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.