What's Really Been Going On

This is a truth post.

What's really been going on is this:

My husband on Friday had an ankle fusion at Carilion Roanoke Memorial.

Left foot is his normal big foot; right foot is his Frankenfoot. He has a steel plate and screws in it.

He is off his pain meds and doing pretty well. He has a knee scooter and is moving about the house relatively easily now.

He is not in a cast yet. He will be non-weight bearing on his foot for 8 weeks. Yes, I said 8 weeks. That is a damn long time.

Last night we figured out how to get him in the shower. He smells better. And feels better. Showers can be wonderful things.

He is watching a lot of TV because he is not a reader. This would (and will) drive me crazy. I rarely have the TV on but now it is blaring away almost constantly.

And since this is my blog, and this my blog post, I am going to talk about how it feels to be me, a person with chronic pain issues and limited mobility, trying to deal with someone who is a foot taller than I am and who weighs more than I do and who is a stubborn-headed mule most of the time.

First off, none of this was easy on me. It has been hard watching my husband practically dragging his foot after him for a good 8 months because he was too damn stubborn to go to the doctor and have it taken care of. He would get up in the morning and his hands would flutter like the wings of a dying baby bird when he first put weight on his foot. He didn't think I saw but I did, of course.

Since March, I have nagged, bitched, pleaded, and cried to try to get him to go the doctor. He did not go until the end of September.

He scheduled this for the time when it suited him and he did not once think about when it suited me. I assure you, had he asked, I would have told him "now," back in the spring or summer, and not at the holidays. Not when I have to worry about snow and ice, and driving after dark (which I can't do well since I have a little cataract forming), and when it's cold you have to worry about coats and how the cows are going to be fed (we've found people to help, the cows will be fine). I would have suggested June or August or sometime like that, but he wanted to work because that is what he does. He works. That is who is he and all he knows and what he does.

So he has greatly inconvenienced me because it will be cold out, and I can't set him outside in the sunshine for a spell, nor decorate a Christmas tree because we have a hospital bed for him in the living room, or even cook a turkey because with my health issues I can't do that without some help. But none of that matters because at least he finally has had his surgery and hopefully in 12 weeks or so (may the goddess help me), he will be back on his feet and doing his man stuff.

It's just one holiday season. Of course, you never know, it could be my last holiday season. I could choke on a cashew in just a few minutes. Stranger things have happened. And I admit it, I am selfish and would have liked to have been consulted and had my needs taken into consideration.

But I wasn't and yes, I do resent that a little bit.

As for the last week, my pain levels has skyrocketed to highs I haven't seen in a couple of years, in part because Carilion sucks as a hospital. It's parking sucks and its set-up sucks and the way it does things sucks. As a healthcare facility, it sucks.

I had to walk and walk and I can't manage more than 7,500 steps without the pain in my abdomen acting up. For five days straight, I walked over 12,000 steps. By Monday, I was a total wreck. I could barely stand up straight. My back hurt, my stomach hurt, and my stress level was higher than a freed leaf blowing in a hurricane force wind.

We had asked for home health care because we knew I would have issues and need help, if only for an hour to get him sponged off and cleaned up. Carilion Home health care did not call though we were told they would. He came home Saturday and we still hadn't heard from them. On Sunday, an RN called and showed up to "sign us up," take his blood pressure, and leave. On Monday, a physical therapist came, looked him over, and then said, "There's nothing I can do for you. Your foot is in a splint and you're healing for an ankle fusion." Well duh. What was the point of that visit? To put more money on Carilion's pocket, that's all.

On Tuesday I called the Home Health people because they said to call if there was a certain issue, in particular no bowel movement, within three days. He hadn't had one since Friday, so I called. They were as helpful as a fart in a hail storm. I finally got that worked out and taken care of myself with some appropriate over-the-counter medication and a heating pad on his stomach.

Carilion Home Health Care never followed up.

He also on Tuesday called his doctor about his pain levels and his bowel issues, and to see how much Tylenol he could take because his pain medication was gone, and we've not heard a word from the doctor's office. Today is Wednesday and it's late afternoon as I write this.

By this time, I had of course sponge-bathed him several times and Tuesday night we'd gotten him in the shower and cleaned off. We did this without help or guidance or assistance, and I was shaking with pain when we were done, and up most of the night with it (though my husband doesn't know that).

This morning an occupational therapist came, and she was helpful. She offered pointers to help him bathe and take care of himself, taking some of the pressure off of me. Then she left, never to be seen again.

I despise Carilion with everything I have. I would rather take my last breath in my bedroom and die young than let a Carilion doctor cut on me. Or any doctor in Roanoke, for that matter. Let's face it. If you're an "A" doctor, you don't come to Roanoke to practice. You come to Roanoke because some great place like John Hopkins won't have you.

The only exception to that might be if you were born and raised here, like my own personal doctor (thankfully not affiliated with either of our two hospitals), or maybe you have family here or something. Otherwise, just on principal, a doctor practicing in Roanoke isn't an "A" list doctor, I don't care how many millions the Carilion CEO donates for cancer centers.

I will probably write more about this. Things happened during his surgery while I was in the waiting room that I would like to record.

But this is enough for now. Now you know. It ain't peaches and cream.

36 Years

Today is my anniversary. We've been married for 36 years.

That's a very long time.

We have grown old together, though it doesn't seem like 36 years. That's a lot of time together and adventures with one another.

Here we are a couple of years ago. Actually I think almost 9 years ago, now. Sheesh.

Here we were 36 years ago. Yes, I would say we have aged. Oh my. (I have always liked his smile in this picture. He looks like the cat who ate the canary.)

Big events? Building a house. Multiple surgeries for me. My mother's death, his father's passing. The birth of nephews and a niece. Promotions for him, college degrees for me. His hand getting caught in the hay baler tends to stand out as a an unforgettable moment. Vacations in Myrtle Beach (most of them), Pigeon Forge, the Poconos, Charlottesville, Virginia Beach, Williamsburg.

The stuff of lives.

We've done all right.

How Guys With Backhoes Take Down Trees

We've been having issues with trees of late. We have dead ash trees, thanks to the emerald ash borer, and we have blue spruce trees that are over 30 years old that are dying from a fungus.

The ash borer came over from Asia; the fungus showed up during a drought around 2012. One of the blue spruce's blew over last winter and I have been concerned about the two remaining on the bedroom side of the house ever since.

I'm not excited about the idea of waking up to find a tree in bed with me.

One of the blue spruces was leaning precariously. When the ground was wet and the wind would blow, I would sit at the window and watch as the ground at the roots raised up, then sucked the tree back down a bit.

My husband had asked a friend back in February to remove the trees but he has yet to show up. Last week, husband took matters into his own hands with one of the trees. I still have one to worry about, but at least this one that was really leaning is no longer a worry.

The tree was already leaning about this much, with that hump at the ground where the roots were coming up.

A few pushes wouldn't do, though. The ground is too dry at the moment.

A little digging to loosen the dirt around the roots proved helpful.

A big push.

Ally oop!

Poor tree is on the ground.

I really hate losing these trees. They were once quite beautiful. We sprayed with fungicide when we realized they were "sick," but once that fungus is on a tree there is little hope of saving it. All of our lovely blue spruces will eventually be gone. We only have two left now.

Do You Need to Sit Down, Dear?

My husband is going to have to have surgery on his ankle.

This falls under the heading of BIG DEAL. He will be off his feet for three months and out of work for about five.

Somebody will have to give him blood thinner shots. The doctor looked at me and said, "You get to do it," when we were in his office Monday.

Yeah, right.

I am not a nurse. I do not deal with this kind of thing well. It stresses me and I can think of 100,000 things that will go wrong and not a single thing that will go right.

Yesterday the pharmacy at Kroger called and said we had a prescription to pick up. I had all my drugs but some of my husband's blood pressure medication is on auto fill, so I assumed that was what it was.

This morning I went in to get it.

The pharmacy tech grabbed a clear bag and tossed it on the counter. It was filled with needles. HUGE needles. Cow-sized needles. LONG needles. Needles from hell.

I knew immediately that this was the blood thinner stuff, even though we don't have the surgery scheduled yet. This little doctor fellow is in quite a hurry to do this, I guess.

The needles lay there. I looked at them. I started turning white. I grabbed the counter.

"Are you alright?" the pharmacy tech asked.

"Um. What are those?" I managed to ask. I clung to the counter, hoping my legs were going to hold me. Little black dots were starting to swim around my eyes.

She told me. Blood thinner.

"You don't look so good," she added. "Do you need to sit down?"

"We don't want that now," I stammered. "We don't even have the surgery scheduled." I paused. "And yes, I need to sit down."

She shrugged and said the prescription would be on file for a year, and pointed toward a bench. I hung on to my little buggy for dear life and rolled it to the bench, where I sat for a few minutes trying to collect myself. I did not pass out but I came awfully close.

I'm supposed to give my husband these shots. With needles that look like they should go into an elephant.

Hell will freeze over before that happens.

Anybody want to volunteer?

Things in Common

I have several people whom I consider best friends, but my very best friend is my husband.

He and I are two very different people, and sometimes I wonder how it is that we've remained married and friends for 35 years. After such a long time, one might think two very different personalities would be sick of one another.

However, we have a few things in common. We both have a great sense of humor. While he tends more toward what I call "garbage" humor, as in, say, Monty Python or bathroom jokes, I am more sardonic and my humor is more of an off-the-cuff variety. However, my husband has taught me the value of a good laugh at a great fart joke (or a great fart), because after you live with someone for so long, you're just going to fart in front of one another. At some point, you may as well laugh about it. And now that I've read somewhere that smelling farts can keep one from having dementia, we have now nicknamed farts the anti-dementia gas. Go figure.

We also both love the rural life, although I like to look at it and take pictures of it from inside the house while he prefers to be out in the fields riding around in a tractor. Still, I'd rather look at fields of orchard grass than the backside of someone else's house. We both embrace the wildlife, me with my camera and he with his shotgun sometimes, but even so, we have a mutual respect for the land and what Mother Nature has given us to care for. For a time we had a garden, but between fighting off the deer and other animals and aging, we've given up on that for the most part. Even so, there are days when I enjoy having my hands in the dirt of my flower bed, while he enjoys having the dirt all over him. How's that for something in common?

Another thing we have in common is that we're both rather, um, thrifty. We don't spend money on stuff unless we have to. We have stuff around here that's 30 years old. So long as it still works, it will still be here another 30. However, we will spend money on important things, like nephews and nieces and home improvements and stuff like that.

And that's my thought for the day.
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Linking up with Kwizgiver's April Challenge. You can find the prompts here.

In the Roanoke City Council Chambers

Tuesday we went to the Roanoke City Council meeting. My husband was receiving mention for his 35 years of service with the Roanoke City  Fire-EMS, where he serves as battalion chief.

As a news reporter I have sat through hundreds of meetings in various town halls and county offices, but I'd never been to the city council meeting. It felt familiar and I inspected it from a reporter's point of view, I suppose.




The media always interests me at these things.



City council chambers are a more ornate than I am used to in county meeting rooms and town halls.



The gentleman on the left is Ed Hopkins, who received 45 years of service. He is on the police force. He is with Mayor Sherman Lea and Vice Mayor Joe Cobb.

My husband headed to the podium after his name was called.



My husband would not turn around and face me so I could get a decent picture.

 

The honorees with Mayor Lea.



The City of Roanoke Seal

I am very proud of my husband. He has served the citizens of Roanoke City for a very long time, and he has worked hard to keep people and their possessions safe. He has an important job overseeing numerous fire stations. He has plucked people from raging waters, made sure elderly folks were out of danger, pulled people from car wrecks, stayed up for over 24 hours fighting large structure fires, and otherwise wore himself out doing his job. He should be paid what a football player makes, but of course, he isn't.

He is a good man. Roanoke City has been lucky to have him. I only wish we could afford for him to retire, because he is getting too old to be saving people. Fighting fires is a young man's job.

The Minutia That Tears the Heart

The miniscule, off-the-cuff statement that comes unexpectedly, that pierces the heart, sometimes does the most damage.

The damage can be inexplicable, too. The pain can be for the other, for yourself, maybe even someone you've never met.

My heart is pierced with thousands upon thousands of holes. My emotions and my soul both, I imagine, look something like a bit of netting, thin strands of togetherness interwoven with space consisting of grief and agony. Here and there one would find gigantic tears, gapping places where some major event took away a large piece of that secret place inside of me.

This morning my second alarm went off - yes, I need two - and I realized I'd not yet said goodbye to my husband before he left for work.

We long ago established that I am not a morning person, while he is, and he despises a conventional breakfast anyway, preferring to eat a peanut butter sandwich or a slice of left over pizza over cereal or scrambled eggs. Everyone needs their alone time, and he has the early morning when he rises at 5 a.m. - such an ungodly hour! - and spends an hour gathering himself and preparing for his day.

After my alarm went off, I sat up quickly and grabbed my glassed for a look at the time. The lights were on in the kitchen, and I slipped from the bed and padded down the hallway. I softly called to him.

"Sweetie, are you still here?"

I heard him fold up the paper and jump up. "We actually got a newspaper this morning. I was reading it. I'm late!" He hurried past me to finish his grooming, brushing his teeth.

And with that, I felt my heart shed a tear for him. For he is 59 years old now, and if he wants to take an extra five minutes to read the paper, then he has earned that right. But he had to hurriedly kiss me goodbye and rush out the door, because he'd let time slide by a little longer than he'd anticipated.

This would be a good time to rail against the world, against this horrible economic system we've put in place, one that keeps people tied to clocks and schedules, and forces us all to bow down to corporate whips and politicians who don't give a damn if you're almost 60 and doing a younger man's job.

But I won't do that. I will only say that when I realized my beloved husband had to leave without finishing his newspaper, such a simple request, I felt a sting in my soul. Only a little rip, but a tear nevertheless.

I'm Still In Love

I have been married for 34 years and 5 months.
 
How nice to be able to say, with total certainty, that my husband and I are still in love.
 
I know this because we are careful with one another. We treat each other with respect. We hold hands while we watch TV. We laugh over the same silly things. We have long discussions about the state of the nation, the farm, the deer in the pasture.
 
He rubs my stomach every night  in the way that the physical therapist showed him, trying to help me stretch out the scar tissues that have knotted my inner muscles and that threaten to cause an immediate emergency by throttling my innards.
 
As for me, I wash his clothes and fix dinner, take care of his home, try to make us a nice nest. I'm pretty sure I'm not the easiest person in the world to live with, for I can be moody and distant sometimes. But then, so can he.

We are, after all, just humans.


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This essay is part of the the April challenge from Kwizgiver. April 11 done! (Discuss your current relationship.)

Fixed!

You might remember some time ago - well, actually, August of last year - I wrote about my little firefighter statue that ended up broken.

He had a whole in his head and in his helmet after my husband accidentally knocked him from the shelf.

I had the statue made and painted for my husband in our first year of marriage. A friend of mine who lives in Eagle Rock, Dee Dee, crafted and painted him up for me.

He looked like this:




2013

And then he hurt his head:



Ow! I have a headache!

My pal Dreama Kattenbraker, one of our famous local artists, fixed him up for me. Now he looks like this:

Repaired! 2017

No more hole in my head!

She used some kind of dry clay to fix him up, since he is made of ceramic. I don't know all the steps involved or anything. She was not happy because his hat is a little rough, but my husband said firefighter's hats aren't neat and clean anyway, so it just makes him look a bit more authentic.

She also put him on a base so he wouldn't fall over. Before he stood on his own two feet but I suspect with the change in his head he was a bit off balance.

I brought him home the other night and presented him to my husband, who promptly placed him back on the shelf beside the fireplace.

"Maybe our luck will change, now that he is back where he belongs," he said.

I'm just glad I can look up there and see that big ol' smile and that yellow hat again.

Also I am very grateful to my friend for fixing him up for me.

Our "Eclipse Party"

As I noted in a blog post on Monday, I had serious concerns about my camera equipment and my ability to get the photos I wanted during our 90% eclipse.

I had resigned myself to trying to use my Nikon D3200, which doesn't have a movable monitor. This meant that in order to see the eclipse through the monitor and line things up, I was going to have to turn myself into a pretzel or something, since I needed to use a tripod and the self-timer on the camera.

Inspiration hit when I went to the bathroom. No, not that kind of inspiration! I figured out a way to put the solar film over my Nikon Coolpix P500, which is a point and shoot and truly my favorite camera.

 



I placed the solar film over the toilet paper tube, cut the tub in a few places so it would slide over the extension/zoom on my camera, and viola! I could now use the camera with the moveable monitor and the one with the best zoom on it. All I had to do was take the solar film on and off.

This worked well, as you can see from the photos.

With that all set, and my glasses available (including some that Amazon supposedly recalled and said they would refund me for, but no money has yet fallen into my account), my husband and I, along with my mother-in-law, settled in to watch the totality on TV and the eclipse from our area.

My goofy husband models his eclipse glasses.

We went old school, too, and made viewers out of cereal boxes.

My mother-in-law with her ball cap and dark sunglasses.

During the 90% part, it was this dark. The world seemed more like a burnt orange color, which unfortunately did not show up in the photo. But it did grow rather dark. The rooster down the street crowed the entire time the eclipse was going on.

My husband takes a gander at the sun through his special specs.

My mother-in-law looking through her special specs.

It was fun to take the afternoon off and enjoy a Mother Nature show. For me, the best thing was that for a few minutes there, we were once again a united people, with a lot of us, anyway, enjoying a spectacle that didn't involve death or destruction and nothing but warnings to not look at the sun (which you shouldn't do anyhow). See, we can come together and overcome our differences. We just have to do it in the 2 minutes of darkness during a total eclipse.

Seeing Wonder Woman and the Meaning of Superhero

I do not go to the movies often. The last movie my husband and I saw at the theater was Star Wars: The Force Awakens, which showed in 2015. The last movie I saw alone was Michael Moore's Fahrenheit 9/11 which showed in 2004.

But I really wanted to see Wonder Woman. Like I said yesterday in my Thursday Thirteen post, I have always had a thing for strong female heroines. And by "strong" I mean a female character that embodies womanly strength (which I consider to be more pacifistic, circular, and loving instincts) and who is still able to take care of herself without needing intervention from the patriarchy.

In my little band of friends, I seem to be the only fantasy aficionado. If there are others, they haven't spoken up. My brother shares my proclivity for the genre, but we can barely get together for a phone call, much less a movie. My husband watches these movies with me and I think he enjoys them but he doesn't watch them on his own. For example, he can repeat lines from Lord of the Rings because he's walked in to find me watching it 100 times, but it is not a movie he seeks out himself.

Going out by myself has become difficult for me, as a few  of my close friends (and my physical therapist) know. Other people may not realize it, but trying to climb stairs and walk up hills or go any distance on the slightest bit of uneven ground is painful and trying. The movie theater has stairs and no elevator if you want to sit in the middle or up high and not right on top of the screen.

Despite this, I gathered my courage and went alone to the theater. My husband had to work at the fire station today. He has hay down that he will need to work on tomorrow, and another large field that needs to be cut. We are weaning calves. He has a septic tank to install. I have no idea when he might have a free hour, much less time to go to a movie. 

Anyway, I made it to the theater early so I would have plenty of time to settle in. I slowly and carefully walked up 30 stairs to get to where I wanted to sit, which was just above the midpoint of the theater seats. I am paying for it now with a lot of pain but that is okay.

Truly, the stairs were difficult and I ended up asking someone at the theater to help me because I couldn't carry popcorn, a drink, a back support I need because the chairs at the theater are absolutely terrible if you have back problems, and use a cane. I was grateful a theater person helped me. Thumbs up to the theater for having someone available to do that.

After I settled in, I found myself cringing a bit because at the early matinee there were more men there than I anticipated. Just men, in singles and in pairs, and more of them than women. I saw a few fathers with daughters, a few couples, and one or two other people there by themselves. The theater was by no means full; it was maybe one-third filled which apparently is typical for that time of day. Anyway, the abundance of men unsettled me. I wasn't expecting that.

I forgot some of my anxiety when the movie started. It was an amazing film. The picture was better than Star Wars: The Force Awakens by the length of a Death Star ray and then some.

Wonder Woman was full of fun, mischief, and heart. It was cinematic in scope with beautiful scenery and an attention to detail I haven't seen in a movie in a while. Gal Gadot is a good actress and she made a beautiful, enthralling, adorable, and entirely believable character come to life. Chris Pine portrayed a credible Steve Trevor, and I liked the little cadre of assistance Trevor put together to help Diana Prince and himself infiltrate the place where the queen of poison and Ares in the guise of someone else was hiding. I won't spoil anything else; all of that information is available in the movie trailers.

I do urge you to see this movie if you have any interest in coming of age stories, in stories about overcoming the dearth of bad in the hearts of mankind, and in seeing something that offers lessons about humanity, goodness overcoming darkness, and love (not romantic love, but love of humanity).

But truly the most amazing thing, for me personally, happened after the movie. I sat while most everyone left, because I knew it was going to take me a while to get back down the stairs. I tried to catch the eye of the clean-up guy so he could carry my trash for me, but to no avail. So finally I stood and then eased myself carefully down the steps, one at a time - slowly, slowly. I reached the bottom, where a trash can had been placed, and tossed my trash.

I turned toward the door and there, with the light behind him creating a silhouette as he strode down the dark hallway towards me, was my husband in his firefighter's uniform, looking for all the world like a slightly portly superhero in a movie, heading toward a damsel in distress to rescue her.

He had come in with no ticket near the end, to be sure I was okay and able to get out to the car. My hero.

It was extra-special to have him make that small effort because today was his birthday and he was at work. I had thought I might drive to the firehouse to surprise him but instead he surprised me. He helped me to the restroom (the movie is 2.5 hours so don't drink during it), and then out to the car.

We had a long kiss goodbye and he sent me on my way. I shall have to find a superhero name for him, my man with the special power of love.

Happy Birthday to My Hubby

A young firefighter.



Now a Battalion Chief

Unmasked at home.



Always working hard.



Enjoying his motorcycle.



Working the tractor.



Red hat, scraggly face, must be hunting season.



All dressed up.



A bit of down time.



With me when the new fire station opened.



Last year getting ready to ride in a race car.



The day we married.

My favorite shot of him - with his hay and on the farm.

The Man Cannot Sit Still

Thursday Thirteen #495

Today I thought I'd show you my husband's NASCAR model collection. He put these together from about 1993 - 1996, so they're more than 20 years old.

My husband is a big Ford fan so most of these are Fords. There is a Richard Petty Pontiac and a Dale Earnhardt #3 Chevrolet in there somewhere, but I think the rest of them are Fords.

There are 37 of these model cars in this curio cabinet, along with other racing memorabilia (there are 25 more in another cabinet in another part of the house):

He was a big Bill Elliot fan, so he has a couple of shelves dedicated to Bill's cars. These are the #94 McDonald's cars that Elliott drove in the 1990s.

This car is a special edition "Batman Forever" #94 along with the Bill Elliott #9 Coors car.

This is Dale Jarrett's #88 car.

After Bill Elliott stopped driving the #9 car and went to #94, Mark Martin took over the #9 car.

This is the #16 driven by Ted Musgrave and the #75 driven by Rusty Wallace.

This is the #21 McDonald's Ford driven by Jimmy Spencer (1994), and the #2 Miller car driven by Rusty Wallace.

My husband had extra glass shelving made for the cabinet and some of the cars are in these thin shelves. They're a little hard to get to, but they make a colorful display.

This is the car that my husband loved best, Bill Elliott's red #9 Coors car that won him the name "Million Dollar Bill" in the 1980s.

A closer shot of some of the other cars that I am afraid to touch for fear they will fall apart.

This the Dale Jarrett #21 Citgo car.

I wanted to give you a close-up so you can see how detailed these things are.

The #10 Tide car belonged to Ricky Rudd and the #28 belonged to Davy Allison. Allison died young in helicopter crash in 1993.

Around 1996 the model cars became hard to find and more expensive to purchase as manufacturers moved to pre-made die-cast vehicles. Two of the model car manufacturers merged and they stopped putting out the different vehicle color changes for the drivers. So my husband stopped building model cars.

It was a good hobby for him for a while, though.


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Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; there is a list here if you want to read other Thursday Thirteens and/or play along. I've been playing for a while and this is my 495th time to do a list of 13 on a Thursday.