What a Lack of Oxygen Can Do to the Brain

I just received a call from my mother-in-law at the rehab place. It is 11:45 p.m. now. She wanted to know if she should finish packing her things so she would be ready to leave as soon as the doctor arrived to release her. (Note: No release date has been determined.) She grumbled that the woman in the next bed was not yet awake, and she was having difficulty getting around in the dark room. I soon realized that she thought it was morning! I informed her what time it was, and explained that I had not even gone to bed for the night. She could hardly believe it, but did profess, “I wondered why the Tonight Show was on in the morning.” I am having visions of more phone calls overnight. And dreams – no, nightmares – of other things to come.

The Fun Goes On

My mother-in-law was transported to a rehab facility Friday evening. She was not very happy about it, but she endured the transfer without kicking and screaming. All I will say is that she is in a nice place, yet she thinks everyone is trying to make her life miserable. None of her gloominess seems to faze Jim at all. I only wish that I could ignore it as easily as he does. She is due to start occupational therapy, as well as physical therapy, tomorrow.

This afternoon I was attempting to open Jacob’s new guitar pick. It was encased in some of that plastic material that only a blowtorch could penetrate. I grabbed my Exacto knife and was slicing through the impossibly thick packaging when my hand slipped. I felt the blade pierce my finger, my skin flapped loosely, and the blood started gushing. Jim agreed that I needed stitches, and Jacob immediately wanted to call everyone we know to report the big news. I ended up with four sutures that cannot be removed for two weeks. Plus, a splint to keep my finger straight because the cut is on my knuckle and it should not be bent until the wound heals. It is on the middle finger of my left hand, so if you see me waving in the next fourteen days, understand that I am not flipping you off. I am merely flaunting my new finger immobilizer.

What's Next?

My mother-in-law is still in the hospital. On Monday, her Case Worker told us she would probably be released in a day or two. Yikes! She is in need of respiratory therapy and things of that nature. So, even if we wanted her to go home, she would require some sort of rehab to gain back her strength, and training to learn how to use her oxygen machine, etc. In addition, her memory is currently sketchy, at best. Luckily, Jim was off work Monday, so we were able to race around town and inspect some temporary skilled-care facilities.

Jim left for Calgary this morning and things really started getting fun. Bob called and said Bev had been frantically phoning Debbie complaining that she was being taken to surgery. I was, of course, skeptical, and contacted the nurse’s desk. We had been informed yesterday that she had a Doppler test and angiogram of her neck, and has a carotid artery that is 90% blocked. This morning the doctor had simply informed her that she should have surgery to fix it. All he did was talk to her, but she misunderstood and assumed she was on her way to the operating room. Anyway, since I am now the official medical advocate, I had to talk to the doctor. I had to talk to the nurse. I had to talk to the family. I had to actually arrange this surgery. On Wednesday I will have to sign the consent forms. I will have to inform her friends. And notify the skilled-care facility that she will not be there in a day or two as anticipated. Oh, and she wants a new pair of pajamas. With pockets. Tomorrow.

I had a doctor appointment at 1:20 today for my routine blood pressure and cholesterol checks. Amazingly, everything went fairly well. My blood pressure was only slightly elevated!

I might also mention that our freaking furnace went out this morning. We have been having trouble with it for a few months, but hoped if we continued to ignore the problems, they would just go away. Long story short – we have a new furnace tonight.

A Hospital Story

My mother-in-law is in the hospital. Jim was with her in the ER for 9 hours on Thursday. The doctors at first suspected a heart attack. Then, they thought she might have suffered a stroke. They performed an EKG, heart ultrasound, and chest CT. She has been very forgetful lately, and was understandably confused in the emergency room. But on Friday, up in her hospital room, she was actually delusional, and we were frustrated that no tests or procedures had been scheduled to rule out certain diagnoses. Finally today, Jim and I were able to speak with her pulmonary doctor. It was determined that she did not have a heart attack, although her heart is only working at 30% or less. A stroke was ruled out as well. What she does have is end-stage emphysema, hypoxia, and pulmonary cachesia. Her lungs are so damaged from smoking three packs of cigarettes a day, that her body is working triple time just to suck in enough air. She looks skeletal and the doc says she is “wasting away.” She has had a decreasing amount of oxygen reaching her lungs, tissues, and brain. The pulmonary guy said that she will have to quit smoking (anyone want to bet money on that?), administer her own oxygen, operate a nebulizer, use an inhaler, take numerous medications, etc. We informed him that she would never be able to handle all that on her own, so he suggested “assisted living” as a possible solution. We are going back to talk to him in the morning and will see a social worker regarding extended care. Many meetings and decisions loom in our future. And guess what? Jim will be out of town from Tuesday to Friday, and I am the second person, after him, listed on her Medical Advocate/Power of Attorney form. Sigh.

Fishy

Jacob has a very unusual goldfish. “Fishy” began sleeping vertically a few months ago. At first, I thought he was not getting enough oxygen or was about to go belly-up. But, night after night, he kept sleeping in that position. This is how he looks before I go up to bed each night.

Our Civic

We bought a new car last week. It will replace Jim’s 1999 Acura, and will basically be used by him to commute back and forth to work. Jim and Jacob did all of the research, visited different dealerships, and test-drove numerous vehicles. After they (well, Jim) decided which car they (Jim again) liked the best, they took me along to help with the monetary negotiations. The salesman that assisted us was typically sleazy. That seems to be a trait common to many car salespersons. (Note I said many, not all. My apologies to any car sellers out there. I am sure you are honest and professional.) Jim and I have purchased at least ten new automobiles over the years, and it is usually a fun challenge to haggle a lower and lower price. This sales guy was not the sharpest knife in the drawer, though, and he was rude as well. He actually referred to “destination charges” as “designation charges” repeatedly. Anyway, we eventually worked out an acceptable price and picked up the car on Friday. Jim and Jacob absolutely love it. Adam likes it just fine, too. Me? I am getting used to it. The front of it reminds me of a Concorde (the airplane, not the Chrysler) or a space shuttle.

Horseplay

This afternoon, Jacob was scrambling all over the railing at the top of the stairs. When I told him to get down, he protested, "But Adam does it." I responded, "Well, I'll yell at Adam the next time he does it." Adam, always the smart aleck, climbed up, too. When they began to push each other and goof around, I called out from the loft, “Hey, stop the horseplay near the stairs.”

Adam, with deadpan sincerity, proclaimed, “C’mon, Jake, Mom wants us to play horse somewhere else.” Jacob followed Adam into the hallway, where they proceeded to neigh and whinny. Then, when I glanced towards the loft door, Adam was crawling into the room with Jacob riding on his back. Those two keep me entertained.

Weight Loss Woes

I have been trying to lose weight for the past two months. Well, truthfully, for the past 10 years, but that’s another story. Not only have I managed to NOT lose a single pound since November, I have actually gained weight! It is frustrating and discouraging. My niece, Janet, who long-ago tried to lose weight and quit smoking, told me that weight loss is a far more difficult undertaking than smoking cessation. (She certainly has never been “fat,” though, so why she ever chose to diet is a mystery to me.)

I was whining about all this to the boys a while back because, well, griping is just so much easier than actually taking responsibility and doing something.

Linda: “I don’t know what I can do to lose some weight.”
Jim (always full of exercise and eating tips): “All you have to do is exercise more and eat less.”
Linda (sarcastically): “Gee, really?”
Jacob (enthusiastically): “Well, Mom, I saw some stuff on tv that you could try. A lady named Julie lost 150 pounds when she used it.”
Linda: “Thanks, Jake, but I don’t even weigh 150 pounds.”
Jacob: “They said on tv you would even be sexier.”
Adam: “That’s just creepy.”
Jacob: “What does sexier mean, anyway?”
Linda: “It means that you look really hot.”
Adam: “Stop it, this is creeping me out.”

(In reality, all that this discussion established was that Jacob is allowed to watch entirely too much television since he knows the names of the people giving commercial testimonials. I hope “Julie” is happy now.)

Anyway, my brother, Norm, is now my weight-loss hero. In May 2006, he unexpectedly had to undergo heart angioplasty. While in the ER, he was asked the name of his doctor, and when he answered that he did not have one, they replied, “Well, you do now!” After he was released from the hospital, his new cardiologist recommended that he start exercising. Not being a huge exercise enthusiast – hmmm, maybe that runs in the family – Norm started to walk. He walked every single day, no matter what the weather was like. By the summer of 2006, he had lost tons of weight simply by exercising and eating better. (Yeah - I see how that works, Jim.) In fact, Norm told me recently that he has walked 601 consecutive days! My new diet strategy this year is to eat what Norm eats. At family gatherings, I will copy him. If Norm allows himself two cookies, I’ll allow myself two cookies. At the pizzeria, if Norm has a turkey sandwich, I’ll have a turkey sandwich. No more ham and bacon pies for me. It all sounds so straightforward, so easy. (Like WWND?) If he can drop 45 pounds, I can certainly lose my extra 10, um 15, ok 20 pounds. So, now I’m on a roll. I’m inspired! I’m encouraged! I’m psyched! I’m motivated! I’m ready to exercise! I want to be a big loser! Check back in a month to see if I have actually made any progress! But, please, do not wager any money on that happening.

Children's Menus

Tonight we met my sister and Richie for dinner. While Jacob was ordering his meal from the children’s menu, I noticed that it stated, “For 10 and under.” He has been 11 for a week now, and, being a very law-abiding child, I assumed he would probably worry if he realized he was not properly following the rules. I didn’t mention anything about it until we were driving home. Happily, he was not as upset about his gaffe as I anticipated, and declared, “Well, geez, Pattye still gets a kid’s menu.”

My niece, Pattye, has three children and is going to be 30 this year. She looks young – about 20-ish in my opinion. (Yes, I know, it runs in the family.) Whenever she goes out to eat with her husband and kids, the wait staff always asks, “How many children’s menus do you need?” Once, the hostess at Max & Erma’s didn’t even inquire, led them to their table, shot her husband a sympathetic glance, and set down four children’s menus! So, I guess if Pattye is offered a children’s menu at age 29, Jacob can take advantage of one at age 11. And, while Pattye does seem youthful, she really does not look like she is 10! What are those hostesses thinking?

Speaking of Pattye, she phoned a little while ago. My sister and I had given her a Jo-Ann’s gift card for Christmas and she wanted to tell me that she redeemed it tonight. She spoke excitedly about purchasing art supplies, craft items, canvas, and . . . a wooden man. What? She explained that her husband would be able to use it for sketching. What? I have taken many art classes in my day, worked in the art field for decades, but have never found use for a wooden man. I must be out of touch or something.

Update: Adam has a friend who is an art major at EMU. He told me that she has a wooden man! Evidently it is some sort of posable figurine used for anatomy drawing. In the olden days, we just used real people.

ESP

We arrived home Tuesday evening after enjoying our traditional New Year’s Day family lunch at my mom’s house. Once in the kitchen, I glanced down at the answering machine and noticed the message light was flashing. After checking the caller ID, I announced that Jim’s mom had phoned while we were out.

Mockingly, and in his best craggy, imitate-Grandma-voice, Adam murmured, “Hi Jim, this is Ma. I’m going to a casino and I’ll need some money.”

I pressed the play button on the machine, and my mother-in-law’s voice croaked, “Hi Jim, this is Ma.” Well, there you go. That was expected.

Then, she continued, “I’m going to a . . .” Pause.

In the seconds that followed, I tried to guess what would come next. Wedding? Dinner with friends? Dentist appointment?

“… casino.”

Whoa! Then, as if on cue, she continued, “and I’ll need some money.”

My mouth dropped open and I gazed at Adam. Did my mother-in-law really say that? Had Adam predicted the entire message verbatim? Either he is freakishly psychic or just incredibly intuitive!

Moon Shoe Mishap

Today I put together Jacob’s new “moon shoes” that he received for his birthday. Who would have dreamed that moon shoes would require assembly? Lots and lots of rubber bands - 24 as a matter of fact - had to be stretched through the shoe platforms and hooked onto the base. I cannot even tell you how many times those big, thick rubber bands either snapped at my fingers or flew through the air. Plus, they were coated with some sticky goo. (And, yes, I’m fairly certain that “sticky goo” is the formal name for that annoying glaze.)

Anyway, I finished putting the shoes together and Jacob was very excited to try them. He wanted to wear them outside and run and leap and bounce, just like on the tv commercial. He bundled up, velcroed on the straps, and clomped out the door six inches taller than usual. Within 2 minutes, he was stumbling back into the house, crying and limping. Apparently, his left foot fell off the shoe platform and his ankle twisted during the half-foot drop to the ground. So, if you happen to notice him hobbling around, know that his injury is not from a skiing accident, or a bike crash, or even a simple fall down the stairs. Nope, my graceful son was wounded by his moon shoe.