Jack Gets Peppered

I worry about my little dog Jack. He's 10 years old now. No spring chicken. He's a bit portly, because of  Farmer H over-feeding young Pepper for six months, and Jack getting the leftovers. Only Pepper is svelte and ravenous these days, and Jack should be losing his puppy weight, what with Pepper scarfing up every morsel in sight.

Jack seems to be conserving his energy. When I come down the driveway, he will trot to look over the edge of the carport, but usually does not jump down now to pursue his possum behind the house near the squirrel feeder. He watches Pepper. Pepper gets to the edge of the woods, and looks back for Jack. 

Also, as I go from garage to house, only Pepper is there to greet me. He's become more people-centric since his very special operation. He will come to be petted, though that mostly involves ducking his head, lifting up a paw, and (lightly) chewing the petter's hand.

I call to Jack that we're going to get a treat (not what's making Jack fat, I swear! Only a 1/4 slice of bread), and he comes from under the carport roof to stand on the brick sidewalk. I wonder if it hurts his joints now to scamper up the porch steps. Pepper waits for him expectantly at the top. In fact, he's reluctant to follow me to the door, he's so fixated on Jack. Oh, how sweet. Pepper needs his old buddy to come with him to get a treat.

WAIT A MINUTE!

I suspect that Pepper is actually waiting to bully Jack, playing King of the Stairs, and not let him come up! All day long, I hear thumping and yipping. Pepper wrestles around with Jack. Sometimes blocking his walk to the water bowl around the kitchen windows. Perhaps it's just Pepper's herding half that's wanting practice.

I feel bad for Jack. He's not a spry pup. Sometimes he has to snarl and snap at Pepper to get his point across. Still, I think Jack is happier WITH Pepper than without.

The Pumps, They Are A-Pumpin'

Thursday, we got the furniture rearranged, and my OPC (Old People Chair) brought up those 13 rail-less basement steps. The Pony suffered a very sore back. And hurt feelings, from Farmer H's overbearing attitude. 

Farmer H was at the bottom of the chair, and The Pony up above. Farmer H would command The Pony to lift the chair (just the base, they moved the back separately) up two steps. This necessitated The Pony leaning over to get a grip, then hoist it up while Farmer H pushed from below. Problem was that to balance, The Pony's feet had to be on the edge of the step, and the chair kept settling upon those feet. So then the chair had to be shifted over so The Pony could get free and step up two more stairs, backwards. Farmer H is quick to criticize when things don't go as fast as he wants...

Anyhoo... time ran out that evening, as we all wanted to watch Big Brother, and Farmer H needed to drive The Pony home in time to get back for the show. So my leg pumps didn't get unpacked until Friday evening. I knew what to expect, since I'd had a demonstration from the sales rep on my second therapy visit back in May. And last week, OT had given me two pointers about the controller, and the shorts.

I was amazed everything fit in the box. I have a left leg, a right leg, shorts, and a controller. The material is like a gray canvas. Like a tarp. Heavy material. It has velcro flaps over the length of it, and a zipper from knee to thigh. You get the velcro set so that it fits your leg (barely snug, not tight), then each time you can just slide your foot down in, and use the zipper. I'm still doing little adjustments with parts of the velcro, when I sense how I can feel the contractions. Which come from inflatable tubes embedded in the material. The whole leg reminds me of the shape and material of my dad's hunting gun soft cases, heh, heh. There are even handles to pull them on with.

The shorts have velcro to adjust the legs, which just go to mid-thigh. There is a zipper in front. It only has one clear plastic ribbed hose attached. Each leg has four hoses. The hoses snap onto the controller, and click to lock in. That's NINE hoses I have to connect and disconnect each time. Plus avoid tripping on or closing in my recliner. The controller has a power button to turn on, then a screen that gives a choice of which treatment. I have been told the best selection is the 60 minute leg and trunk. 

So far, I have done three sessions. It gets easier each time, though not necessarily faster. The hardest part is bending my knees to fit into these contraptions, and extract myself. The pumping is not at all unpleasant. It starts with the shorts, clearing out the trunk for lymph fluid to flow from the legs. Once all the clearing contractions are done, there's a sequence from feet to ankle, calf, knee, thigh, and trunk. Not as smooth as OT's overworked hands, but a reasonable alternative.

The second session took me 2:45. That included unwrapping my velcro compressions garments, a shower before beginning, the set-up, pumping, breakdown, and re-wrap. I imagine I can cut a half hour or so off that time as I get more of a routine.

I'm used to going from Wednesday therapy to Monday before seeing OT again. My legs seem to be in a bit better shape than usual. I don't know if it's from the pumps, or from my legs being elevated more throughout the day in my OPC than on the short couch.

I think OT will probably release me on Wednesday. Unless she wants to give it one more week before doing the exit paperwork. I think the pumps are going to work out just fine. I will definitely be using them as directed, because I want to keep all the progress that's been made with my legs.

A Different Kind Of Drive-Off

Several vehicles were at the gas pumps of the Gas Station Chicken Store on Friday afternoon, as I parked T-Hoe in my rightful handicap parking space. By the time I got inside, I was the only customer. Fave was looking out the front window.

"I KNEW they were going to drive off!"

"Was it this black truck? It's pulling around to park right here by the door."

"No. It was a van. It had several military guys. I owe them $18. I was afraid they'd drive off."

"Maybe they'll remember and come back."

"Well, the guy said he couldn't take cash. They pre-paid for their gas with a credit card. I said if the van didn't take it all, to come back in and I'd give them the money back. But the guy said he wasn't allowed to have money. Now I feel bad."

"I guess maybe that's the policy, so people don't charge too much gas and skim the money. So he didn't want to risk his job."

"Maybe. Now what am I supposed to do with the extra $18?"

"Leave it with a note for Woman Owner! So you don't get in trouble for not telling her."

"I guess all I can do is leave it in my drawer."

I hope everything works out. Fave doesn't need to be in trouble for something that's not her fault. Woman Owner runs a tight ship.

Where The (Errand) Day Takes Me

I don't really have anything to talk about today. But that's never stopped me from posting, heh, heh! I'm picking up The Pony at 1:30 for Errand Day, which was thrown off by the trip to cash in the winning scratchers before they expired. We're a day late, and $2000 richer.

Anyhoo... The Pony has a friend coming in from out-of-town, for an afternoon/evening visit. So doesn't want to do all the errand things like bank and gas. We will just do our shopping at Country Mart, then I'll do the rest on my own.

Let's see who can annoy me enough to warrant a story today...

___________________________________________________________________

Welp! Of all the days for things to go relatively my way. Nobody was particularly offensive. So no real story there. Just a wait of 13 minutes at the bank drive-thru, with only one car ahead of me. And when the teller finally returned with my cash and deposit receipt, she said,

"I have everything taken care of." No "Sorry for your wait." Nor any explanation. Taking care of my business is exactly her job. So don't act like you've done me a favor. Very slowly.

The young checker at Country Mart actually used TWO bags instead of cramming everything into one. And grouped items accordingly, with Farmer H's rectangular box of Little Debbie cakes and fake Fig Newtons together with two boxes of my instant oatmeal packets. The deli container of chicken tenders got a bag by itself.

My rightful handicap parking spaces were available everywhere I went. The closest thing to a story was from Fave at the Gas Station Chicken Store.

Coming up tomorrow...

The End Is Near

At leg therapy on Wednesday, OT was excited to hear that my pumps were arriving that very day. She measured my legs, and said she would cancel my Monday appointment, then see me again on Wednesday. That would give me a week for using the pumps. Then she'd measure again next Wednesday. To see if the pumps are doing HER job sufficiently, heh, heh. OT said most often, everything works just fine. And that if my measurements were in the right range, 

IT WOULD BE MY LAST APPOINTMENT!

Of course all good things must end. I will miss having OT as my "crutch." There to answer any questions that come up, or point out things I don't think of. Like when she said I should use a shaver, not a razor, to have less chance of a wound on my legs.

OT said she's had patients who don't want to stop. One asked if she could just come once a month. And OT said no, it doesn't work that way. She takes people through the stages from the beginning. The diagnosis, the wrapping, the reduction wraps, and then the long-term compression wraps. Once they get the pumps, there is no need for her to do the CDT (complete decongestive therapy) several times a week. As long as people use their compression garments and pumps regularly, they can manage this condition.

Then again, OT said she also has some "frequent fliers" who are not compliant. "They'll come back, saying 'OTeeeee... you're going to hate me! I'm all swelled up again.' And I tell them. 'I don't hate you. It's not MY body.' Then we start the process all over again. It goes a little faster the second time. Or third, or fourth, or fifth. Yeah. Some people have come back that many times."

Well. That's not my style! I am compliant, by cracky! OT even said so. On several occasions. Can you believe she turned down my offer for her to come live in a cardboard box under my coffee table, and come out for an hour a day to do the leg massage for me? Yeah. How do ya like that? It was an offer she could refuse. So my pumps will have to do.

Anyhoo... I'll be taking my purse in with me next Wednesday. Because if it's my last session, I'll have exit paperwork, and need my glasses. Plus OT says she gives a handout with information.

As I was getting ready to leave Wednesday, with OT assisting with the putting on of my compression wraps, she forgot to slide my shoes over before I stood up to get the upper wraps applied.

"You always forget! You've only remembered one time, and now I'm almost done!"

"I know! I always say I'm not going to forget, then I do!"

"I'll show you! I'll just quit coming!"

"That'll teach me!"

"Well. I'm not going to yell at you, with our breakup so close."

"Oh, it's not a breakup."

"My graduation, then."

"Yes. That's more like it. A graduation."

I might ask OT if I can be valedictorian, heh, heh!

P-Day

This is P-Day! The day my leg pumps are supposed to arrive. I got two emails about it. They're coming by FedEx. Supposed to be here between 11:40 and 3:40. 

Of course I have leg therapy today. I leave the Mansion at 11:45. And return around 3:30.

Ain't that the way it always goes? I don't think there's rain in the forecast. I guess the driver won't be deathly afraid of dogs, like my killers Pepper and Jack. FedEx will leave the package without a signature, and take a picture of it. I imagine that when I come out of therapy, I'll have an email with that photo. I really hope it's ON THE MANSION PORCH, and not at some random house down the road.

Farmer H says he will be here around the time I'm gone. He's having HOS (His Oldest Son) repair the roof on one of his themed sheds. So it could be a good thing to have him underfoot while I'm gone.

I'll add an update when I get home. 

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I got back at 3:30. Nothing on the porch. No sign of Farmer H. I carried in my own groceries and put them away. I was changing back to my Mansion clothes when I heard the dogs bark. Then a thump on the porch. Then my phone getting a text or email.

THEY'RE HEEEEERE! 

Just a few minutes late, at 4:05. Tomorrow we'll rearrange the furniture to fit my basement Old People Chair. I need to have my legs elevated when I use the pumps. Farmer H's recliner is too low for me to get out of comfortably. 

I hate change, but a different living room configuration is something I'll have to get used to. Just like using the leg pumps every day.

POOLIO Is Kaput

A while back, Farmer H and Old Buddy took the cover off POOLIO, and spent a half hour leaning on the side, gazing into the shallow depths of the buttwater soup that Farmer H shocks with chemicals every year to start POOLIO season.

That was the last attention Farmer H paid POOLIO.

About a month ago, he said that POOLIO's liner was torn. Apparently, the solution to that is to do nothing. Not see about getting another liner put in. Not declaring that a fix would be too expensive. Just ignoring the situation. 

I'm not upset that Farmer H isn't pouring money into chemicals to get a handful of swims out of POOLIO. I'm sad that he doesn't have this option of an evening dip after a hot day of flipping and mowing. The part that concerns me is that POOLIO can become Mosquito Central. You don't want still water sitting around to be a breeding ground for mosquitoes. 

A "These are the things you've most recently done wrong" discussion is in order.

Meanwhile, here's a splash from the past. Including photos of Just-Born POOLIO. It seems like only yesterday that the boys were eagerly awaiting the installation. But it was May 30, 2006. Back when the Hillbilly Mansion was young, and people were not so politically correct with their ribald comments.

Enjoy.