A Thief Is A Thief

I always take the dogs a treat as I leave for town. Usually it's a scrap of stale bread that has been dredged in meat juices as I clean up the kitchen after cooking. It gets rid of the bread and the grease, and as treats go, it's a delicacy for the dogs. I walk to the steps of the side porch, which is where I distribute the going-away treats.

Sometimes, the dogs are not around. Like Sunday. I had the two pieces of bread in hand, but no dogs. I could toss them on the porch in case the dogs showed up while I was gone. But Pepper would most likely scarf up both with a quickness, and Jack would be left treatless. I set the bread on the shelf that abuts the garage wall. Too high for the dogs. I could hand them out upon my return, as I came out the garage people-door.

I did the same thing a couple times last week. Both times, Farmer H was home first. The bread was gone. I figured he saw it, and gave it to the dogs. I was meaning to ask, but forgot.

This time, Farmer H was still at his SUS2.5 when I returned to the Mansion. The dogs were waiting on the porch. I did not see the bread on the shelf!!! What in the Not-Heaven?

I can only surmise that those pesky squirrels took them! They were half-slices of bread, a bit heavy with the slather of grease that eased out of the warmed-up bratwursts. A muscular crow could have swooped away with them, but I don't suspect a regular little sparrow.

Those thieving squirrels are into everything. It's bad enough that they raid the regular dry dog food. Now they're stealing dog treats. Farmer H's buddy needs to come a-hunting again.

Perhaps This Is Why I CAIN'T UNDERSTAND NOTHIN'

Sometimes Sundays are boring at the SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5). Especially at the end of the month, when people have run out of disposable income. And when the forecast predicts rain. Every now and then, Farmer H will pass the time by sending me a text. As you might expect from past communications, this is an adventure.

I was not happy Sunday, because I had checked the weather radar from one of the news stations. As usually happens, THEY WERE WAY OFF! I planned my day around their forecast. I wanted to stop in Save A Lot for a few things, and get my lottery tickets. It looked like I would have a perfectly clear window if I was in town from 2:00 to 3:00. So I adjusted my usual schedule by two hours.

Well! It was already raining as I walked out the Mansion door at 2:00. Surely this was an anomaly. It would quit once I got to town. NO! It got worse in town! I decided NOT to wrestle a shopping cart out of Save A Lot. That stuff could wait until Tuesday. 

I got soaked going into the Gas Station Chicken Store, and I even had my rightful handicap space. I wanted other tickets, and instead of Save A Lot's machine, I headed to 10Box. I got out my big broken umbrella that won't stay closed unless I strap it. The workers standing in the door applauded my efforts. It wasn't too bad, because I could stick my tickets in my bra and have both hands free for the umbrella.

Dang it! Once back inside T-Hoe, the umbrella dripping on the passenger side floor, I couldn't find my tickets!!! Oh NO! Did I drop them? I opened the door and looked down. Nope. I glanced back at the path I had taken. I didn't see any tickets. They couldn't just disappear! What if I dropped them inside? I was preparing to get that umbrella and trek inside when I felt them down on my right hip. Whew! I guess they had worked their way out of my new smaller bra as I climbed up on the running board and contorted to bring in the wet umbrella. Still under the shirt, and DRY.

I was back inside the Mansion by 3:07. The rain continued. Around 3:30, it stopped! Those dirty, dirty liars and their weather predictions!

Anyhoo... as I was taking stuff out of my purse, I saw a text. Huh. That wasn't there when I pulled into the garage. I guess it got a better signal while I walked inside the Mansion. Or it could have been a lag because Farmer H has a poor signal in his SUS2.5.

2:21 "Hope your not out in it"

2:33 "It's pouring here and windy"

3:07 "I was. Stupid radar. Showed it getting here 3:00 to 4:30. So I planned town from 2:00 to 3:00. Just got back."

3:12 "I'll leave the saw on my way home ill be here till 4"

3:22 "Okay. No idea what you're talking about."

3:33 "The weather was horrible"

3:40 "What does SAW have to do with it????"

3:48 "That was for HOS sorry sent to wrong person"

Huh. I guess I'm off the hook for not remembering anything about a saw. So much for giving Farmer H credit for telling me when he was leaving. He wasn't even talking to ME! I guess I'll ask him if HOS is cooking his supper these days, so needs to be kept aware of his ETA.

A Fangirling Interlude

As I near the 33.3 percent milestone of my 36-visit (shh...35) leg therapy journey, I must pause to sing the praises of my OT. She really knows her stuff. While inconvenient to drive 45 minutes one-way three times a week, the appointments themselves are not unpleasant. That's a rousing endorsement from Mrs. HM. Or maybe I'm succumbing to Stockholm Syndrome...

Anyhoo... OT was pleased with the progress she observed on Friday. Looking at the inner part of my right knee, she moved the skin around and exclaimed,

"Look how soft and wrinkly it is!"

"Uh. Yes. It really is... My son would say, 'You elderlies, with your papery-thin skin!'"

"Oh. I don't want you to take that the wrong way. In the lymphedema world, 'soft and wrinkly' is GREAT! That's what we look for! I have to remember when I tell people that. I don't want them think I'm insulting them, or making fun. It's just what we like to see. What we're working for. One lady even had wrinkly TOES! Oh, look. YOU also have wrinkles in your toes."

"I see that now. I didn't think you were making fun. It's nice to see that progress."

"Some of that loose wrinkly-ness will go away, the longer it goes."

"Well. Not a lot, because I AM old, and my skin isn't so elastic anymore."

"I have one guy, he's in his 90s--"

"Oh, so he has a couple years on me, heh, heh!"

"Yeah. His daughter brings him in. He's on some kind of blood-thinner. I have to be really careful of his skin. And another guy who bleeds if you just look at him wrong. Like, he can just take off his pants and there's a fresh cut bleeding. I say, 'How do you DO that?' So I have to be aware of each person and how their skin reacts."

Indeed. I, myself, had some weird wound on my left leg on Wednesday. Took the support stocking off, and OT said, "WHAT am I going to do with you? There's some kind of sore on your leg!"

She held the mirror because I couldn't see it. WOW! It was about the size of a half-dollar, all white and gooey. I was worried that was PUS, but OT didn't think so. She swiped at it with a paper towel, and it rubbed off. "I think it's just wet skin. Maybe that area wasn't all the way dry when you put your sock back on after showering."

My thought was that I had a little nick there that was oozing, and being trapped in a support stocking and the rubbery velcro wraps made it all gooshy in that area, like when you have a bandaid that gets wet, and turns the skin soft and white. OT had put a non-stick gauze pad in there Wednesday, and on this day, there was just a tiny circle of fluid soaked in. So we're just waiting for that to close up. No infection, nothing to worry about.

That's the thing. OT is really good with people skills. I have a toenail that wants to fall off, and she said,

"It's not a big deal. I had one lady who had THREE toenails pop off as I was taking off her socks! I told her, 'Um. Did you not feel that? That's not normal. You might want to keep an eye on that.' She didn't really seem concerned."

I hope other clients are enjoying such stories about ME, heh, heh! Just saying, OT has a way of putting people at ease, like whatever is going on with you is not the most horrific thing she's ever seen!

Knee-CROW-Sis

I am 10 visits into my leg therapy, according to my OT. Of course, she is counting the missed appointment when she was out sick, but I'm not going to correct her. By the calendar, I am 1/3 finished with treatment, although by appointments, that would come at #13, which will be this upcoming Friday.

This therapy is helping more than I imagined possible. OT really knows her stuff. I wish that I hadn't been allowed to "fall through the cracks," as she says, since during my history-taking, she pointed out signs that doctors should have caught and referred me. Then again, you have been enlightened on how hard it was to actually GET these appointments once I WAS finally referred.

Friday was my second "measuring day," when OT marks my bare legs with a purple marker, then checks circumferences with a metal retractable metric measuring tape. She DID translate one measurement into inches for me, and that's what I'm here to crow about. 

I lost 4 INCHES in my right knee! First of all, let's consider that nothing was done to my knees until LAST FRIDAY. That's the day Farmer H came to carry in the awkward box of wraps for me. The first day that OT trimmed and fitted the velcro wraps that are now used on my lower legs instead of the elastic wraps, and also on each knee. So technically, in just a week, Friday to Friday, my right knee decreased in circumference by 4 inches!

That's a plus, because even though it has not lessened any pain from my bone-on-bone arthritis, it must surely be helping the circulation in that leg. Which is what the orthopedic surgeon was concerned with. I take it as a good sign, anyway. Even though I'm not totally sold on knee replacement surgery, it will be nice to have that option if the surgeon thinks it's possible after re-evaluation in several months.

A Decent Grilling

The Pony came out for Memorial Day, and Farmer H grilled bratwursts, chicken, and pork steaks. I wish I could report that it was a delicious feast, but I cannot!

That is Farmer H's tray, in case you couldn't figure it out from his meaty paw grasping a BBQ chicken breast as if he'd never heard of a KNIFE and fork. He also has slaw, stuffing, a bratwurst, onion rings, potatoes/onions, and white cheddar mac and cheese.

This is The Pony's tray. With a slight view of the "Mexican Coke" as the beverage of choice. The Pony says this version of Coke is better, because I think it is sweetened with real sugar, and not corn syrup. I don't know for sure. Never tried it. And I thought the recipe was secret.

There's my tray. And my salad peeking out in the background. Which deserves a picture.

Isn't that a beautiful salad? I went for a raspberry vinaigrette dressing. So made my salad with romaine, onions, tomato, and grated Muenster. Gotta say, it was not as tasty as I had hoped. The cheese was too mild, or not enough. I didn't finish it. This salad seemed too salad-y. I prefer a boiled egg and sharp cheddar, but I didn't think that would go well with the raspberry vinaigrette. 

The lack of deliciousness of our feast was no fault of anybody. Unless it's ME! Which of course I will not admit to. I'm not taking the fall! The bratwursts were not well-liked. I got them at the Sis-Town Save A Lot, because our Hillmomba Save A Lot often runs out of brats, and has only the sausage patties. The only variety I had to choose from were cheddar, and BBQ cheddar. Both were surprisingly tasteless! None of us finished our brats!

The potatoes would have been better if I'd used russets instead of goldens. The goldens don't like to crisp up. I thought the mac and cheese was tasteless. It came from a box, with an herb packet, and The Pony and Farmer H enjoyed it well enough. I imagine the boxed stuffing was just fine, but I didn't have any. The onion rings were crispy enough, but it was like a tempura batter. I prefer more of a cornmeal batter.

Anyhoo... the chicken and the pork steaks were WONDERFUL! I didn't get a picture until later, and keep in mind they are cold, right out of FRIG II before I warmed them for future suppers.

The chicken was the boneless skinless breasts that come frozen in a bag. Farmer H did a fantastic job of grilling them. Juicy, but completely done in the middle. I had thawed them the day before cooking.

The pork steaks were also great. Farmer H knows his way around GassyG Jr. I will say that he skimped on the sauce this time. I like my pork steak coated with sauce, and grilled until it's a bit charred on the edges. Still, I just added sauce before warming in the oven, and it came out great. Of course I cut mine in half for two meals, but Farmer H eats a whole pork steak, with sides.

As usual, I forgot about the desserts. That happens when I don't eat them, heh, heh! It was cupcakes, both chocolate and vanilla, and some cookies that look like flat brownies with white icing. The Pony took half home, and Farmer H is still working his way through the rest.

I will adjust my potato choice next time, having only gotten the goldens because that's what The Pony likes. They don't work for everything. Farmer H will eventually eat up the onion rings, but I won't buy that version again. And I will go back to buying my bratwursts at the Hillmomba Save A Lot.

Still, it was a nice grilling, and nobody was left hungry.

It's Rainin', Men!

Last week I came out of 10Box as it started sprinkling. I knew there was rain coming, but I thought I might miss it. I DID! Mostly. I climbed into T-Hoe, hearing a weird noise. It was a steady sound. Like something hard hitting something hard.

"Oh," I thought. "I guess maybe there's some hail. Or just hard raindrops. Must be hitting those garden things over there." 

10Box had angered me of late, having a big display of plants sitting on metal racks, taking up FOUR parking spaces in front of the building. That meant the lazy ne'er-do-wells took advantage of my rightful handicap spaces. More than usual. Most had been sold, and the parking spaces opened up again. But a few racks remained on the sidewalk.

Anyhoo... I looked over that way, to see if hail was falling. I didn't see any. Just a few raindrops plinking onto T-Hoe's windshield. THEN a movement caught my eye! The reason for that sound:

ROOF MEN! Over on top of the mini-mall building that has my pharmacy at the far end, then a Chinese restaurant, then what used to be the urgent care clinic. Huh. I figured they must be putting up that sign. I thought it was there before, but maybe not. I think it's for the Chinese restaurant. That sure was a lot of men to put up a sign. I don't think they were taking it down, because of the noise. Which was more like hammering than prying.

All this time, I've thought those men were working on the sign. Until I tried to zoom in on my second picture:

That looks like some loose shingles there on the end. Maybe they were tearing out old shingles, and putting down new ones. That makes more sense than fiddling with a sign. 

I hope they didn't get too wet. The rain slacked off as I left town.

Not As Hard To Resist

The Pony has been making meals at home more, rather than ordering out. They're not all gourmet dinners. Sometimes you just want something filling. Something with flavors that appeal to you. And can use what you have in your freezer. Like chicken patties.

Those are the buns for two chicken patty sandwiches. The Pony says it was Munster cheese, which I'd sent home from one of our last meals here, which needed to be used. The sauce was mayo, ketchup, and mustard, I think. They look a little better with the chicken patties added, and all closed up.

The toasted buns were a nice touch. I'm not saying The Pony's chicken patties don't look good. Just that I would have chosen different toppings for mine. Like BBQ sauce and sliced Vidalia onion and dill pickle. Or some shredded lettuce with mayo. Or stone-ground mustard with a little hot Chinese mustard mixed in, and onion and pickles. Three varieties I would like better than The Pony's version. I don't much care for cheese on my chicken.

Chicken has me thinking about making myself some chicken nachos for supper...

It Doesn't Hurt To Look

The Pony went out for Chinese food a couple weeks ago. I think this was on actual Mother's Day. I'm not complaining. The Pony would have taken me out to eat if I would have gone. I don't like getting out much. Mainly because I don't like people!

Also because it's complicated if I haven't been somewhere before, and wonder if I can walk that far, and what kind of seating they will have. The chairs in the diner at the casino are SO LOW that I have problems getting up and down from them. Doesn't keep me from going to the casino, though! Or from eating while I'm there.

Anyhoo... for the past couple years, I've been making wise choices and cutting back. The scale has shown significant results, so YAY, ME! I would love to eat a meal like The Pony's picture, but I can control myself. Doesn't hurt to look, though!

I would love that Sweet & Sour Chicken. And a couple of crab rangoons. I don't have to have the fried rice. And the SUSHI doesn't tempt me at all! I don't know why a Chinese restaurant has sushi, but The Pony likes it. Better than buying it at Country Mart, I suppose. 

The Pony sent me the picture after eating. I was in town at the time, parked at the Gas Station Chicken Store. Another text followed, with The Pony's fortune:

My reply to the photos was: "Yum. I'm in town. Raging."

I think it's harder to resist the road rage than the Chinese food.

A Premature Swim In POOLIO

Thursday evening around 7:30, I was once again innernetting at the kitchen table. I noticed Pepper roaming around under the kitchen window between me and POOLIO. That's not unusual. The water dish is just around the corner.

Then I heard a THUMP. Or maybe a CRACK. It sounded like a block of wood falling onto the wooden porch boards. I turned to look, but didn't see anything out of place. However... Pepper poked his head through the porch rails, and started barking towards POOLIO. Or the woods behind POOLIO. I couldn't see Pepper's face.

Then something grabbed my attention. IN POOLIO! It was a squirrel. Floating. Slowly. A mere two days after Farmer H and Old Buddy took the cover off POOLIO.

"Hey! You've got a dead squirrel in POOLIO, and Pepper is barking his fool head off!"

"Huh. It must have got trapped in there, and can't get out because the water is so low now, and no ladder."

"I'm pretty sure he's dead. He's not moving like trying to swim. Just drifting."

"Well, I better come get him out."

Farmer H went down to the pool deck and used his net skimmer to dip out the squirrel. I didn't watch the whole operation. Farmer H said he threw the squirrel down in the woods. I don't think the skimmer could fling it in that direction from the deck. I have a sneaking suspicion that Farmer H pulled in the squirrel, and then picked it up and swung it across the yard into the treeline. He did NOT stop to wash his hands when he came in!

"You know those dogs will be on that squirrel in a couple minutes."

"Yeah. He must have been dead for a while. He didn't just now drown."

"I don't know why Pepper all at once started barking at it."

"Maybe it just now rose to the top."

That's even worse! Maybe it was there all winter! The water is murky. I can't believe Farmer H doesn't drain the water out and start fresh every summer!

It's A Good Job If You Can Get It

I was minding my own beeswax Tuesday morning around 9:30, innernetting at the kitchen table. Something caught my right eye in the POOLIO area. It was SilverRedO, driving into the back yard. I saw Farmer H and Old Buddy meander over to the woods side of POOLIO. 

I know Farmer H had been draining water off of POOLIO for a couple of nights. He's getting ready to open that cauldron of butt-water soup for another season of taking a couple dips here and there, all the while paying hundreds for chemicals to make the water less toxic.

Farmer H and Old Buddy started pulling on the black plastic cover. Yep. They were getting POOLIO ready. It's a two-man job. The cover is heavy and awkward. At least most of the water was off the top from the nine-month accumulation of rain and snow.

Once the job was done, Farmer H and Old Buddy just kept standing there. For no reason! Leaning with arms on top of POOLIO's side. Chewing the fat, apparently. As if they couldn't do that anywhere else. It was longer than just a brief rest. For 30 MINUTES they stood there, doing nothing. 

That better not be Old Buddy pay from Farmer H's cash expenditures! I will have to dock Farmer H for 30 minutes worth of reimbursement!

I Want Back In The Frying Pan

Woe was me. I whined because I had three rolls of elastic wraps wound around each lower leg... and then I met a woman who bound me with velcro from ankle to mid-thigh!

Sweet Gummi Mary! Now I feel even more restricted. Sure, it was a time-consuming task to peel off the elastic wraps and re-wrap them for a shower. But now I feel like I have casts on both legs. It's a mental thing, I'm sure. I'll have to adjust. This will be the Summer of Adjustment for Mrs. HM.

Let's back up a bit. Farmer H had volunteered to leave his precious store to meet me at therapy at 1:00 to carry in my 8-pound awkward box. I had opened it to see if I could put the stuff in a bag instead, but no. So I'd put my bag of wraps inside, and taped across the top of the box flaps. Just a single piece of tape, to hold the flaps down so they didn't pop up in my face as I carried the box.

Farmer H burst into the living room at 5:50 a.m., and picked up the box to move it from couch to coffee table, having said the night before that he would carry it out to T-Hoe. Instead of picking up the box by the bottom, as any normal person would have done, he stuck his fingers into the cracks at each end where the flaps were folded down across the top. Of course that ripped the tape loose, leaving the flaps flapping.

I told Farmer H that was a stupid way to move a box. He took offense, and stormed out, taking my flapping box with him. I said forget helping me, I'd find a way to get it inside the therapy building. When I got out to T-Hoe to leave, I tried to stick the snarled tape back down to hold the flaps. It kind of worked.

As I was getting out of T-Hoe at therapy, I got a call from Farmer H, saying he had just closed his SUS2.5, and was on his way to carry my box. It's less than 2 miles from there. He carried in the box and left it on a chair while I checked in. When OT came to get me, she saw me struggling to pick it up, and took the box to carry back to the therapy room.

That's when my world started swirling down the drain to Not-Heaven in a handbasket! OT took out the two see-through packs of beige rubbery folded flaps. There was also a box that she said she never ordered, and didn't know why it was in there. She told me to sit on the side of the hydraulic table/bed this time, which was still up against the wall. I soon learned why OT had said the wraps must be fitted before I could use them!

First OT unwrapped my wrappings. Then measured my ankle and calf with a tiny retractable metal yellow measuring tape. And progressed to marking one of those beige rubbery flaps with a black marker, drawing a line to connect marks, then CUTTING OFF about half of it with big metal scissors! She attached some white velcro thingies to join some pieces. Then added some black velcro flaps. "They always send way more than needed. And here are extra velcro patches."

But wait! There was no sock thingy to wear under. So OT raided that box, which had a single lower leg wrap, in a fixed size, but also a black past-knee support stocking. Two of them.

"These will work. That's a maintenance brace, which you might need when we're finished, or maybe not. But we can use these stockings."

Dang it! That's going to be hard for me to get on. And my feet are trapped! No open toe like with the elastic wraps. Anyhoo... she turned that stocking partway inside/out, then had it over my foot, and was peeling it up my leg in no time. 

THEN commenced the wrapping. From ankle to just below the knee. The velcro beige thingy has six "flaps," which are just part of the rubbery beige. They are pulled tight, each crossing oppositely below the other. So three going one way, and three going the other. OT says it's very important not to have any gaps between the flaps. It didn't feel too bad, other than my toes being crammed in the stocking. OT repeated the routine for my right leg.

Next came the measuring and trimming and fitting for the KNEE section. It is shorter, but also has six flaps. The two middle ones must be aligned across the kneecap. There's a mesh kind of tube sock thingy that goes on under this. The knee part makes me feel restricted. It's hard enough to bend my knees without such a pressure torture device!

OT decided that we could skip the upper thigh wrap. That area does not really seem to be an issue with me. It's mainly flabby skin, not circulatorily-challenged like the below-calf and above-knee area.

Anyhoo... I feel like I'm walking around with leg braces. I'm afraid to take them off, lest I can't get them back on correctly! Even though OT labeled them for me, L and R, and numbered the flaps in order. Of course I will remove them to shower before I go back on Tuesday. Here's hoping I get it right!

The Put-Upon Mrs. HM

I am six visits into my leg therapy. Only 30 to go! It seems like I have been doing this FOREVER! Not knocking my OT. She's good at what she does. I do think it's helping a bit. The schedule is what is wearing on me. I go three times a week. It takes up my whole day! Not that I have any pressing activities. I just like my free time, not fretting about being somewhere on a schedule.

The clinic is in Bill-Paying Town. It takes me 45 minutes to drive there. I budget in an extra 15 minutes, because I never know when I might get behind a tractor, or hit every stoplight red. My appointment lasts an hour. Then there's the drive home. So that's about a 3-hour chunk out of the middle of my day. I have to take my meds and eat my oatmeal and banana earlier that I'm accustomed. Wash the dishes earlier. Curtail my innernetting, so blog posts must be done a day ahead of the day ahead I usually write them. Shopping on the way there or home is not convenient, due to cold items on the way there, and my sweatpanted, tightly-wrapped legs on the way home.

So far most (of my six) appointments have been at 1:00. From 10:30 when I start my getting-ready process, my day is tied up until after 3:00. Don't even get me started if I want to shower before an appointment!

Removing the wraps takes 10 minutes per leg. Putting them back on takes 15-20 minutes per leg. There's a sock thingy, then cotton batting, then three wraps, starting with the smallest on the ankle/foot. They each must be taped before applying the next one over it. My shower itself only takes about 10 minutes! I've been doing the unwrap/shower/wrap routine on the days before an appointment. At least the OT agreed to let me remove the wraps for an actual shower.

NOW there's a new wrinkle. OT ordered some velcro wraps, for the lower legs, and the upper legs. They were delivered to the Mansion. Thankfully, this is ONE delivery that FedEx did not mess up. Save for changing the delivery date and time by an extra day and 12-hour window. They came yesterday at 3:50, while I was in town. It's an 8-pound box, about the size of a microwave in a box. I am expected to carry this box into the waiting room and treatment room. That's because they have to be fitted by OT, I can't just open the box and start using them.

That's not easy for Mrs. HM!!! I use my cane, you know. It's hard enough with a cane and my purse and the bag of freshly-washed wraps that I'm returning. So I put the wraps down in the box. I'll leave my purse in T-Hoe. And try to go without my cane. I'll have to take up an extra seat in the waiting room to set the box on. I'd never get it up off the floor, where it would be in the way anyhow.

I'm trying to keep a more positive attitude, but it seems that every week there's something more added to my "duties" in having this therapy.

Farmer H Is His Own Buddy

I came home from town Wednesday, a bit earlier than usual, because of my leg therapy appointment. As always, I looked down into the BARn field as I passed, to see if Farmer H was there puttering around. No SilverRedO. But there WAS a vehicle!

A white truck with a matching camper shell was parked nose-down in front of the BARn door. Huh. That was not supposed to be there! I don't know anybody with such a truck out here. No relative has one. Farmer H's buddies who have come out to hunt squirrels or deer or mushrooms did not have a vehicle like that. I had to stop in the driveway and give Farmer H a call.

"Where are you? Is anybody supposed to be over at the BARn?"

"I'm down at my locker. I was waiting on a call from the ATF. I'm ready to leave now. Nobody that I know of is supposed to be out there."

"Well, there's a truck over at the BARn..."

"Is it a white truck? That's the one I just brung out there. That I took back from Old Buddy."

"Huh. It might have been nice if you could let me know. So I didn't think someone was stealing all your tools and treasures out of the BARn."

"Oh. I didn't know when I was going to get it, but today I had help."

You'd think something like that might be nice to share with your wife, when you leave her home alone all day to defend the Mansionstead against intruders. Farmer H has finally been trained to notify me when one of his buddies will be here for something. I guess that rule doesn't apply when he's his own buddy.

FINALLY, Farmer H Spares Two Minutes For Mrs. HM's Needs

Several days ago, I found water on my kitchen floor. A stream, actually. It flowed across the front of the cutting block. Remembering when this happened before, I figured it was coming from the sink. Last time I didn't notice until it had pooled in front of FRIG II, and we blamed the icemaker. This time, I knew where to look.

The trail led me back to the mouth. But the floor in front of the sink cabinets was dry. I made a mental note to keep an eye on this situation. There was no leakage when I ran cold water to get a drink or fill my water bottle. No leakage when I let the water run hot, to rinse the greasy supper dishes. But when I washed the dishes in the mornings, around 7:00, a stream of water would appear, coming out from under the sink cabinet.

I opened the cabinet doors and looked in. Nothing was wet. That's the puzzling thing. I didn't know if it was just the prolonged running of hot water. Or maybe the sprayer, which I used more. Was it where the water came up into the faucet? Or was it the drain?

I told Farmer H. SEVERAL TIMES.

"There's a leak again around the sink. I can't figure out where it's coming from. I've had to mop up water, always after I do the dishes."

"Huh. I'll have to take a look at it."

INDEED! But it didn't happen. 

On Tuesday, there was a LOT of water! I'd had more dishes to wash than normal. So there was a little more water in the sink. And it took longer. That little stream flowing across my kitchen might have had rapids! It was past the cutting block, almost to FRIG II, by the time I tore off the paper towels to staunch it. Yet nothing was dripping under the cabinets. Nothing wet.

When Farmer H got home, I reminded him AGAIN. He got down on his knees and peered underneath the sink.

"There it is. It's the drain. The collar came loose again. There. It was dripping down, and running under that flat pan you have the cleaning stuff sitting on. Then out the crack."

"So it's fixed now?"

"Yeah. I tightened it. The bottom pipe was loose where the top pipe fits into it. I might need to get a smaller collar connector."

That's what I think he said. I don't know plumbing terms. But as for "not knowing" why that piece keeps coming loose, I'd say: 28 years. That's how long since Farmer H build the Mansion, and put in that sink.

You'd think Farmer H could have devoted those two minutes to me the first time I reported the leak. Then again, I'm not a harem, a buddy, a flip house, a pup, an apartment building, nor a store.

Mrs. HM Has Been Re-Appointed

I went to an appointment last week that my nurse practitioner had scheduled for two months after the supposed start of my leg therapy. The leg therapy which I had just attended four sessions of (36 total to be done), which had begun only nine days before this NP appointment.

Nothing much was solved here, as you might suspect. I told him how long I'd been going. Showed him that my legs were wrapped, and asked if he wanted to see them. "Oh, no. That's all right. OT knows what she is doing."

Heh, heh. I had asked OT about this appointment. I think it was on my second visit. Would NP unwrap my legs to get a look? "I don't know. But for sure, he won't wrap them back!" Yeah. That takes HER about 15 minutes to do both legs. It takes ME 25-30 when I take them off for a shower.

Anyhoo... I asked NP if I still needed to come back in one month, for a regular appointment he had scheduled in June. A six-month appointment, for bloodwork and BP and such. NP said no. That we could do it in AUGUST. Because I would be done with the leg therapy at the end of July. So to make an appointment for the first two weeks of August.

I went out to the appointment desk. The gal I stopped at didn't seem to know what she was doing. She asked the gal next to her. Which is okay. If you are learning a job, get it right! The problem was that NP had NO appointments available in the first two weeks of August, because he was on VACATION! You'd think he might have remembered that when he told me. So I told the scheduling gal I would take one at the end of August, and that I needed to cancel the appointment I had for June.

You'd think we were trying to schedule the invasion of Normandy! Scheduling Gal again asked her cohort, who told her a different way to get into the calendar. Then she was busy with an old man who had just walked out. Scheduling Gal asked if I wanted a printout of the day's appointment. I said yes.

Scheduling Gal returned from the printer room with a coverless tome of War and Peace. Or at least my office visit printout, of about the same length. She was puzzled. Kept looking at it.

"I think it probably printed a list of my upcoming therapy appointments."

"Oh. Okay. I see that. But I forgot to put in your cancelled appointment. Here. Let me do that. Okay. Do you want me to print that again?"

"NO! As long as you took off the appointment, I can remember not to go."

"Here. I'll just draw a line through that one."

I really hope that appointment got taken out, and they don't say I'm a no-show. I doubt it would be charged, since my insurance always covers it. It's not much, even for a copay.

The left hands and right hands at this medical facility really need to be introduced to each other, so they have a vague idea of what each is doing.

Pepper Doesn't Know

Aside from the initial grogginess on his surgery day, I'm not sure Pepper realizes what happened to him during his very special operation. Farmer H brought home a clear head-cone thingy, with Pepper's collar attached. But it's sitting on a kitchen chair, and not on Pepper's neck. I only found out when I asked why Pepper didn't have his collar.

"I don't think he needs it. He licked at it a couple times, and Jack licked at it until I told him no. But it don't look like Pepper is going to mess with it. I guess them stitches will dissolve or pull out. They didn't give me no appointment to bring him back for the stitches."

Pepper also had two prescriptions. According to Farmer H:

"He's got a pill for pain. And calming pills."

"Calming pills? What's that about?"

"To keep him calm. So he ain't runnin' all around, and tear out the stitches."

Well. I'm not sure Pepper understands what his meds are for. Farmer H gives them at 6:00 a.m., and 6:00 p.m. I have seen no measurable change in Pepper's behavior! In fact, it seems like these meds make Pepper hyper-er! He gambols around like a crazy beast. He jumps up when he used to NOT jump up. He torments Jack by barking and pouncing. That's even with a double dose. Meaning the bottle says "1 or 2 pills as needed," and Pepper gets two.

Pepper's meds are Carprofen, 1 pill every 12 hours for pain and inflammation. And Trazodone, 1-2 tablets every 12 hours as needed for light sedation. 

Apparently, Pepper does not know the meaning of "sedation."

Sweet Pepper, Now Less Spicy

On Thursday, our gangly new pup Pepper had his very special operation. Poor, sweet, Pepper. He had no idea. He DID know that he didn't want to "go for a ride." Pepper is now five months old. He's like an awkward tweenager, full of energy, gamboling all over the place.

When Farmer H takes Pepper to the vet, he uses the wire kennel that dear, rehomed Scarlett arrived in. He puts it in the back of SilverRedO. Then lifts Pepper in and latches the door and closes the tailgate. This means Pepper can't really see anything through the wire. Just the sides of SilverRedO's bed. It does not surprise me when Farmer H returns, and says Pepper vomited in the kennel. He sets it out and the rain eventually cleans it before the next trip.

Anyhoo... Pepper had to be at the vet at 7:30. It's slightly less than five miles from here. The weather was nice. No problem getting Pepper there. Except his attitude.

"Pepper didn't want to get in the crate. He saw me lift it in the truck last night, and he gave me a look! This morning he tried to get away from me. I had to drag him with the leash."

"He'll REALLY not want to get in the next time, heh, heh!"

Anyhoo... the operation was a success, and Farmer H had Pepper back home by 4:00. 

"Your puppy resting."

In typical Farmer H picture-taking style, we have a whole lot of "scenery," with the subject a tiny afterthought in the center. This is the state of our nice wrap-around porch now. No walking for me, to try and get my legs into shape. Propane tanks and rolling tables and non-working generators. I need room to swing my arms for balance, and maybe take my cane along, and not catch a toe on junk to trip me up.

Anyhoo... back to Pepper:

He's plumb tuckered-out! If you look closely, you can see his green bandaid on a front leg, from his IV. I think Pepper might turn out to have stand-up heeler ears. They are riding a bit higher each day. He already has the coarse heeler coat. Not sure what his other heritage is, exactly. He's so lithe and slim. Not at all like a heeler. And taller than a beagle, which Farmer H originally said, I think.

We're hoping Pepper will calm down and not be so feisty all the time. Hopefully we'll start seeing a kinder, gentler, less-spicy, not-picking-on-Jack, Pepper within a few weeks.

The Harping HM Gets The Win

Like a squeaky wheel getting the grease, Mrs. HM made The Universe sit up and take notice. The day after she wrote a scathing review of her recent terrible treatment with losing scratchers, the spell was broken! Well. Kind of. I still only had two winners. TWO! That's a travesty. The good news is that they were GOOD winners. Not that there's ever a bad winner, just disappointing winners if they're only money-back.

The very first ticket I scratched was a winner:

I was happy to see the first COIN symbol. I knew I'd at least won back my $10 price of the ticket. With the second coin, I figured it could be two $5 prizes, so still money back. The third gave me news that it was at least $15. Then they kept coming! By the time it hit ten coins, I knew it was at minimum $50. To see $10 under the first coin was fantastic. $100, baby! A great win. FINALLY.

I continued my scratching sessiong. Loser, loser, loser. Nothing was paying me from my fives and threes. Until...

This is my new favorite ticket, the Loteria. Coming through with a $40 win. Yay, ME!

Only two winning tickets is not actually a good sign that things are turning around. Then again, I'll take a $140 win any day!

No Need For Overkill, I'm Getting The Message

The Universe mocks me with losers. Losing lottery tickets. A plethora of non-winners, for several days this week. But then Errand Day rolled around. And it got WORSE! Not only did I suffer just a couple of money-back winners, but I had trouble buying those losers!

Save A Lot was the first stop. I needed two kinds of dill pickles, the spears and the crinkle-cut slices. I love the dill pickles from Save A Lot. They also have a lottery machine. I stopped there a couple days this week on the way home from therapy. Didn't win. But I got tickets, and got to play. THIS TIME, the machine was out of my favorite blue Loteria tickets, and also my $5 crosswords. In fact, all but one of the $5 tickets were unavailable. Some said OUT, and others just had a - - - in that place.

At the Casey's, I went in without The Pony, who was waiting in T-Hoe to pump the gas when I pre-paid. It took a long time to pay, because the clerk messed up my lottery. I actually think his register did the deed, and it wasn't his fault. But I had to explain to him that I really DID owe him $5 more than what he was charging me. I had five tickets, and not four. He kept counting them weird, but I had two of the Loteria, which he didn't tear apart. However, I heard the scanner beep twice on it. But it didn't show up on the receipt. I finally convinced him to take my money! Then went back to tell The Pony that I had corrected my karma since that soda scanning incident at Country Mart a few weeks ago.

Speaking of Country Mart, we went there next. Neither of us needed groceries, so The Pony waited outside playing phone games. I pushed a cart inside and parked it, standing on my own two knees at the lottery machines. The first one malfunctioned like it did on Tuesday. Took the money, let me select a ticket, then locked up. After five minutes, it still had not recovered.

A worker gal walked by dumping the wastebaskets.

"Is this thing going to eventually work?"

"Probably. It's been doing that."

"Yes. I'll give it a chance. It's already been longer than Tuesday."

Dang. My knees were getting tired. I'd given up my cart/walker. A vendor came to the adjacent office. Then left. A manager guy walked out. Talked to some employees. Then came back.

"Is that machine giving you trouble?"

"Yes. I thought it was going to work. It seemed to, and let me choose another ticket. But now it's locked up again."

"Let me get the key. I'll give your money back."

He made it print a receipt, which looks like a draw ticket. "You'll have to take that to the service desk to get your refund."

Don't I know it! Same thing had happened in 10Box. This time there was an actual person working there. The trash gal. She cheerfully handed back my money. I hobbled out the door at that end, which was already halfway to where T-Hoe was parked. The Pony admitted that yes, he had been getting a bit worried.

Rather than giving The Pony lottery money this trip, as I always do, I had said I was getting four random $5 tickets. The Pony had two winners. One was $5, and the other had the 5X symbol! Which made it a $25 winner.

The Universe is rubbing salt in my losing wounds. I had more tickets than The Pony, including a couple of the $10 new crosswords. My total winnings were $35. Barely more than The Pony, with a lot more spent.

The Universe has made it pretty clear that I'm having a losing streak. At least let me buy the losers without incident!

A Tangled Ball Of Snakes

My first week of occupational therapy for my legs was cut short because my OT was out sick on Friday. On Monday, I got the gist of how that appointment would have ended. 

The leg-wrapping involves three wraps on each leg. They're a lot like ACE bandages, only better. The OT says they have two-way stretch, and work while I'm moving, AND at rest, to facilitate fluids being squished out of the tissues, and not pooling due to gravity. They don't loosen and sag like the one-way stretch ACE bandages. They also don't have Velcro at the ends, so need to be taped.

The wraps are in three sizes. They're centimeters, so I don't remember exactly. By looking at them, I would say the widths are about 2 inches for the smallest, that goes on the foot/ankle. Then 3 inches for the next one that overlaps the ankle and goes to the knee. And 4 inches for the one that goes over it, from ankle to knee.

But wait! We're putting the foot before the knee! The whole thing starts with lotion on my bare leg, then a stretchy net kind of open-ended stocking going toe knuckles to above the knee. Then a wide (maybe 12 inches) swath of cotton batting that wraps from ankle to just below the knee. THEN the wraps are applied, starting at the ankle/foot. Once all three wraps are on and taped, the net stocking is folded down over the top. That covers up the tape, lest it get caught on my pants and get pulled loose.

Anyhoo... the whole process takes about 20 minutes. When I undid the wraps to take a shower, and reapplied them, it took ME slightly over 30 minutes to get them off, and another 30 to get them back on! And I even have some knowledge of wrapping, thanks to my athletic training classes for coaching.

That's a long description, but the wrapping is the core part of this treatment. That's why OT initially told me that I couldn't unwrap them the whole time (three months!) she would be treating me. Then she allowed it, saying since she saw I could bend over to reach my feet and do it myself. In fact, when I went back on Monday, having unwrapped them twice in that time to shower, she said she couldn't tell it was MY wrapping instead of HERS, except for the different tape. I took that as a compliment.

Anyhoo... Monday I found out that I would have two sets of wraps. We use them a week, then OT gives the used wraps to me to take home and wash, and applies the second set. Which I will get at the end of THIS week, and she'll use the ones I have brought back clean.

"Here are your old wraps, and the washing instructions." She went over them with me.

No problem. Except I realized my Tide laundry detergent was Tide With Bleach. So I went by Country Mart and got some regular Tide to be sure. I used have a net bag for washing delicates, but apparently I've had no delicates in quite a while, because I couldn't find it. HOWEVER, I have a pillow cover that works the same way. It has a zipper at the end. So I put all six of my wraps inside, zipped it shut, and threw in some socks and a couple towels and pair of sweatpants. No need to do a separate load just for the wraps. I made sure to change the washer setting to COLD COLD.

When the washer was done, I lifted the lid to see a horror show! The wraps had slithered out of the pillow cover! Somehow they had unzipped it! I had a nice clean inside-out pillow cover, and a TANGLED BALL OF SNAKES. Good thing those six wraps did not have Velcro at each of their ends! I was able to untangle them in about 10 minutes.

My original plan was to stretch those wraps along behind the long couch, and forbid Farmer H from using the front door and walking there. That did not seem easy. I swear each of those wraps seems 20 feet long. At least longer than I am tall. Instead, I draped them over the banister that keeps people from falling into the opening where the 13 rail-less basement steps reside. I put a beach towel over the banister to protect the wood. Then I halved each wrap, and halved it again, to drape like so much decorative bunting along that rail. I didn't think it would stretch them out as much as halving them over a shower curtain, as OT said some of the patients do.

OT said that the stretching is not such an issue as heat. That she thought one of her clients was kidding when she said, "I didn't use hot water. I stretched them out to dry. Then I ironed them." OT says the lady is kind of sarcastic and funny, and OT originally laughed at the story, but the client wasn't smiling. OT realized she was serious. She had IRONED those wraps! 

"And her wife verified it! Said, 'Oh, yeah. She irons EVERYTHING!' So I told her not to do that again."

Heh, heh! I said I didn't even know if I HAD an iron, and OT said she's pretty sure she does, but not sure where it is right now. That times are different, and her mother is always telling her, "I'm not going out with you looking like that! Take off your shirt and I'll iron it for you!"

Seriously. Times ARE different. My mom used to iron my dad's tighty whities. I don't think OT looks unkempt at all...

Johnny Appleseed Missed The Boat

After four visits, I now have an idea how my occupational therapy sessions will go. I show up and notify the front desk I'm there. I sit down and wait, doing my best to avoid random children zooming around, or unsteady walkers, or reckless scooters. On time, I get called by OT, and proceed to the inner sanctum, and her treatment room.

I take off my shoes and socks, pull up the legs of my sweatpants, and sit on the end of the hydraulic table/bed. Some days, it's just for a re-wrap. Other days, she puts a sheet on the table/bed, and I lie down for a massage of sorts. Not the happy-ending kind! Some armpit/abdominal/groin/leg pushing. I liken it to the kneading of a cat. A cat with human-size lady-hands.

On Tuesday, there was a new tool: a ziploc bag containing rows of cherry seeds sewn into material. Kind of like a knobby potholder in a baggie. OT said a rep had given it to her, and she puts it in a new bag to use on each patient. She uses it between the leg and her hands, to massage and break down tissue that has hardened, to improve circulation.

"Who in the world though of such a use for CHERRY SEEDS! You'd think another fruit would be more efficient. Maybe one with a LOT of seeds. Not just one seed per cherry. Or maybe the factories that pit the cherries pushed this, as a way to get rid of the cherry seeds! I don't get it? Are they pointy on the ends? Or why wouldn't plastic balls be just as useful?"

"I don't know. This is something new since I did my training. The seeds are all a little bit different size, but they're smooth. Maybe they roll different, because they're not perfectly round. It's not like they're loose and releasing any chemicals into the skin."

Such a mystery. OT had warmed the packet in a microwave. It was actually a pleasant (not happy!) feeling as my leg was massaged with it. My hour ended right on time. I was wrapped, back in my socks and shoes, and leaving Bill-Paying Town by three minutes after the hour. I really don't mind it at all, except the waiting room with PEOPLE in it!

I guess there's a cherry-grower's association thumbing their collective noses at Johnny Appleseed.

Mrs. HM Is Smelling Again

Yes, Mrs. HM's sense of taste and smell have returned! What food did I choose to celebrate? A TACO SALAD! I had been thinking about pulled pork nachos, but on Errand Day, The Pony was browsing around the biscuit section of Country Mart, and came to me with a flat box package.

"Look at this, Mom! It says you can make your own taco salad bowls!"

Well. That DID look promising. I think the brand was Aztec. The box had four tortillas and some cardboard foldy thingies to drape them over. Bake for 6-10 minutes, cool, and you have your own taco salad shell! I'm sure you could do the same thing with a regular flour tortilla draped over an oven-proof bowl. But I was willing to give this a try. It turned out great!

The shell crisped up quite nicely. Disregard the box of bandaids, and the ibuprofen. I'm not a great cook, but I don't regularly slice off appendages. I'm slow to put things in the cabinets, and I was almost out of ibuprofen, and when Pepper gets feisty, it's handy to have the bandaids ready and waiting by the sink.

I looked in 10Box and Country Mart for shredded lettuce. None to be found! I guess other taste-regainers had the same idea. So I had to chop up my romaine.

Next came the chicken. Diced from a boneless skinless chicken breast I had baked a couple days earlier for Farmer H's suppers.

The cheese was extra-sharp cheddar. I buy a 16 oz block and cut it into 16 cubes. So I have a handy 1-oz portion ready when I need it. This was done on my handheld grater. No fingertips included, heh, heh!

Gotta have my crunchy sweet Vidalia onion.

There's Save A Lot medium salsa, with some Frank's Original RedHot Sauce sprinkled on top.

Three tablespoons of sour cream dabbed all around.

Crowned with black olives. Yes, I had to slice them myself. I mistakenly thought I had more of those pre-sliced small cans. But no. I guess I used them on super nachos.

This chicken taco salad was everything I dreamed of! There are still three more "shells" in FRIG II. I'll get around to them, and the pulled pork, after I'm done with our Tuesday Mother's Day Chinese.

So Many Roadblocks, So Much Time

It seems as if every appointment with Occupational Therapy is to be fraught with obstacles. First one, there was the wild kid running around who crashed into my knee. The second one had the broken brake on the hydraulic table/bed. The third one was cancelled! That's right! No sooner had I gotten my untimely treatment started after two months of delays, than my third appointment was cancelled!

I was driving T-Hoe on Errand Day, trying to turn into the bank while avoiding a guy on a mower whizzing across the entrance. My cell phone rang. I tried to answer with one hand while steering with the other. The Pony had said the number calling had last been used last week.

"Oh! That's the hospital number. My leg appointments. Give it to me! Hello?"

"Mom. It didn't slide. You haven't answered. Here. Let me get it."

The Pony accepted the call, and I pulled up into the employee parking area to take it.

"Is this HM? I'm calling for HM about her appointment tomorrow at 8:30."

"This is her."

"Your therapist is sick, and won't be in tomorrow. So your appointment is cancelled."

"Oh. That's okay with me. Thank you so much for calling to let me know."

"We have you on Monday at 1:00."

"Yes. I'll be there. Thank you."

I'm not disappointed to miss that session. I don't really like to get out of the Mansion that early. I just hope they don't tack that on at the end of the 12 weeks now!

Seems Like There Should Be An Easier Way

Automation is out of control! To make one person's life easier, it takes inconveniencing a myriad of others. It's not like this is anything new. It just came up on my gripe list this week.

You may recall that I will be hauling myself down to Occupational Therapy in Bill-Paying Town three times a week, for 12 weeks (!) for treatment on my legs. Which still probably won't qualify me for a knee replacement, but maybe that's not meant to be.

Anyhoo... for each appointment, I get an email and a text saying that I need to do the pre-check-in on YourChart. Oh, and I also have a regular (follow-up) appointment with my NP this week. So I got 10 such reminders on Thursday! They were for Friday/Monday/Tuesday/Friday leg appointments, and the Wednesday NP appointment. At least I only had to log onto YourChart and confirm FIVE times, not all 10.

Surely this could be more streamlined. The only screens that I had to interact with were for each visit, to automatically sign my consent for treatment and billing. That's it! Just a fake signature. They have all the rest of my info. Wouldn't you think I could consent to the entire 12 weeks of treatment ONE TIME? So I would only need to fake sign once, rather than 36 times???

As for the appointment my NP had scheduled when I was there in March about my legs, the follow-up two months into the future in May, which he said he still needed, rather than combine it with my regular 6-month appointment in June... that dang YourChart had the AUDACITY to ask me what my appointment was for!

YOU tell ME! I didn't make the appointment! My NP made the appointment. Surely it should have some type of code as a follow-up for some other type of code.

But no. I was supposed to say what my "complaint" (heh, heh, I could have a field day with that!) was, and the reason for it, etc.

I will probably get a little persnickety when I see my NP. You know, what with having seen the OT only ONE WEEK before this "follow-up" appointment to see how the treatment is going. My blood pressure reading may not be in the normal range.

Mystery (Somewhat) Solved

It's been a week since my Fave went missing. She usually works the afternoon shift four days, over the weekend at the Gas Station Chicken Store. I was highly optimistic on Thursday. Surely Fave would be back, just like normal. Wouldn't she? 

NOPE!

The car in the parking lot was that of the Other Gal. She works the other afternoon shifts, and also mornings on the weekends. She's okay. I have no issues with her. The tickets she sells me do not seem as lucky. Over this past week, my winnings have suffered! However... I got up the gumption on Thursday, around 4:30, with no other customers in the store. As Other Gal was handing back my $2 change, I took the plunge...

"I was surprised to see you here today. I was expecting Fave."

"Oh. Well..."

"What's going on with that?"

"Fave got shot."

"WHAT? SHOT??? That's terrible! I was thinking maybe she got another dog bite. Losing the end of her thumb was bad enough. But SHOT!!! That's even worse! How did THAT happen?"

"Well. She was with her dog. Apparently somebody said he was going to shoot the dog, and Fave said no he wasn't."

"Where did she get hit?"

"The abdomen, I think? I haven't talked to her. And maybe on her calf. I think the bullet just grazed her."

"The abdomen is not good! I hope she's okay. But thanks for the info."

What in the actual NOT-HEAVEN??? There comes a time when maybe you have to evaluate your situation, and maybe, just maybe, realize that this dog is not the best thing to have in your life. I'm sure Fave loves her dog. But she's lost work from breaking up a fight, then lost the end of her thumb for breaking up another fight, and now she's been SHOT!

Maybe when she returns, I can get more of the story, straight from the dog-momma's mouth.

Mrs. HM Is Back To Her Tasteful Self (Kind Of)

Blow the long horns, and start the pageantry for the official announcement: Mrs. HM Seems To Be Slowly Regaining Her Taste!

I don't want to jump the gun, put the cart before the horse, or count my chickens before they hatch. But I have HOPE! Which started on Thursday morning. I almost detected a smidgen of flavor at the first bite of banana. WHAT? Was it possible? Sadly, the rest of the banana was just as tasteless as it had been for the past 12 days. It was the 14th day since I fell ill. Time to be healed!

The oatmeal just had the newly-regular taste that I can only describe as "discernable sweetness." No actual flavor, but it was sweet, not savory. I opened up my little jar of Vicks VapoRub and took a whiff. Nope. Nothing. It might as well be an unscented candle.

On my Errand Day with The Pony, I shared my hope. I had a generic Halls MenthoLyptus Honey Lemon cough drop. There were a couple of instances where I thought I noticed lemon! Not while consciously trying to taste it. But randomly, which got my attention back on my taste buds.

I had another cough drop just before my snack of 1 oz of sharp cheddar and 12 dill pickle chips. Not really needed to open up my nasal passages, because I could breathe in and out normally through my nose. I had hoped the MenthoLyptus would waft up into the recesses of my sinuses and shrink the tissues a bit more, to let those flavor molecules proceed to the tiny patch that recognizes them. Nope.

At suppertime, I tried the Vicks jar again. I think I could tell it was Vicks! Barely. I had a can of sardines with mustard sauce. The mustard was tangy, as usual. Perhaps a bit more so this time. Still no sardine flavor. No taste in the Ritz crackers. But the Progresso Chunky Chicken Noodle Soup? I got a small taste of the broth!!! Just a hint, and just a couple times. It was like if La Croix made soup, that would have been the flavor!

Now it's Friday at noon. I can definitely tell I am sniffing a jar of Vicks VapoRub. The banana SEEMED to taste like a banana. But so many of them lately have not much flavor anyway. And I got a couple Brown Sugar Maple vibes from my oatmeal. 

I'm ON THE MEND! Tonight, I'm planning to have a TACO SALAD, made with the boneless skinless chicken breasts I had cooked yesterday for Farmer H's suppers. His with Lemon Pepper, but mine just plain. I think the medium salsa, and Frank's Original RedHot Sauce, might give my nostrils a kick.

Things are looking up for Mrs. HM's nose!

Mrs. HM's Leg Can't Catch A Break

I feel like something is destined to go wrong with each step of my leg journey! First all the trouble getting the appointment. As I was leaving after the second session, on Wednesday, my Occupational Therapist asked me if I ever went to the Wound Care Clinic.

"Do you have time? First I was told that the Wound Care clinic would call me for an appointment. After a couple weeks, I sent messages through YourChart asking what was going on. I was told to call Wound Care myself. They didn't want me! Said it was a task for Physical Therapy, and that they would talk to my NP, and Physical Therapy would call me. Nobody did. Another call to the office, and I was told to call Physical Therapy myself. They said they didn't handle it. I called my NP's office again. The was told that Occupational Therapy would handle that, and give me a call. Nobody did. Another call to NP. More advice to call on my own for an appointment. Occupational Therapy said they had a wait list, and I'd get a call when they had an opening. Now here I am!"

"I was wondering, because I saw a couple of referrals in your chart, and I was trying to figure out what that was all about. Is there anything we could have done that would have made it easier for you?"

"Everybody I talked to was VERY NICE! Even the ones who didn't want me, heh, heh! I don't have any complaints about anybody. I was trying to do the right thing, because I knew I had a follow-up appointment in two months, and the two months were almost over! My appointment is next week. I didn't want to show up and be asked, "So you haven't done ANYTHING?" I didn't want to seem pushy, but I didn't know what to do. If somebody had just called me from somewhere, and said, "We have a waiting list and we'll call when we can fit you it... that would have been very helpful."

My second visit was at 8:30 a.m. The day after I left the first appointment at 2:30 p.m. At least no toddler rammed into my leg this time! The only child I saw was a cutie, a little girl about 6 months old, with wild spiky black hair, whose mom had to use the bathroom, so a receptionist came out an held her. I was called back only two minutes past my appointment time. And then the next obstacle beset me.

There were four people in my treatment room! My OT, two women, and a man. I wondered what they were going to do to me! This seemed serious! OT had said that she would be doing some kind of massage this time. Did it take FOUR people? I'm not an elephant! One person can easily reach across me! They were moving that low flat table bed around. It's on wheels. Covered with blue vinyl, with a hinged part so you can have your head and shoulders elevated. It's just like the one they had in the x-ray room when I got my knee x-rays, and the gal told me to sit on the end. Oh, and did I mention that it rises on hydraulics like a car lift?

Turns out a part broke on the brake the day before. Something snapped.

"I didn't do it!"

"Oh, no. You didn't do it. This was before you were even here."

They all puttered around. The bed had been against the wall, but it was being moved out so OT could move all the way around me. The one lady was in charge of the office equipment, I think. She was going to call the supplier, but trying to work out a makeshift brake for the day, using a plastic wedge, which was too big. 

"Can you put it against the wall? No? Maybe you can use another room today, with the other table. It's only a couple inches narrower."

"I don't know. What's the weight limit? That's the problem if I use it all day. But I can use that room for my next appointment, because I don't need the table. I'm just fitting for a bra. So you can work on this one while I'm not in here. But I need this table after that."

The table wasn't all THAT rolly. OT got on the other side of it as I climbed on, and it didn't roll. She jacked me up about halfway, then sat on her rolly stool, moving all around the table, massaging my lymphatic pressure points or something. She explained, but I didn't catch it all. It was abdomen, armpits, neck, groin, legs, and even feet! This was after I sat on the end first, and she unrolled all the wrappings from my lower legs and feet.

Anyhoo... afterwards I got all wrapped up again. Next appointment for Friday morning.