Saturday, January 16, 2016

Medical Travails Friday January 16

Ready for more babbling?  I know I am.

I mentioned in the last entry that I might have more to say on a certain subject. Can anyone guess what it is?  It’s simply this: the right to babble!

Okay, let me warn you right now there is going to be a fair amount of babbling in this blog entry—not just because I’m losing my mind, which is true, but because I’ve earned the right to lose my mind, have been working for this goal for many years and expect to capitally enjoy the moment.  This could wind up being even worse than some of the missives that have come before. In other words, I may enjoy it more.

First of all, you’ll notice that the date at the top of the blog does not match the blog itself.  I’m fully aware of that fact and have no plans to correct it. It’s one of  many small ways in which I plan to invite the world to go screw itself in the days and weeks ahead.  Why?  Because I can.  Call it my  Christmas present to myself.

By now, with Christmas season  having come and gone, gone, gone, some of you may have roused yourselves to wonder where your uncles, classmates, aunts, and so on have roused themselves to disappear to, and from whence to return, at no small effort, I may add.  Its really this simple.   We’ve lost our minds—some of us have, that is.  What else could force us to relinquish, and then so admirably restore, such powerful items to our possession, than  those now residing in the evidence lockers aboard chests A-T and lockers R-Z, because it was his good fortune that led us to the find.  By the way, you’ll notice that the preceding sentence made no sense.   Here’s a clue for you:  I liked it that way and may write more just like it.

BUT SERIOUSLY, folks, it was always my full intension to give a complete accounting of the affairs of this evening, once those affairs become known (cue the parakeet).  All it lacked was a capable reporter, which as of this evening was lacking but which now is in full evidence and lacks only a nudge to be off with itself. I am referring, of course, to the family parakeet, which stands by ready do to its duty to the full.

But SERIOUSLY, as many of  you know, and if you’ve been following this blog, then you now that of course my health has taken a turn for the much worse of late.  The much, MUCH worse, I’m afraid.  The kind you don’t recover from.  I’m afraid I’m under the strictest doctors’ orders to return at once to the vessel should  any of the following symptoms appear—and he then laid out a regular launderers’ list of items of pleasure to be avoided. 

OK, what is this about really?  Really, it’s about the Christmas season and everyone’s fear that I and other Christmas celebration officers might overdo it. And that, in a nutshell, is that.  It’s about various schemes to keep me and other officers, once pried away from her (the Christmas celebrations that is), remain thusly pried.   It’s about making sure that no one, having been forced to give up a fair advantage in the past, be forced to give it up again in the future.

Above all, it’s about remembering what great fun you had tonight with a view toward making sure you are able to  make it again for more fun tomorrow.

Okay, by now you’re probably wondering whether I can start and stop this stuff at will—this seeming turning on and turning off of the craziness of the head.  I believe that I can.  Bear with me and you can be the judge.

This all started about three days before Christmas when we – and by “we” I mean  my wife, the cat, the parakeet and so on, began to notice that my behavior had gone a bit toward the balmy side—about two steps in the direction of dimentia.  Nothing too serious, mind you – you’d just tell me something and it would go into one ear and out the other.  They got me to agree to go to the hospice in-patient center on the pretext of checking my meds (a process called “titration”) to make sure the levels are properly set for my condition—a proposition that actually makes quite a bit of sense.  So, I agreed.   I have to say, I absolutley love the Casa de la Luz Hospice Center, which is fully geared for patient needs and which turns out a better  patient in terms of how the patient gets along with the meds and so on. I also sleep so much better when on bed medication.  So it’s been great.  I also love my nurses, each and every one.  These are truly great people and I love them each and every one.  (I said that didn’t I?)  They don’t nag you here; you can sleep as late as you like and do pretty much whatever you want.   I mean, why ever not?  Your only mission is is to go about the business of dying. Sounds brutal, I know, but that’s pretty much the way it is, isn’t it?  So, I head to bed each night with an assigned mission only of sleeping as late as I want and remaining in bed as long as I like (wait – aren’t those two phrases that say the same thing? See how this dementia thing works?). But I absolutely love it. Said that too, didn’t I? 

The toughest thing is to get to the meds titrated (prounouned TIE-trated). When I first arrived at the  hospice center, the meds were more or less in line, meaning that that I could count on  X dose delivering Y amount of comfort and sleep.  That changed over time to where X does now delivers Z amount of sleep.  Since I really need Y amount of sleep and not Z, this creates a problem.  Only as slight one, but a problem just the same. The way we fix this is the same way Dr. Vertrude von Nichols fixed it in the 19th century—add more meds on the front end, or less on the back end, and see what happens.  What normally happens is nothing much, but sometimes the results can be quite spectacular.  Last week I lost a whole day, like those rock voyagers of the 60’s will sometimes claim to have lost entire years.  Don’t make any sudden movements around me and I’m sure I’ll be fine.

I really did, no kidding, lose an entire day over the Christmas weekend. I got most of it of back, thank godnesss, because it’s not the kind of weekend you really want to lose; I mean, it was Christmas, for chrissake.  I just could not remember certain things that had alleged to have been said to me or about me – mainly conversations about medications and so on.  It was really quite scary. Those episodes lasted only about half a week or so and then were gone, to be replaced by my normal good-natured self ,which seems to frighten everyone else but not me.

Something else a little strange is going on, too. Mechanical devices all around me are failing.  My keyboard mouse failed, and then finally so did the keyboard itself.  The little mechanical hard drive failed – fortunately,  I have a redundant. Because if not, I would have been well and truly screwed.  

That is about all I have to report so far through Christmas and New Year’s. Pretty lame, I know.   My head falls with shame. 

What else do I have to report?  As I said,  mechanical devices continue to fail, to my consternation and frustration, but there doesn’t seem to be much I can do about it, so I just lie back and enjoy it as best as I can.  Which doesn’t seem like much.  But it beats nothing at all, at least marginally.

And, that is about all I have to report for now.  Lame, I know.  Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Medical Travails Monday December 28

Okay, time for round two of Losing my Mind, the game show where we just show just how much of the human mind one can lose without relinqiuishing all claim to sanity whatsoever.  While we are at it we may also answer this one:  is it possible to give up all claim to sanity at all and still wish to retain an ability to drive –you know, as in drive an automobile.  I have no idea the answers to those questions but let’s explore them together.

Toward driving: I have a feeling driving will wind up being characterized as fun but not  utterly necessary.  Just a minute. I’ve done a great bit of it lately but none of it has been utterly crucial to the life function.  So from that standpoint I’d say it’s fun but not utterly necessary well into the future of humanity. 

Oh, wait a minute, is that one causing the light bells to go off.  Ding, ding, ding!  Pleny of people appearently believe that driving will be a pre-requisite of the human condition for some time to come and they are firing up those response jets.  They may be right.  God, let’s hope not.  Time will tell.  I certainly know I’ll be spending a lot of time calling for Jesus in that eventuality.

Okay, lets see what other business we have to conduct in this exchange.

My log lists dozens and dozens of responses to the last round of business.

Jenny & Julie --  it’s good to hear from you. As you can tell by the last two posts, I’m doing about as well as can be expected under the conditions.  I’ll have more in the days ahead.  Meanwhile, God bless you an keep you well.



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  2. Forrest - I love reading your blogs. Even when you're confessing 'losing your mind', your prose is 10x better than most in our profession. You hang in there. You've already kicked this thing in the balls several times.

  3. Forrest, my words could never match you skill level. What I want to say is keep fighting!!! But our good friend Dylan Thomas says it far better that I ever could, he must have been trained by you.

    Do not go gentle into that good night,
    Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
    Because their words had forked no lightning they
    Do not go gentle into that good night.

    Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
    Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
    And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
    Do not go gentle into that good night.

    Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
    Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    And you, my father, there on that sad height,
    Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
    Do not go gentle into that good night.
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    Armand ##30##

  4. Forrest...rage on, my friend. You are loved, and God bless you for hanging on and telling it like it REALLY is. <3 XOXOXOXO

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