holiday mood. Want a great reason to pull the curtains, invite some friends (or not), and do a fine cook-fest?

And if you've got some brave acquaintances in the bunch, you can drop the Horse's P. concerns and have all sorts of interesting discussions about the real date of the Chinese New Year and such. Not many supervisors are brave enough to jump in and cut that conversation short if you're swiping another 15 minutes of lunch hour.

The point is, it's a holiday. A time to relax a bit and remember to enjoy ourselves. I think the world could use a bit more of that.

Leaving religion behind for a bit - say, taking a brief vacation from it - Easter is special because it's springtime. I don't need to figure out if it's the correct historical date, or reconcile the usual mix of orthodoxy and paganism. Nope.

Because even living in near-perpetual sunshine and warmth, we can feel the change down here too.

Springtime.

Full of joyousness, renewal, warm breezes, seeds sprouting, sap running, bunnies bounding and eggs hatching. Yeah. All o' that. It's just great.

So whatever your beliefs, agendas, family situations and so forth, I hope you have a truly Happy Holiday today.
.

*Medical Alert.* My Excellent Dear Good Friends: I Am Dying.

.
But I REFUSE to go.

Aw, c'mon, folks. A little silly overblown melodrama never killed anyone.

Even when it hits so uncomfortably close to home.

I'm back from the hospital once again. In the last year I've been admitted to B.General some 16 times, once to Holy Cross, and three times to nursing homes ("SNIF's"). I've come very close to dying at least three times. k dad calculated the actual amount of time I spent at the hospital, rather than at home, last year. He tells me I spent more time in the hospital.

And just when it seemed like it was. . . well,not over, but slowing down at least. . .

would somebody please play that music from Jaws or something? . . . well, you get the picture. . .

yeah, speed demon. Up it goes again.

Well. I'm going to break this post up into several, okay? I hope that'll help circumvent boredom, hunger, the need to pee when only half-way through. . .
* * *
I owe a lot of apologies to a lot of people for my complete lack of communication. You know who you are. I hope you'll understand - and forgive me! - once I can finally tell you how it all came down.

Today is Monday, March 22, 2010. I had "exploratory" surgery on Wednesday, March 3, then major surgery on March 8. Quite major. After that, they sent me to ICU (Trauma Center/ICU) where one of my nurses from a "previous engagement!" happened to be assigned to me one night. Oh, we talked and talked and caught up with family news, and she insisted I'd saved her orchids with my Handy Dandy Orchid Tips.

Family news. Yes. Long talks with many nurses about such, both ways. And in the pre-op waiting room was: k dad and k bro, both from Chicagoland; and k nephew, now living in Brooklyn, New York. Ah, my favorite nephew in the world! k sis was back in New Jersey, having to return to work after not one but two long and extended visits; k mom was in Chicagoland, busily working away to help pay for all those plane tickets; and finally, k niece was settling her (OUR) family in the new place they'd acquired since their house was under water and all workout attempts had failed, whereupon they moved out, cleaned up, and handed the keys back to the bank.

That tiny pre-op waiting room was crowded, people. I hope and believe I had a tight hold on my emotions. But having all that family there, for no other reason than love and supportiveness, made it very hard indeed to just talk without bursting into tears. See, our family never behaved in any classic family manner. I'm not sure we ever really knew how. But we're learning. We're not throwing away our independence; we're just adding that all-important element called "interdependence".

And you know what else? Friends and family are not allowed anywhere near those little pre-op waiting rooms. But the hospital personnel, who had every right to ask - to demand - that my family leave? They didn't. Doctors, nurse-practitioners, nurses, PCA's. Nobody.

C'mon. How often is family even allowed a kiss at the door leading in to the operating area?

Never.
** * * * ** * * * ** * * * ** * * * ** * * * ** * * * ** * * * ** * * * ** * * * **

The stars look very different, today...

.
Some of you may remember, in past posts, me talking about the sense of connectedness I had with the earth and all my friends during these times of debilitating illness. Attached back to earth I was, by an imaginary cord like spiderweb or silk. You know how silks are said to be stronger, yet more elastic, than steel that's been spun out into a thread like that silk is? Fragile as it also was, that thread kept me connected to ground, to home, to the people of my life. It held my will to live.

And every time I got bad sick again, the illness would be worse than the time before, and that thread tying me to home would have to stretch farther and farther. And it always did; it stretched to hold me fast but it never broke. It always held me, connected me, attached me, safe.

Wondering, though - I mean, who wouldn't? - if one day - Surely, surely, some day it would stretch too far and have to snap. Wouldn't it? And what would happen then? Would I keep drifting off farther away into outer space, spinning and floating and all *can't breathe but that's okay really, it'll-all-be-over-quicker-that-way...*

And this time that strong and fragile silk snapped.

And I made it back anyway.

I think...

So yes, I'm at home now. I spent most of the last year in the hospital or nursing homes - some 12 or 15 hospital admissions alone, I'll have to go back and tot 'em up to know for sure. The insurance company appears to be contemplating their ever-rising bills and considering treatment alternatives. (Let's hope they aren't getting skittish on us, huh?) They took me off IV, back on oral super-antibiotics, and made up a sort of hospital room at home. House-call doctors and everything!

The last time they did that they nearly killed me. I wouldn't like that treatment alternative one bit, although it certainly would be cheaper, especially in the long run. heh! But their dastardly schemes haven't worked not even once, so I agreed to give it another try, and so far so good. I am alive.

The last admission with any drama attached was November 13, 2009 - yup, Friday the 13th - through Thanksgiving Day. I woke up in a Level 1 Trauma Center/ICU, across the room from the helipad. I couldn't talk, or put a coherent sentence together in my mind the way we call "thinking;" couldn't write and had to *x* my name on some papers. All can be symptoms of a stroke; but I knew that wasn't it, it wasn't what happened to me.

But what did?

Next to my space-age triple-computerized ICU bed stood a great bear of a man created from an ex-20 year Marine midstate Louisiana Cajun, a military haircut, brilliant intelligence, and 260 pounds of solid muscle - a nice safe-feeling thing, considering the maybe 1800 cops and shot-up (ex-) fugitives and pissed-off (presumably innocent) (presumably unarmed) bystanders roaming about. This was one of the two - yes, only two - nurses I had in the 3 or 4 days I spent up there.

Luckily, we communicated extremely well without talking. He saw my great frustration in trying to string 2 - 3 words together in a way that made sense; he waited just a bit - checking, assessing, you know? - then told me, "ssshhhhhh, quiet, you don't need to talk just now..."

He was very direct. Forthright. Didn't feed me platitudes or try to placate me. Notice how he didn't say "You're going to be juuust fiiine!" to try to make me feel better? Because how can anyone really know? And ordinary practical realities aside, I was now in a 24-bed ICU with a 50% survival rate.

That's it. What ICU is all about. Half the beds they wheeled back out the door had dead people in them. I mean, come on... Okay. Every one's different. But me, I really appreciated his style; I always would have anyway, but it was exactly what I needed just then..

Later I learned I'd been in full-blown sepsis from a type of mycobacteria - rare enough to cause quite a stir in the Trauma Center - and pneumonia. The nurse was feeding my IV from a huge bag of dopamine, and doing all sorts of other exotic things with my oxygen and lung or breathing measurements and such. When they brought me in, my blood pressure was in the 70's over 30's.

Yeah. Dead level.

Hmmm. Enough on that episode for now.

Well. Enough on this post for now, too. Writing is exhausting me and I'm still so very, very tired; but I had to check in, I just had to, gathering up all my great strength, oh huge it is, I bet it's almost as big as a new-born kitten's by now. I've missed everyone so much, and your comments and emails kept me attached here in their own way after all, so hugs and kisses to each and every one.

And maybe an extra one or two out of my real and powerful gratitude to the still-anonymous Mystery Person who decided, for mysterious reasons of their own, to send me this beautiful - and working - Mystery Computer I'm typing on. Perhaps they were indulging a hope it would kick a post out of me? --ah, vanity...

Hah!

It was probably just Bane.
.

grrrrrrrRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!

.
Or maybe I should say, AAAUUUGGGHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

Because once again, I'm trapped in the Big Downtown Hospital. As an inmate. InPATIENT, 'scuse me.

I'm trying out the Brief Update mode now, trying to keep you faithful folks from worrying about me. Especially...especially because - ah, reality intrudes - there is reason to worry, now; precarious health, no money, and no internet service at home, and we don't know why.

I did make it through the Thanksgiving weekend at home. Nearly 100% of it. Around 11pm, I started bleeding again, another coumadin bleed. It was coming from my mouth - we hoped, as opposed to some other internal origin - and after a slow but steady run of some 14 hours, I finally gave up and went back to the ER.

Where, after some treatment, and then some heart pain, they decided to admit me.

For the last time. I won't be going back. It's time to find a new place to go.

But!!! BUT!!!

Ready for the silver lining? 'Cause you know I almost can't write a *gggrrr!!!* post without one.

WELL!!! I'm slowly but surely getting Unadmitted! As we speak, Transport is allegedly on their way up, to take me down, and out, to where Walter will put me in our car, and we can go home.

Home.

Home again.
.