I Guess I'll Survive (Part 5)

The Ol' Universe was rolling on the floor, clutching its universe-y innards, hee-hawing at the continuing shenanigans with Mrs. HM's medication.

Just when I was celebrating the successful procurement of my vital drug, in fact on the phone with The Pony arranging to drive over to Bill-Paying Town and pick it up that very afternoon... I got a call from the pharmacy.

"Hello? Is this Mrs. HM? I'm calling from YOUR CLINIC Family Care Pharmacy. Your NP asked me to give you a call about your medicine. It looks like your insurance won't cover this brand name drug. The cost will be $168. He wanted to make sure you knew that, to see if you still want it."

"Yes! I've been getting a 30-day supply, and it cost me $66.31. So I imagine this is for a 90-day supply. I normally wouldn't want that much, in case he might have to change it back to the 50mg. But with this, I could take two and it would be the same thing. So I'm fine with the $168. It's not a problem to get the 90. Especially since I have to drive 25 miles to get it. I'll be there this afternoon to pick it up."

"Oh. Well. We don't have it HERE. We'll have to get it. But we should have it tomorrow (Thursday) by noon."

"That will be fine! I'll be there to get it."

"We will call when it's ready. It will be a St. Louis phone number, just so you know. From our automated system."

"That's good to know. I'll be waiting for it."

So close, but yet so far! The Universe was dangling that beta blocker in front of me like a carrot on a stick. But at least I was six days closer to getting it.

THURSDAY

I started my morning routine early. It takes me three hours to do my unwrapping of legs, exercises, shower, leg pumps, and re-wrap. I wanted to have time for breakfast, and innernetting, and some laundry, and dish-washing. Then leave at 1:30 to pick up The Pony at 2:00, and go get my precious, long-awaited prescription. I had my ear on the phone, waiting for that pharmacy call to say it was ready.

I waited. A lot. Started to doubt The Universe once again. That merry prankster!

At 11:46, my phone rang. It was a St. Louis number. I answered, and it was the recording that my prescription was ready for pickup. YAAAAYYYYYYYY!

The Pony and I started our Errand Day with this pickup over in Bill-Paying Town. The pharmacy has a drive-thru window. Not the kind I prefer, that slides open and lets you talk face-to-face as they hand you the prescription. But one of those slide-out metal drawers that are a bit low for T-Hoe, with the worker hermetically sealed behind thick unbreakable glass.

The gal was very nice. She asked if I was sure I wanted the brand name. YES! She told me that there was only one bottle left at their supplier. And since they didn't have anybody else getting this drug from their pharmacy, they gave me the whole thing. Which was 100 tablets instead of 90. The cost would be $181.95. Was that okay? YES!

I tossed my debit card down into the drawer, and she sent out an electronic signing thingy for my signature with a fingertip. Then I sent it back, and got my precious DRUGS!

The gal said that when I'm almost out, to notify them so they can have a few days to get my refill. You can bet I will be doing that. I sure hope there's not a shortage at that time, or I might have to go through this all over again!

I Guess I'll Survive (Part 4)

It shouldn't be so hard to get a prescription filled. Here it was, Wednesday, and I'd been trying since the previous Thursday. Even Farmer H, with his poor communication skills, should have been able to explain what was needed, and gotten results by now. Surely Mrs. HM, a former VALedictiorian, with a 28-year teaching career, should have been able to convey her information successfully.

WEDNESDAY cont.

I finished washing my dishes. I did not run to check the phone. I can only take so many disappointments in a week. It was probably just junk email at 7:29 a.m.

But no! I saw the email was about a new message in YourChart! Which meant I had to rush back to the kitchen, because I can't get logged in and then go back to that screen on my phone. I'm sure it's a phone glitch, heh, heh, and not user error.

Once HIPPIE got warmed up, I read the most beautiful message:

_________________________________________________________

Hello Mrs. Hillbilly Mom,

The medication renewals below were approved. Please check with your pharmacy to determine when it is available for pickup or delivery.

The following prescriptions will be filled at MY CLINIC Family Care Pharmacy - Bill-Paying Town, MO.

Toprol XL 25mg extended release tablet

Thank you for using YourChart.

__________________________________________________________

I could hardly contain my glee! I was getting it! I was getting my prescription that I need to live! FINALLY, after a week of chasing it.

I called The Pony to set a pickup time to ride over to Bill-Paying Town. I mainly wanted the company, and a spare driver in case I began feeling dizzy. Or in case T-Hoe succumbed to the 100+ degree heat, I'd have The Pony to organize our rescue. We planned for 2:00.

And then I got a phone call at 12:55.

I Guess I'll Survive (Part 3)

Monday morning, I was still trying to get the prescription that I'd been given on Thursday.

MONDAY

I called the clinic around 8:30. Got a different gal than Friday. Told her that I was not able to get the Toprol XL 25mg prescription that had been called into Farmer H's pharmacy on Friday evening. So I would need either the generic, metoprolol XL 25mg, which my pharmacy had in stock... or a similar beta blocker, depending on what NP thought. Different Gal assured me she would pass this info along to the care team.

That was it. Nothing else on Monday. No return phone call. No YourChart message.

TUESDAY

I figured I'd wait my the pharmacy opened, so I could check on whether a prescription had been sent in. The gal there said yes. It was for Toprol XL 25mg. I said, "Which you still can't get." And she said yes. And that she remembered this situation. I thanked her, and told her I would be calling my doctor again. She said she would keep an eye out for a prescription for me.

I called the clinic. Got 3rd Gal. She seemed totally disinterested in my request. But said she would send the message to NP. Of course I kept my phone with me, checking at any incoming sound, lest it be a text from the pharmacy, or a YourChart message.

At 11:34, I got an email about a new YourChart message. Imagine my surprise when the message showed that a Toprol XL 50mg prescription had been canceled, and a new prescription for Toprol XL 25mg had been sent to my pharmacy.

THAT DIDN'T HELP! They'd sent another prescription that couldn't be filled!

I called the clinic. Got 4th Gal. Who was kind and understood and seemed like somebody who could get something done.

"I don't mean to be complaining. I just want to get my prescription. I've made a lot of calls here, and nothing seems to get done."

"I will expedite this to your provider. I will use different words, so maybe he will understand. Don't you worry. You HAVE to keep on them to get anything done!"

That gave me high hopes that I'd hear something before I left for town. Nope. Not a word. So frustrating. I told Farmer H when he got home, and I had heard nothing by 5:00.

"I'll go down there tomorrow! I'll go to the counter and tell 'em that you HAVE to get your medicine! This is ridiculous. Tomorrow it will be a WEEK, and you still don't have it!"

"They're not going to tell you anything! Even though you're listed on my contacts, and that you can pick up my meds. They'll say, 'Why isn't SHE talking to us about it?' It won't do any good, and you'll just make a scene."

"Then YOU should go down there! Tell them ain't nobody doin' nothin' to get it right."

"I'll think about it. I'll call the pharmacy, in case they sent something in this afternoon. Then I'll call the clinic again. I might just ask for a work-in appointment. So I can talk to NP in person! To get this figured out!"

WEDNESDAY

The plan was in place. The Pony was on call to ride with me, if I had to make an appointment and go to the clinic over in Bill-Paying Town. Farmer H, who usually drives me, would be busy working on Cheap House. Which he hadn't done on Monday or Tuesday, having been ON ANOTHER JOB FOR HIS MONEY, putting in electricity for some random guy.

I gave The Pony a wake-up call at 7:15. Said I planned to wait until the pharmacy opened at 9:00, to call and see if by some miracle a prescription had been sent for me on Tuesday evening. I said I'd be calling the clinic if not, and trying to get an appointment. I should know by 9:30 what I was going to do.

Then I went to wash dishes as usual. I heard my phone make an incoming noise at 7:29. Hmm... I wonder that that could be. Don't you?

I Guess I'll Survive (Part 2)

I was back home from my NP appointment Thursday afternoon, waiting for a text that my prescriptions were ready before I went back to town. The text came in 1:53. It said that ONE prescription was ready. Well. That would not do. I was supposed to have two. Sometimes that automated system makes a mistake, and sometimes they are waiting for a drug to come in the next day. So I called before I left for town at 3:30 to be sure, before parking T-Hoe in line at the drive-thru of my pharmacy.

The lady said there was only one prescription, the levothyroxine. That they could not fill the Toprol XL 25mg. First she said because it was too soon, since I'd just gotten a refill on the Toprol XL two weeks ago. Yes. But I pointed out that was the 50mg, and my NP had changed the prescription to 25mg. That it was a DIFFERENT prescription, and that such a drug can't be cut in half. 

THEN she said they couldn't get Toprol at all. In any strength. They couldn't get it from their supplier. I said that was odd, because I'd gotten it from them for many years, and in fact, I'd gotten it ONLY TWO WEEKS AGO. Still, she said it was not available. I said I would call my doctor (NP) and see what to do. That I'd wait to come later for my levothyroxine.

By this time, I needed to get to town, because Farmer H would be getting home and want supper. Besides, it would be hard to get a response from the clinic in that short time period, since they close at 5:00. I decided I'd call them first thing on Friday morning.

FRIDAY

I called the clinic at 8:15. I got a very pleasant gal who listened to my tale, and said she'd check with my NP, and call me back. That call came at 3:53, when I'd just gotten back from town. She said that NP suggested I try another pharmacy, so I said Farmer H's pharmacy, which is also in town. She said they'd send it there, but they would need to know if I couldn't get it, and they would be leaving at 5:00. I told her I didn't think I would be going back to town, so I wouldn't know, but that I'd call Monday if I couldn't get it.

Farmer H said they were open until 6:00, so I tried to call, but of course could only get a recording asking for my prescription number (which of course I didn't have) or my phone number (which of course they didn't have a record of, because it's not my pharmacy). The recording kept saying they didn't have that phone number. And cutting me off. No option to talk to a person.

Farmer H said he'd send a text to his woman there! He has her phone number. He asked if they could fill a Toprol XL prescription for me. His woman didn't see the text until after 8:00, and sent him a response the next morning that she didn't know, because she was home.

SATURDAY

I planned to go by Farmer H's pharmacy to see if they had my prescription for Toprol XL 25mg. Since I'd rather not stand in line inside, or deal with it through glass at the drive-thru, I tried calling again. When that recording kept asking for the prescription number and phone number, I said I didn't have the number. And it gave me a REAL PERSON at the local store!

She was quite gruff, but very nice. Kind of like my grandma. Polite, but no-nonsense. She said that yes, they had a prescription sent in for me, but that they don't carry Toprol. That it would have to be filled off-site. And that if I couldn't get it at my pharmacy, it was probably due to a manufacturer hold, and no one would be able to get it. She said if I found somebody to fill it, she would gladly transfer my prescription there. 

THEN I drove over to MY pharmacy, to ask if they had the generic version, the metoprolol XL 25mg. I figured there was no reason to ask my NP to try that if they didn't have the generic, either. In that case he'd have to prescribe something else. 

Such a simple question to ask, yet I was drawn into a "Who's On First?" routine at the drive-thru window. An old gal gave me my levothyroxine. In the routine manner, she asked if I had any questions for the pharmacist as she was ringing it up.

"Yes. But it's about my other prescription. I'll ask when we get done with this."

Old Gal asked me twice more if I had any questions for the pharmacist. YES! I asked, "Do you have the generic, metoprolol extended-release in 25mg?" She said, "That's the generic." YES! She turned to ask the pharmacist, whom I could see a few feet away behind the tall counter.

[I must add here that I use this pharmacy because the pharmacist was an older brother of two of my students. He's such a nice guy. When I was released from my Unfortunate HospitVALzation, he drove across town to get the rest of a prescription I needed that they didn't have enough of. But I haven't seen him at the pharmacy for several weeks now. I don't know if it's the hours, or if he moved on.

Anyhoo... THIS pharmacist was a hateful witchy woman who acted like she had her broomstick rammed up her rumpus. So cranky. I've heard her talking in there before, through the drive-thru.]

Witchy Pharmacist said she hadn't heard a thing. So Old Gal repeated my question. Witchy Pharmacist started ranting that they CAN'T GET TOPROL. That my doctor had called to question her about it on Friday. And that the last she heard, I was supposed to call my doctor. She ranted a bit more, but never answered whether they have the generic, metoprolol XL 25mg. I kept trying to explain again to Old Gal. Who kept repeating that Toprol is the brand name.

"I KNOW THAT! All I want to know is: Do you have metoprolol XL 25mg?"

Old Gal asked Witchy Pharmacist. Who huffed that yes, they have metoprolol XL 25mg. But added that I would need to call my doctor. Well, of course I would. On Monday, when his office was open. It's not like I was expecting her to hand me a prescription for the metoprolol right then and there. I just wanted to know if they had it, before I called NP. 

As you can see, this quest to pick up my medicine was not going well. But there's more...

I Guess I'll Survive (Part 1)

Time for me to be the star of this show again! Farmer H will just have to heal and stop doing dramatic things. I had my own doctor NP appointment on Thursday. It was a follow-up for after I completed the therapy for lymphedema. After all that, NP didn't even want to look at my legs!

I had asked the nurse if she thought he might want to see them. You know, that's the point of the visit. She said she didn't know, but that I should probably wait and see when he came in. No need to take off my leg wraps in case he didn't need to look. She said she could tell, even from looking at my wrapped, pants-clad legs, how much they had changed. She said they looked great.

My other issue was to talk to NP about my blood pressure medication. I told him first thing that I had been having dizzy spells, and that I had stopped taking the 10 mg lisinopril. NP said, "That's probably why you're dizzy!" I don't think he meant it as a joke. But I DID explain that first I had cut it in half for two weeks, and the dizziness was not as frequent. And that I had been off it completely for a month, and the dizziness was better than when I took a half. Also, that I'd been taking my blood pressure in the evening, and it was 120/60 most evenings. Once it had been 118/58. And that the previous evening, it was 125/62. Also, that I had lost 30 pounds (intentionally) since my last appointment. And I was wondering if my other med needed to be adjusted.

Here's where it all goes to Not-Heaven! I explained that I did not mess with my Toprol XL 50 mg pill. I know you can't just stop taking a beta blocker. And I also know that I shouldn't cut it in half, because that would negate the extended-release feature that the XL stands for. NP agreed. He said he was going to change my prescription to Toprol XL 25 mg. And check my TSH levels for my thyroid, to make sure I wasn't being "overserved" with my levothyroxine 150 MCG. (Which turned out to be fine, with my blood results in the normal range.)

I left with an order for bloodwork. My next appointment was already scheduled for December. I met up with Farmer H in the waiting room, and we waited for my turn. The phlebotomist was a really nice gal who was in and out in less time than it took me to walk back to her cubicle. And completely painless!

We left with Farmer H having time to get to the Senior Center for lunch (meatloaf). All I had to do was wait for a text from my pharmacy that my levothyroxine and Toprol XL were ready. 

The Universe laughed...

If It's Not One Thing, It's The Farmer

I have been worried all week about Farmer H. You may recall that his surgery was on August 13th. On Monday, August 24th, he declared upon arising that he couldn't take it anymore, and he was calling his urologist as soon as the office opened. He says he can't pee, and that his belly hurts, and he thinks he has an infection, or something is wrong.

"I really hope I have an infection. Because they can just give me pills for that."

The office told him the urologist was in surgery all day (this is not the guy who did Farmer H's surgery), but that the nurse practitioner could work him in at 1:30. He drove himself up there, even though I volunteered The Pony. Who did not know until later that Farmer H was having problems.

Anyhoo... here's the story I got from the Farmer's mouth:

"I peed before I left here, and as soon as I got there. They called me right in at 1:15. The NP said she wanted to test my bladder to see how completely it empties. She said there was four ounces in there. I told her there shouldn't be! Because I just peed. But she said four ounces isn't that big a deal. I'm still getting rid of the urine. But they don't want it to keep sitting there and get stagnant, so I need to drink at least 64 ounces of water a day. Which I've been doing, I think.

"Told her it burns when I pee, and I cain't hardly go at all if I'm sitting down. She wouldn't give me an antibiotic. She said the rapid test didn't show any infection. And they send the other one off, and it will take 3-4 days for the results. The doctor wouldn't want to have to change treatment, depending on the results. She said to get some over-the-counter cranberry pills. And she gave me three more days of them pills that make my pee orange, to take away the pain when I pee.

She didn't seem worried that it was anything wrong."

All week Farmer H continued to pee often but not a lot each time. At least it was coming out. I think he's trying to rush his recovery. When he looks it up on Dr. Google, it describes his symptoms. And says most people return to normal withing 3-6 MONTHS. While others may take 12-18 MONTHS!!! 

I feel bad for Farmer H. I guess he's just going to have to learn to be more patient about his recovery. One of his buddies had this surgery, and said it's the best thing that every happened to him. That his wife used to complain about him getting up so many times in the night. But now she complains that he pees too loud when he gets up.

I'm afraid this surgery has not been the miracle cure that Farmer H was expecting...

Nothing To Call My Own

It's really hard to have anything of my own around this Mansion. Farmer H takes everything! EVERYTHING! He's done it for so long, and so often, that it's almost become a joke. Nothing is safe from is clutches. He helps himself. If it's in the Mansion, he feels entitled to claim it.

You know he was taking my Tide squares that I use to wash my leg wraps and their compression socks. I bought that kind of detergent especially for that reason, because it has no bleach, like the regular powdered Tide we use. Any space he sees open in FRIG II is where he puts something away, like his snacks or Diet Mountain Dew. Even if it's a space just made because I set something out for him to use, and will be returning it. Now he's been using my OPC (Old People Chair), saying his recliner is painful the get out of.

"Can I have NOTHING of my own in this house? Why do you have to take EVERYTHING!"

"It's just a chair. You ain't sittin' in it right now."

"No. But you'll wear it out! I need it to sit in for my leg pumps. You'll wear out the automatic control thingy. Or you'll get grease all over the arms from your snacky hands. Or make the back discolored from your sweaty head. Look at your recliner! I don't mind if you sit there a couple hours when you get home. But not all the time I'm not in it!"

That's another thing. I have my little box of stuff on the table beside my OPC. The other day, Farmer H spilled his bottle of water on the table.

"Don't worry. I got it cleaned up with these little pieces of paper towel."

"MY paper towels? That I have there for cleaning my glasses? CAN I HAVE NOTHING OF MY OWN IN THIS HOUSE???"

"HM. It's just paper towels. You can put more in here."

Even when we're not in the Mansion, Farmer H takes my stuff. He drove swove me to my regular doctor appointment on Thursday. Came inside to wait with me. I was out of the appointment, and waiting for the lab. I handed Farmer H the printout I had from the visit, with my vitals and what was discussed and the date and time of my next appointment. It was four stapled pages. I didn't bring in my purse. The lab technician called my name.

"Here. Hold this for me so I don't have to carry it."

When I came back out, my paperwork was rolled up into a tube.

"CAN I HAVE NOTHING OF MY OWN???" I had to hiss-whisper this time, because of witnesses.

I Didn't Mean To Jinx Fave

Well. This is unfortunate. No sooner had I put out my concern that Fave might be replaced as the favorite lottery ticket seller by that right-side machine at 10Box... than Fave disappeared! Not like the Statue of Liberty by David Copperfield (YouTube 3:47). Or some prankster who tosses a blanket in the air and then dodges behind the wall to fool a pet. 

It took Fave a whole day to disappear.

Fave was working her shift as usual when I bought scratchers at 4:30 Thursday at the Gas Station Chicken Store. But when I went back Friday, around 2:30, Fave was not there! Her shift starts at 2:00, and she has mentioned that she needs to be there by 1:30. Yet there was NO FAVE! The older lady was working. The one who's there weekday mornings. I wondered if maybe Fave was just running late. Man Owner was also there behind the counter, but that's not unusual. I think he leaves between 3:00 and 4:00.

I don't want to jump to conclusions. When Fave is missing on a Friday, I always hope it's because she won a big jackpot on one of the tickets I gave her Thursday. Maybe she's just silently saying, "Take this job and shove it." Or maybe she's on her way to the city to cash in her winner. That's the best case scenario. I don't like to think of another thumb-chomping dog issue, or another gunshot wound over that dog, or a boyfriend falling off a roof. Or an unfortunate separation from her cashiering job.

Where, oh where, has my lucky Fave gone?

Fave Beware!

I'm not saying that Fave, my favorite cashier at the Gas Station Chicken Store, is in danger of being replaced. But those lottery machines at 10Box are giving her a run for our money! 

You may recall that a couple weeks ago, I got a $200 winner out of the left machine, and a $100 winner out of the right machine, ON THE SAME DAY! 

Last week, a 10Box employee who always asks me if I've won anything was standing at the right machine. I got tickets out of the left machine. I told her of my good fortune. Because she likes to know, and so she would know that buying those same tickets might not be the best option. She usually doesn't buy the $10 crosswords anyway. She likes the high-dollar tickets. In fact, she was buying a $30 ticket that day.

Employee stepped aside to scratch her ticket. "Huh. Just a $40 winner."

"Still. That's more than you spent. And probably more than I'll win on mine!"

Employee stepped over to the left machine as I had moved to the right machine. She stuck it under the scanner to verify her win. "Oh! I didn't win $40. I won $100!"

"That's even better! Congratulations. I know not to buy THAT ticket for a while, heh, heh."

"I really needed that right now. This is great."

Of course I was happy for her. And I knew which ticket not to buy there, in case The Pony wanted me to cash in a winner and get a $30 ticket.

On Wednesday, both machines were busy. An older couple were deciding, and chose a $5 ticket. The customer at the right machine I'd seen before. He's always friendly, and talks to me about the tickets. But all at once, he left and went to the service desk. The Old Couple watched. Discussing how he must have had a good winner.

Indeed. He came back while waiting for the manager to respond to her call up front.

"Here. Let me move my groceries out of your way."

"Thanks. They're fine. Did you have a big winner?"

"$100. On this ten." 

It was one that I buy sometimes, and in fact had planned on getting that day. Not anymore, heh, heh! It actually pays to talk to people. So to speak.

"Congratulations!"

"Yeah. Now let's see if I can win something else." He said as he stepped back to the service desk to cash it out.

The Old Couple was glad to hear the result. They took their cart and left after that. I imagine they were going to scratch at home. I don't remember what I won that day. I think it was $25 on a $5 ticket. Not great, but not bad.

This Leopard Will Never Change His Crooked Spots

Sunday, I had the misfortune of walking into the Gas Station Chicken Store and finding myself behind Public Rumpushole #1. He's the guy with the red pickup truck who parks regularly in my rightful handicap space. And has also been warned by Man Owner (like a lash with a limp noodle) about blocking the gas pumps when he parks there without getting gas.

I even know this guy's real name now! Not that I would type it here to publicly shame him. He is beyond shameless. Anyhoo... his picture was posted one week, because he won the $30 weekly gas drawing. There he was in full glory, smirking smiling, with his name typed above his head. AND, an article in the local online newspaper had mentioned that name one time as a function of his job. Which is something with the local fire department. I guess that's why he feels entitled to park his personal vehicle anywhere he pleases.

Anyhoo... my skin crawls when I see him. I don't care how many times he's held the door open for me (ONCE), I can't even maintain a neutral opinion of him. I think his picture is probably in the obsolete dictionary beside GOOD OL' BOY. He expects favors, and probably bestows them upon others of his kind as he sees fit. We will refer to him as Public Rumpushole #1. Or PR#1. Which is not a cutesy term of endearment.

Anyhoo... I waited my turn. Nobody else was there besides Fave behind the counter. She was printing out his draw tickets. He plays the Cash Pop game, which has drawings several times a day. It's too invovled for me, though I tried it when it first came out. Some people who play a lot do pretty well on it. The game involves picking sequences of three numbers per play, if I recall correctly. PR#1 was spouting off his numbers to Fave, who typed them into the lottery terminal, then printed his tickets.

That in itself was no reason for me to be annoyed or repulsed. He was there ahead of me, and entitled (for real) to use his time for whatever transaction he desired. He was buying a soda and those Cash Pop tickets.

Fave rang it up. It was $21.03. PR#1 gave her a twenty and a one. Then he said what raised my hackles:

"I'm good for the three cents, right? I'll bring it in next time." With that, he reached into the coin dish beside the register, took out three pennies, and tossed them on the counter.

Fave picked them up. And said, "That's what you told me last time. And several times ago."

"Oh, well. You have plenty there."

With that, he walked out. Perhaps strutted would be a better verb.

I really can't stand that guy.

I'm Tired Of Getting What I Pay For

Of all the nerve I have, complaining about BLOGGER! Is it too much to ask that I be able to reply to comments on my own blog? I'm all signed in. I can type the replies. But if I dare to hit PUBLISH, I get a message that says there's an internal error.

What's up with that? Have BLOGGER's innards gone all haywire? A touch of the cyclospora outbreak that's been going around? I didn't even mention lettuce! Or blueberries! BLOGGER has something stuck in its craw, and my replies aren't getting through. Maybe the multiple attempts will come spewing out all at once, and I'LL look like the crazy one.

This has put me off my inclination to type up the daily non-news happenings in and around Greater and Lesser Hillmomba.  :(

Apparently, It Was Not Pony-Tested

The Pony came out on the Sunday before Farmer H's surgery. We had plans to listen to the newest release from the composer we both like. The one who wrote "The Dolls of New Albion," the first one The Pony used to introduce me to his work. It's a steampunk opera about bringing people back to life in doll bodies. 

Anyhoo... we picked up Domino's Pizza for lunch/supper. The Pony was having rum and Diet Pepsi, adding fresh lime juice by using my squeezer. Then something happened...

The Pony broke my squeezer!!! I've had it for many years. It's squeezed limes and lemons for my beverages. All the way back to when I was getting my daily 44 oz Diet Cokes from the fountain at the Gas Station Chicken Store. I loved my squeezer. Never imagined that some calamity could befall such a kitchen staple.

The Pony is stronger than either of us thought!!! That metal sheared right off, on a regular squeeze. They were not even tough limes. Just the little thin-skinned kind, of which half fits in the shape of the squeezer with room to spare.

The Pony took the carcass home! Maybe for a souvenir. I don't know any other use for it. I would have thrown it away. No need saving the metal bones to mark the end of an era.

But don't you fear. Mrs. HM has found herself another squeezer!

Sadly, it was not in my favorite color of green. But there it was, across the aisle in 10Box, just waiting for me to pick it up. I had feared I might need to order one online, since I don't shop at the Devil's Playground. I haven't noticed squeezers in the grocery stores. Then again, I hadn't been looking for them. This one is nothing special. I just left the tag on to show that it was new. It's not like a top-of-the-line squeezer. It came from 10Box, for cryin' out loud!

A yellow squeezer will work just fine. Until The Pony gets ahold of it...

A Gaseous Faux Pas

I don't buy T-Hoe's gas at the Gas Station Chicken Store. It has nothing to do with prices, or the fact that they have the old-style pumps that don't take cards. It has everything to do with accessibility. The gas pumps are on concrete islands, and my knees don't like to step up and down without a rail. So I get T-Hoe's gas on a level Casey's parking lot, even though I'd rather my business go to the Gas Station Chicken Store, a mom and pop operation, rather than a corporate chain.

Anyhoo... lots of people get gas there, even though they have to go inside to pay. It's on a corner, by the stoplight. Just a block off the interstate. Most of the customers are regulars, but plenty of travelers stop in. Sometimes Fave has to tell them how to use the pumps. Which is to lift the lever on the side to start the flow, after they've paid. Or if it's a regular, she'll go ahead and turn on the pump when they pull up, and they can pump before paying.

On Friday, I was behind a big ol' good ol' boy in overalls. He was paying for his gas. There seemed to be a snafu. I gathered that from overhearing him tell Fave:

"Yeah. I got out and started pumping, and she just looked at me. Then I figured it out. I said, 'Oh, did you already pay for this pump?' and she said, 'Yeah.' So make sure you take that off her credit card. I told her I'd tell you."

I don't know how they solved the situation. Maybe Good Ol' Boy finished her amount, and his, and then said he'd pay inside for hers again. All I know is that Fave said that gal had pre-paid $20, and that she took it off her credit card. I guess Good Ol' Boy figured Fave had turned that pump on for him, but then saw the gal come out after she paid.

Oh, what a tangled web, when nobody was even trying to deceive.

FAVE Is Sending Out Good Vibrations

The scratchers have not been kind to me lately. That's understandable. One day a couple weeks ago, I won $346. Notably, it was $200 on a $10 crossword from the left machine at 10Box. AND $100 on a $10 crossword from the right machine at 10Box. The same day! Plus a couple of good winners on $5 tickets. When I win other places, I tease Fave by telling her about my "new best friend," the left machine at 10Box.

Still, I don't hold it against Fave if she doesn't give me big winners. I prefer to buy my tickets from her, because she gives off a good vibe. Other people must think so, too. On Friday, Fave had a story.

"I only won $5 on the tickets you gave me this week. I actually didn't scratch them until this morning. I was too excited last night. I sold a $500 winner to a guy, and he gave me a $50 tip! That really surprised me. I didn't expect him to do that!"

I'm not surprised. People who play the lottery all the time tend to remember who gives them luck, and like to spread it around a little bit. I do it in the form of tickets, because I know Fave likes to play them. But if I won a BIG jackpot, I'd make it sprinkle a little bit for Fave.

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.