Category: health

Always In Threes, Right?

Remember when famous folks used to die, a myth sprang up that it always opened in threes? Also, some writers ascribe to a rule to always do things in threes. (Yeah, I’m not up to explaining that for now. Google it.)

Well, I had a kinda rough day. Three more or less bad things happened.

  1. They only have decaf in the house. I’ve survived by going out and buying a large cuppa each morning. But —
  2. Tested positive for COVID today after I spent a few hours visiting mom. Fully masked the entire time. Been masking whenever I went public. And only decaf in the house where I’m isolating. No one to take care of me, neither. (Waaah.)
  3. Checked my credit card online today and found fraudulent purchases. Reported them but that means I need new cards.

So, you know, end of day. At least Mom is getting better (but will be in the hospital for another four to six weeks). Others I’ve been in contact with are negative. I have mild sore throat, mild headache. Don’t know about a fever because the thermometer’s battery is dead. My sister did say she’d bring some coffee by for me. She’s such a sweetheart.

Have a good one. Cheers

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The Jab Dream

I was at a gray counter. A white man was across from me. About my size, he was younger but balding, with thin hair slashed and slicked over that glistening pale dome. He wore a wide dark tie with a red pattern, a starched white shirt, and a white KN 95 mask. Leaning on the counter, I said something to him. In response, he jabbed an index finger into my forehead and barked, “Heal.” Did this three times. Each time, I reacted in irritation, like, “Stop jabbing me, that hurts.”

I awoke with a sore throat.

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Saturday’s Theme Music

I witnessed sunrise in Pittsburgh, PA, from an Airbus window as it landed at Pittsburgh International Airport. Pittsburgh sunrise was at 6:56 and I was arriving at 6:32. 68 C in Pittsburgh then, just like home, but much more humid. Sunset came at 7:38. Back home, we hit 101 F but Pittsburgh’s weather delivered a friendlier 74 F.

Today is Saturday, September 10, 2022. Mom is doing much better, a steep relief. Still in the hospital but matters are getting under control, and she might be released in a week. Depends on what happens with the fluid in her heart and her pacemaker.

Back in my home zone. Left it in 1972 but have consistently returned to see Mom and the sisters. But man is my body’s personal clock running awry. Ate breakfast at the hospital at 8:30, visited with Mom and family until 11:30, back to Mom and a nap for two hours. Lunch at 4 PM, back to the hospital to visit with Mom and then home again at 6:30. Call to wife to update her, then unplanned crash until 8:30. Now here I sit, posting the theme music.

Employing their sense of humor, The Neurons cranked up Dr. John with “Right Place, Wrong Time” from 1973. Oh, ha, ha, ha, hilarious, you neurons. Interspersed with all that were two quite bizarre dreams.

So here is the music. You be positive and test negative. Wear a mask and have a good one. Coffee? Now? Really? No, I think it’s too late. I might go for a piece of that triple chocolate cake in the kitchen, though. Anyone up for some cake?

Cheers

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The Ziopatch

Well, Day one begins.

A Ziopatch was applied to my chest this morning. This was an option my medico presented to me after I’d commented during a meeting earlier this year that I sometimes have heart palpitations. Fact of it is that I’ve experienced these since I was at least a teenager. I actually thought that everyone had them. I mentioned them to another who replied, “I’ve never had that. You should go see a doctor.”

That was in my twenties. Now that I’m in my sixties, I felt time had ripened enough to check it out.

The Zio is just a little thing. Applying it took five minutes. Longest part of that was shaving me. I’m a hairy beast. Don’t know which parento I owe for that. After the left side was shaved above my nip, my skin was lightly abraded so the Z’s adhesive can find purchase. Then it was taped on and explained. Done.

I’ll wear the booger for fourteen days, in theory. The tech and the intertubes both hold that might be a challenge. Getting the Z’s adhesive wet by sweat or water causes the device to come away. One guy on the net said that he’d been told, “excessive sweat might cause that.” He learned that ‘excessive sweat’ is any visible sweat.

Meanwhile, it feels like there’s something on my chest. I have an urge to swat it off, like, “WTH is on my chest?” It also feels a little itchy, as others said they experienced.

Once it is removed, I throw the Z into the air. It spreads its wings and flies off to the factory where it’ll be dissected. Not really! They gave me a box in which to mail it off so its contents can be revealed.

We’ll see how it goes. I’ll let you know when I take it off. Cheers

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The Prisoner Dream

Sooo…I’m on a ship. Never see it, just know that I’m onboard something. It’s huge, apparently.

I’ve been captured and I’m being transported. Zip ties bind my hands, along with my two companions. Either via dream mechanics or I’ve forgotten what transpired, I’m then free of my ties, then lose the two people with me. I know my captors are tracking me. I sneak through this big vessel, going through sections housing people sitting in roads, following a washed-out dirt road, slipping through a jungle…

As I go, I observe the passengers. They’re also prisoners. None are bound in any way. It looks like they’re just taking a flight, traveling somewhere. I know better. Seeing a huge piece of cardboard, I realize that there’s a lot of waste and that we prisoners can utilize this waste to improve our situation. Food is hidden in different locations which we can eat, and there are materials we can use as clothing or to build shelters.

I try explaining to other prisoners what I’m thinking. Most don’t understand. Worse, they speak very loudly. One young woman finally understands me and tells the others. Going, “Oh, I see,” they lift a corner of the cardboard and see a pile of uneaten food. They all start passing food out and eating.

I hurry on because I know my captors are still after me. I come to a chute. In it, I find packaged food and help myself. Taking three of them with me, I move on.

I come to a sandy stretch. Not sure if it’s a desert or part of beach or something else. Briefly, I think, should I go through this? Am I going the right way?

I decide to go on because going back doesn’t seem feasible. As I trudge through the hot white sand, I became aware of small things fluttering around me. They’re on the sand and become airborne as I walk by them. They have wings, I see, and think that they look like very small, winged people about the size of ladybugs. All are white, in white clothing. As they fill the air around me, I see that all are females. They start landing on me, leaving small sand deposits. I start swatting them, trying to keep them away, and dust the sand off, and then I ‘know’ that they’re actually treating illnesses in me. I go still, because that will help them. The sand is gone. I’m instead in green water. The little fairy women are still treating me.

Dream end.

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The Glasses

I broke down. It was time. I knew it – I’ve known it for years. I needed new glasses.

The issues aren’t costs or worries about my eyes. I dislike taking time out of the day to go somewhere, wait for a person to see me, etc. I’m an impatient person who tries protecting my writing time and routines. I’m like a grizzly mama about those things. Writing time and routines are my cubs, to beat that simile to a final death. This is due to a lifetime of giving and serving others, what people call ‘employment’. I sacrificed my writing dream for others’ worries and concerns. This is now my time.

COVID did play a role. So did changing insurance coverage. I no longer had any vision plan. That went away when I left IBM in 2015. Putting a year to it and doing the math is a thump on the head; that much time has already passed. It is not conceivable. Seems like just yesterday that I was dragging my ass out of bed before the sunrise and logging in, calling in, and doing all the other things to ensure I was electronically tied to the company. My work for them had been remote for the final eight years. The final three, visits to company facilities were cut to nil due to slashes in travel funding.

A new optometrist was required, too, as the other one had disappeared. My wife’s friends raved about the one at Costco. I was skeptical but they said she was great. “Make sure you go to her, though, and not her father.” Okay. An appointment was made, and they were right. She was good, as far as I know. $69 for a new prescription. In and out in twenty minutes. I liked those elements.

“Well,” she said. “You have very healthy eyes and your vision has improved. You’re probably having problems with your old glasses, aren’t you?”

Yup.

“They’re way too strong for you.”

Well, that was great news. I told my wife. She seemed stunned. “Your vision is getting better?”

Yup.

She turned away, muttering something about fairness. I didn’t press. I had some idea of her comment.

I found and ordered new prescription sunglasses from Costco. Didn’t really need normal glasses, I felt. Don’t use them often. My wife muttered something else.

The glasses would cost $129, I was told after I’d gone through the process. Whoa, wait. “What about protective lenses and the reflective coating, and all that?”

“It’s all included.”

I can see so much better now with my new sunglasses, and they’re much more stylish. They’re relatively large, making my big head look a little smaller.

We all need whatever edge we can find.

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The Cycles of Mail

The cycles of life came in the mail. Credit card invitations when he was young. Cable and Internet deals in his middle age. House and window cleaning services as he aged, followed by landscaping and financial planning, then house-painting and payday loans.

As he reached his mid-fifties, AARP became friendly, as did companies like Prudential, offering planning assistance, worrying if he was saving enough for retirement. Cruise and vacation suggestions came every week. Everyone became concerned about his estate and his will. Hearing-aid flyers were frequently received. Then came funeral and cremation services, with coupons and discounts!

Reaching his mid-sixties brought flyers and letters for Medicare plans. Of course, every two years through it all were pieces from politicians, PACs, and political parties asking for a little money, pleading their cases, railing against one another, and demanding change.

Coming with weekly persistence regardless of the year or his age were advertisements from his local stores, catering to the holidays and time of year.

Fondly he remembered his past mail as he perused the latest offering from an assisted living residence and dropped it into the recycling bin, letting his imagination run wild about what his future mail would bring.

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The CBD Experiment

My wife suffers from autoimmune issues that end up expressing as RA. Inflammation, swelling, and pain flare up without warning. Hips, back, jaw, fingers, hands, feet, back. Nothing is immune from autoimmune problems.

It’s not a new issue for her, starting back in 1998. It wearies her, of course, and frustrates me. All I can do is support her, and that just doesn’t feel and sound like much.

She’s gone through meds but as anyone who is prescribed meds knows, everything has a side-effect. Many meds cause their own problems, burning through other organs, upsetting digestive systems, etc. In her mid-sixties, she’s been a vegetarian or vegan for over forty years, for many reasons. As her RA progressed, she eliminated more and more foods. She keeps a food journal. Fats were strenuously reduced. Salmon was embraced. We’ve always eaten steamed vegetables, particularly broccoli and brusse sprouts, and roasted asparagus, so we just stayed the course with those. Black beans form a large component of our meals. Alcohol was gone, but she was never much of a drinker. Dairy, especially cheese, which she loves, was eliminated. Tomatoes (another favorite) followed. Sugar. Then she kicked the meds because the side effects were too deleterious. She’s always been a staunch supporter of work outs and exercising and has been a jazzercise enthusiast and weightlifter for over forty years. She puts a lot into both and has been asked by the jazzercise instructor to fill in and lead classes.

That’s the thumbnail sketch. With her diet restrictions, off the meds, she’s been doing well, and even improving. Know how it is, though, right? Something flares up, causing pain and problems.

That brings us to CBDs.

Friends of mine are CBD advocates. They and their wives use CBD and other cannabidiols such as CBA and CBG to cope with their health issues, particularly inflammation and arthritis, sometimes in conjunction with THC, sometimes with mushrooms, but usually with wine or beer. All are pleased with the results. A few raved about CBD with THC to sleep at night. Edibles such as gummies, easily obtained and ingested, garnered particular praise.

So I collected info from friends regarding brands, habits, dosages, and side-effects, and brought that to my wife. She did further research. Purchases were made. She took her first, Wyld Blackberry 25 mg CBD gummies. “How was it?” I asked the next day.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she replied. “And I didn’t feel anything for the pain, swelling, or inflammation.” She showed me her crooked finger, with its red, swollen joint.

I have minor inflammation, mostly afflicting my intestines. While I address restoring my biome’s balance through diet and probiotics, I thought I’d give the CBD a try.

“How was it?” my wife asked the next day.

“Great. Felt almost an immediate relief. I was really impressed.”

A low growl came from my wife’s direction. I may have imagined that. She tried the CBD again that day and experienced the same results.

Research was pursued. She determined, she believes, that she’s one of those people who suffer increased anxiety from CBD, and no relief.

For the heck of it, we tried other gummy variations, and also gave CBG a try. Same results for her. Which just sucks, you know? Meanwhile, I thrived on it.

But that’s how our bodies are, individualistic and unequal, following paths and micro-paths which we don’t fully understand, sometimes forged by genetics, but also by small biological quirks. That’s part of the life experience, understanding what your body is doing, trying to understand why, struggling to address your own unique needs and issues. The wildest aspect is that the body is always changing, and the hunt for understanding doesn’t end until we cease to breathe.

And that is life.

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