More pictures

Most of this afternoon and evening I have been busily dragging pictures out of my 7 media cards. The time span is roughly 3-5 years. It's amazing to see some of them - all those trips I took, lots of beagle shots, my old house, my new home in progress, all kinds of things. Many I had forgotten about. I have to decide if this is going to be a house or a dog picture entry. I want to do the dogs - everyone loves dogs, almost - but I recently finally got my fans up, so I think I will do house tonight and dogs next time. Forgive me?

I have lived here since July 2006 with just bare bulbs in the ceiling in two rooms. I became inured to the decor, but I am sure first-time visitors thought I really had no clue at all about decorating. While that is a true statement, even I know better than to leave ugly bare bulbs hanging around from the ceiling.

It took me forever to pick out the correct ceiling fans, the right light fixtures, the best fan blades for my rooms. I ordered them once, brought one home, and found it was not the correct one. I had ordered one finish, and the guy gave me another. I shoved the box in a corner, disgusted. I kept telling myself to call them...and I didn't. Months passed. Finally they called me, and offered to credit it all back to my account and start over. That sounded good to me, so I asked when the first lady would be in whom I had spoken to, and I returned to drive her batty. Poor lady. We did finally find what I wanted, and by some miracle it was all in stock except one down pole, which they promised me the following day. The one fan was in stock because I had special ordered it in the fall, but we won't dwell on that.

I picked up the down pole the next day. There must have been some special planet alignment, because I seem to have issues with follow-through on anything to do with decorating. I just lack confidence and skill. That's all. Oh, and taste.

Plans were made to have them installed and I was giddy with excitement! I have never had ceiling fans in my life. This was to be a new chapter for me. I quickly assembled my support staff.

That small picture in the lower right section of the picture will be installed in my front bathroom as soon as ST gets around to it.

We sorted the various boxes of parts of the fans and set them in the correct areas of the house for installation and awaited arrival of the gentleman and his assitant to make sense of it all. He was expected at 6:15 pm. Around 7:30 pm, he arrived with his girlfriend. I hoped they weren't here for a date and expected my fans to be their entertainment.

Boxes were opened and parts were accepted and others tossed aside, seemingly randomly. Orders were given. Molly kept her nose firmly in the tool box except when the girlfriend was petting her. Baby, being more skittish, stayed back a couple of inches. A huge ladder was set in the middle of my living room. The ceiling is about 15 feet high. I got nervous and decided to find something less stressful to do than watch. I went and paid my bills. Quietly.

Eventually, I had two fans perfectly installed. My support staff approved and demanded extra treats. The installers demanded money. I demanded instructions on how to operate the buggers. There was a snafu when one remote didn't work, but it turns out they sold me the wrong one. I can't say I was entirely surprised, even though this was from a lighting company and not a big box store. The error was admitted and will be corrected. What else can I ask for?

I took the pictures at night, so some of the colors are off a bit. Both have white lights, not yellow. Here is what I have in the living room:

Actually that is my foyer, or two foyers, depending on how you see it. I personally see three foyers. It's odd, but it does give me open space. The fan is between here and the actual living room. I still say that wall hanging leans a bit to the left, but maybe I am the one with an astigmatism. I doubt it, but anything is possible.

Like this.

If you go back to the support staff picture, the rest of the room is showing. The staff is lying very close to straight below the fans.

This is my artwork in my living room. Yep, that is it. Just one item. But I love it :-) The colors are very intense, and the picture always shows me something new that I had missed before. I will probably never tire of it. The TV below it is still to be donated when I find an organization to take it. Then I will never be able to snag a dog sitter.

A closer view of my boring, dull, staid, 6-forward speed and I don't remember how many reverse speed fan. The light is great. After speed 4, it's helicopter time in the living room. It's great fun to play with! It beeps every time I change the speed or reverse it. We already know I am easily amused.

On to the master bedroom. Currently the only bedroom, since the front room is being used as a junk drawer. This room drives me nuts because I have no idea what to do with it. I will toss the furniture and get something new. I have a hard time finding a bedspread that is best described as a dorm spread - just one layer of fabric. I am going to have to make my own to get something that is not ugly. It's not that easy to find fabric that is around 100 inches wide, but I know I can get quilt backing fabric. I just need to decide what I want. Then I need to make some sort of "thing" for around the bay window, using the same fabric. Or close to it. Maybe a slightly different shade or texture. Styrofoam and/or wood will be involved. It will be messy and a lot of fun. I will not use a pattern or anything. Wish me luck! Maybe I can glue my support staff to the wall while I am at it.

Anyway, this is the fan in the process of being installed by the gentleman and his girlfriend:

This fan is not so boring and staid. It's gorgeous! I love the palm frond blades. If I grow up some day and want real ones, I can change the blades. The lighting I was unsure of, but when the fan is on, the lights are on very dim, and the rest of the room is dark, the cracked glass throws a delightful pattern on the walls.

It sort of dominates the room, but I don't mind.

Remember, the glass is white cracked glass. Not yellow at all.

The support staff wore themselves out helping the installers and proceeded to snore within minutes of the departure of the installers.

They get lots of blankies so they don't damage the leather. (It has worked so far.) I got the leather because I can wash it off. Fabric just soaks up doggy butt juice.

On that note, I shall say goodnight!

 

 

 

 

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Too hot for you?

I have pictures I want to post, on a variety of topics. I am going to start with my gargoyle. First of all, he needs a name. I hope I can find an unobstructed picture of him. If not, we will have to name him in the summer.

This morning, I crawled out of bed, then dragged the beagles outside. This is something I do 7 days a week, no matter how I feel, how they feel, or what Mother Nature has felt like doing to us. The dogs have to go - so we hit the outdoors while I am still a bit sleepy and wobbly. Today it seemed really cold, so I came in and checked the temperature. It was 14 degrees, but with the windchill it was zero.

I said some magic words, dug out my snow pants that I somehow never bother to wear, grabbed my camera, and took some pictures from my front yard that strongly resemble a war zone if the lighting is just right.

This is the drainpipe that I hit my left arm on over the weekend when I slid in the ice next to it. Above this area, the roof drips water onto the snow - and it freezes over. The dogs dragged me in a hurry, and suddenly I was sitting in the snow with my left arm on the drainpipe. Just a bruise arm and nothing hurt other than my pride. After that, I put some traction things on my shoes. They work. I wish I had put them on sooner.

This is my view from my front porch. See the pole with the greenery thing on it? Under that you can see the gargoyles wings - just the tops of them. Poor guy.

Do you see the red stick? The snow removal company puts those in so they can see where the edge of the driveway is and they don't dig up half our lawns. Obviously they leave a good margin of error. This is about 6 inches of snow, partly melted, added on to just a couple of inches that were already there.

This is the view down mystreet towards the pond and the woods. You can just barely see a portion of the red stick on the lower left. It's amazing that the street looks fairly clear, but by the end of today, it will be perfectly clear and dry. If nothing else, we know how to clear streets fast!

The gargoyle just isn't able to get himself free today. I should be able to find an earlier picture of him. See the pot to the right and behind him? I use that for my garden hose. I forgot to put it away for the winter. What are the chances that I do not need to buy a new hose?

I think the poor guy is buried for the duration. It looks like he is trying to fly out.

The snow removal company considers this to be cleared and safe to walk on. Under the snow is ice. That is the first place I walk in the morning - it's amazing I haven't broken anything yet, with two beagles sporting full bladders in a hurry to get outside!

Here he is a month ago after a smaller storm.

...and a better view of my winter basket a month ago.

Molly, last month, freezing her behind off while I try to get both of them in a picture. Fruitlessly.

More pictures to come later on - I don't want to totally overwhelm anyone on dial up!

 

Surgeons vs dentists

Today I returned to see Dr K, the hand surgeon. I trusted this man in the past to open up my palms and fix my 25-year-long bout with carpal tunnel. He did it, and did it well. I only lost one muscle in the process. Considering how advanced the problem was, he was brilliant. He even let me look at my hand while it was open and in the process of being repaired. That was way cool!

No. You can't yell at me for waiting so long to have the surgery. I begged for it for 25 years. Anyone who has advanced carpal tunnel syndrome understands that it is not something pleasant to live with. I am one of those odd ducks who tests negative when the truth is otherwise. Dr K understood that I wasn't making up my discomfort and fixed it.

So. I have some trust established with Dr K. I took my little tape-wrapped finger back to him today. If you forgot, he had gone high tech in his attempt to help my left ring finger recover from torn tendons. He taped two fingers together after I said I had already tried two separate splints that just didn't work for me. My hands are too small, is my guess.

Today, he told me I am progessing normally. As far as I am concerned, my finger is still swollen, red, and it hurts like hell. He said I see it every day (really?) and so I didn't notice that some swelling is down. OK, I can buy that. He again showed me his finger that he tore the tendons on years ago. It's slightly misshapen, but not much. He said mine will be the same. He said it takes time.

I am slowly learning that doctors will not answer direct questions unless they feel like it. I have not been able to get any time answers regarding healing for this, so I asked, "How long did your finger take to heal?" "Six months."

Had he told me that last time, I probably would have canceled today's appointment. Oh well, what to do? He told me I don't have to wear the tape any longer to protect my finger, and I am to do some daily massages on the damaged area. Push until it starts to hurt. No problem, I can do that until the cows come home. Of course, I don't have cows. I have beagles, and they aren't allowed out on their own. Nevertheless, it clear to me now that this will be at least 3 more months in the healing process and I get to rub it daily like a little genie lamp. With lotion, he said. Put lotion on first. Maybe I can make a wish at the same time?

I off-handedly mentioned my gum graft surgery to him. He is, after all, a plastic surgeon who specializes in hands. He does do other body parts. I have no scars at all on my palms. On one, he followed a natural crease, and on the other, he made his own, but somehow it doesn't even begin to resemble a scar. I thought if my jawbone does progress with <insert something ugly here> I might need him and his magic touch. This is what he told me, and I am not making any of this up:

Don't go to dentists. They are mean and evil people. They damage your teeth, damage your gums, and scrape the natural enamel off your teeth. Just brush your teeth often. I have only seen a dentist twice in 61 years. Look at my teeth, they are just fine. Stay away from the dentists if you can help it. They are bad.

Yes, that is from a board-certified physician. Where was he when my mom dragged me out from under the bed every few months to go see a dentist who hit me when he hurt me and I cried?

You are laughing about my doctor, aren't you? If you don't ask questions, you don't get entertained.  

He also told me that I don't need to return unless I do something else to my finger. He said a few times that he would miss me. Before I left, we compared arthritic bumps on our little fingers. He said any day over age 55 is a gift.

I was laughing too, until I got in my car, turned the corner, and caught my un-taped finger in the steering wheel and brought tears to my eyes.

Where is my lotion?

 

 

 

 

Frustration

I fully confess that sometimes I just NEED something. Once in a while it's a treat I haven't had for a long time, or a meal I haven't prepared in what seems forever. The need comes out of the ether and starts to whisper quietly in my ear. Just a little buzzing, reminiscent of summer's more considerate mosquitoes. Eventually, the sound and the desire becomes more pressing, more demanding. I start feel more like a cobra is staring at me and just begging me to ignore it. While I have good will power, there are times I just have to satisfy that craving.

What is it this time, you ask? You know in the past I have needed ice cream, or to bake cookies, or a myriad of other delights. When Molly and Baby had to spend the day at the vet's office I needed to buy shoes to keep me distracted. A dozen pair of flip flops later, I was content. What I need now is much more simple.

All I ask for is one, small, tasty little piece of pizza. We have a local small, private chain that makes the most wonderful pizza. They have been in business a long time - my child has fond memories of going to work with her dad as a very young girl and going next door to Buscemi's for pizza. Child says the lady used to give her extra treats for free, and she smiles fondly when she tells me the story. I love that pizza. They sell pizza by the slice, but it's never stale. They are too popular. You are more likely to find two people arguing over the last piece than to find one lonely little dried up piece hiding in a corner. They also sell whole pizzas, of course, but I have no need for more than one for a meal.

Does that sound like too much to ask? I don't think so, but my mouth does.

One of these days, I will get my single slice of pepperoni pizza. It will be a banner day for me, especially since I can then get that niggling mosquito out of my ears.

 

Stupid little women

Perhaps I expect too much. I do not like to be treated like I am a stupid little woman. It's bad enough if someone thinks I am smarter than I am and talks over my head assuming I can understand it. If it's tech-talk, I might get turned on. Otherwise, I prefer to be talked to on an appropriate level. Usually, after talking with someone for a while, we get a feel for their intellectual level. Not always, apparently.

Then again, maybe I am just a bit touchy due to all these body parts that hurt at once and my efforts to try to understand the issues and the proper treatments. It also helps if all medical people agree on what is wrong and what needs to be done. In order to be helpful in my own way, I do tend to do some research myself because I figure it helps to be able to communicate with my doctors regarding my health. The more I can understand, the better I can assist them with my treatment plans. The better questions I can ask, the better they can understand my issues. Communication is important, and I try to do my share.

This whole issue with being stabbed by a pointy stick in the gum and ending up with a gum graft - it's funny in a sick way. I agree with that. How stupid do I have to be to poke my own gum out? OK, no need to dwell on that answer. It was just one of those unexpected and silly accidents that end up taking a large toll.

In order to be helpful, when I am asked for information regarding my health I offer all I can. Dr W's paperwork required a list of my current medications. While I might feel that some have nothing at all to do with dental issues, I put down the entire list, including things like calcium supplements and multi-vitamins. In that list is a medication called Fosamax, which is given to people who have or have had bone loss. Osteoporosis, osteopenia, that sort of thing. I have been taking it for years and duly included it on my list. Nothing was said to me about my medications before the surgery.

When I popped up in Dr W's chair with the information that I have exposed bone in my palate and that my dentist had sent me for a check, Dr W was a bit impatient with me, telling me that it's not uncommon for that to happen. I was supposed to know that, how? Dr W did not give me much information in advance. Suddenly he added the tidbit that Fosamax can cause the bone to not heal properly, or some such mumbled story. I told him it was on my list and he hadn't mentioned it. I was ignored, of course. As mentioned in my earlier post, he sent me on my way and asked me to return in a week to assess the healing situation. We also agreed I would not take Fosamax for a while, and oddly enough, I hadn't been taking it since a week before the surgery. No particular reason, but I just didn't.

Today I returned. Meanwhile, earlier this week I grabbed a package insert for Fosamax. You know that little sheet of paper that the drug stores provide regarding medication? I don't bother with those. They don't say anything. I ask for package inserts, those tiny folded up papers that come with pharmaceuticals and provide everything anyone ever wanted to know about that medication. My ex-husband is a pharamcist; we used to own a pharmacy where I worked at times in addition to my regular full time job. I am aware of package inserts and I read them.

The one for Fosamax, which is a bisphosphonate, says under "warnings:"

"Osteonecrosis of the jaw, generally associated with tooth extraction and/or local infection, often with delayed healing, has been reported in patients taking bisphosphonates. Most reported cases...but some have occurred in patients with postmenopausal osteoporosis." This is a small portion of the warnings related to this issue, but but I remembered Dr W telling me about exposed bones and possible delayed healing, but he hadn't mentioned anything about osteonecrosis. That sounded to me like a pretty scary word, since it means, literally, "bone death." While Dr W and I disagreed over my mouth and some teeth having been infected, we can never resolve the disupte because I went to my internist for antibiotics related to my throat getting infected, and then my sinuses. The infections appear to now be gone.

Today Dr W told me that my mouth is doing very well. The transplant is healed and I may stop being afraid of using the front part of my mouth. Easy for him to say - it HURT when he again grabbed my front lip hard and pulled it down. It hurt when he polished my front teeth. It still hurts. My lip is still swollen. I still have tingly-feelings, like when tissue is getting the feeling back after numbing shots. I still have soreness around the donor site, and he said one section is not healed. (I still cannot eat normal food.)

OK, I can deal with the fact that I am healing slower than normal, even though that is just not my history - I heal faster than the average person in most cases. It's just how my body is. However, he really got my attention twice.

First, he got my full attention when he took one of those nasty little metal poke-y things and tapped directly on my jawbone. From the INSIDE. I cannot describe the sound of that - it didn't cause pain, just a very, very weird feeling and an unpleasant sound.

Second, he told me that it might always be like this. My tissue might not fill in the hole as expected and I may always have 3 mm of bone exposed. He said it would be a very rare situation, but it could happen.

I told Dr W that I had read the package insert for Fosamax and that it mentioned osteonecrosis. He must have assumed I was looking for a definition of the word - he stopped me in mid-sentence and told me that yes, that means my bone might be exposed. (I don't believe that is the meaning of osteonecrosis, but he is the doctor so I dropped it.)

Would I have allowed this procedure had I known that taking Fosamax meant my mouth might not heal at the donor site? Might he have suggested that using donor material that is available, rather than risking my bone being exposed forever, could be a better choice for me? I will never know the answer to those questions, and many more.

I needed to write this down for my own information in case I need it later. If someone else who might have this procedure done, or another dental procedure while taking Foxamax and they ask questions in advance that could prevent problems for them, then I am glad I did it.

So far, I haven't hurt anything else, at least! Just the torn tendons in the one finger and the on-going foot issues. The feet are improving :-)

ST is hoping my new bubble wrap suit will be transparent. So is he.

 

 

How did that get down there?

Not being allowed to do many of the things I would normally be doing on a weekend has been disconcerting. So, I have been trying to do some little chores and similar things that don't require heavy lifting or anything extensive. It all has to be done, eventually.

Laundry, however, is the only household chore I don't crab about. Today I was washing my bed linens and clothes were in the dryer. As I went to make a load change, oops, I heard something fall. Hm, nothing was there except a brand new, full bottle of fabric softener.

Who knew those bottles would break open and leak all over the floor so easily?

Of course, it fell behind the washing machine. So, there I was, dragging the washer out and crawling around on my hands and knees trying to clean up that stuff. I guess it's easier to clean up than detergents are. I remember the time my sweet little girl was only 9 months old and managed within seconds to spill an entire bottle of baby shampoo all over the bathroom tiles. Talk about a slippery mess!

Probably dragging washing machines around is not on my list of approved behaviors right now, but what was I supposed to do? Hope for nice, soft ceramic tiles? I think not!

Meanwhile, it's 28 degrees here, but the sun is sort of out and the wind isn't sounding too cruel. I think the dogs need a nice stroll around the neighborhood. The poor babies have been locked up with me for months. They are very social dogs and probably resent not spending more time with people. Screw dogs, they want people! Dogs don't feed them.

When we finish our stroll I can push the washing machine back in place. So far, the frankengums are staying nicely in place, so I must be doing something right. 

I had considered getting braces to straighten my teeth a little. They aren't bad, but I had thought a slight improvement might be nice. However, from my reading, I have learned that oftentimes people who get braces end up with gum recession.

I think I will pass on the braces.

 

 

 

That is my WHAT?

Earlier I trudged off to spend my Valentine's lunch time sitting in my periodontist's office. Doesn't that sound exciting?

I entered the waiting room, signed in, and sat with trepidation. I quietly opened my book and aimed carefully for invisibility. Immediately, I heard my name being called with surprise from the lady sitting across from me. Oh look! That is no lady - that is Rocket's mom, Linda! My fellow neighborhood beagle owner! What a surprise to see her there! After all, she is pretty young, lol! Linda needs a periodontal check and she was as pleased to be there as I was. We made plans for a beagle play date soon, and then I was called. Drat - need to work on that invisibility.

Sure enough, said Dr. W, that most certainly is bone showing. There seems to be about 3 mm in sight. (Three millimeters, I am thinking? Isn't any too much?) Dr W assured me that some bone exposure is not unusual and it should fill in within a few weeks. He seemed surprised that bone exposure should concern me. It might not have, if he had instructed me in advance regarding the possibility. I might not have even cut my trip short had I known exposed bone was within the realm of normal.

Meanwhile, I realize I am not healing as fast as what is normal for me. Normal for me is about twice as fast as most people. Lucky me, usually! So I trudge on to my next stop, which is the grocery store. Woman cannot live forever on Jello, ice cream, and chocolate. I figure maybe I need more protein and calcium in my diet and less sugar. Drat. Ice cream has calcium, right?

ST picked that moment to call me and was just full of complete protein suggestions for me. Some were appropriate for the grocery store, and he did convince me to buy some risotto and some red beans. I insisted that I don't like rice, but he said I might like this. If not, he will gladly take it off my hands once it's made. I grabbed some other foods that seemed reasonable along with more of the Jello, ice cream, and chocolate. I still need mostly soft foods, after all.

I came home and decided to try to risotto with red beans. It really was sort of edible. The rice grains were larger and more like firm pasta without being sticky. I might even eat it again, some day. If not, the beagles were very interested in the new dish.

So now I feel pretty confident I am on the mend all around. I can get around with my orthotics, even though one still needs some adjusting. My finger with the torn tendons still hurts, but only if I touch it or use it. I am learning to type well with two fingers taped together. The only thing I can't do is wear gloves. With all the snow we have had and the well below zero wind chills, I find this ill timed. Nevertheless, Dr K seemed pretty confident that my finger will be healed, although slightly crooked forever, within a few more weeks.

Finally I will be able to write about something non-medical. Not a moment too soon, is it?

I am even boring myself.

I hope everyone is having a great Valentine's Day :-)

 

 

Las Vegas, quickly

I expected Las Vegas to be a quick trip - it was scheduled as such. Mostly I was going to get some warmer air and to see an old friend. Friendships are important and need to be nurtured at times. This one was feeling like a plant that was being neglected and badly in need of some fresh water. So I can't eat - who cares?

The trip out was easy enough, despite the fresh snow that was falling on my way there. I packed without much stress, which is shocking unless you consider all I took was a carry bag for an overnight trip. My niece came the day before and was a help with the dogs. We also made a trip to the store for my new $80 socks.

Yikes! You are probably thinking - $80 for a pair of socks? I figured since I am having foot issues and my ankles swelled a few times from mountain hiking combined with flying, perhaps I need some compression socks. I had no idea they made compression sport socks. To my joy, they do! My doctor wrote a script for me, and the store verified whatever they have to verify. I returned with the niece and we picked up two brand spanking new pairs of compression sport socks, courtesy of my wonderful medical coverage. I can get two pair twice a year - and I intend to do just that! My legs did not ache at all after this trip and I did not swell. I don't usually ache that much, but with my walking at a reduced volume, I had some concern. My niece is still giggling about $80 socks, I am sure!

I arrived in Las Vegas around 1:30 pm on Saturday. Orginally my friend, let's call him BT, was expected to be there at 10 am. He had to change it to much later in the day, but I wanted a walk and some fresh warm air, so I went earlier. I decided to get dropped off at the opposite end of the Strip from where I was staying so I could enjoy the walk. The crowds totally confused me for quite a while until my thoughts went to "wow, this feels like a" DING "weekend night!" It was Saturday, of course! The crowds were a bit overwhelming, but I slogged along the strip, stopping as needed. No rush.

Eventually I arrived at the hotel I would be staying in, not too far ahead of BT. I found a quiet corner (not easy to do in a large Vegas hotel on the Strip) and read for a while. I was not feeling up to any carousing. I wanted some quiet time. I might have watched a movie on my iPod, but I only managed to get two, and one came without any sound. So I read, and listened to some music. I called Cindy to whine to once I got the text message from BT that his flight would be at least 2 hours late. She gave me hell for not calling her to moan after my oral surgery, so I decided to be a good friend and make her miserable, too.

BT finally arrived, and he was hungry, of course. We found a restaurant open and he had dinner while I had one beer and two bites off a french fry. We caught up on stuff and had a nice time. I was glad I went, even for such a short trip. I slept like the dead for once - it was a nice feeling for me.

Around noon he had to go, and I found myself facing 10 hours alone on the strip and decided I wasn't good with that idea. It was a good plan when I was feeling better, but not in crowds with a sore mouth. I tried calling the airlines to change to an earlier flight, but it wasn't going well. My voice was shot and I could only whisper. I finally wandered over to the business center in the hotel, used their computer, and rebooked myself on a first class flight home at 6 pm. I felt good about that. I even checked in and printed out my boarding pass. I love technology.

I entertained myself on the Strip until I needed to cab to the airport, and had a nice flight home. I actually was fed my first "real" meal in two weeks. There was a strawberry on my plate, and I wanted it Real Bad. However, it had small seeds, and all I could do was look at it and remember Dr W saying, "Nothing with small seeds." *sigh* The chicken was good, and I even ate a little salad. Even so, I ate less than a third of the meal. I felt like I had eaten at least 6 meals.

When I got home, I weighed myself. I am down 5 lbs since the gum graft. Not a pleasant way to lose. Last night I ate a few potato chips - I think I needed the salt.

This morning I went to the dentist for a filling on the other side of my mouth. I wanted him to look at my donor and recipient sites, but I didn't say they hurt. I didn't need to - he told me to get my ass back to the periodontist because he thinks he can see bone in the gaping hole Ikeep whining about. I think I can too - and I will see Dr W tomorrow. Right before lunch time. I seriously hope I don't end up losing any teeth over this stupid injury. Or part of my jaw bone. Or have to have root canals. I am so glad my internist put me on a second antibiotic after the first ran out. My teeth and mouth on the right side were hot. Actually hot.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Meanwhile, I cannot eat on the left side of my mouth for a while due to today's large filling. I already can't eat on the right or the front. That doesn't leave me much, does it?

This will end eventually and I will be my usual healthy and happy self. I keep wondering what else can go wrong, and something does.

It snowed again, too.

I think I will go out tomorrow and get measured for a nice, fashionable bubble wrap.

 

 

Don't touch me with that!

This morning started with a trip to the periodontist, Dr W, to have my stitches removed. My fear of him telling me that I have to wait another week was unfounded. His assistant, let's call her Ingrid, took the stitches out herself.

After they had told me not to even try to pull my lip down enough to see what was going on down there, she grabbed my lip, ripped it down, and started to attack me with those scissor-things they use. I started to whimper. It hurt. I have done way too much whimpering and moaning lately, but not without cause. I did the "relax, relax" thing in my head and we got through it. She doesn't need stitches as a result. I have been trained in how to cause damage without leaving marks.

Just kidding. I was a model patient, even with the little whimpers. The stitches came out and I crabbed a little about how I obviously should not have had this procedure done a week before a small vacation. They really don't get it - I survived, the swelling is going down, the bruising is half faded, what is wrong? The graft appears to be a complete success!

In fact, it's so successful that Dr W said he might have to shave some of it back. More whimpering.

I asked when I can eat food, and he said I can eat surf and turf now (I haven't had anything really solid in a week). All I have to do is cut it up small and eat slowly. I thought back to the first solid food I tried to deal with yesterday - a chicken salad sandwich. I took half of the sandwich, pulled the half piece of bread off the top, and ate it in half-inch square pieces. Each one hurt my mouth. I ate little pieces of the chicken salad as I could tolerate it. After half an hour, I had managed to eat half a piece of bread minus the crust, and about 2 tablespoons of chicken salad. My mouth hurt, I was tired, and I was full. My lunch companion tried not to notice and gallantly ate my pickle for me. Surf and turf? I think not.

Las Vegas on jello. How exciting.

I asked Dr W to look at my throat. He did, and said it looked just fine. Uh huh. As soon as he said I could leave, I bolted out of the chair, made an appointment for 3 weeks as directed, and slid out of the parking lot.

We had a major snow storm yesterday. I did the big iPod exchange with the child last night. I drove to her new place to do it. Nine miles - took me over an hour to get home. I am not sure how much snow we got, but it seems to be a little less than the 10 inches they threatened us with.

With an hour to kill before my hair appointment later this morning, I decided I better rush over to my doctor's office and get my long-overdue B12 shot. I could certainly use a boost! The nurse who gave the shot heard me cough - and made me stay to see the doctor. He looked at my throat, and freaked. I got the impression it looks like raw hamburger with an infection in it.

The nurse had to get a sample from my throat for strep. That is trying on a good day, but almost impossible when I can't open my mouth very far. She tried once, and I yelled. It hurt, it really hurt. She had to try again. It's so hard to hold your mouth open for something that you just know is going to hurt, but you have to do it anyway. I did it, then had to ask for a glass of water. A Q-tip should not hurt that much.

The quick test showed no strep, but he insisted I take 10 more days of an antibiotic. I asked for a cough syrup. I don't have any, and haven't needed any in 10 years or more. I know the over the counter stuff is mostly like candy. I can eat chocolate just fine, since it melts, but I need some codeine. He agreed, and I asked for just a very small bottle so I can travel with it. He complied with my request.

I took half a dose of it. I decided to take the other half at bedtime, since the directions are every 12 hours, but I need some now and I need some when I try to sleep.

I think I am going to take a nap. This is some good stuff and I earned it. Don't even try to touch me with anything that might hurt me. I have had enough. It was frightening to let my hairdresser near my head with scissors.

Last night I learned that giving someone the finger for cutting me off in traffic in snow and ice is not very effective when another finger is taped to it. I had to laugh, I really did.

 

 

Giving me the finger

Sorry, but this will probably be a long entry too. I shall try to limit myself after this! The Finger Story, however, needs to be told. If nothing else, I might need to refer back for details some day.

A while ago, I whacked my finger hard on a doorway in my condo. I hit the left ring finger on the first joint, and I heard a cracking noise. The last time I heard that sound, I made the x-ray guy show me exactly where the break was and prove to me that it went all the way through. That was in my hand. Same hand, actually. I must be one-sided clumsy. Anyway, while it sounded serious, I was able to literally shake it off and continue on whatever chore was so important that I didn't want to take time to check it out. I did make a mental note to check later for bruising and swelling.

Later on, I did just that. The first knuckle was reddish, a bit swollen, but I could flex it and I decided not to make an issue of it. I ignored it. I mentioned it to a few friends, who ignored me, so I decided it was nothing.

However, "nothing" did not go away. It stayed reddish, stayed slightly swollen, and started to hurt more after a few weeks. Hm, I thought, this isn't good. I will mention this to Dr D, my internist, at my next appointment and see if he wants to do an x-ray. So, I did. I said, "I think I broke it." He said he thought so too, and told me to see a hand guy. He gave me a splint that didn't fit, took x-rays, and I left. I was his last appointment and we were both tired.

My foot guy is in a group of orthopedic specialists, so I called the receptionist there and said I was advised to see a hand guy. She said she could put me in with Dr B on Tuesday. It was Friday, so I said that would be fine. Per a call to Dr D's office, the x-rays were not ready yet.

I showed up on Tuesday after sliding through a snow storm. Dr B took x-rays, and then told me he didn't think it was broken, or at least if it had been, it was healed. However, he said, he thought he detected tendon issues and said I had to see a hand guy. (WTF? I am thinking? What is he?) He gave me another splint that didn't fit, and I took my x-rays with me and went on my way. At the desk, I checked the list. Dr B is a general orthopod who also does hips and something else. Great.That was just what I asked for! An ass guy.

Next I needed to call my gyn for my yearly exam, and I asked them for a referral to a hand guy. They sent me back to the nice man who did my carpal tunnel surgery around 2001. I grabbed his card while I was there yesterday so I could get it correct. His name is Ravindranath Kambhampati. We can call him Dr K. I called that office and made an appointment for Friday at noon. Meanwhile, time is passing while I try to get the right man for the job, so to speak, and my finger is healing crooked, and the pain is not going away.

I showed up on Friday, and their office is not open on Fridays. I went over the conversation in my mind. Sure enough, she had said I could go there on Friday at noon. She didn't actually say he would be there and see me. I figured we had a communication problem. I called and left a message asking them to call me on Monday to set up another appointment since we obviously had miscommunicated.

By Wednesday no one had called me back. I called again, and was offered 7:30 am Thursday to get me in fast. I had to decline, since I was not only expecting ST but my gum graft was at 11 am. I didn't need any more excitement that morning. We agreed on Monday (yesterday). More time passed.

Yesterday I went to see Dr K. I filled out 259 pages of forms for him, or at least it seemed like it. Good thing I didn't hurt my right hand. I handed him my x-rays, and he again said if it was broken, it's healed now. Yeah, I had figured that part out since more than 6 weeks had passed. He said I had torn tendons. Extendors, I think they are called?

He wanted me to wear a splint. I showed him the two I have, and said neither fit nor was comfy. He made hm and haw noises, and got out a roll of tape. He taped my two fingers together at the first joint and at the bottom. He said to do that for 3 weeks all day and to exercise my hands, and leave the tape off at night. Return in 3 weeks. If I had it immobilized immediately, and kept it that way, I might not have ended up with a crooked finger. Really, it's not that crooked, but the fact that the pain increased rather than decreased was my concern.

He also said he could repair my finger and make it all pretty again, but I would end upwith joint damage and no use of the joint. It would look nice, but be useless. He showed me where he had the same damage in the past. It healed crooked, but he can use it.

Works for me. I wasn't looking for any more scalpels. I just wanted to know why it still hurt after more than two months. Now I know.

It should not take me 3 doctors to find this out. Also, when I saw Dr B, he left me alone in the room for a while and I spent it looking at my x-rays for lack of anything else to read. I asked him about some darker spots in my thumb joint, and he had to take the film into another room with a brighter light. He returned and told me I have cysts in my bones (that he hadn't seen) and for sure I need to see a hand guy. Dr K said they are normal arthritic changes. I said that joint doesn't hurt.

He said it will.

I am sure he is right. He is a nice man, Dr K, and very practical, don't you think?

So this should be it. My foot is slowly improving and I can walk without limping. The tendons in my finger will heal. The stitches will come out of my mouth and I will be allowed to eat again. Some day.

Actually, from what I read, the main reason most people's grafts don't take is because they eat foods they shouldn't too soon. I suspect Dr W will find me a model patient. I will follow all the rules until I am healed.

Nothing else is allowed to be injured, break, or fall apart for a long time. I need a - hm, break? Time out?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bacterial swamp

Blood red ink for today. It seems appropriate. The periodontist, let's call him Dr W, was a real charmer. First visit he tells me no one will even notice by the second day that I had any work done. It's no big deal. No need to postpone surgery until after Las Vegas, since I will be just fine by then.

When I showed up for the actual surgery, his spiel changed slightly. I might experience some swelling, maybe a little bruising, I will need to eat soft foods for at least several days and so on. He added that if I do not follow instructions I could cause the transplant to not take. Of course it would be my fault. Who else?

My regular dentist knows me and works with me. He puts me in the chair, tells me a joke, and puts the gas on. He makes sure the equipment is working properly, then he leaves me alone for 10 minutes or so. Sometimes even longer. He wants a docile, happy, relaxed patient. It works - I take my shots like a big girl. I even try to be brave for the roof of the mouth shots if he turns the gas up as far as it goes. My reward is he leaves me alone again with the nitrous oxide to relax before he starts doing anything. He knows I won't open my mouth until I am feeling the effects of the gas anyway. If I can speak, I say, "Turn the gas up." He never once caused any swelling or bruising, not even for two crown preps in one visit. He is very gentle and considerate.

Dr W has a different approach. Put the gas on after making me beg for it, after we had agreed I would have it in advance. As soon as it is in place, go for the shots. Before it even starts to work, go for the roof of the mouth shot. Before the shots barely have a few seconds to work, start causing mouth damage. Don't be gentle, don't be patient. Don't even give it your full attention. Don't explain much about what you are doing. Have your friends and buddies stop by to discuss future ski trip plans. Have a woman in the office stop by the door while your patient has her mouth open and cannot shut it, and joke to the woman about how sick she is and how she is a walking bacterial swamp. Or words to that effect. Assume your patient is stoned and has no idea of her surroundings, and ignore her requests to turn up the gas.

As soon as the gas starts to work, within seconds, decide the mask is in your way and remove it for the duration of the surgery. Don't forget your patient could not pre-medicate because she had to drive herself. Be very rough on her mouth. It's her fault she has a small mouth. Pull hard on that lower lip and crush it. Grind your thumb into her skin, especially around the chin area. Pull harder, dig deeper.

While he was doing all this, I was dealing with him having cut a huge chunk of meat out of the roof of my mouth. He had said it would be a "tiny piece," but judging by the number of stitches he put in and the length of the incision, it couldn't have been small. It almost made me gag when he said, "Wow! A great piece of tissue!" Ewww....Do you know the sound you get when someone cuts your palate up?

I was given a lot of stitches. No gas, no sedative whatsoever, just the shots. The sound and pressure from stitches in the palate is not to be forgotten. Nor forgiven. He could have worked around the mask for the nitrous oxide, I am pretty sure. Meanwhile, I am working hard at telling myself, "relax, relax," and being the best patient in the world so we can get the procedure done. All I wanted to do was go home, take a pain pill, and go to sleep.

We had to argue over the pain pills. He wanted to give me tylenol with codeine. I said no, I have Darvocet and also still some Vicodin left over from my shoulder surgery if needed. He offered to write more Darvocet, and I said no, I have enough. He gave me an antibiotic. I crabbed lightly about making me stop by myself on the way home and wait for a script to be written when he could have given it to me in advance. I hate that, I really do. The pharmacist was very kind and got it filled quickly for me.

Finally I was all through being cut, squished, stitched, squeezed, and whatever else he did. I was told, "do not pull your lower lip down to look at the graft." Right. Don't think about the pink elephant in the room, either. I drove home, exhausted. ST had been over that morning to offer his support at 5 am, and I hadn't had much sleep. Pain pill, couch, book, dogs, sleep - that was all I could think about.

I came home, leashed up the dogs, and took them out to pee. Baby started to pee blood all over the lawn. I sighed, went in the house, grabbed the ladle, and tried to get Baby to pee in itenough to get a decent sample. No luck. I called the vet, explained I just had a gum graft, needed to get a pain pill in me before the numbness was all gone, Baby has a UTI, can I get antibiotics for her even though I haven't been able yet to get an adequate sample? Yes, he said, so I drove there and got the drugs for Baby. I left the tiny sample I was able to get.

Eventually Baby got her antibiotic, I got mine, I got my pain pill, my book, and my sofa with the dogs. Of course, with the bladder infection, Baby had to go outside to try to pee every 3-5 minutes the rest of the day. I didn't get any sleep. She didn't either. We were quite pitiful. By bed time, she had her second pill and was able to sleep through the night. She is much better now.

By morning, I had significant swelling. By afternoon, I started turning blue. I had clear thumb prints all over my swollen chin. They started at my lower lip, and the bruising goes down my throat a bit. Then over the next two days, the bruising spread. It really looked awful. The swelling stayed. I didn't pull my lip down to look in there because my lip was too big and too firm. I did see that the inside of my lower lip was blue. It still is, somewhat.

Saturday night I brushed my non-involved teeth and accidently touched the putty-like packing over my lower front teeth. It popped off. I was tired, really tired. I pushed it gently back in place and went to bed. I woke up in the morning and wondered if that caused a bacterial growth factor, and called Dr W. He said I could take it back out, rinse with the stuff he gave me, rinse the packing, and put it back. Or, he said, I could leave it out. I left it out, since it didn't bother me. The third choice was go back in for a new one. Uh uh. No way.

Sunday Molly had to have her shot. ST came over to help me. He made one Jay Leno joke and then was very considerate of my situation. Molly will live another month, Baby was happy to see ST, and I was happy to get a few hugs. I hadn't left the house since Thursday when I went to the vet. No one had seen my bruising - and I was good with that idea.

After ST left, I started to feel very tired. Then, warm. Quite warm, which is odd for me. Tired, warm - hm, fever? I took my temp - 101 degrees. Where did that come from? I had noidea. I get delirious at 101 degrees. Knowing this, I knew I had to do something. I figured I needed to cool down. I dropped the temp in the house a little, took off my slippers and socks, took off my sweatshirt and put on a tank top and drank a lot of water. It didn't drop. I decided I didn't care and went to bed late.

By Monday, I realized I probably have either a cold from Ms Bacterial Swamp or perhaps a sinus infection from chemicals he put in my mouth. I had a pretty bad sinus infection and laryngitis once from using stuff too strong for me to try to whiten my teeth. My temp has lowered. I hope to be all "normal" again by my flight to Las Vegas. It's iffy. My chin is still partially swollen and not nearly normal in color again, although the bruising is slightly faded. Every time I sneeze or cough I fear ripping stitches out.

I have one hope. Thursday I go back to Dr W for my stitches to be removed. He tried to postpone the stitch removal, but I reminded him that I already had an appointment Thursday. I have no intentions of getting in trouble with TSA in the Detroit airport because I have stitches in my mouth. Dr W is a personable guy, but he is not gentle with patients. I believe how he handled my mouth caused the bruising and swelling to be significant. I have read up online what other people have said about this same surgery, and the bruising and swelling issues vary greatly. I truly believe it's mostly due to how the periodontist handles the patient.

If I am lucky, I can share my germs with Dr W on Thursday.

I am no periodontist, but it looks to me like this graft is working fine. I have a big reddish bulge where the graft went in. The skin around it looks cut up and some is whitish and the rest is mostly pink or red, there are black stitches all around the mess, but looking ahead to how it will look after time and some healing, I think he actually did a decent job. He is supposed to be excellent at what he does.

Still.