My Choking Story

It happened during my senior year of college. My home-town roommate and I were driving from Hillmomba back to Springfield. We had a 2-bedroom apartment a couple miles from campus. This time it was Roomie's turn to drive. We were in her white with red trim Mustang, about 3/4 of the way back, when we stopped to eat at Wendy's. 

When we finished, we headed to the bathroom before getting back on the road. It was down a wood-paneled hallway. Just a Men's Room and Ladies' Room, not the kinds with multiple stalls. Roomie entered the Ladies' room first, while I waited in the hallway for my turn. I had my soda cup in hand, eating the ice, which was the disc kind, with a flat side and a curved side.

All at once, I couldn't breathe! A piece of ice had been sucked into my trachea! I couldn't make any sound! I panicked! I was about to start banging on the wooden door in hopes Roomie would come out. Then a man wandered down the hall. I turned in wild-eyed panic, still holding that yellow cup in my left hand, and pointing at my throat with my right hand.

That guy immediately whacked me on the back. That piece of ice shot out and hit the wall. (And thankfully not HIM, heh, heh!).

"Thank you! I thought I was going to die!"

"It happens. I could tell you were in trouble."

Roomie came out of the Ladies' Room, wanting to know what was going on."

"Oh, nothing much. This guy just saved my life! I was choking on a piece of ice."

"Well, that's good." Said Roomie, never one to get excited over much of anything. Even my near-death.

I'm sure that piece of ice would have melted enough to be coughed out before I suffocated. Pretty sure. Though maybe water could have trickled down into my lungs and drowned me...

Thank the (future) Gummi Mary that guy was in the right place at the right time.

That Was Deceptively Easy

When I got home from leg therapy on Wednesday, it was 3:30. The first thing I did was call to check on my leg pumps, as OT had ordered suggested. I didn't get my legs to how they are today by ignoring OT! In fact, she is always complimenting me for my compliance. I hope she puts that in my permanent record, heh, heh! Anyhoo... I called the number that the regional rep for the leg pumps had given me.

According to OT, the order was authorized by a physician (some guy I can't remember who oversees my NP). It went into the insurance system on June 9. At therapy on Wednesday (July 8), OT said she had tried to contact the insurance. As had the regional representative for the leg pump manufacturer, who had met with us in May. Nobody got any response. Because these healthcare entities are limited in the amount of contacts they can make with the insurance, OT said the rep suggested that I call and see if I could get a response. Indeed, back in May, she mentioned how slow my insurance is, and said I might have to call them.

I had a little note with what I wanted to ask. OT had said to mention that I had a "prior auth," and she gave me the name of the contraption that I should be getting. And to mention how it had been ordered a month ago tomorrow.

I got voicemail.

Isn't that the way it always goes? You get yourself all revved up to present your case, and then have to scramble to fit the info into a message. I think I remembered the pertinent points. I left my name, insurance ID number, and phone number.

Then I set about the business of waiting. I was sure they'd call me right back! Just as soon as a representative was available. Apparently, those folks are long-talkers. They must have talked into the night with the people they were already on the phone with!

I carried my phone with me, so as not to miss the call. To the bathroom. To the living room to consult Farmer H about his supper. Back to the kitchen. Set it beside me while finishing my scratchers. I needed to put my phone on the charger as usual, but I was afraid it would ring, and I'd be unable to rush over to the kitchen counter before it quit. THEN I'd be faced with playing voicemail tag.

So intent was I on getting this problem solved that I answered two random numbers! Just in case. My Insurance has called me from a variety of numbers, and their name does not show up. But these were just annoying calls. One wanted my opinion on data centers. We don't even have that issue in our county, though an adjacent one is battling a proposed data center. The other call was repairing roofs in our area, and quite willing to fit me in. I hung up on both. You know, because my real caller might be trying to reach me!

By 8:00 p.m. it dawned on me that I probably wasn't going to get a call. I consulted Farmer H.

"Do you think I should call back tomorrow? Or will that irritate them, and make them put me at the bottom of their list?"

"I don't know. I think I would call them every day until I get somebody."

"Yeah. Maybe I'll give them tomorrow, and then call back on Friday."

Thursday morning at 10:13, my call was returned! I could see that it was from the number I had called to leave the message. Of course I had my phone next to me! Along with my insurance card, driver's license, debit card, and the notes I had made. You can't be TOO prepared!

Insurance Gal listened to my talking points. Seems that all they were waiting for was payment. Insurance covered 80 percent, and the other 20 percent was my responsibility. That's pretty standard. I knew I had met next to nothing of my deductible this year, and that I would have to pay. Insurance Gal quoted me the price: $1172.01. She asked if I wanted a payment plan, to be billed. Or to use a credit card or debit card. I said I wanted to get it over with, and just pay it right then with my debit card.

Insurance Gal said I had to virtually sign the contract. Did I know about virtual signing? I affirmed that indeed, I do that through YourChart with my appointments. So I had an idea. She sent me an email with a link to the program they use. Walked me through it. Then she read from a script, asking me if I agreed to have my debit card charged for this amount. I did. The charge went through, and Insurance Gal said that FedEx should deliver my package in 3 to 6 business days. That I would get an email with the day and time window.

OT better be proud of me for getting this show on the road!

I don't know if this was just the time my leg pumps were finally ready, or if the holdup was waiting for payment. You'd think they would have contacted me by phone, email, or regular mail over those four weeks. Rather than leave me hangin' without knowing what was needed. Maybe it was on their schedule to call me Thursday anyway. 

I still plan to take credit!

She Likes Me! She Really Likes Me!

There has been a delay in getting my leg pumps. Nobody knows why. That's all we're waiting for before OT releases me from therapy. It's been four weeks since they were ordered. I have to call my insurance to check on the situation, since they haven't responded to calls from OT and the pump rep.

Anyhoo... there's nothing more to that story today. As I was leaving therapy, I confirmed the name of the manufacturer that I need to mention in my call.

"What if it takes ANOTHER four weeks before I get them?"

"Well. At least I like you! If I didn't, if you were some cranky lady who didn't tell good stories, then I'd be on the phone in a heartbeat! 'You've gotta get this woman her pumps!' So I could get rid of her!"

Did you miss that part? OT said SHE LIKES ME! And I like her, too.

Cue the montage of us frolicking in the park, flying kites, drinking one milkshake with two straws, laughing at a private joke, trying on funky hats at a street festival, and strolling down the sidewalk doing that "side-kick" thing where you kick your foot over to whack your companion's rumpus. Okay. Maybe that's a little far-fetched. We all know I can't balance on one leg and bend my knee enough to deliver a side-kick...

Anyhoo... that brightened my spirits to hear that she enjoys working with on me. Furthermore, I asked about when I'd know the six months were up, and how to order my next set of velcro leg wraps.

"Just call me and I'll put in the order. Who knows... I might STILL be seeing you!"

Heh, heh. That wouldn't be the end of the world.

Don't Try This At Home

I am not a doctor. Nor do I play one on TV. I've seen every episode of ER about five times. I consult random sites on the innernets. I observe Farmer H's maladies and treatments. Using this great store of questionable information, I diagnosed my dizziness that has plagued me for a couple months.

I think it was low blood pressure.

Yes, I mentioned this several days ago. And my "prescription" for solving it. I am here now with my results. You may recall that I took matters into my own hands, and cut my blood pressure medication in half. I also changed the time of day I took it, from mid-morning to evening. Plus I made an effort to consume more water. As I type this...

I have not had a dizzy spell in 56 hours. Not since Sunday evening, 45 minutes after I took my half-pill of 10mg lisinopril.

I have continued to take that half-pill every evening. I'm not quitting a blood pressure med cold turkey. Just tapering it down. I will continue this regimen unless I start to feel poorly. Like if I get headaches, which was one of my initial symptoms before I was diagnosed (by a doctor!) with high blood pressure. Since that initial diagnosis, I have lost 44 percent of my body weight. Yet the dosage of this medication has never changed. I think it might need to be adjusted. Which I will address at my appointment next month.

For now, this strategy is working. KNOCK ON WOOD (and the whole forest behind the Mansion)!

We Almost Lost The Pony!

I was getting supper ready for Farmer H on Friday night when I heard a text come in. It was from The Pony, asking if I had time for a quick call. That is not a good sign! The Pony doesn't call. Of course I picked up my phone an immediately called The Pony. Who sounded a bit hoarse and congested.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm okay. But earlier I was having supper, and I choked. Like in, I couldn't breathe. I was on the phone with some friends. I had ordered a steak from [where Farmer H used to play bingo and eat at a local sports bar]. It was on sale half price. With the delivery and tip, it was still under $20. I chewed it and swallowed, but it wouldn't go down. It got stuck in my throat--"

"OH NO! But that's your esophagus. How did it stop your from breathing?"

"I guess it was just in such a lump, pushing on the trachea. I couldn't cough it up. I couldn't get any air. I couldn't talk. I was scared! I started punching myself under the rib cage. You know, like where they tell you to do the Heimlich. After about five times, I vomited out that chunk of meat, and I could breathe again. But I kept vomiting. Just bile and snot from my nose draining from the irritation from the vomiting."

"It's almost 7:00. And you're just now telling me!"

"I had to wait until I calmed down. I'm pretty sure I'm okay now. I didn't want you to worry. My friends didn't know what was going on. I couldn't talk to tell them. I just went silent. My vision was starting to go black around the edges. I could have died!"

"And I wouldn't know! I don't talk to you every day. I would have just thought your phone wasn't charged if I called and you didn't answer. Then if you didn't come out when I came to pick you up tomorrow, I would have called Dad to bring the key. And he would have found you!"

"I know! I'm still trying to deal with it."

"Don't order half-price steak anymore!"

"I won't!"

So scary! I've choked before, but mine was with a disc-shaped ice cube. The universal sign for choking is SO ACCURATE! All you can do is silently point at your throat. Even if my parental helicopter was warmed up and ready for takeoff, I couldn't have gotten to The Pony in time.

We figure The Pony has about 6 lives left. This choking. The car accident on his first Thanksgiving at college. And the allergic reaction to amoxycillin as a baby.

Not Presenting The Evidence He Imagined

We had our 4th of July grilling on Sunday, per Farmer H's wishes. He had said he'd be home around 4:00, but got there at 4:30. That meant supper wasn't ready until after 5:30. Which is a normal supper time, but Farmer H usually starts at 3:00, so we're all done and he drives The Pony home around 5:30. This time it was 7:00 when they left.

That's not a big deal, just something unexpected. I had to put off my shower until Monday morning, putting me in more of a time crunch getting ready for leg therapy. I just wish Farmer H had made his timing clear before sending a text at 3:30, so I could have adjusted my day accordingly, perhaps picking up The Pony later.

You can see I was already a bit perturbed with Farmer H when he got here. I had the meat set out, and his BBQ sauce, and pans to put the finished meat in. We were having pork steaks and "Smokehouse Swiss" bratwursts, plus deviled eggs and potato salad that The Pony and I had prepared the day before. Plus baked beans we did on Sunday afternoon.

As Farmer H was taking out the pork steaks, I reminded him that I like mine well done around the edges. Black, even. And I like mine without a bone.

"It looks like the one on top doesn't have a bone."

Just pointing that out to him. So he knew which one to char a little bit. When he brought in the finished pan of meat, The Pony had everything set out on the cutting block. I told them to go ahead and fill their trays. It's easier that way, rather than risk the loss of an arm in their feeding frenzy. When I came back, they were both seated at the table, EATING!

"Oh. Go ahead. Don't bother to wait for me. Even though I'm always the last one done. Huh. Where's my pork steak? This one has a bone."

"I'm pretty sure they all had a bone."

"No. I told you that one on top didn't have one."

"Mine don't have no bone."

"That's the one I wanted!"

"It was on top! I took the one on top!"

"But I told you I wanted one without the bone. And you cooked them, and said they ALL had a bone! But I told you the one on top didn't, when you took the package outside."

"Yeah. I took the one on top."

"I meant the one on top of the package! I could see it didn't have a bone. And now you took it."

"Yes. I just got the one on top. Here! Do you want it! I only ate a couple bites."

"No. I'll look for another one."

Which I found. Another one without a bone. But it wasn't all black around the edge like the one on Farmer H's tray. I don't know how he thought he was defending himself with that logic. It's pretty clear he took my rightful pork steak, the one I had mentioned numerous times. Yet he acted like he had a valid argument for justifying his choice.

Farmer H should never defend himself in court.

It's A Local Epidemic, I Tell You!

The Greater Hillmomba region is beset with a new epidemic. STRIPE PARKING! I'm pretty certain there is no cure. Anybody attempting to start the parker on a path of recovery might face deadly consequences. Seems like only a couple weeks ago I was nearly run down by a Stripe Parker at the Sis-Town Casey's. Saturday's incurable sufferer was observed at 10Box.

I got a picture of this one. Don't blame the man. He was parked farther down the row, and was merely putting his cart up against the building. 

The red car was parked on the striped walkway when I got there. The handicap space next to it was open, which is where I parked, though scooted over a bit because, you know, there was a CAR PARKED ON THE HANDICAP WALKWAY, and I needed to make sure T-Hoe's door could open all the way.

This Stripe Parker DID have a handicap placard. That does NOT excuse the behavior! You might think it more justifiable than the man on the 4-wheeler who was backed in and sitting there last week. I do not. If a handicap space is not available, I park in a regular space out in the main lot, and watch. Until somebody comes out and leaves a handicap space open. Then I drive up and park there.

Sure, it's EXTREMELY hot. People are getting their first-of-the-month checks and groceries. Perhaps some goodies for their 4th of July cookouts. That does not excuse them from the unwritten rules of society. Striped handicap walkway parking might actually have a WRITTEN rule somewhere. Yet it's never enforced.

The handicapped have a different-titleness where some behaviors are concerned. But not an ENtitledness to park wherever they want.