Yuck. Overnight I have gone from "hanging in there" to "losing my grip". Shit, piss, fuck.
I have had an interesting/upsetting/off-putting week or two and want to share some pieces of it with y'all. It's either that or deafening silence which is not good for blogs.
The following couple of paragraphs are some groans and grumbles I wrote a week ago after a visit to my favorite Doctor, my cardiologist, who has saved my life more times than I can count. I was feeling punk and puny, my good hip had begun to hurt and feel like it was broken and my vision....oh, my precious vision had gotten so dreadful that I could hardly see anything. I was in despair to say the least and had started counting my supply of Valium to see if I had enough to make a quick exit.........I do that sometimes and it makes me feel better in some ways.
After the usual pleasantries (a hug and an EKG/Blood-Oxygen test/BP check) I waited to hear my fate. When the Blood-oxy registered quite low I sluffed it off as usual and reminded him that I had developed some exercises to cope with that condition. He then made me walk up and down the hall to the elevator and back and checked my Blood Oxygen level again, fixed me with a piercing eye and said something like, "Lois, your trouble is that you are practicing medicine with out as license." I knew better than to protest.....this guy is GOOD. Sigh.
No, no.....I have not been given a dreaded prognosis.....at least no new ones........it is just that my blood/oxygen level has gotten a mite worse (40 years of smoking does have its effects) and he sort of ordered me (though it is still my choice) to utilize the oxygen machine all day as well as all nite. (I have been sleeping with oxygen since the broken hip episode). And what that means is that, in the twinkling of an eye I am no longer a free range chicken and am tethered to an oxy-generator by a long, long clear plastic tube which manages to get underfoot at every moment, wraps itself around the drawer pulls and not only opens drawers I did not want to open, but brings me up short as I stride around the manor and threatens to rip off my nose or otherwise seriously maim me. A real pain in nose..... and the ass.
At the same time, my handy, dandy little oxy-meter by which I measure my level decided, after only 10 or 15 years, to act up thereby leaving me in suspense as to whether I am somewhat OK or in grave danger. Pfaugh! I certainly named this blog correctly. I have since ordered and received a back up meter. That kind of thing is easy to remedy......it just costs money.
Well, all I can say is that I am not a very happy camper right now as I learn new ways to cope with the latest. Actually, it is not as bad as might be. I can take it off when I go into the kitchen to mess around with food. For one thing, I decided on my own that oxygen and flame are not good bedfellows and for another, that saves me from getting the hose caught on any one of the dozen or so drawer pulls and rendering me motionless with a jerk. We must be thankful for small favors,,, I guess.
One positive thing that HAS come out of all this is that I find the extra oxygen seems to be helpful to my troubled vision. That does not mean that my 20/20 sight has been miraculously restored, but I think that it has paused in its diminishing.......a consequence to be devoutly grateful for.
So here I still am though in a somewhat more decrepit form. Thank heaven you don;'t love me for my looks.
The New Yorker covers: July 7 & 13, 2008
8 hours ago