Gratitude is Me For Carl

It's been an awful year for Carl and his health.  He has been the picture of health all his life,  so this has not been easy for him or for me.  i don't know what I'd do without him either so I'll hang on as you see me doing here.

The above picture was taken by our good friend and ward member, Kimball Ungerman, a couple of weeks ago.  Thought you'd like to see it.

The Dynamic Duo

Carl and I are highly sympatico if you know what I mean.  We get along famously.

The only real difference between us, and this one is huge, is that Carl can amuse himself and I must be amused.

Carl could stay home all day, every day, enjoying puttering around the house, playing on the computer, gardening, camera stuff, watch sports and other things on TV.

Whereas I need, and it is a need, to do something every day.  Stuff away from home.  Lunch somewhere is high on the list.  It can be a cheap lunch, I'm not fussy, I'll go to the dentist, get my blood checked, go the the library, pick up a few things at the grocery store, get a flue shot, who cares?

Lately, we've compromised.  We walk at the mall.  I know it puts us right in the middle of the really old people, but it works.  We ARE old anyway.  We don't feel old, but we are, and we know it.  You tell us about it.

We've become mall walkers.  So sue us.  What it'll do, is extend our lives and make us even a bigger drudge on the market.  We'll use up goods and services, insurance, government services, air, traffic lanes and everything else.  So sue us.

Actually, it won't.  God knows the number of our days.  We'll live just as long as ever.  We'll just be healthier so it'll be win/win for everyone.  We'll be good, contributing members of society longer.

And besides that, when we're at the mall, we sometimes pick up a few things, so don't consider us a pain.  Look at us as a little stimulus package.

Healthy Good News

Thump me on the chest and call me Tarzan.  

I went in for my report on my Stress test yesterday and found out I’m much improved over a couple of years ago.  

My ejection fraction is now within the normal range.  Before it was really sub-par which means that too little blood was getting squirted through my heart with each beat.  

I do have a dead spot which means I did have a silent heart attack a couple of years ago, but I guess my little heart can compensate for that. 


I still have atrial fibrillation, which means that I have to take Coumidin (rat poison) all my life because my heart beats only when it wants, so blood could clot during intermissions and cause strokes.  But I am still one happy little clam.  So happy, in fact, I forgot to ask about the leaky little valves.  Oh, well.  

The reason my heart is better is Coreg, a nifty new heart drug that actually improves the heart as well as just improving heart function.  Dr. Gary Symkoviak, my beloved heart guy, says that he’s not had any heart transplants among his patients with Coreg which is just fine with me.  I didn’t even know that was a possibility.  Silly me.  It not only forestalls another heart attack, but helps with my heart failure.

The only advice?  Exercise.  He rudely observed that I'm not in good shape.  I knew there had to be bad news.  After all.  He is a doctor.  Oh well.  I guess Carl will have to dust off the tread mill.  

Life's Little Conundrums

I lost twenty pounds.  It's really kinda neat but then it's not really amazing either.  I just kinda stopped taking my favorite medication, Lyrica, and it sorta made me stop being ravenous.

That's the good part.

Lyrica worked like a charm for my Fybromyalgia -- body aches.  But it also revved up my appetitive.  I didn't know that was it's quiet little bonus.

I went to the doctor and complained that I was sick of being so fat and with that charming chuckle I have, asked him for a magic pill.  Ha, ha, ha.  Then he gave me the good news/bad news.  The magic pill was Lyrica -- and it was not taking it.  So I stopped.

The body aches are back.

Here's the choice, though.  The extra weight isn't a beauty issue so much as a health one.  I've got a couple of faulty heart valves going on, some atrial fibrilation and was on high blood pressure medicine, which I am not taking anymore.  So the pounds really had to go.

But since I take blood thinners, I also am restricted to Tylenol for pain which everyone knows is cousin to taking jelly beans, so the Lyrica was nice.  Lortab is what's left but that kinda worries me.

Who knows.  We'll see what happens.  But if you know something, let me know what you know.

Obama, I'm Not Liking You So Much Anymore

Currently I'm considering writing a letter to someone but I'm just not sure to whom.  Maybe to Obama but that would require eating crow.  I've even been forced to speak up for him at about every turn here in Utah, most notably at Church because I thought (think) he is fabulous.

But things changed when I couldn't get a flu shot.

Couldn't find one.

But then neither could anyone else.   But then I finally did find them.  I went down to sign my name on the dotted line only to learn that I'M TOO OLD!!  That's right.  You heard it here.  I even explained that I went through chemotherapy twenty years ago, and lack an immune system in spades as a result, but that fell on deaf ears.  No one cares about my extenuating circumstances.  This is the reason I've decided to blame Obama.  Someone's got to take the blame.

Remember some months ago, the Internet went nuts saying Obama's Health Care Plan said he wanted to kill off old people?  I was no fool.  I didn't want to read 2,000 boring pages but I knew politicians weren't stupid.  They wouldn't put something like that in writing.  I didn't believe it.  But now I do.  He's trying to kill me!

So I got the flu and have really been sick with it for one reason or another for over a month.  Currently I feel like crap because I have a bellycular (my word for "stomach") hematoma from coughing my lungs out and I feel terrible because it's infected (well, duh.)

Did anyone hear about heading to the border for flu shots?  I'm still in the market.   I don't want any more of this sickness business.  I refuse to die.  I know it would only please the president.  I don't want to do that.  I also plan to blame Obama for any misery that I might have along the way to Mexico.

Anything besides the fact that I live in the greatest country in the world, I'm grateful for everything I have and that I am and for the very life I am living.

Drat.  I guess that negates everything I said heretofore.

This also explains why I've not been too regular with my blogging.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it.  I think I'm seeing shooting sparks now.  I'll go rest somewhere for a minute.

Cold-Turkey Is Not Just Sandwich Meat Anymore

Withdrawal.  I'm not sure, but I think I know what it really feels like.  Not like cocaine, maybe, or heroin, but something a little like it.  Muscles really ache.  Nausea interjected with queasiness.   Sweaty and hot one minute and freezing the next.  Nasty ringing and sloshing in the ears.  Headachy with cotton wadded into the frontal lobes.  Indifference to fire alarms, screaming children and welfare of pets.


It all started when I went to the doctor a week or so ago.  All I did was complain that I was ballooning like a crazed clown.  (If you are literal-minded, the imagery is probably lost on you.)  I thought he'd prescribe a magic bullet, but instead he noted that the culprit was probably a little medication I've been taking for maybe 40 years. The condition for which I take it is annoying, but still requires respect.  So I do need the medication, but the doctor prescribed a smaller, less-likely-to-enfatten dose which he felt would suffice.  


But while in the office, I forgot to clarify how he envisioned incrementally lowering the dose, so I went from 90 mph to 10 in one step.  I considered periodically calling the doctor to find out what the plan really was, but I kept thinking maybe I'd beaten the worst of the beast and might as well continue on with the status quo.  Plus, waiting for his response somehow seemed intolerable at the time.  Also I think I forgot how to use a phone.  I was indeed wrong but that was then.  


A week out, I still feel like the walking wounded, but it's becoming more tolerable these days.  The first three days, however, were awful.


I bore you with this for two purposes.  One is to at least get some sympathy out of this.  The other is to alert anyone who might care, to the fact that there's nothing particularly romantic or worth it about coming down on the wrong side of drugs.  If this is a taste of what it's all about, I have a big, new sympathy for those who are really taking on the whole load of problems.  Rebellion has its place.  Taking charge of your own person is important in growing up.  But going this route isn't the smart way to manifest it.  


It might be easier just to jump out of a moving car.  I did consider it.

The Paralyzing Power of Headaches and Bad Movies

I didn't write yesterday nor today because I had nothing really good to say. Yesterday I stayed in bed with a killer headache and today I have the residuals. (By that I mean a tiny headache and still only a modicum of a will to live.)

Further, I saw a disappointing movie the night before. We saw "The Soloist" with Robert Downey Jr. (How could you go wrong?) and Jamie Foxx. We even went late at night since that was the only showing. It was good, but not great. I think a true critic would say it lacked focus. Fishermen would say the water was a little muddy. An artist would say the lines were blurred. I'd say that I came out of there wishing for more. Carl's response was that it wasn't his type of movie, but it could have been. The story is about a Julliard man who left because of schizophrenia and was living on the streets of LA playing a violin with two strings who dreams of recapturing his days with Beethoven. He is found by a newspaper reporter named Steve Lopez who tries to save him. The story is true. How could they lose? I don't know but it just wasn't great. Even popcorn and Diet Coke couldn't do it.

Tonight, however, recovery should take place. Sophia and Ali are in a dance recital. Right now they are in a two-hour practice session, which should be hilarious since they are six and four and have the attention spans of a two and four year old. It will redeem it all. I have hope. What have I more?

Mme Heftybutt Makes a Decision

I am joining Weight Watchers. Rejoining, actually, but they took a signup fee so I think I must be considered a new chunky to them.

Atkins worked for me for so many years that I just couldn't make the shift. In 1989, Dr. Robert Payne suggested that I stop eating white flour and sugar just to see if that might be the cause of my killer migraines. The headaches stopped within two days and I never looked back (except on those occasions when I couldn't resist and paid with a big headache.) I took the additional step of eschewing carbs altogether and the rest is history: I lost twenty pounds and sustained a size ten for years and years with no problem. Then as life started getting more sedentary and the body chemistry started failing, I plumped. I was whapped with the fat brush. It painted me rounder and rounder until my size fourteens really hurt some days. I did lose twenty pounds last year, but ten is back now. I'm not the purist I was back in the days. Places like Cafe Rio have ruined me with their rice and beans.

Atkins could probably be working still, but there is a limit to the number of calories even that can withstand. Besides, remember the beans and rice? But I must do something. I can't stand it any longer.

I did try Weight Watchers once a couple of years ago when I went to a meeting with Marki Baxter from LDSBC. All that happened then is I threw money at a desk clerk, attended one meeting and forgot the whole thing. No weight was lost because no weight was watched. I don't like counting and measuring. Maybe this time I'll see if I can't just eyeball things for amounts. I really used to cook so I know what a half-cup looks like.

Before you is a desperate woman. I know at this age, I'll never really look comely in a bikini. But I do know that with the stairs we've got in our house, my knees will greatly appreciate thirty pounds less. We'll see just how desperate I am.