Pepper Must Have Been Listening Outside The Door

I had everything ready for my "training session" with little puppy Pepper. The squirt bottle of water had been set on the counter by the door, ready for use the next day. I told Farmer H of the plan, and how to be brief with a "Pepper! NO!" and not give a wordy lecture. All systems were GO.

Sunday, I started out with my purse on my arm, a grease-bread treat for each dog in hand, and the squirt bottle in my elbow. It was ready for quick-draw with my empty left hand. I went past Juno's dog house (now used by Jack and Pepper) and around the corner of the porch. I could hear Pepper gallumping toward me from the front porch. Jack is more of a slow trotter.

I drew the squirt bottle, ready for action. Little Pepper stopped by my right side. Stood on his hind legs, hopping. He didn't put his feet on me! I proceeded to the top of the steps. Tossed each dog a treat. Went down the steps as Jack carried his off to the front porch, Pepper sniffed, came to me, then went back to crunch his treat.

"See you later, alligators!"

I opened the people door of the garage. Got my squirt bottle ready. But Pepper didn't run in! Pepper came down the steps and sat on the sidewalk, watching with his head tilted as I closed the people door. Well! That exercise was a bust! Pepper ran back up the steps and went looking for Jack. I opened the people door and set my "weapon" on the shelf of the side porch.

When I got home, Farmer H carried in groceries. Pepper came in the garage, then followed him out. And all the way to the kitchen. Inside, actually. I could hear Farmer H telling Pepper, "No. Go back out. Mom's not in here now."

I used the time to pet Jack on the side porch. I had picked up the squirt bottle again. Here came Pepper. He sat down beside Jack. Pepper didn't bite at my hand or wrist! Just sat to be petted. Didn't even squirm as I was trying to loosen his collar. But THEN, Pepper jumped up on Jack's shoulders, and took a nip at Jack's ear.

"PEPPER! NO!"

I gave a squirt, but Pepper was already running towards the kitchen door because he heard Farmer H coming. The water barely sprinkled across Pepper's back as he was in retreat. He turned to look at his back, puzzled, then went on his way.

I swear, Pepper must have been listening at the door the previous day, when I told Farmer H of the plan!

Pepper Is In For A Rude Awakening

My sweet little puppy Pepper is about to have his world rocked. He is growing fast, and acting like an adolescent. No more morning cuddles on the short couch. At best, he'll run in and throw himself against my legs, put his front paws on my lap, take a half-hearted nip at my hands and wrists as I pet him, then scamper back to the laundry room for his FOOD. 

That's okay. Pepper is growing up. But his rambunctiousness needs to be toned down. I am worried about him jumping up on me as I try to walk across the porch. He's pretty good about not launching himself at me. He'll jump up and put his paws on my leg. Then get behind me and follow. A true heeler. At least he is not yet poking me with his nose, trying to steer me.

Pepper had a few days of darting into the garage through the people door as I tried to leave for town. That got him a scolding. And then dragged by collar right back out that door, along with, "Pepper! NO!" Then praise as he sat on the other side, whimpering. Pepper is a pretty quick learner. He only went into the garage like that ONCE in the past several days.

I know it's hard for Pepper to understand why going into the garage is forbidden when I leave, but allowed through the garage door when I come home. Jack sometimes runs in then. No harm done. Sometimes we talk. Sometimes he gets a pat. But we can all exit through the people door.

Anyhoo... Pepper has started being MEAN to Jack. His nips are growing more serious. Jack endures it until he can't, and then returns a nip with a growl. Whereas before, just the growl would suffice.

My plan for Pepper's improper behavior employs an aid. An empty bottle of dishwashing detergent. Which isn't empty anymore. It has been rinsed of all soapy residue, and is now full of lukewarm water on the kitchen counter. 

As I leave for town, I plan to take the bottle with me. When Pepper jumps on me, he will get, "PEPPER! NO!" And a squirt in the face. The temperature is in the 60s to 80s these days. Pepper won't get a chill from being wet. He won't be blinded by suds. He will be startled. Hopefully, this will be unpleasant for Pepper. And help him learn to control his actions. He will aslo get a squirt for biting Jack. I hope Jack isn't hit with too much collateral "corrections."

If I can only get Farmer H to follow this plan, Pepper should catch on quickly what is not allowed. Unfortunately, Farmer H likes to give the dogs a lecture, rather than a clear, concise, NO!

Mrs. HM's KNEEds Are Not Being Met

Same old broken record. Since my orthopedist appointment about a knee replacement on March 5, I have not heard anything about a strategy to remedy his reason for declining such surgery. 

You may recall that the orthopedist was concerned about the redness in my lower right leg, fearing it might turn into cellulitis and spread to the joint with surgery. He advised me to see my regular practitioner as soon as possible to evaluate the situation, and get a referral to a cardiologist or lymphatic doctor.

I got an appointment with my NP on March 9. He said it looked like lymphedema, and was going to refer me to the Wound Care Clinic for evaluation and possible remediation such as pressure stockings and exercises. While in the exam room, I twice asked him if I should call there for an appointment. He said no, that THEY would call ME.

So I waited for my call. And waited. Gave them a week. I know these things don't happen overnight. Then sent a message through YourChart on March 18 to make sure that was the plan. His nurse's response was that she saw it in my file, and since they didn't seem to be able to reach me, that I should call them. 

I called the Wound Care Center on March 20 and left a message. Then called back later in the afternoon when I had no response. The gal said they didn't do lymphedema at the Wound Care Clinic. That it should be Physical Therapy. She said she would talk to my NP about it, and that somebody from Physical Therapy would call me about an appointment.

So I waited for my call. And waited. Then sent another message through YourChart on March 25, asking again if I was supposed to be getting some kind of appointment for treatment, per my discussion with NP and Wound Care. YourChart says to give 48 hours for a reply. That passed on Friday afternoon.

So I am waiting. For any kind of response. Even Farmer H has quit nagging me, and says he has no idea where to go from here, since I have tried and tried to get a response and advice.

I suppose I will call on Tuesday (March 31) to talk to a real person, who will listen disinterestedly and type up what I say and put it in a message for my NP, whose nurse will look at it and give me more useless instructions, or ignore it altogether.

It has now been three weeks since the orthopedist said I should get an appointment right away to deal with the issue. I am supposed to go back to the NP in May, to see how two months of intervening therapy have affected the problem. Right now, I don't see any point of that appointment, since it will just be the passage of two months.

I know this is not an emergency situation. But you'd think by now, I would have encountered at least one person who can do their job.

Rules For He, But Not For Me

Time to vent again. It's more of the same. Mrs. HM is tired of having one set of rules while Farmer H makes his own as he goes along. While usually I slowly simmer, today my angst has boiled over. The papercut on my left ring finger second knuckle incurred while stuffing the Lowe's payment in the envelope was the tipping point.

I was paying bills, specifically the Lowe's bill, which is hard to decipher because of how they space the itemizations. Turns out NONE of this $964 bill was for anything related to our flip houses or household  or Farmer H's SUS2.5. Nope. It was for materials Farmer H used to renovate one of the senior apartments. Now I have to wait on the reimbursement check, and make sure Farmer H deposits it in our checking account. Oh, and I just found out he is being paid EXTRA money above his more-than-$300 a month salary. 

I don't begrudge Farmer H working extra for extra money. HOWEVER... from the beginning, as a married couple, filing taxes jointly, all salaries and monies have gone into our joint accounts. Then Farmer H started his business, and decided all that was HIS money. Despite what my mom bequeathed me being OUR money. It should be one or the other. It's all ours, or we each have some separate. It's not that I NEED my own money. Just that fair for one should be fair for the other. 

I know Farmer H does all the work on the flip houses and doesn't charge "us" a fee for his labor. And the proceeds are split equally. But I also do uncompensated work, like the finances and taxes and waiting on him hand and foot, and pay the bills for his business without even a thank you. I resent that Farmer H feels entitled to have his separate money. Which is mainly fed into hoarding merchandise for his SUS2.5. Which certainly doesn't need THREE storage units for which he pays rent and electricity. Eventually, he will probably control the entire flea market!

Still, I don't need anything which I can't afford. It's not like Farmer H is spending it all on casinos and strippers and vacations. The idea of only separate funds for him is what rankles me.

When paying our lone credit card that we use for household expenses occasionally, I saw three charges to Casey's. This usually means GAS. Unless we order pizza there, which we haven't in several months.

"Hey! I see three charges to Casey's on this credit card bill. I didn't know we were paying for your gas. That's why we have our weekly cash allowances."

"I don't charge my gas to us, HM! I drive my truck all the time doing things for us and don't charge the gas. Them was when we went to the casino. In the Acadia. And when I went to the doctor. And for lawnmower gas."

"In SPARTA, ILLINOIS???"

"What? Oh. Um. I forgot to put gas in my truck before I went to Illinois. So I had to get some there."

Sure. And he had to use the credit card? Instead of the cash he always carries around? I'm not buying it. Farmer H knew exactly what he was doing. Scamming gas out of OUR money, on a trip to buy stuff for his business. I guess he doesn't know that the location of the Casey's comes up on the bill.

"Well, YOU owe US $45.85 for gas."

Am I being petty? Probably. But if a man has his own money from his business and side jobs, I think he should use it for expenses related to his business and side jobs. 

The Baby-Stepper Seems To Have Hit His Stride

Just when I think slow progress is being made in the kitchen-training of Farmer H... I am slapped in the face by reality. In this most recent case, I was slapped with liver and cornbread. From the Liver and Onion dinner Farmer H brought us home from the Senior Center.

He was too full of lunch to eat his dinner that night, when I was ready to warm it. So his was saved for the next evening. It was a warm day, and Farmer H was out on the porch with Jack and Pepper. It was only 4:00. He usually eats around 5:30 or 6:00. I was planning to change clothes and sit down with my scratchers. 

"I guess you're okay to warm up your own supper when you're ready?"

"Uh. Yeah. I guess so."

The look on Farmer H's face showed that he felt put-upon by my assumption. Too bad, so sad. He's an adult. Capable of putting food from a container in FRIG II onto a plate to microwave. It's not like I asked him to prepare a 7-course gourmet feast. If he'd been ready to eat right then, I would have put his liver in the oven to warm up while I was changing clothes, before sitting down with my scratchers routine. It doesn't disrupt my schedule when I do it while squeezing the lime for my Shasta Zero Sugar Cola.

When I came out of the bathroom in my Mansion clothes, Farmer H was in the kitchen warming his food. At 4:30!

I suppose that timing was meant to make me feel guilty. I didn't. I had taken the container out of FRIG II, and it was open on the stove. His blue plastic plate with three sections was right beside it. All he had to do was put the food on the plate, and lift it into the microwave. Which he did. Seemingly without incident.

Later, he brought the plate back to the kitchen, along with the styrofoam container that had held a large slice of lemon meringue pie. Farmer H used his knife to cut the lid off the container, so it would stack under the bottom, and take up less space in the wastebasket. I was proud of this baby step. He remembered the trash protocol. 

"Don't you run crumbs into the sink drain!"

"I KNOW, HM. I'm not."

I lost interest then, and went back to my scratching. It was later that I saw the aftermath.

Farmer H had set his plate beside the sink with mashed potato residue in one section, a piece of zucchini from the breaded tomatoes in one section, and the main section littered with crumbly moist flour particles from the liver. He had not even shaken that plate against the sides of the wastebasket, nor used his paper towel to wipe it out. He KNOWS that's how a plate should be returned to the kitchen.

But wait! The cutting block was covered with cornbread crumbs! Because Farmer H had cut the two cornbread squares in half on its surface. Not over a plate. Not on a paper towel. Just left them there, like the cutting block surface was self-cleaning.

I hollered at him about the plate.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"No. You're not at all sorry. If you're really sorry, you'll clean up this cornbread mess you left on the cutting block!"

Which of course he did not. It was still there after he went to bed. Even though he'd been through the kitchen again, to take one of MY little Drumsticks from the laundry room freezer, despite his slice of pie, and having his own regular Drumsticks well-stocked.

I sense a backslide coming on.

Pepper Gets Jack-ed

Jack can be an ornery little cus. He's not a bad dog. He's just smart enough to get his way. Especially now that new puppy Pepper is loose. Pepper torments Jack by jumping on him. His favorite move is to wrap his front legs around Jack's head, in a headlock. And hang on, while Jack walks away, resigned, dragging Pepper along for a ride.

Pepper almost knocked Jack off the side porch the other day. Which is quite a feat, what with Jack being so low to the ground, and a bit... ahem... portly right now, due to Farmer H's overfeeding. We'll get to that in a moment.

I can't get a good picture of Pepper because he's so bouncy. He leaps like a sheep sometimes. He's full of puppy energy. Farmer H captured a photo on March 9. Back before Pepper was allowed loose all the time. And when he was not eating anything but his special packets of puppy food. 

It helped Farmer H that Pepper had ventured over to Shackytown Boulevard, and was tired out from an hour of play, and ready for a nap. Of course this is a zoom-in on Farmer H's original photo, which showed a whole lot of the Mansion grounds, and little bitty Pepper in the center.

Anyhoo... the point is that when they greet me as I return from town, it's hard for Jack to get petted, because Pepper jumps all over him. Pepper himself has fallen off the side porch a couple times, in his hyper excitement.

The other day, Jack just walked off towards the kitchen. I thought he might be going to get a drink, and come back to meet me as I got to the kitchen door to dole out treats. But no. Jack came walking back. He had an empty plastic water bottle in his mouth. He stopped over behind the metal chair on the side porch where Farmer H sits to wait for me to get home with groceries. 

Jack dropped the water bottle, and looked at Pepper. "Oh, sweet. They're going to play." I thought. But no. Pepper gallumped over to the water bottle, and Jack sidestepped him and came to me for uninterrupted petting. He's a clever one, I tell you!

Last week was warm. Farmer H was always sitting on the side porch when I got home. He started a habit of feeding the dogs in a big metal pan. Pepper is now eating a can of moist food these days, as well as his pouch food, which he gets in the morning. I was there to see Farmer H's feeding technique. It's not very efficient!

Farmer H pulls the lid off a can of food. Rather than turning it upside down and shaking until it falls out in a blob, he holds the big metal pan in the left hand, and with the right hand he whacks the open can on the rim of the pan. The can is at a 45-degree angle at best. Sometimes it's parallel to the ground! I don't know how Farmer H expects gravity to assist him with this technique. It takes 15 or more whacks to get that log of dog food to plop out into the pan.

Farmer H sat down and put the pan at his feet. Pepper rushed over to start gobbling the food he previously distained. Jack stood back behind the chair, watching.

"I give Pepper a can of food first. He eats it all! Then I open another can, and Pepper eats what he wants. Then Jack finishes it."

Indeed. Jack was quite the gentleman. Not crowding in. Just watching, biding his time. The second can got stuck. Half plopped out, then the other half. Pepper nibbled away at one of the lumps. Then he left the pan and came to me to bite my wrist be petted.

Jack walked calmly to the food pan. How polite! Just taking his turn now. But wait! Jack picked up the half-log of dog food in his mouth, and trotted back behind Farmer H's chair to drop it on the porch and start eating. Pepper went back and started licking the crumbs left from his already-eaten portion.

Jack is nobody's fool!

Pepper Can Now Be Himself At The Vet

Little puppy Pepper had his second vet visit on Monday. It was for a second round of shots. In the three weeks since his last visit, Pepper has gained 3.8 pounds. So he's eating better now! Most of that weight seems to me to be LEGS! Of course, I'm used to seeing Jack, with his short half-dachshund legs. Pepper is now as tall as Jack, even though he's just 11 weeks old.

Anyhoo... Farmer H put a leash on Pepper's collar. Walked him around the front yard a bit before they left, with no problems. He had a big wire carrier that he used to contain Pepper in SilverRedO. It was the one Scarlett came here in, I think. The small plastic carrier is the size you might use for a cat, and Pepper wouldn't fit. I imagine he could have been crammed in, but he wouldn't be able to stand.

Farmer H said Pepper did not like the carrier at all! That he HOWLED all the way to the vet. Which is thankfully less than five miles away. Little Pepper has quite a howl. I'm thinking there IS some beagle in him. Jack does not have such a howl.

At the vet, Pepper did not want to go with the technician to the exam room. Farmer H did not describe this specifically, but I imagine Pepper being pulled across a slick floor by his leash, much like a water-skier.

Farmer H had strict instructions to ask the vet personnel why Pepper's description on the paperwork from the first appointment was:

Canine - German Shepherd Mix - M - N/A

Farmer H did his job. Because the papers from the second visit said:

Canine - Blue Heeler Mix - M - Blue/Red

Apparently the end of that description is for color. So I'm guessing when Farmer H called to make the first appointment, he might have messed up by saying Pepper was a German Shepherd mix. Or the appointment-maker was looking at a German Shepherd while taking the call. In any case, the file for Pepper was created without seeing him.

Anyhoo... Pepper is certainly spotted, in the color of a Blue Heeler, but with the orangy freckles of a beagle, or Jack's Red Heeler colored spots on his legs. I gotta say, he's a cute little thing.

There's Pepper, two weeks ago, on the front porch with a bone he found. Good thing Jack wasn't there to see it! Jack was down behind the house, looking for his possum.

Anyhoo... Pepper's next appointment is April 22. And the next one, for his very special operation, is May 14. He has to be there before 8:00, and will spend the day. I wonder if he will have a cone head when he comes home.

This Behavior Is Only Logical For One Person

You'd think I'm the only person in this Mansion who knows my way around the kitchen. You'd be mostly right. Sometimes, Farmer H gives the impression he might be almost competent, but then the illusion falls apart.

Farmer H got a dozen fresh eggs from one of his customers at the SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5). He kept forgetting to bring them home. I think it was four or five days. When he finally remembered, he decided to have eggs for supper. I will boil eggs or scramble eggs, but I don't FRY eggs. I don't like them that way, and I don't cook them that way.

Farmer H said he was going to have ham and eggs. I had offered to scramble (but leave them in a solid piece), and make him a ham, egg, and cheese McMuffin. Farmer H said no, that he'd fry his own ham and eggs, because he wanted the runny yolk, and put them on a slice of bread, to eat with a fork.

That was fine. I was scratching my lottery tickets at the kitchen table when he began. He fried the ham. Then added oil to the pan for his eggs. I resisted complaining when he whacked those 3 eggs on the side of my small non-stick skillet for about 10 times each. It's not a cast-iron skillet! Just a flimsy thin pan. He would have been better off cracking the eggs against the edge of the counter.

I DID question how he was getting his eggs from skillet to plate, which was on the cutting block. I'd seen him balance each slice of ham on the spatula, and walk it over to the cutting block. I sure didn't want him walking drippy eggs across the kitchen floor. He haughtily replied that he would carry the pan over to the cutting block. I'm still waiting to see if my floor starts collecting dirt on any drippings that might have dropped from the edge of the pan as he tilted it to scrape out his eggs.

Anyhoo... with his supper completed, Farmer H opened FRIG II to reach for a Diet Mountain Dew. He instead picked up a mini jug of milk that I'd gotten to make his generic Hamburger Helper with added mushrooms a while back.

"Are you doing anything with this milk?"

"Um. No. It's expired. I keep forgetting to take it out when I bag up the trash around 10:30 at night."

"Oh. It says 3-6. I was thinking that was March-26."

And with that, Farmer H PUT THE EXPIRED MILK BACK IN FRIG II!!!

It's one thing to keep forgetting to pour it out because you don't remember to check FRIG II when bagging the trash. It's another thing entirely to be told that it's expired, and PUT IT RIGHT BACK IN FRIG II.

I guess throwing out milk is a job only I can do. Like washing his dirty egg skillet.

How Sweet Is THIS?

It's always nice to get a surprise in the mail. Or by UPS or FedEx. Farmer H was sitting on the porch supervising Pepper and Jack on Thursday evening. I had just sat down with my scratchers, after a busy Errand Day that included the closing on Lap House, our newest flip purchase. Farmer H barged through the kitchen door.

"This package just came for you. I don't know what it is."

Well. Of course not. Why would Farmer H know what a package was? Unless it's something he made me order for his business, the occasional ordering of items is not shared with him until I'm expecting it. In case it might get left by the garage, or on the porch, where Farmer H will be the first to see it. Or delivered to the lock boxes down on Mailbox Row, in which case Farmer H should be watching for a key in EmBee to get it out.

I did not know what this package could be, either. Once I removed it from the shipping envelope, I knew exactly the source, even before reading the enclosed card.

LADYBUGS! In the form of chocolate! I knew right away that this was the work of my best old ex-teaching buddy Mabel! She knows what ladybugs mean to me. And she's a very caring and gifty person.

THANK YOU, MABEL! I ate a bug last night, and it was delicious.

False Hope Addendum

After talking to a real live person at the Wound Care Clinic about my proposed referral... 

I was not overly optimistic about a timely solution to this issue. It was, after all, 1:30 on a Friday afternoon. My situation was not an emergency. I figured it would be next week before I heard anything.

I laid down for my 20-minute nap at 2:30. I took a shower to get ready for town. As I was getting dressed, I heard my phone sitting by the bathroom sink. Huh. I had an email saying there was a new message in YourChart!

Well. That was speedy. I wondered if they were giving me a time for an appointment with Physical Therapy, and to respond if the date didn't work for me. Normally, I would wait until back from town, with Farmer H's supper done, before getting on HIPPIE to log into YourChart. But what if they wanted me to call? It was 3:35. I could still catch them before they closed at 4:00.

I turned on HIPPIE and logged in.

"This is a reminder to schedule your mammogram appointment."

Ooh! That's a dirty trick! Getting my hopes up for this reminder that I'd had a few months ago, but pointedly ignored because I am not exactly mobile these days, and don't feel like gimping around on non-urgent trips unless they involve scratchers, casino, or groceries. I am not feeling like hobbling through the hospital on my bum knee, making Farmer H take time off from his busy schedule to drive me and drop me off at the door.

But wait! While reading that reminder and feeling tricked, another email came in at 3:38. Oh. This must be about my PT appointment, right?

WRONG!

"You have a new statement."

PAY BILL

WHAT? I never had an old statement. I pay my co-pay when I'm at the appointments. How dare they charge me because SOMEBODY at the Wound Care Clinic had to call my NP to verify a referral for my lymphedema intervention because one of those two offices messed something up!

Then I figured out how to read the details of that statement. It was from my orthopedist appointment on March 5. For the x-rays. Insurance had been billed $800, and my part remaining was now $48.51. I paid it with my debit while I was already in YourChart. 

I guess these two "sudden" notices in YourChart was one way of punishing me for being DIFFICULT!

Meanwhile, I am on the edge of my seat, awaiting a call from Physical Therapy to make an appointment.

The Universe Must Think A Replacement Is Not KNEEcessary

In the continuing saga of Mrs. HM's irreplaceable knee...

I called the Wound Care Center on Friday to make my own appointment, as my NP's nurse had suggested through our YourChart communication regarding my lack of a call from them to make an appointment as my NP had informed me they would. Did you follow that? It's the easiest part of this snafu-filled adventure!

I called at 10:30. I figured they'd had time to get the day started, and it was not yet time for lunch. I got an automated system. I pressed "1" to schedule an appointment. I got voicemail. I left my name and a BRIEF reason for my call: to make an appointment as referred by my primary physician NP, concerning lymphedema treatment.

By 1:30, I figured I wouldn't hear anything until Monday. Maybe they didn't read messages in the afternoon. I called again. I got a PERSON!

Person recognized my name, and apologized for not calling me back, as the day had been CRAZY. She asked if I had an open wound. 

"No. I DID nine days ago, an oozing spot that might be psoriasis, but it has since healed. That was not the reason for the referral. It was the redness in my other leg that he thinks is lymphedema."

Silence. Then...

"Oh. We don't handle that here. That's our Physical Therapy department. A lot of primaries refer people to us for lymphedema. I don't know why, because that is handled by Physical Therapy. I don't see anything in your chart..."

"The nurse for my NP said I should call you to make an appointment. She said she could see the referral in my file."

"Oh. I will contact your NP. And then call Physical Therapy about an appointment."

"So you are saying that somebody from Physical Therapy will call me to make an appointment?"

"Yes. They will call you."

It is now 9:02 p.m. on Friday. Nobody has called me. I wonder how long I should wait on that call before contacting SOMEBODY again. You know. Without being labeled as DIFFICULT.

The Universe should not be making me jump through so many hoops. I have a bad knee, you know.

Left Hand, Meet Right Hand

As with most events scheduled for Mrs. HM, there has been a kerfuffle from her last doctor NP appointment. Which you may recall came after her orthopedist appointment, at his request, because he can't replace the knee she consulted him about.

Somebody has dropped the ball here. The left hand doesn't know what the right hand is doing. Or else they're both big ol' butterfingers, with one unable to pass the ball, and the other unable to catch it!

At my appointment on March 9, my NP said he was referring me to the Wound Care Clinic about the redness in my lower legs. The orthopedist thought it was lymphedema causing the coloring, and was concerned it could turn into cellulitis which could spread up the leg and into the knee joint when circulation was disrupted from the surgery had can't do.

NP said they might suggest compression stockings, or exercises to help with the circulation, to see if the issue would resolve. He explained where the Wound Care Clinic was. I asked him twice if I needed to give them a call to make an appointment. He said no, they would call me. Farmer H and I even drove by to make sure where the entrance was. It's the old ER entrance where I went in to birth Genius and The Pony. The Wound Care Clinic is associated with the local hospital and my medical clinic. I know that my phone number is on file in my chart.

Well. I made sure my phone was with me the next day. No leaving it in the living room while I was washing dishes. I put it in my pocket on my way to the bathroom. They always leave a voice mail to call if they miss me. They send me texts and emails as appointment reminders.

Nothing.

Farmer H started nagging me to call them. I explained that THEY were supposed to call ME. That I had asked NP TWICE, to make sure. I don't want to be one of those "difficult" patients who are pushy and don't follow protocol.

By March 16, I was starting to wonder what was taking so long. I'm sure you can't get a fast appointment. I have a follow-up NP visit in May. To see if the treatment they prescribe is helping. So I need to get in there and get going. Farmer H was harping again. I said I would call my NP's office to ask about it. Then I forgot. Until today (Wednesday).

I didn't want to wait on hold to talk to a human. I didn't want to tell the whole story while a minimum wage receptionist typed it in. So I logged into YourChart, where you can ask questions to your provider. 

Well. It said that I might be billed for an appointment if the question took more than five minutes of the provider's time. I guess that's fair enough. I can afford it. I'm selling a flip house, you know! But this doesn't seem very patient-friendly. Why not just make another appointment and talk to the provider in person? Oh. Wait. They overbook everything, and it takes months to get an appointment. Don't get sick, people of Hillmomba!

Anyhoo... I saw the message that had informed me of my lab results. They don't even call with that anymore. Just a message, or you can look at the raw data in the lab section. I replied to that message. Explaining that on my March 9 appointment, NP had said he was referring me to the Wound Care Clinic about my leg circulation. Was I mistaken? Or was I supposed to call them myself to set up an appointment?

I had a reply within three hours.

Hello. I am one of the nurses supporting NP. I am sorry you have not yet heard from the wound care clinic. Since they haven't been able to reach you, here is their information so you can call them:

 

REDACTED 

 

They should have a record of the referral in their system as I was able to find it attached to your medical record. Thank you so much for contacting us. Please feel free to reach out with any further issues or concerns.

So. It wasn't my imagination. She was quite diplomatic in the wording. Not saying I was nutty as a fruitcake, crazy as a loon. Verifying that there WAS a record of such a referral. Yet also not accusing the clinic of failing to contact me.

I'll take what I can get! Which is a timely response. I will be calling to see if I can get an appointment at the Wound Care Clinic. After Thursday, when I will be buying another house.

The Worst Dog Mom Ever

Shame on Mrs. Hillbilly Mom! After all the months of seeking to adopt a companion dog for her lonely Jack, getting one and having him disappear after a week, and then the joy of receiving a brand-new puppy from Farmer H's ex-wife... Mrs. HM has proved herself to be the worst dog mom ever!

Not deliberately! I cuddle with little puppy Pepper every morning on the short couch. He's a good boy. The playful nipping has mostly stopped. Pepper initially greets me all excited, I boost him onto the cushion, he romps a bit looking into the kitchen for Farmer H, then lies down beside me and drifts off to sleep with me petting him. 

When Farmer H decides it's time to leave for town, he says from the long couch, "Well, Pepper, are you ready to go back outside?" Pepper is not! He sits up and tries to shrink into my side, or the crack between the couch cushions. Farmer H used to reach over and grab him, but as he's getting bigger and more awkward to carry, vertically, with all four feet outstretched, and Farmer H's hands around his ribs, he's been left to get down and follow Farmer H to the kitchen. Where they go into the laundry room and Pepper gets his bowl of food. Pedigree Chopped Ground Dinner from a pouch.

Of course I help Pepper down off the couch. Heh, heh. It takes a bit of persuading to make him decide that it's time to go. Sometimes he runs back to see me a couple times, but he ends up in the laundry room, eating his food until Farmer H decides it's safe to set the rest outside and risk Jack eating it if Pepper is full.

Farmer H has been escaping in SilverRedO without incident. I have been able to get away in T-Hoe. Jack and Pepper greet me on the porch. Pepper is getting better about not getting under my feet when I walk, and not jumping up on me. At the top of the steps, I toss Jack his little scrap of bread, then drop one for Pepper. 

Pepper is not sure that bread is food. He runs at Jack, who gobbles his with a quickness. Then he comes back to me, sniffing around and ignoring his own scrap of bread. Which Jack eats. I go down the steps, pat both dogs, and tell them, "See you later, alligators!" That's our routine. I go into the garage through the people door. Normally, I open the garage door then. But with the loosing of little Pepper, I wait until I'm inside, with the engine started. I back out and immediately close the garage door as soon as T-Hoe's nose clears the garage.

Tuesday, Pepper followed me across the sidewalk. Tried to enter the garage with me. I told him "PEPPER! NO!" A couple times. While blocking him with my purse. He got inside anyway. I had to drag him by his collar to "persuade" him to go back out. He sat on the other side of the people door, whimpering and yipping.

From T-Hoe's driver's seat, I saw Pepper go up the steps, and run around to the front porch. I backed out, and closed the garage door. Went to town as normal. When I came home, Jack ran around to the carport as usual. Instead of jumping over the side after a squirrel, he waited for me to pull into the garage. Sometimes he comes in while I'm turning off T-Hoe and gathering my stuff. I hit the remote in the car, to close the garage door.

Indeed, Jack had come in to greet me. He's pretty smart. These days, it's the only individual attention he gets without Pepper jumping on his head when I pet him on the side porch. We had a brief lovefest, then went out the people door. Pepper was waiting at the top of the steps. He came around to the side porch for petting. He whimpered the whole time! That's a new one. He's usually hyper and happy during the outside petting.

Jack almost got knocked off the side porch by Pepper, and walked towards the kitchen. I figured he was going to get a drink, then come back when I reached the door, for his treat. But no! Jack came back with an empty water bottle that had obviously been used as a chew toy. He dropped it, and looked expectantly at Pepper. Who ran towards it, and Jack came back to me. He's a smart one, I tell you!

Anyhoo... I got inside and gave out treats. All but one eaten by Jack. Then Farmer H hollered from his recliner:

"YOU LOCKED PEPPER IN THE GARAGE!"

Oh, the shame! I had no idea! All the times Farmer H has locked up assorted pets, and now I'M the bad guy!!!

"I come home and didn't see Pepper. Jack was here. I asked him 'Where's Pepper?' and he just wandered around. Then I opened the garage door, and Pepper run out. He wasn't barkin' or nothin'. He must have been sittin' there waiting for somebody to open the door."

"Oh, no! It must have been so cold in there on the concrete floor!"

"He was fine."

"I can't see him! Once I'm up in the car, I can't see a thing down by the tires. I backed out and closed the garage door as soon as it could come down and not hit the car. I guess Pepper ran in as I was rolling out. The garage door didn't stop, like when they run past the eye. I could see the garage. In fact, I was watching to see if Pepper went in. There's stuff in there that he probably shouldn't get into."

"He was fine. Maybe he won't do that again, seeing as how he got trapped."

We'll see. I apologized to him profusely during our Wednesday morning couch session.

Genius Cannot Escape

Genius might have thought he escaped tornado alley when he moved to Pittsburgh. 

In reality, he did not. A tornado can find a Hillbilly family member if it wants to! 

Monday afternoon, Genius sent me a picture of his back yard, from the top level of his own mansion. I think it's his back yard, and the picture is from high above, so I'm assuming. I hope that doesn't make a rumpus of me. I've never been there in person. The grass and garage roof were covered with about an inch of snow.

Anyhoo... Genius said, "Wasn't expecting more snow!"

"We had flurries this morning. And tornado warnings last night."

"We had tornado warnings last week, and 70 mph wind gusts on Friday. We ended up losing power for about 26 hours from Friday night to Saturday night."

"Oh no!"

"We survived! Haha. The battery system I had kept us with enough power to keep the fridge and water heater running, and charge devices, so not too bad."

"You ARE a GENIUS!"

Heh, heh. I didn't reveal that OUR wind gusts were only 60 mph. And that we didn't lose power. I don't want Genius thinking we have it easy around here.

Staying In

No town trip town Monday! Too cold for me. High in the 20s, winds over 35 mph. No thank you. I'll stay in the Mansion with my undertable heater! 

A big storm rolled through last night around 5:15. We knew it was coming. I even sent Farmer H a text telling him to be home by 4:00, because the bad weather was expected between 4:30 and 6:00. Of course he didn't reply. I could see that he'd read it by mid-afternoon. I had no idea if he would comply or not.

Thank the Gummi Mary, Farmer H rolled in around 4:15. I'd made sure I was to town and back by 3:30. Temps were in the mid-60s then. At 5:00 the sky grew black. Winds picked up even more than the 40+ mph they'd been all day. The trees out back were swaying wildly. Rain started. TV and internet ceased. Around 15 minutes later, they came back. 

That dang Farmer H was watching This Old House on PBS. I suggested that it might be a good idea to check a local channel for weather updates. Since our phones had just gone off with a TORNADO WARNING. Farmer H said it was fine, that the sky was lightening up, and it was probably already past us. He DID switch channels, and the radar showed the worst part right over us. There's a slight delay in their signal, I think.

Anyhoo... we were expecting temps down to 20 degrees Sunday night, with snow flurries. I was worried about little Pepper, but Farmer H reminded me that Pepper had his house full of cedar shavings, out of the wind. He scooped Jack's shavings back into his house outside the kitchen door. Jack is always rearranging his bedding!

Monday morning, Farmer H stepped out the laundry room and called to Pepper to come inside for his couch time. No Pepper. More calling. Then Pepper came running from around the kitchen window bulge.

"I think Pepper musta spent the night with Jack in his house. They both come running from that direction when I called him."

That's good! Pepper and Jack are becoming buddies. Two warm bodies are better than one. Jack's house is insulated, with a shingle roof. Pepper felt warm to the touch. Not even cold toes like on one of the warmer mornings.

I saw snow flurries around noon. Jack and Pepper romped for a while in the sun on the kitchen porch. I guess you could say we had sun-snow. It was weird. Warmer tomorrow, up to about 40. Then 70s on Wednesday and Thursday.

Spring is almost here.

Jack Is A Regular Tom Sawyer

Jack has accepted puppy Pepper fairly well. He's not grumpy. Lets Pepper jump on him. Pepper's favorite wrestling move is to jump on Jack's shoulder, and wrap his front legs around Jack's neck. Jack doesn't growl or snap. He slowly walks away, dragging Pepper's back legs along the porch until Pepper lets go.

When food is involved, Jack doesn't mess around. While he's never been nippy or greedy when being handed a treat, he now wastes no time in gobbling it up. If I toss it on ground, no more sniffing and looking at me like, "This is all you've got?" Nope. Now Jack grabs it and eats it fast. If Pepper comes sniffing around, he'll growl. Fair enough. Manners must be learned.

Jack spends his days on the front porch. When I leave for town, he trots around to meet me at the side porch. I assume Pepper has been spending days with Jack. On Saturday, Jack came to see me off. Without Pepper! I quizzed him as to Pepper's whereabouts, but no response. Finally Pepper came running around from the front porch, to snuffle around the crumbs Jack left from his stale bread. Of course I had a small piece for Pepper. He sniffed at it, and went back to Jack's area. Growl. I showed Pepper the dry food in the self-feeder. He looked at me like I was crazy.

Anyhoo... on Sunday morning, I heard a commotion on the front porch. Thumping. Like when Jack or Pepper toy around with Farmer H's ceramic/resin animal figures. I heard some barks. They didn't sound like Jack. Didn't sound like Pepper's yips. I wondered if there was a neighbor dog in the yard. I never see them, but Farmer H does. The barking stopped, but I still heard some gamboling.

I peeped out the clear little square in the patterned glass window beside the front door. I could see down below, where one of Farmer H's figurines had blown over a month or so ago, and broken. In true Farmer H style, he scraped the pieces together, and just left it! I could see that now he had put the pieces into a box. And just left it. Baby steps...

Now Jack was chewing on that box! It's a cardboard box, used to bring home items from Save A Lot. Jack had ripped several chunks off one side, and was struggling at the corner. Pepper watched, hopping back and forth, to get a better view. Jack coolly gave him the side-eye, to make sure he was watching. If Pepper tried to get closer to the box, Jack growled.

Pepper ran down the steps and under the picket fence I despise. Well. That was not part of Jack's plan. He stopped chewing on the box. Walked to the top of the steps and looked into the yard. I could see his nose twitching. I figure he was looking for his audience. Then I saw Pepper romping along the brick sidewalk. Jack turned and came back to his chewing box, ignoring Pepper.

Pepper was so proud! Prancing along with a foot-long piece of dried-up yucca leaf in his mouth. It looked like frayed rope. He started up the steps. Tripped a couple times, landing his chin on the next step. Then he was at the top, mouthing his yucca leaf. Jack turned to look. Pepper dropped it and went to the box, sniffing around. Pepper seemed perplexed. THIS was all? He attempted a timid bite, then walked away from the box. 

Jack is kind of a Tom Sawyer, making Pepper believe that chewing on an old box is as great as whitewashing a fence.

Pepper Is Free!

On Friday, we decided that little puppy Pepper is ready for release. At 10 weeks, old enough to be left on his own to roam the acreage. He's been here for four weeks. He's growing. He needs to learn doggy things, and not be caged up in a 4 x 10 foot pen on the back porch. Let the record show that by "we," I mean basically Farmer H.

Of course I would like to keep Pepper in protective custody forever. But he's not a house dog. There's no point in holding him captive, even for safety. That's no life for a dog. He needs to romp and play. Enjoy companionship with Jack.

Farmer H had Pepper out on Monday evening. Pepper roamed the yard with Jack while Farmer H sat on the front porch. Pepper has been having afternoons out for a while now. He has fallen down the steps many times, but has now mastered climbing up and down. He fell off the side porch twice (that I know of), but Farmer H said, "He's fine. He's a pup. Their bones are soft, like kids." (!)

In his typical photography style, Farmer H got a picture of Pepper:

Not a very flattering photo, but that's our Pepper on Shackytown Boulevard.

Hick planned on leaving Pepper out for a while, but Pepper was not quite ready. He sat outside the kitchen door and howled when Farmer H came inside. Also, Farmer H didn't have his drill to take down the sides of Pepper's pen, so he could get in his dog house. He went out and got Pepper for his pen.

Friday, Farmer H forgot his drill down at his SUS2.5. He DID go by the senior apartments and get one to bring home. Took down both walls. Plugged in the water bowl, because it's supposed to be 20 degrees on Sunday night. Pepper spent the evening exploring. Figured out that he can get to his "pen" from both ends of the porch. But seemed mystified that he could walk in and out. Also curious about drinking from the plugged-in water bowl, with his sitting right beside it.

Farmer H rode the Gator over to the BARn field to start a fire and burn his good-deeded highway chairs. Pepper did not follow! He went up on the front porch. That's a good thing! He can learn the joy of running beside the Gator later. 

Pepper roamed the porch Friday night, setting off the motion lights by the kitchen door. He slept in his house like normal, after spending time with Jack, who sleeps on the front porch in warm weather.

Saturday morning, I made Farmer H put the collar on little Pepper. Somebody will snatch him in an instant if they see him out by the road. At least he is marked as TAKEN with a collar.

We had worried that Pepper might try to chase SilverRedO when Farmer H left. Farmer H had planned to stop down by the mailbox for a while, and see if Pepper and Jack showed up. Jack is usually not a chaser, but will occasionally follow. He knows his way around and comes back home. Farmer H reported that Pepper ran back up on the porch when he closed the door of SilverRedO.

It's just after noon on Saturday, and Pepper is roaming around the porch by the kitchen door and going to his lair. I'm hoping he stays on the porch when I leave for town.

Getting By With A Little Help From HM

Last week I was bellied up to the counter at the Gas Station Chicken Store, waiting for Fave to scan my winners. A lady had just left after pre-paying for gas. Which is a topic that intrigues me.

The GSCS is not modern. You can't use a card to pay at the pumps. It has the old-fashioned pumps where you just pick up the nozzle and then lift the handle it had been sitting in to turn on the pump. I'm pretty sure Fave or the current clerk also needs to turn it on from inside the store, because I hear a thingy beeping when somebody is outside trying to pump, and then Fave walks over and pushes a button and the beeping stops. 

I don't buy T-Hoe's gas there because I can't step up and over the concrete islands where the gas pumps sit. But I DO know the GSCS has a policy that if they don't know you, you have to come inside and pay first, or leave your driver's license or credit card with the clerk before she'll turn on the pumps. 

I've seen people hand over a twenty. Or a five. And say that's how much gas they want. Fave turns on the pump and tells them okay. HOWEVER, I'm pretty sure she can't set those pumps to stop at a certain amount like they can with the more modern pumps at Casey's. I think people just believe this is so. Or they realize their face has been recorded coming into the store (and also outside, but they may not know that). Anyhoo... I figure it kind of runs on the honor system for them to only pump that amount.

My suspicions were VALidated this day when that lady came back inside as Fave was totaling up my new purchases.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I went 50 cents over! I came in to pay."

"That's okay. I've got it. I'll pay it for you."

"Really? That's so nice!"

"Not a problem. I've got change coming back." 

Indeed. I was getting a dollar back. Fave could just give me 50 cents instead. Yeah. It's not like Mrs. HM is a great philanthropist, forking out endowments to the downtrodden at every turn. But I didn't want that lady to have to wait for my ticket transaction. It was easy enough to help her out.

Farmer H is not the only Do-Gooder in this family.

Another Illogical Response

Remember my newest snack food, the Mingles? Those puffy treats made by the Pringles people. I was unhappy because the bags say that a serving is 37 pieces, and each bag contains "about 6" servings. Yet of the two flavors I had tried, the Dill Pickle/Ranch, and the Cheddar/Sour Cream, the first had 5 servings with 7 pieces left over, and the second had exactly 5 servings! That's false advertising! They'd better be described as having "about 5" servings.

Anyhoo... I counted out my last serving of the third flavor, the Sharp White Cheddar/Ranch on Monday. I was shocked to discover that this bag contained EXACTLY 6 SERVINGS! Well! That was newsworthy! So I hollered in to Farmer H, sitting in his recliner with supper.

"Hey! THIS bag of snacks had exactly six servings!"

To which Farmer H replied:

"I would of, but Jack was in the way."

"What in the Not-Heaven are you talking about? That has nothing to do with what I said."

"I didn't take no more pictures of Pepper, because Jack got in the way."

"Okay... not sure what Pepper and Jack have to do with my snacks having the same amount as the label says."

"I thought you was talkin' about the pictures you asked me to take of Pepper."

Once again, I suppose the excuse is that he HEARD ME, but just wasn't listening to me.

I'm Only Giving Him What He Wants

I am not secretly planning to cause the (undetectably-engineered) demise of my sweet baboo. No. That would be criminal. And not very nice. I am only providing Farmer H with an occasional treat, of the kind he likes best. Actually, he would probably like a 4-pound bag of sugar better, but that might look suspicious.

Everybody knows that Farmer H enjoys a sweet treat after supper. Ice cream, cookies, cake, pie, candy. He doesn't really have a favorite. Everybody knows it's not good for him. Including Farmer H. If I don't get him anything, he finds a way to sneak it. In fact, there was a bag containing a store checkout size box of Milky Way candy bars sitting on his kitchen chair after the auction, then gone the next day.

"I see that you snuck your secret Milky Ways out of the house."

"Huh? They weren't secret. I got them at the auction. I pay a dollar--"

"I don't care what you pay. You're not fooling anybody. I know you eat a candy bar every day. Maybe more than one."

Farmer H had no reply to that. He thinks he's so slick, but I'm onto him.

Anyhoo... I saw a new kind of snack pie at 10Box in the sale bin. He wasn't thrilled with the sweet potato version I got him last time. But he ate it all.

This one intrigued me. It's BIRTHDAY CAKE flavor! I bought two.

Of course I love anything that's birthday cake flavor. But I wouldn't buy this for myself. I'd rather utilize my spoken-for calories on real food, or my afternoon snack of 150-calorie savory treats like the Pickle Balls or the Mingles. This pie would cheat me out of about two-and-a-half days of those snacks with my Shasta Zero Sugar Cola.

Seriously. There's no nutritional value in it. Unless you're a prisoner being starved to death, and need the calories for energy to escape. Not that my savory snacks are any better at nutrition, but at least they aren't high-calorie.

Anyhoo... I told Farmer H that I would like to try just a taste of that pie before he ate it. So he opened the box after supper, and gave me first bite. It was DELICIOUS! Like eating buttercream frosting encased in a sugar-glazed crust! I stopped at one bite. But the other pie sits on the counter, tempting me all day.

I am able to resist by telling myself it belongs to Farmer H. I'm not one to take somebody else's treats.

And Now, Back To Our Regularly Scheduled Scratchers

I must give a big Thank You shout-out to a fellow handicap-ee! I don't know them. Only that they were parked in my rightful handicap space at Save A Lot on Sunday. Legally. It was a maroon minivan with handicap plates. Mrs. HM snoozed, and she losed! I was late going to town. The time change gave me a sense of entitlement. Darkness would wait an hour later, to allow me to put off that trip to town.

I had spent the morning making pasta for Farmer H's supper. Elbow macaroni, with thawed-out grilled bratwursts in the sauce. But I was out of mushrooms! Farmer H likes mushrooms in his pasta sauce. Off I went to Save A Lot to get them, planning to pick up some scratchers from their machine. I'd had some really good luck the previous day, from 10Box machines and the Gas Station Chicken Store. I had gotten a $75 winner from Fave, and a $100 winner at 10Box.

Anyhoo... I was disappointed to see my parking space taken. There were cars on the other side of the parking aisle where I would have alternately chosen to park. So I just drove through the lot, and over to 10Box. They sell mushrooms, you know. And getting scratchers there was not the end of the world. I figured they wouldn't have another big winner waiting, but still, I might win money back, to keep playing the next day, and not eat into my windfall too much.

I was not disappointed! In fact, I was downright excited to scratch off a $50 winner on a $3 crossword! I even shouted my big win to Farmer H. The next morning, I scanned my winners to make sure.

I was SHOCKED to discover that this was NOT a $50 winner. It was a $100 WINNER! 

I had missed scratching an "N" in the word INCH, there at the middle left. So I had uncovered 8 words instead of 7. 

If that minivan had not been in my handicap space, I would not have been at 10Box to get this winner. So thanks, whoever you are, for taking "my" parking space that day.

Mrs. HM KNEEds Further Care

My appointment Monday with my regular Nurse Practitioner went well. I wasn't sure what to expect. Farmer H drove me there. It's just over in Bill-Paying Town, in a new building, separate from the orthopedist office in the clinic connected to the hospital. I've been there twice. Farmer H insisted on coming into the exam room with me, but I forbade that. It's not like I was seeing a specialist for a life-threatening condition.

Anyhoo... we got there early. I had done the dang YourChart check-in on Saturday. I was called to an exam room by my appointment time. After vitals from the same polite young nurse I'd had in December, I waited 5-10 minutes for NP.

NP asked what brought me there. I resisted saying "Farmer H's sweaving." He seemed informed about the tale I told from Dr. Ortho. NP took a look at my lower leg. Said that yes, Dr. Ortho was right to be concerned about healing. That the redness is likely due to lymphedema, as he noticed some swelling. He did not press on it to see if his thumb left an indent like Dr. Ortho had. According to NP, it's something that we "might be able to get a handle on right now," before it could worsen into something that could "turn into a bad situation."

"I've had this redness for over 20 years. It doesn't bother me. Doesn't hurt. I just thought that was normal for me. But there's something new... It's HORRIFYING! Here, let me show you.

Dr. Ortho didn't look at my right leg, because we weren't considering surgery for it. It's also got the redness, and has for years. But since I saw you in December, something else has come up. I think I have psoriasis!"

I pulled up the leg of my sweatpants to show NP the scaly patch on the outer side of my left lower leg. Irregular. Flaky. Kind of grayish white.

"It's been there since sometime in January. I've had things like this before, but smaller. They take a while to clear up. They don't itch or hurt."

"Oh, yes. It's weeping."

"Not as much as in the beginning. I don't know what triggered it. I must have scraped my leg sliding out of the car, or rubbed it too hard with the washcloth. I cover it with a folded paper towel and ACE bandage."

"That's good."

"I've tried antibiotic ointment. And lotion after the shower. Nothing seems to affect it in a bad or good way. Oh, and that dark place? It's lint off my sweatpants just now! I saw it on Thursday, and thought, 'Oh, no! I've got gangrene!' But it's just lint that comes off these pants. I can pick off the threads. I can't really scrub the area with a washcloth, because then it has to weep some more before it starts closing up."

"I'm going to get you an appointment with our Wound Care Clinic. They can tell you the best way to treat it and speed up the healing. And for the lymphedema, they work wonders. They can get you started with some compression hose. They're really good over there. It's on the back of the hospital. Where the old ER entrance used to be. They've built a new one now, but left the roof over the old ambulance bay. Just walk up to the doors, and they'll let you in. There's parking right across from the doors."

"I know where that is! I went in that way when I had both my babies. Should I call them?"

"They will call you to set up an appointment."

So... that's kind of a relief. I don't have to travel north or south to a specialist. They have doctors/NPs/nurses right here that can do what I need. We'll see how effective further treatment may be. NP wants to see me again in two months, to see if there's any progress. He also wanted four vials of blood! No fasting necessary.

When I sat down by Farmer H in the waiting room, waiting to be called to the lab, I handed him my cane and print-outs from the visit. You'd think he had a thirst for knowledge, the way Farmer H combed through those papers. Almost as if he thought I was hiding something. 

Nice To Knee-t You

I was early for my appointment, so I got in pretty quick. Well. If you don't count the time it took me to hobble down the hall to the exam room. Farmer H insisted on accompanying me. I don't really like that. But in retrospect, he probably would have thought I was lying if he hadn't heard it all for himself.

A tall tattooed gal took my vitals. She had a full sleeve on her left arm. She was friendly and efficient. When she left the room, Farmer H had to voice his opinion. 

"I don't know why young gals ruin their appearance with tattoos!"

"She was just fine. It's none of your business. Don't be so judgmental." (As I told The Pony later on the phone: "Dad has no idea what else she might do in her off time. Maybe she has a side job as a dominatrix! Her life and her skin are not his business".)

Farmer H also spent time looking at the charts on the wall. Diagrams of various bone-related maladies. "See there? That's what I have wrong with my hand. It's all bent out of shape by the arthritis."

"This is NOT all about you! Make your own appointment."

Dr. Ortho knocked, and entered the exam room. He was probably early 40s. He reached out to shake my hand. I introduced Farmer H. Dr. Ortho sat down on a rolly stool, and rolled over to sit right in front of my chair. I was relieved that he didn't ask me to get up on the exam table. I don't know if I could have made it, despite the stepstool with a tall handle on it.

Dr. Ortho asked me to pull up the leg of my sweatpants, which I had chosen to wear for just that reason. It's hard enough stepping in and out of pants at home with my usual leaning supports. He felt around my kneecap. Picked up my foot behind the heel, and stretched out my right leg.

"How far can you extend?"

"Ouch."

"You're missing the last 30 degrees." He set my foot down. "Now pull your foot back, and bend it as far as you can."

"That's it."

"About 80 degrees. Here are your x-rays." Dr. Ortho stood up and turned on the screen. "Here's the right knee. And the left. You can see how they're bent. The right one bends in, and the left one bends out. You have degenerative arthritis. The cartilage is gone. So you have bone on bone."

"It really hurts when I stand more than about 10 minutes."

"I don't doubt it."

"It's hard for me to even get up from a chair like this. With no arms to push up from. I can't get my knees bent far enough back to get them under me and stand up."

Dr. Ortho sat down on his rolly stool. Ran his hand around my kneecap, pressing.

"That's where it hurts. On the inside. And down below the kneecap."

"Yes. The cartilage is gone. The tibia hurts where the femur is pressing on it." He ran his hands down my lower leg. "I see you have some redness here. You need to get that checked out. I won't be doing a knee replacement on you. This operation will mess up circulation for a while. I'm concerned that this redness could develop into cellulitis, and spread up the leg, and get into the joint. I'd like you to see your regular practitioner again, and get a referral to a cardiologist, or a lymphatic doctor, to see if this can be cleared up."

"I have an appointment in June."

"It needs to be before that. I'd LOVE to do a knee replacement on you. Maybe you can come back in six months, and we'll see where we're at. It will change the quality of your life. In the meantime, I could offer you a steroid injection to help with the pain."

"Yes. I think I'd like to try that."

Of course Farmer H was chiming in that HE'D had a steroid injection in his knee, and it worked for about six months.

"Well, you were very lucky if it lasted that long. This is good for about three months. I could give it again in four months if it's helping. I'll go get it ready."

Dr. Ortho left. The tattooed gal came back with a tray holding a syringe and a vial. "I'll just get his injection ready."

"There's not any lidocaine in there, is there? Because I have a sensitivity to that, and it raises my blood pressure and speeds up my heart."

"No. This is just Kenalog, and some saline." She left, and Dr. Ortho came back about five minutes later.

Dr. Ortho took out his inkpen. "I'm just marking my landmarks." He didn't seem to be writing on my skin. Just poking the pen at the side of my kneecap, and above. Then he got up to get the syringe.

"I'm going to try not to look."

"That's what I always do!" said Dr. Ortho. Heh, heh. Doctor humor. I HOPE!

He stuck the needle in the side of my knee. It wasn't painful. Just pressure inside as the fluid went into my knee cavity. Dr. Ortho said he was going to send a note to my NP about his concerns. I made the appointment on Friday, and see the NP on Monday (lucky that they had a cancellation).

I've gotta say, I really like Dr. Ortho. I don't know if I'll ever "be able" to get a knee replacement. The injection of Kenalog seems to be helping already. At least at home, I don't have to grab onto things to get around the house now.

A Journey Of 1000 Hoops Begins On Just One Knee

So many hoops to jump through to get somebody to look at your knee! I made my orthopedist appointment back in December, at my yearly visit with my Nurse Practitioner. I'd asked about getting that knee checked out years ago, and NP mentioned a knee replacement, but said I was considered too young, that it would wear out and need a replacement for the replacement. I was kind of in a holding pattern until the past couple years when it got worse.

The orthopedist's office left a message that I would need to get there 20 minutes early, and have an x-ray before the appointment, at the lab on the same floor. Farmer H, who has never been to that clinic, and only visited in the hospital below, told me I would need to go to the hospital lab on the 1st floor to get that x-ray. I disagreed. I had been to the 3rd floor lab many times. I know they do a lot of different labby things, not just blood draws. I figured they might have x-ray facilities.

Farmer H dropped me off at the front door of the hospital. The elevators are to the right. The hospital lab is straight ahead through a couple waiting areas. There's an information desk across from the doors. That's where I went, while Farmer H was parking A-Cad in one of two open handicap spaces he saw. He has my other placard. He doesn't get around so great either, after his back surgery.

The gal at the information desk said that I should go up to the 3rd floor for my x-rays. Farmer H came in as I was hobbling with my cane to the elevator. Thank the Gummi Mary, he was there to hold the closing door open while I got in. At the 3rd floor, I went to the regular lab to ask them. Passing by a window marked with Orthopedic Imaging. I thought that might be what I needed, but chose to walk (I use that term loosely) about 20 more feet to the regular lab window and ask, rather than going into that imaging suite, which was not there the last time I was on 3rd floor. Of course that's where I needed to be: Orthopedic Imaging. If they'd just called it that instead of the "lab," it would have been clear.

Inside Orthopedic Imaging, I paid my co-pay and sat down to wait. Within five minutes, I was called back. The Tech was SO KIND! She was probably mid-20s. A dishwater blond wearing blue scrubs. She explained exactly what she was going to do.

It was mainly standing with my knees up against a plate mounted on the wall, while Tech went into her radiation-proof room to take the pictures, cautioning me, "Don't move." It was hard to get my knees as close together as I could for the view of the front. She let me keep my cane for that. I couldn't use it for the back view. She leaned my cane against the wall, and showed me where I could hang onto the plate my kneecaps were against. Then she came back and returned my cane. Positioned me sideways, knees slightly bent, one step apart.

Then came the hard part! I had to sit down on the end of the x-ray table, and "move your feet back as far as possible under the table." Welp! That wasn't happening! I couldn't even get my feet directly under my knees. That picture was taken from above. After that I was done. Tech came back, and held out her blue-gloved hand to help me get up. Then she stood there a minute.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. I'm fine."

"Because if you're not, we can wait a minute."

"No. I'm good. It just takes me a minute to get going."

She was SO NICE! Definitely a people person, good with the elderly.

From there we went down the hall to the orthopedist's office. Which is tomorrow's story.

Mrs HM Is In Knee-nial

Lets get right to it today. Put the horse before the cart, and deliver the knews (heh, heh) that everybody has been waiting for:

Mrs. HM is NOT a candidate for knee replacement surgery!

At least not at this time. I was initially relieved. And then disappointed. Without the imminent threat of going under the knife, it dawned on me that nothing has changed. I'm still saddled with a painful knee that limits my mobility. However...

I may have a second chance. It depends upon some follow-up care, and perhaps a miracle. I don't know why I'm secretly hoping that my knee can be sliced open and its innards reamed out and metal parts be jammed and hammered into place. Farmer H is my biggest cheerleader. I'm hoping that it's not (another) clandestine attempt at trying to kill me.

I left the orthopedists office with a shot of Kenalog in my right knee. That's a steroid used for treating inflammation in joints. My knee already feels better. Of course I'm sure that's all in my head. My Estranged BFF Google says that Kenalog takes about 5 days before the effects are felt.

Over the next few days, I will share the details of my appointment, diagnosis, and care plan. I'm sure you'll be enthralled, heh, heh.