The Good, The Bad, And The Relapse (Part 2)

Oh, for the salad days, when the convalescing patient was so undemanding!

Wednesday, Farmer H had an appointment with the urologist. Turns out this wasn't the surgeon, but the guy who put that vibrating thingy in his bladder that's supposed to make it less urgent. Anyhoo... the surgeon's plan had been for this urologist to take out the catheter during this appointment. Farmer H told the nurse, and she said, "I don't know anything about that. I don't think so. I'm going to ask the doctor." Heh, heh. She came back and did it. And the urologist said that of course she should have known that she was supposed to do that. I'm disappointed that Farmer H didn't ask her if the tubing was hooked up correctly in that plastic clippy thing!

Anyhoo... Farmer H was thrilled to have the catheter out. But when he peed after coming home, he was in a panic because he said his pee was all blood. That was listed as a temporary possibility on his discharge paperwork. And also a medicine he was taking said it would turn the urine orange or red. But now he seemed to think he was dying!

"I was going to run down to my store, but I think I'll just stay home. If it looks like this tomorrow, I'm going up to the emergency room."

I wasn't so worried, because of the medicine side effects. Meanwhile, Farmer H seemed to have had a relapse, and thought he was knock-knock-knockin' on (hopefully) Heaven's door.

"I think I have a fever. I'm cold. I'm covered up with this blanket, but I'm freezing. Feel my head. Is it hot?"

"Well, I just washed my hands. So they're cold. But no, you don't FEEL hot. There's a thermometer right there in that box. Why don't you take your temperature? Or maybe you should have asked them to do that an hour ago at the doctor's office. Anyway, you're taking an antibiotic. So that should take care of any infection you might be getting."

"They wouldn't do that there!"

"Why not? It's a DOCTOR'S office! I'm sure they had a thermometer lying around."

Farmer H took his temperature. But he couldn't read the thermometer. No matter how much I explained, and showed him how to slightly turn it. He was holding it VERTICALLY! So I had to go back to the kitchen and put on my glasses and come back and read it for him. The poor pitiful patient. It was right at the arrow that denotes 98.6 degrees. STILL he couldn't see it, even when I held it and slightly turned it.

Farmer H said he was in no pain, now that the catheter was out. Yet when I asked if he was coming to the kitchen for his supper, or did he want me to bring it, he said: "If you could make it and bring it in here, that would be great."

I also mentioned that I guessed I would carry in more of his soda the next day, after I carried in my groceries. No comment from Farmer H, who had returned from his de-catheterization crowing that he could now lift 20 pounds.

I think I liked him better when he was really a patient. Later that night, his pee cleared up. He had a shower. He seemed fine the next morning. I'm still waiting to see what he expects me to do for him now.

The Good, The Bad, And The Relapse (Part 1)

While he was laid up convalescing after his surgery, Farmer H was a pretty good patient. He still went to town, but didn't do anything that was forbidden. He kept his pee bag below his waist. He took his meds. He drank lots of fluid. He rested. 

I tried to help out. I watered the dogs, but Farmer H insisted on feeding them himself. I carried in his six-packs of Diet Mountain Dew, and kept them stocked in FRIG II. I made sure he always had three bottles of cold water available, and that one was on the nightstand when he went to bed. I put his meals on the plate and carried it to him sitting in my OPC (Old People Chair) so he didn't have to get up, and carry his pee bag with one hand.

Tuesday was trash day. So as I left for town on Monday afternoon, I mentioned that I was taking the trash up to the dumpster.

"You don't have to do that, HM. I can do that. I don't think it weighs over 10 pounds. I can take it in the morning when I leave."

"No. There's a rum bottle in there from when The Pony was here yesterday. And there's a big pickle jar. I think it weighs more than you should carry."

When I picked up groceries in town, Farmer H said that he could carry some of them in.

"No. Some of the stuff is heavy. There's no need for you to come out and try to carry a couple bags with only using one hand. I can do it. I'll leave part of it until the next day or two, and only bring the cold stuff and the bananas and bread."

Farmer H had said that it hurt him when bending over to put on his shoes and socks. Of course I offered to do that for him, but he said no. That he slept in his socks so as to only change them every other day. And he could step into his shoes. But by day 5, he was letting me put those shoes and socks on him.

He was actually a low-maintenance patient. And even seemed like he cared about my life being temporarily harder because of his predicament. He cautioned me to be careful while walking the trash a few steps across the yard between the T-Hoe's hood, where I was transporting it, and the dumpster.

But then...

Marking Time Until The Removal

Facing five days of being catheterized and carrying around a giant pee bag like a briefcase, Farmer H barely curtailed his regular activities. He DID agree not to mow the lawns or yard/field. Even though he said the zero-turn mower has a cushy seat. He also agreed not to climb down in the floor at Bargain House, to work on the joists. Even though one more day of work will likely have it ready for listing.

Farmer H's trips to the Senior Center for lunch continued. And stopping in his office for the elderly apartments. He sold at his SUS2.5 on Saturday and Sunday, though he came home around 2:00 on Sunday. He spent afternoons in my OPC (Old People Chair) drinking water and Diet Mountain Dew and watching TV. No more trying to take a shower, after the catheter clip catastrophe. He made do with a sink bath.

Farmer H said the worst part was the pain where the catheter comes out. He was more than ready to drive 30 miles Wednesday to have that contraption removed. He sent me a text right after. "It's out!"

I think the worst part of this experience was Tuesday afternoon, when an old friend called him. Her husband was very ill, in the hospital over in Bill-Paying Town. According to Farmer H, there was nothing more they could do for him, and his brain was no longer functioning. The decision had to be made to end his ordeal. The Friend called, in tears, saying how she was all alone, and didn't know anybody around here. Farmer H had a couple tears while he was telling me about it.

"I said I just couldn't do it. I have this pee bag to carry around, and it's really been hurting this afternoon, and I just couldn't go and sit at the hospital with her. I feel bad for her. I called one of my buddies from the lockers. He knew her husband. He said he'd go down there and see if he could help. So at least she won't be alone when they do it."

Farmer H needs to realize that he can't save the world. Sometimes he needs to take care of himself first.

Had My First Clip On A Friday Night. I Don't Reckon That I Did It Right.

Friday night, Farmer H went to take a shower. He planned on taking his pain pill afterwards, and bed. I was at the kitchen table innernetting. I said I'd check on him later. I'd already taken in a bottle of water to have on the nightstand.

"HM! I need your help!"

Well. That sent a shiver up my spine.

"I'll be right there! I'm coming!"

"You don't have to hurry." 

Farmer H was standing at the entrance to the kitchen, holding his tube. He's usually holding his plastic bag, but this time he had it in one hand, and his catheter tube in the other. He headed for the bedroom, and I followed. He eased himself onto the bed.

"This tube came loose! I cain't get it back on. I cain't see below my stomach. Can you clip it back?"

"I don't know what I'm doing. There's THREE tubes! None of them look like they'll fit in that clip."

"Well, one of them was in there. It held my catheter in place. Now it just dangles down and pulls on me! It hurts. We've gotta get it clipped back in."

"I can't figure it out. Do you know which one was in the clip? Do you have instructions? With a diagram?"

"No. They said it would never come out. But it did!"

"I'm trying to fit each of them in the clip, but it has a pointy thing sticking up. What's THAT for? Was it to block an opening in one of the tubes?"

"I don't know. Try to fit it on there."

"I don't know if that's a good idea. You could get an infection."

"We have to do something. Just try it."

[Pictures may show you more of Farmer H than you want to see, but I guarantee it's just his belly, hairy upper thigh, and thumb. You won't see the business end of his catheter, nor the other end, either.]

Here's what I was looking at:

This plastic gadget they said would never come open. It's on a swivel, so the catheter doesn't tug on Farmer H as his leg moves. But there's a pointy thing sticking up that keeps the tubes from fitting in there and then snapping shut.

Here are the three tubes:

The clear one is the catheter. The clear part was too big to fit in the clip. Farther along, I was pretty sure we shouldn't clip in the softer part, as that would cut off the flow through the tubing. The arms of that "tubey cactus" were obviously to be used for inserting stuff into Farmer H. But even they wouldn't fit into the clip to hold the whole apparatus in place.

Farmer H reached down and snapped that plastic gadget shut.

"See? That's how it closes."

"Why did you do that? What if I can't get it open again? I don't know what to do! Here. I'll get my phone, and take a picture so you can see."

Farmer H looked. And was still mystified. I fiddled with the plastic gadget, and by reading upside down and backwards on that sticky thing, I got the clip opened.

"I can try farther up. Try clamping that catheter tube down by the arms of the cactus. It might fit on one side of that pointy thing. THERE! It fit, and I snapped it shut. But I don't know if that's right!!!"

"Now tape it shut, HM! So it can't snap open again!"

"I can't do that! It's supposed to swivel. I can't tape it down. And that sticky patch is coming loose at the bottom. The whole thing might come off! I'm getting some tape, and I'll put it around the edges of that patch. At least that will stay on."

"That clip might come open!"

"I think you need to call the doctor. Or go up there tomorrow and ask if it's on right. You have FIVE MORE DAYS with this!"

"Maybe I'll do that. I can drive up to the ER and ask."

"You'll wait forever. But at least they can tell you what's going on with it. And maybe put on a new patch with a new clip."

"They might just put a new catheter in."

"NO! Don't let anyone do THAT! The urologist wanted the catheter to stay in to stop the bleeding! It's still bleeding every time you move around. A new one would start the whole thing all over again! Maybe you could just go to urgent care. Somebody should know how a catheter clips onto one of these things."

"I'll go to the ER up there like he told me. It looks okay right now, as long as the clip doesn't come open again."

Well. Farmer H did NOT go to the ER. He said everything was working okay, so he just came home from his SUS2.5 on Saturday without consulting anyone. What we needed was the advice of Blog Buddy Kathy! I'm pretty sure she knows her way around a catheter.

Farmer H's plumbing seems to be working okay with this arrangement, no matter how right or how wrong we have it hooked up.

[As for my title, apologies to Ed Sheeran, whom I'm sure reads my supersecret blog. What else could he possibly have to do? I don't want to pay any royalties for stealing a line from "Castle on the Hill." Surely Ed won't object to his song being mangled for a catheter catastrophe!]

An Impatient Patient

These next few tales are not for the squeamish. You may want to skip them. Details can be a bit... too detailed. Continue at your own risk. I can't be rushing around with smelling salts and cool head-washcloths to soothe faintees. I have an actual patient to keep alive.

Farmer H went directly to his recliner when The Pony brough him home from surgery around 5:15. He was moving slowly, and carrying a plastic bag the size of a briefcase. One side white, the other side clear. It was his pee bag, hooked up to his catheter, to remain in place for the next 7 days, after the roto-rootering of his prostate.

That's the scary part! He was only supposed to need that catheter for ONE day. Then the surgeon said Farmer H's prostate was more vascular than he had assumed, and the catheter needed to remain until the follow-up visit a week later. That the pressure would help keep the bleeding stopped.

WELL! One would hope so!

The fluid in the pee bag was not a pretty sight. The Pony and Farmer H assured me that such a red color was expected for a few days. It was like cherry KoolAid. That only to worry if it became thick, or had clots. If that happened, Farmer H should get to the ER at the hospital where he had his surgery (30 miles north), and not either of the two ERs down here, because they don't have a urologist on call.

Farmer H said that he was supposed to drink a lot of fluids. That soda was fine, too, along with water. His throat was sore from the anesthesia tube. He was hungry, but wanted something smooth. Smoother than the fake Hamburger Helper with mushrooms and beef stroganoff flavor. I offered him Vienna Sausages and a slice of Hawaiian bread, and he was thrilled.

Farmer H has assorted medicines for when the catheter comes out. Like an antibiotic, and a weird painkiller that will turn his pee orange or red. Also a painkiller for immediate pain, which was OXYCODONE. I didn't think they even gave that to people anymore. It's hard enough to get hydrocodone after a surgery. But Farmer H had 8 pills. He took one at bedtime.

I looked in on him several times. He slept pretty good, since he didn't have to get up for the bathroom all night. He says he can't sit in his recliner because it hurts to get up. So he alternates between the couch and my OPC (Old People Chair).

Farmer H went to town on Friday around noon. He visited with his buddies. He's not supposed to sit on hard surfaces. He said a shower was allowed. That he only needed to put his pee bag on the floor of the shower. I did not think this was a good idea.

I was proven right later Friday night...

Under The Knife And Back In The Life

I had not planned on giving any details of the surgery Farmer H had on Thursday. It has long been delayed waiting for assorted tests that were bungled by assorted providers. Anyhoo... the rescheduled surgery day arrived. Farmer H said it's fine to share online. Even his picture (!) which HE told The Pony to take at the hospital!

The surgery was scheduled for 1:00. Farmer H had to be there by 10:45. The surgery was by his urologist. I don't know what it was called, but Farmer H always refers to it as "roto-rootering my prostate." Meaning that the urologist was going to shave around inside his prostate, the goal being to open up a stricture so that Farmer H can empty his bladder more completely, leading to less frequent emptying, which wakes him up through the night, and keeps him hopping through the day. Supposedly this is a minor surgery...

The Pony kept me updated.

10:37 "In the waiting room now. Being taken back."

11:24 "The copay was $300. He put it on the debit card. Still back in pre-op, IV in and questionnaires done. Waiting for the anesthesiologist to come talk with him."

11:25 "He said to send you a picture. I mostly avoided seeing his bare rumpus as he got into the gown."

[Though he said I could share the picture, I have added fake sunglasses. You know, in case a solar eclipse breaks out while he's lying there.]

11:26 "Try to make him not nervous. Tell him I love him."

11:27 "I told him. He says he feels like he could fall asleep!"

11:28 "Heh, heh."

12:49 "They just took him back, almost exactly on schedule. I'm backin the waiting room now."

12:53 "Did they say an hour?"

12:54 "45 ish minutes was the latest I heard."

1:14 "Text update, surgery has officially started."

2:11 "Surgery ending update."

2:17 "Says he's back in the recovery area. Haven't called me back yet."

2:48 "Any news?"

2:48 "The patient is doing well" came in just now. Nothing about being able to go back yet."

3:10 "Back with him now. He says, 'I guess they've got a  bag I'm peeing in but I don't know.' A pause 'and that's burning.' He says his throat hurts, which, yeah they had a tube."

That's from the recovery room. Farmer H is always slow to come out of anesthesia.

3:12 "He reminds me of a mummy in a sarcophagus."

3:13 "Yeah. He's not awake enough to do much of anything."

3:14 "I guess they're not worried, if they let you back there."

3:15 "They're gonna bring the meds he's getting here and we'll pay with the debit. He's on some kind of IV drip right now."

3:24 "He says, 'I feel like I just peed. I can't tell if I did or didn't.'"

3:25 "Probably not, if it didn't hurt!"

3:26 "He said it did first! But yeah, that's the catheter at work."

3:37 "Nurse just emptied his catheter bag or whatever they had him draining into. So much. She said half an hour, maybe 40 more minutes and he can go."

4:36 "We're getting last discharge instructions. Catheter until next Wednesday so he doesn't bleeed out from the prostate."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The original details from the urologist, pre-surgery, mentioned coming home with a catheter, which could be removed the next day, either by Farmer H or a nurse.

More tomorrow...

My Eyes Could Feast, But My Tongue Could Not

Last time The Pony came out, we picked up Chinese food. I always get the Chicken and Broccoli, with white rice that I give to The Pony to take home and use in a later meal. Farmer H likes the Hunan Chicken with fried rice. The Pony switches every time. This time it was some kind of chicken. I don't recall the name, but The Pony said it was spicy. 

Indeed. I was gifted the two broccoli pieces that were in it (The Pony is not a fan), and I almost choked to death. Okay. I wouldn't make that statement to The Pony. Who did actually almost choke to death too recently...

Anyhoo... since cutting back and making wiser choices, The Pony only ate part of the meal, and took the rest home for another day. It still looked delicious.

"I added ginger and curry powder and water chestnuts."

That still looks really good. I think that's the original fried rice that The Pony got this time with the meal, though usually it's white rice. As good as it looks, I know that one bite would have me sputtering and choking. I don't like the spice. The exception is hot Chinese mustard, which I use sparingly. And some horseradish occasionally.

Freezer Nutrition For The Pony

The Pony has been cutting back and making wiser choices. Some of those choices include frozen dinners. Here's a particular favorite:

"It's Chicken Pesto Rigatoni. Only 430 calories I think. And somehow has 25g of protein!"

"Chicken has a lot of protein."

"Yeah! I was just shocked because that's 43% of the daily value in one thing that's only a third calorically!"

"That's why I eat a lot of chicken."

"Texture leaves a little to be desired, but yknow, it's microwave chicken. I like these for days I don't feel like properly cooking. Just to mix into the lineup."

"Yeah. It's good, and convenient."

And a better choice than ordering something delivered, The Pony agrees.

Feed A Farmer, Starve A Patient

Farmer H's minor surgery was scheduled for Thursday. I wouldn't really call it minor, because general anesthesia is involved. But as surgeries go, it doesn't compare to his neck surgery or back surgery. The Pony was tasked with driving him home, though Farmer H planned to drive them both to the hospital, which is 30 minutes north.

Since I knew the surgery was coming up, I asked Farmer H what he wanted to eat for his "last supper." I thought it might be something light. Surely you don't want to go into a surgery feeling all stuffed and bloated from a hearty meal. Or DO you? Farmer H apparently does.

"I'll be starving to death! I cain't eat past midnight. I have to be there at 10:45. The surgery is at 1:00. It's supposed to take an hour. Then recovery. I'll be really hungry by the time it's over!"

So I made generic hamburger helper for Farmer H's supper the night before surgery. It's egg noodles and a powdered sauce, to which you add milk and hamburger. I didn't have any milk, but I substituted sour cream. The skillet had a pound of ground beef. Plus I added two cans of mushrooms. It turned out well.

Farmer H didn't eat the whole thing. I divided it into thirds. That gave him a large bowl of the noodle dish. It looked like beef stroganoff. He also had two biscuits with butter. Then a Little Debbie cake and a piece of watermelon.

Right now as I type, he's out of surgery and in recovery. The Pony says he's not asking for food. He says his throat hurts. Which is understandable after having a tube stuck down there.

Somebody DID Tell Him

This week is supposedly chock full of activities for Farmer H. He has been planning ahead, telling me what each day will bring. 

"Monday I have a dentist appointment. Then Tuesday is the monthly meeting for the apartments, in my new office. Wednesday I'm going to Illinois to pick up stuff for my store. And Thursday I have my surgery."

So many activities, so little time, for WORKING ON TWO FLIP HOUSES!

Anyhoo... Farmer H came in Monday evening. With a story.

"I got to the dentist on time. I sat there waiting for my appointment. Then she come out and said, 'What are YOU doing here? Your appointment is for the 24th.' So it wasn't today. It's in two weeks! I don't know why I thought it was today."

He said, picking up the notification postcard the dentist sends out, which was lying on the kitchen table right by the door, clearly showing his appointment date as August 24th.

I sure hope Farmer H is right about that surgery date...

You'd Think Somebody Coulda TOLD Me

This has been one of the most sustained heat waves I remember. I know it's hot in July. But usually we have several days between those 100+ heat index days, when temps might drop into the upper 80s. It seems like six weeks this sustained heat has settled over Hillmomba. I don't enjoy going out to get my scratchers, but I won't go without them like I would in an ice storm.

Saturday, I stopped by the Liquor Store. I haven't been going in there regularly, because often they're out of some of my favorite tickets. That's disappointing after walking in and standing in line. But I'd had several winners out of the 10Box machines, on tickets that are slow-moving. So I wanted to wait and let other people buy the assumed losers right after my winners.

Anyhoo... I got the parking space I like at the Liquor Store, the one on the far left end so nobody can park next to T-Hoe's driver's door. IT IS easier to get that space now, since the fake slot machines have been outlawed. I hobbled along the slanted blacktop next to the brick building, the heat pressing down on me like a damp quilt. Inside, there was only one man waiting at the counter. Seemed to be a problem with his card.

I stood a respectful distance back, holding my scratcher winner to cash in. The Clerk Gal was telling Customer that it shouldn't be too long. He was worried that his card would be charged twice, because he ran it through twice. She was watching her cash register monitor. He was watching the little square that shows his charges.

After about five minutes, a Boy Clerk came from the drive-through window. He asked about using cards, and Clerk Gal said they wouldn't work right now. Then they both walked back toward the drive-thru area. A young man parked in front and came through the door. I don't know if he was going to buy vapes, or scratchers. He stood beside me, rather than going through the aisles to pick up liquor.

I don't know if New Guy knew Customer, but he said, "What's the matter, man? Is it your card?"

"Yeah. Their internet's down, and it won't scan."

"Huh. That's tough."

New Guy walked back out, and I followed. He stopped to hold the door open for me.

"I'm so glad you asked! I could have been there forever. Nobody bothered to say the internet was down!"

"Yeah, I'm glad I asked."

Businesses can't even sell scratchers for cash when the internet is down, because they have to scan in the purchase to show that it's lottery. So who knows how long I might have been there waiting for nothing!

I took my business over to Casey's instead. Where I won $50 on a $10 crossword.

Oh, NO! Let's Not Weaken The Sauce!

At the Gas Station Chicken Store on Saturday, I was behind a lady buying scratchers. She turned to me, looked at the ticket in my hand, and asked if I had a big winner.

"Not real big, but $30 on a $10 ticket. So it's pretty good."

"You know, I can buy tickets from other gals in here, but I don't win. I have better luck with Fave."

"I KNOW! You don't have to tell ME about it!"

The Lady thanked Fave after the transaction, and started toward the door.

"Did you eat your eggs?"

"Yes. For breakfast. And my grandma says thanks for the tomatoes, too."

"You're very welcome."

"Oh, and good luck."

"You notice I didn't leave until you told me good luck! I always make sure of that."

Anyhoo... I won $35 that day on my Fave tickets. I was back on Sunday, the only customer in the store. After cashing in winners and getting new tickets, Fave said "See you on Thursday!" and I went out to T-Hoe to write on my tickets. I was startled to see the side door open, and Fave step out.

"I just wanted to come out and tell you GOOD LUCK. I think I might have forgotten."

"That's good! I wouldn't want that other lady to get all the good luck!"

Heh, heh. Fave must be raking it in from passing on all that good luck. She gives off positive energy, and it comes back to her in the form of tickets and eggs and tomatoes. I'm sure anybody winning a big jackpot won't forget about Fave.

Stranger In The Night

It was just before 8:00 on Wednesday night. Still light, but overcast. Pepper started baying on the front porch. It was a WARNING sound. Not his usual bark. His true hound was coming out, whatever that half may be. Jack is more of a yipper. He joined in, but Pepper's was more of an AROOOOO! There was the sound of frantic scrambling feet. Eight of them!

We were near the end of Big Brother, but Farmer H got up to go look. That's how urgent this doggy response was. Farmer H opened up the front door, and stepped onto the porch.

"Pepper! HERE, Pepper! PEPPER! Come on, Jack!"

The baying and yipping continued. Sounded like it was going farther out into the front yard/field. Farmer H stepped back inside to grab my childhood BB gun. It's old! Because I'm a really old child. Not the pump kind of BB gun. Just a lever to cock, and it shoots a single BB. We keep it there to discourage unwanted critter who try to make the Mansion their home.

I heard a couple shots go PFOOT! The baying and yipping lessened. The dogs gallumped up on the porch. Farmer H returned.

"It's some boxer dog. Brown and white. I've seen it out here before, but I don't know who it belongs to."

"Does it have a collar?"

"Yeah, it has a collar."

"So it belongs to somebody. If it got dumped, they would have taken off the collar."

"Probably. He wasn't aggressive or nothin'. Not trying to fight. Just in the yard, and ours didn't want him there. I shot a couple times, but didn't hit him."

"I'm glad they're warning us. They'll just have to get used to him. I don't see a problem if he's not trying to come up here and fight them. They're just protecting their territory."

"Yeah. They just need to leave him alone."

"At least now I know what they're probably barking at during the night. Just a dog. Not some criminal trying to break into your truck or shacks."

I guess our dogs will eventually get used to this one. The first neighbors on the blacktop road, at the top of the hill from Mailbox Row, used to have boxers. That's my best guess. They've had several over the years. It's only a mile or less from there to here. I don't know if they keep their dogs in, or let them run. I haven't seen any for a while, but that's a good thing, because it means they stay off the blacktop road. 

Deadbeat Dilemma

Because I was commanded to call the questionable collection agency by Farmer H, I did so on Friday afternoon

Before even one ring, the phone was answered by a recording. It was a man with a southern accent (so I suppose it really IS in Georgia). He stated the name of the collection agency, and said that any information given WOULD be used to collect a debt. All calls are recorded. Then he said to stay on the line for the next available operator.

Eight rings later, I got a recording that said "...JACQUELINE... is not available to take your call. Please leave a message--" I hung up. I am NOT leaving a message with my name and phone number. Nope. No way am I giving them a way to call me. They might have my number on a caller ID, but what good does that do, without a name or reference number?

I'd had my info written down in front of me. I was NOT giving my name, only saying that I was Farmer H's wife. And the reference number. I wanted to know the DATE, FACILITY, DOCTOR/ANESTHETIST, and SURGERY. If they asked me anything else, I was ready to say, "I am calling to GET information, not GIVE information."

I called at 1:34.

I called at 2:10.

I called at 3:02.

Always the same messages, and JACQUELINE unavailable. It seems odd that they have only one person to take these calls. You'd think a collection agency handling claims from providers in multiple states might be a larger operation.

Anyhoo... I am still suspicious of this charge. You'd think that if the collection agency had Farmer H's address, then the anesthesia office would also have it, and would have sent multiple statements in an attempt to collect their $40.91 before turning it over to collections.

I believe the next step will be sending a letter to dispute the charge, asking for a copy of the original bill from the anesthesia office.

Really. It would be so much easier just to pay the $40.91 and be done with it. But I don't want to risk sending a check with our banking info to a scammer!

You Don't Know If You're Being Scammed, Or A Deadbeat!

Thursday's mail contained an envelope that looked like junk mail. It had other junky companions, yet also real mail, like our monthly statements from our financial investments. Of course I open all the mail to make sure I'm not missing anything important.

This one was in a plain window envelope. With a return address in Georgia. No stamp, just a printed "First Class Mail, Presorted, Postage Paid, Mailed From Zip Code 44711, Permit No. 1377." Nothing especially remarkable about the appearance.

Inside was a one-sided paper. Thin paper. Which stated it was from a DEBT COLLECTOR!

Well. That was disturbing. We pay all our bills. WHEN WE GET THEM. Supposedly, this was a debt from an anesthesia group. I've never heard of it, but Googling showed that it has offices in several states, and one in St. Louis. Farmer H has had several surgeries over the years. We've gotten bills from doctors and radiologists and anesthetists. It's not unreasonable to think that this bill might be legitimate.

However, there was no date. No location. No doctor. No type of surgery. Just a Reference Number. And a total debt of $40.91. 

Also, details that between June 1, 2026, and now, we were charged 0 interest and 0 fees. There were payments in the amount of 0. And adjustments in the amount of 0.

Also, this collection agency is giving us until August 27, 2026, to dispute all or part of the debt. If we write them, they must stop collection until they send us information that shows we owe the debt. We can include supporting documents. They also accept disputes electronically at a website.

At the bottom is a form that can be cut off (no perforation) to send back. 

Check all that apply:

*************************************************************

I want to dispute because...

This is not my debt. 

The amount is wrong.

Other (please describe on reverse or attach additional information)

I want you to send me the name and address of the original creditor.

I enclose this amount $ _____________.

Make checks payable to: [name of collection agency]

**************************************************************

It would be so easy to write a check for $40.91 and be done with it. HOWEVER... I don't know if we owe this amount or not. We never got any bills from any anesthesia group that we didn't pay. It would be odd that such a debt got turned over to collections without multiple attempts to notify us of the bill.

Also, we've had a couple notices this year that our medical information was breached. Maybe this is just a scammer trying to get money or personal information. A check would give them our bank account number. 

I looked up the collection agency. They are not registered with the Better Business Bureau. Which AI says can be a red flag for scams. 

Farmer H wants ME to call and try to find out more info. I say they probably won't talk to me, since his name is on the account. Then again, he would be more likely to give personal information than I would. So I guess I can give it a try. JUST to get the date, location, surgery, and doctor. Then we will know if it's actually something we might owe.

There We Went Again

Wednesday evening, the news was finishing up right before I had Farmer H's supper ready. I walked past his recliner, seeing a story about the Kansas City Chiefs football team's stadium going back to its original name of Arrowhead Stadium.

"Oh. I thought they were moving to Kansas."

"They ARE. They're building a new stadium there."

"Well, there goes a bunch of revenue, lost for Missouri!"

"No. It's 3 billion dollars, and Kansas is paying."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"You said, 'There go a bunch of revenue bonds.'"

"No. I said IT'S REVENUE LOST FROM MISSOURI! From all the ticket and concession and souvenir money that people would spend, and the hotels and restaurants."

"Oh. I thought you were talking about the bonds to pay for the stadium."

"You are a lot of work!"

I think Farmer H needs a 3 billion dollar set of hearing aids.

Listening To Me But Not Hearing Me. Again.

Tuesday, I made a meatloaf and green beans with bacon and potatoes for Farmer H's supper. It's more convenient for me to make them late morning/early afternoon. Before I go to town. Then I can warm them up when Farmer H decides to come home. I don't get (quite) as annoyed like when I plan on having it ready at a certain time, and he's not here. Plus, Tthe house smells really good for the afternoon. 

I was in the bathroom changing from town clothes to Mansion clothes around 4:00 when Farmer H showed up. He was in his recliner when I came out.

"Did you smell the meatloaf?"

"I was too busy to vote today."

"Um. Okay. But that has nothing to do with what I just asked you."

"I thought you asked me did I vote?" 

[There were just a couple of amendments on the ballot]

"No... I asked if you smelled the meatloaf."

"Heh, heh! I DID smell the meatloaf when I come in. It smells good."

Farmer H really enjoyed the meatloaf. Much more than he would have enjoyed voting.

A Cold And Dark As Mrs. HM's Heart

Friday evening, I got food out of FRIG II's freezer to prepare Farmer H's supper. He was having fish and waffle fries. He was offered mixed vegetables with cheese melted on top, but turned them down. "Nah. I had vegetables for lunch." Because, you know, having vegetables twice in one day would be senseless, and only a feat attempted by somebody who DON'T KNOW NOTHIN'!

Anyhoo... that meal used up the rest of the waffler fries, but I had fish left in the bag to put back in the freezer. I opened the door, and IT WAS DARK! The light bulb had burnt out between me getting out the fish and putting it back. I told Farmer H.

"Huh. I don't have no idea where that light is. Or what size. I guess I'll have to take a look at it." Which of course he jumped up and did, right? WRONG! He kept sitting in his recliner. Then ate supper. Then came to the kitchen for dessert. Then went to bed.

The next day, I brought Pony out for a Saturday of game-playing. I mentioned the dark freezer, because I figured The Pony would be getting ice. Farmer H came home around 5:15. Went straight to the recliner.

"Dad? Do you want me to see what kind of light the freezer needs?"

"You can."

The Pony looked all around. The bulb was not visible. I'd already been looking a couple of times. The Pony pulled out the big bin that holds the ice cubes. The light was behind there. The Pony unscrewed it, and took it to Farmer H in the recliner.

"Huh. I'll have to see if I can find one."

As I type, this is Tuesday afternoon. FRIG II's freezer is still as cold and dark as my heart. Farmer H DID move that burnt-out bulb from the table beside the recliner to a cap lying in a box on the chair by the kitchen door. 

It's still there. I figure today is not the day I'll be getting light in FRIG II's freezer.

Something Has Been Eating At Me

It's my own teeth! I noticed when it happened, but I had no idea of the aftermath.

Farmer H came in Friday evening, and asked if I hurt my face. Since he was born without a funnybone, I was pretty sure he wasn't pulling that old joke where he'd then add: "Because it's KILLIN' ME!" So I said that no, I didn't think so.

"Well, your lip is all bruised."

"Oh. You mean right here? IS it? Because last night, I bit my lip inside right there. So I guess it's just showing the bruise on the outside now."

Indeed, when I looked in the mirror, it was a frightening sight. More frightening than usual!

I zoomed in close so you didn't have to bear the full horror of my scarecrow hair and wrinkly face. This is actually my left lip corner, but the phone camera reverses it when I take my own picture. It's like I'm looking into the mirror.

The Pony noticed on Saturday. We went in Country Mart that day. I went to get scratchers on Sunday. Nobody said anything to me. I'm sure they were curious. But maybe they thought I had been in a fight, heh, heh, and didn't want to take a chance on me opening up a big can of whoop-rumpus on them!

Anyhoo... it's not like I was even eating something good when this happened. Just an apple. A nice crisp red Sugar Bee apple. Oh, and since then, with the swollen area, I have chomped down about a dozen more times. No wonder it's taking a bit of time to heal.

I'm not letting it curtail my activities. Those scratchers aren't going to buy themselves.

The Gong Shower

The Pony was coming out Saturday. I got ready early to drive to town and pick up bananas, The Pony, and Chinese food. It was about 8:20 when I turned off the shower faucet.

GONG!

What in the Not-Heaven? What WAS that? Not a noise that I've heard around the Mansion. Not recently, anyway. Yet it sounded somewhat familiar. I ran through a list of possible sources. 

Was that the front doorbell? It hasn't worked for over 10 years. Farmer H never remembers to put a battery in it. We don't get random visitors. It's a private road. The salesmen don't sneak up in here anymore, and the delivery people just leave stuff on the porch. Besides, the doorbell has two tones. DING and DONG. This wasn't quite a DONG. After I got dressed (thankfully, to anybody who might have been driving by), I looked out the front door. There was no note or package.

Was it something from my phone? My phone has never GONGed. It has a tone for incoming texts and emails. More like a PING, with an accompanying BUZZ for texts. That definitely wasn't it. Still, I checked my phone, which was lying beside the sink, and there was nothing on it.

Was it some sound from the pipes? I've never heard that before. Sometimes a GURGLE after Farmer H has had the water turned off for something.

Was it from something falling on a hard surface? Only the bathroom and laundry room have ceramic tile. The rest of the Mansion has carpet, or linoleum in kitchen and second bathroom. Nothing was out of place.

Was it the dogs doing something on the porch? Did Pepper whack his head on one of the giant metal wagon wheels that I detest? Such a noise would surely have rendered him unconscious, and there were no dogs on the porch when I looked out.

The Pony came out, and we discussed scenarios. The Pony also went to push the front doorbell, and only silence resulted.

"Could it have been this bell hanging by the kitchen door? Here, I'll clang it." CLANG! "Was that it?"

"No. The pitch was lower. And there wasn't the vibrating sound. Just a single GONG!"

We may never find out. It's almost as if whatever used to play tricks around here knew that The Pony was going to return...

So Capricious, The Universe

I had a plan on Friday morning. I know it takes me three hours to go through my leg pump and shower routine. I had checked the program guide to see what would be on TV while I was captive in my recliner for an hour. There was a good crime show on at 10:00, about a kidnapped 12-year-old boy.

My timing was impeccable. I had put in a load of laundry before the shower, and switched it to the dryer after. I was into my leg pumps, all plugged in, at 9:56. I reclined my OPC (Old People Chair). Turned on the pumps. I was watching the beginning of my show, when they introduce the victim and the suspects. At 10:01, my show stopped. There was a notice on the screen that said COMPLETE SIGNAL LOSS, due to weather.

The Universe, it seems, also had impeccable timing. All that effort for nothing! I picked up my phone to check Show Me Cash numbers for The Pony's draw ticket. The MOLottery app started to load, but went nowhere. Just the screen showing that it was MOLottery. I couldn't close it out to do anything else. I figured my internet was down as well. But I couldn't close this screen. Couldn't shrink it. No way to get to anything else, such as to call The Pony or send texts. A restart would also lock up with a firmware reporting thingy that takes forever on a good day.

Well. I was reclined and pumping, with nothing to entertain me. I figured I might as well have a nap. But I couldn't fall asleep. Time ticked slowly. At 10:16, the TV showed that DISH was acquiring signal. It finally finished. Then it was loading the program guide. THEN my show came back. I was able to see the last half hour. Still, you're not as invested as if you'd been given a peek into the lives of the people at the beginning.

Seeing how The Universe was being cantankerous, I was prepared in the evening. I had checked the futurecast radar, and knew that a storm was likely to hit us between 8:30 and 9:30. That's usually when I'm having my supper, and watching YouTube channels. So I got my own supper ready right after Farmer H's. I was sitting down to eat by 7:15. Finished by 8:15.

At 8:30, Farmer H went to look outside. While he was on the porch, the TV went off. As did my internet. No problem! I just played some solitaire. Farmer H went to take a shower and go to bed. I heard the TV come back on at 8:55. I started getting ads during solitaire, so I knew my internet was back.

But wait! The Universe could not be outsmarted. An alert blared from my phone. Our area was under a tornado warning. I went to the living room to search for a TV meteorologist. Found one! She had the radar, showing the leading edge of the storm with rotation. And said it would be in Sis-Town in 16 minutes, and Hillmomba in 8 minutes. I called The Pony, who does not have network TV. The Pony said the town tornado sirens were going off.

Luckily The Pony found an app with a local weatherman and radar. And kept me informed, because MY TV WENT OFF, due to weather.

We both survived the storms. So I would say that we both won over The Universe.

Stay Away From Ham-Handed Farmer H

If Farmer H was a Seinfeld character, he would be Poppy. You'll understand why after you finish reading.

Thursday evening, Farmer H got home around 5:30, just as I was getting my soda and cheese and pickles ready for scratching my lottery tickets. He went straight to his recliner.

"Whew! I'm tired. What's for supper?"

"Hot dogs and chips, and a sliced tomato if you want."

"What happened to the shrimp and fries you said I could have a couple days ago?"

"That will have to be Friday, or I'll miss the Big Brother live eviction. They take too long to cook, and you just now came in, and I'm not stopping my tickets now."

Farmer H usually asks for hot dogs. Clamors, in fact. But because I said that's what he was having, his oppositional-defiant disorder kicked in. 

 "I guess you could have a ham sandwich instead. But you can make that for yourself, so you probably won't want it." (Reverse psychology! Of course telling him he wouldn't want it would make Farmer H want it more.)

"Okay. I'll have ham. I'll get it here in a minute."

I sat down at the table with my scratchers. About a half hour later, Farmer H came to the kitchen. I had set out a paper plate, paper towel, spear pickle, the loaf of bread. Plus I had put the package of wafered ham and the lone slice of pepper jack cheese on the top shelf of FRIG II where he could find them. Farmer H set about making his sandwich. I sensed him out of the corner of my eye. Then I turned to watch. He was stuffing the little bit of ham that was left back into the package.

"Um. I don't think I want that ham. You've had your hands all over it, and I know you didn't wash your hands."

"Yes I did."

"WHEN?"

"When I come in."

"No you didn't. You went straight to your chair."

"Oh. Well. I meant to go to the bathroom to go pee."

"Ha ha! That doesn't mean you'd wash your hands!"

"Whatever."

"And I know you were spraying pesticide all day, because Pony said so, and you gave me the bill for it yesterday."

"I washed my hands since then!"

"REALLY? I can't imagine where? Did you wash them while you were watching the porch get built on Lap House?"

"Whatever. There's just a little bit of ham left. I might as well eat it."

"Please do! I don't want it after your hands were on it."

Farmer H put the extra slices on his plate. Then threw the package away, and went out the laundry room to the back porch, where he likes to pee through the rails like a savage. He came back in, grabbed a Diet Mountain Dew from FRIG II, and picked up his plate.

"I KNEW IT! You just peed, and didn't wash your hands! Enjoy licking your pee fingers."

"Whatever."

"In fact, I imagine you are singlehandedly the cause of that cyclospora diarrhea that's spread to 40 states, and not the Mexican lettuce!"

"I might be..."

If you're not a Seinfeld fanatic, here's the reason I imagine Farmer H to be the Poppy character. A little :52 video on YouTube.