Be Careful What You Hound People For

Tuesday afternoon was the long-awaited appointment for the leg service I was referred for on March 9th. It was at the occupational therapy facility near the hospital and my NP's office. Farmer H drove me. I was told this first appointment was a consultation. I told Farmer H it might just take 15 minutes. Or maybe a half hour, depending on how they booked. I didn't think anything would be actually done on this day.

WRONG!!!

We got there at 12:35. My appointment was 1:00, but I'd been told to arrive at 12:45. It's over in Bill-Paying Town, so a 30-minute drive on the highway. NOBODY was in the parking lot!

"Is this the right place?"

"Yeah. There's the address above the door. This is what they told me. It must be because of lunch time. At least we got a good parking space!"

A couple more cars arrived. Two people went in, so I did, too, while Farmer H fiddled around in A-Cad for a moment. I got checked in. Nothing to fill out, because I had done it through YourChart. At least the receptionist VALidated my efforts by thanking me for that.

The waiting room filled up quickly. The worst part was KIDS! Only two, but they were four years old, and one had been running wild for 10 minutes when the other arrived. He was good at first, but saw The Runner, and started doing it himself. Which eventually ended with Second Runner stumbling and falling ON MY LEFT KNEE! It was quite startling, and unwelcome, but didn't hurt too much, because that's the better of my knees. Farmer H picked him up, and his grandma apologized to Not-Heaven and back. I don't hold it against the kid, because obviously he has some issue that's being dealt with through occupational therapy. It's just that I'd prefer a child-free environment at this stage in my knees life.

I was called back to a room with a chair and a low flat table. My Occupational Therapist was a gal in her early 30s. I liked her immediately, because she was matter-of-fact and put me at ease. I pulled up my pantlegs for the exam, while sitting on the chair and she wheeling over on her doctor stool. She heard my tale. Poked at my legs a bit. Asked me some history. Said it is definitely lymphedema, not cellulitis, but that it's possible cellulitis could develop, especially after a surgery, when there's a lot of swelling.

OT then had me sit on the end of that low table, making sure I felt secure, far enough back, and RAISED IT UP! High! I felt like a car getting worked on! OT wheeled over to my dangling my legs, and had my shoes and socks off before I could object. I don't like people touching me. Of course you don't really have much choice when you're there to get your legs worked on.

OT took about a bazillion measurements, then said she was going to wash my legs (they weren't dirty, it's standard procedure!) and wrap them. That I couldn't get them wet. That I'd need "shower bags" if I took a shower, or to do sponge baths.

"For how long?"

"Until I'm done seeing you."

Which will be THREE TIMES A WEEK until the END OF JULY!!!

What in the Not-Heaven have I gotten myself into? No way am I going that long without a shower! I said so to OT (in a polite way looking for a solution). 

OT said that since I had mentioned wrapping my legs at home with an ACE bandage (which I have been doing for a while, because it makes my knees feel better), that I could undo her wrappings, and put them back on as soon as the shower was over. Since she wants the wraps left on continuously between visits, when she wraps them again. She said a lot of her patients can't bend over to reach their feet, so they can't re-wrap, but she could see I had no problem doing that.

The goal is to squeeze fluid out of the tissues, and then maintain that after the three months by using home wraps and therapies. Again, I'm not sure if this will be good enough for the orthopedist, but it can't hurt giving it a try. That's why he referred me to my NP for such a referral.

Anyhoo... that's the plan. I went back again today (Wednesday), and I go Friday. As you might assume, more tales will follow.

A Valiant Attempt

Maybe, just maybe, someone is feeling guilty for inflicting me with the never-ending sickness. Not that Farmer H deliberately infected me with his not-pneumonia. But he had it so long (still coughing a bit) and is not careful with keeping his virus-y excretions off common property like the remote.

My own sickness is over as far as I'm concerned. Except the smell and taste absence. My cough is virtually nonexistent now. I feel fine. But I was bemoaning my tastelessness as Farmer H rushed back to town Tuesday night to the elderly apartments.

"I guess I'll fix your supper when you get back, then. Just grilled cheese. I can't make anything that needs tasting. I might never taste again. That's how I feel. It's been so long."

Farmer H had barely left when I got a phone call.

"Do you want some Hot & Sour Soup? I can go by and get Chinese."

"I can't taste anything anyway. But that USED to open up my head. I only like it from the one behind Dairy Queen. Not the good one where we've been getting our Chinese lately."

"Well. I can go there..."

"Yeah. You can get yourself something, so I don't have to cook. Just get me a small soup."

My hero, Farmer H, brought home my small Hot & Sour Soup. It looked really hot. All orange-y and oily. Usually, it's more brown. But it still had the mushrooms and tofu and scraggly stuff that I don't know what it is. I heated it up on the stove, to boiling, around 8:30. 

I suppose the soup was delicious. I couldn't taste it. The texture was good. The spice level was excessive. Good thing I had a bottle of Sprite Zero Sugar to sip through a straw. I literally CHOKE when that spice hits the back of my throat wrong. It takes carbonation to get rid of it, and I didn't need any more caffeine. 

Despite all the sputtering and snorting and eye-watering and coughing from the Not-Heavenish heat of that soup, my taste did not return!!!

I appreciate Farmer H's effort. I guess I'll just have to hurry up and wait some more.

Farmer H Is NFI

As I type this, my appointment about the leg issue that precludes a knee replacement is tomorrow. Farmer H is NFI. That means Not Flippin' Invited! Oh, he will drive me there. He can wait in A-Cad and play with his phone. Or he can come inside and sit in their chairs. But he is NOT coming into the actual exam/evaluation with me.

It's not like I'm cognitively challenged. I don't need his input. Or output. He insisted on coming it with me to see the orthopedist at the initial knee replacement consultation. Farmer H can't keep his mouth shut. A couple times, the ortho ignored him, and focused on ME. As it should be! Here's an example of Farmer H's shenanigans. Which he considers "helping" me.

The orthopedist said, "I can give you a shot. This is good for about three months. I could give it again in four months if it's helping."

Farmer H: "I had a shot in MY knee. It lasted for six months."

Ortho: "Well, you were very lucky if it lasted that long."

Cut to Saturday, in the Mansion kitchen, after I returned from town.

"I think my knee shot might be wearing off. It really hurts sometimes. Like right now, after shopping, and coming up the steps. It's been right at two months since I got the shot."

"Yeah, I don't think mine lasted THAT long!"

"What in the NOT-HEAVEN! You sat right there at my knee doctor appointment, and told him that yours lasted SIX MONTHS!"

"Well. I KNOW it didn't last that long."

I depend on Farmer H for a lot of things. Having him in my life is much more of an advantage than a disadvantage. But sometimes I can't decide if he's a gaslighter, a would-be murderer, a raging narcissist, a bumbling idiot, or simply an unreliable narrator.

Thank the Gummi Mary, I have this avenue to vent...

What Have You Done With My Fave?

Saturday dropped a puzzle on Mrs. HM. Hopefully it's one of those giant-piece puzzles with only four interlocking parts, used for toddlers. And not one of those 2000 piece sea and sky puzzles like my grandma used to bring home from the mental hospital. Not that Grandma was IN the mental hospital. She worked at it, as a nurse's aide, the overnight 11:00 to 7:00 shift at State Hospital #4. Which was handy to babysit us if we were too sick for school. And the puzzles were also handy to keep us occupied so Grandma could catch a nap. She always took the puzzles back after completing them. 

Anyhoo... the puzzle here was that behind the counter of the Gas Station Chicken Store on Saturday was NOT FAVE! It was Woman Owner running the register, with Man Owner puttering around stocking shelves. This was quite unusual for a Saturday. 

They did not seem disgruntled. So I'm not worried that Fave might have been given the boot. You'd think if that was the case, both owners would have exhibited an attitude over working her shift. I hope it wasn't another dog fight. Fave lost the end of her thumb in the last one. She hasn't been sniffly or sick. She didn't mention that she would be gone. Then again, on Friday she didn't say, "See you tomorrow!" But that might be because a line had formed.

It's almost time now to leave for town on Sunday afternoon. We'll see if Fave is working, and what her excuse is! I hope she's back. 

Woman Owner only sold me $11 of winners. Five on a $5 new bingo ticket, and six dollars on a $3 crossword. I can't count on her to sell me luck.

This Is What I Mean

It was time to buy more dog food for Pepper and Jack. Farmer H gets it at the Devil's Playground. Sometimes he asks if there's anything I need from there, sometimes not. I haven't shopped there for over three years now, so it's usually a no. I vaguely remember him saying he needed to get dogfood a few days ago. He went on Friday.

Can Farmer H give me, the bill-payer and money-handler, a receipt in a timely manner? Like when he walks through the door and I'm sitting at the kitchen table where I do the bookkeeping? You already know the answer to that. Farmer H is like a sneak thief, waiting until the early morning hours, when I am sitting on the short couch, sometimes asleep, when he leaves the Mansion. He puts the receipt on HIPPIE where I will find it after he is long gone.

At first I thought Farmer H was just doing this to irritate me. It's not so farfetched! Now I'm pretty sure he does it because he doesn't want to be confronted with what he bought. Farmer H is allowed to buy things for the household. Even allowed to buy himself treats, as if the ones I bring him aren't enough! But I'm not happy with his latest purchases. I suspect he might be buying things that he "gives away" at his SUS2.5. You know, the business that provides him with HIS money.

The last three items on this receipt appear to be dog food. The rest are SNACKS! Not only snacks, but snacks which I never see. They do not come into the Mansion. What can Farmer H possibly be doing with so many snacks? I'm used to him buying a candy bar and soda wherever he goes. But this is too much for one guy for one day!

I'm guessing the Dr P/7UP and the CANDY BAR were snacks for him on Friday. Kind of expensive, when you can buy a multi pack and have one of each a day. But like I said, I never see such a multi pack of any snacks around here. Except for all the Diet Mountain Dew that I buy for Farmer H.

Where is the COKE and OREO 10CT and MILKY WAY? Even Farmer H couldn't consume all of that in a single day. 

I've got an interrogation on my agenda...

A Shocking Phone Call

Has anybody checked the temperature in Not-Heaven lately? I'm thinking they might be undergoing a cold snap. The most shocking thing just happened!

I was on the phone with The Pony, about Farmer H and his plans to pursue the problem flip house that has been on hold for about a year now. A tale which will be told elsewhere, when there's something to tell. My phone started beeping.

"Pony. I think that's my phone. It must be a call or some texts coming in. They'll leave a message if it's important. I'm almost done anyway." [That was regarding another tale of Farmer H, which will also be told elsewhere.]

When I concluded our call, I checked my phone. It showed a missed call, and a voicemail. The number was nothing I recognized, other than it seeming to originate in the local area, most likely Bill-Paying Town, where my doctor and hospital are. Or it could also come from Sis-Town, where a couple of people had contacted me recently about our upcoming high school reunion planned for September. I listened to the voicemail.

IT WAS ABOUT MY LEG APPOINTMENT!!!

I called back, and got the gal who left the message. 

"We had an order a while back about seeing you to help with your leg swelling. I was calling to see if you would like to make an appointment."

"Yes, I would like to do that."

Leg Gal was very polite. I took the first appointment she offered (maybe it would have been the only one!) for early next week. I don't know how much good it will do, since only one week later, I have the follow-up appointment with my NP to see how much this therapy has been helping me. As I understood it before, the first appointment is basically an evaluation.

Anyhoo... Leg Gal made sure I knew where their facility was located. It's occupational therapy, which doesn't adjoin the hospital itself, but is within a half mile or so. I made sure I was expected to wear clothing that allows access to my legs/knees. And bring my insurance card and photo ID.

My chauffeur, Farmer H, has verified that he is available that day.

Sweet Gummi Mary! 

It's only been TWO MONTHS since the order for this therapy was issued...

The Ta-a-sting Is The Hardest Part

My recovery from the not-pneumonia spread by Farmer H to me last week has taken a turn for the better. I didn't realize I had it until Thursday, when the cough started, and my chest felt the burning/wheezing. It slowly progressed into my head. Saturday evening, I started losing my taste. It happens with every cold. When I get nasal congestion, the smell and taste say "Bye, bye. See you later. Don't try to entice us to stay. We're taking a brief vacation."

I was scratching my lottery tickets when the realization hit me. Huh. My Shasta Zero Sugar Cola tastes funny. I haven't even added any lime to it. Straight out of the can. But it has an aftertaste like Pine Sol. Not that I ever drank Pine Sol. But it sure tastes like that cleaner smells. My slice of sharp cheddar just seemed not-so-sharp. And the dill pickle not as sour.

By later that night, I could not taste my mini Drumstick at all. I knew I was in for a disappointing few days. I couldn't remember how long this usually takes. Besides, I wasn't feeling my best, with the wheezing and coughing, and burning eyes. I didn't want much to eat, but I DID resent my sickness for preventing me from tasting it.

I had a leftover hot dog Sunday, that Farmer H had grilled on Thursday. Plenty of mustard. No taste. On Monday, I didn't go to town. I was wanting some chicken soup. I found a can of generic Chunky Chicken Noodle in the pantry. It's BEST BY date was May 2025. I figured it probably wouldn't kill me. Tasted just fine, heh, heh! I also had a can of sardines in mustard sauce. They were not as delicious as usual. And of course my mini Drumstick. Because I'm a creature of habit. I want my usual treats, even if I can't taste them.

Tuesday I bought some unexpired chicken soup. I had that and sardines and some Ritz crackers. In the mornings, I'd still been having my banana and Maple Brown Sugar Oatmeal.

Wednesday, I felt about 70% better. The cough had slowed. The nose didn't run. Eyes didn't water. Wheezing was gone. Yet I still had no taste. I was hopeful all through the day. Maybe by scratcher time. Maybe by soup time. Maybe by ice cream time. Nope. In fact, with the soup, I got out the sardines I'd bought by mistake. One can left. The Louisiana Hot Sauce. Which was just HOT, and not flavorful. Maybe that would clean out my sinus congestion. Nope. But they didn't taste bad. Just burned.

Thursday now, and I'm still more hopeful as each hour goes by. I even had a generic Halls MenthoLyptus Honey Lemon Cough Drop, as I have been doing a couple times a day since Tuesday. No result. 

Here's the thing. I couldn't taste, but at least I had different textures. Hot liquid soup. Crunchy crackers. Meaty sardines. Cool smooth ice cream with a crunchy cone. I can sense a bit of salty or sweet, but that's it. I still have to eat. I figured I was having about 1200 calories. Not starving. You're supposed to feed a cold, right? Or is that starve a cold... I can never remember.

I'll be buying more soup on my errands today.