Updaterama

So it turns out my lung didn't heal so that explains the massive exhaustion and feeling like death on a platter. It's a relief to know this. Seriously. I can never shake off the feeling of being a boring old crank given to organ recitals and a long list of her medical staff and appointments. So back on diuretics and doc spots a suspicion bump on my face so will burn that off in a couple of weeks once I'n feeling better. Blood readings improved slightly and his gut feeling is I am not bleeding internally but will have me see the internist to confirm that. And oh yes PVD in legs has not worsened so no stents in my future.

But the best part of this? And a big item on the gratitude list, was that a friend texted me and said meet me for coffee after the doc visit and when I arrived at our local cafe there was a little gang of friends waiting for me to share the latest on the medical front. I was incredibly moved. It meant more than I can say.

Niece was over today to share lunch and writing. Butter chicken, rice, Greek salad, cheese and fruit platter, sweet potato crackers. It was a marvelous 4 hours as we had ourselves a bit of a knit too. And made suggestions to each other on our writing.

My doc had never heard the Irish phrase "I lost the run of meself" which I really had in the last few weeks with the awful breathing and palpitations. He absolutely loved it for its accuracy in describing a down slide in health. In Newfoundland, many Irish phrases have crossed the Atlantic but not that particular one. I sure had lost the run of meself. And how frightening that is. Wilderness indeed.

I am very well taken care of by doc. And I told him this as we parted and he responded that my words and the words of patients like me, sustain him through the mountains of paperwork he has to complete late at night.

I only plan one item (social, activity) a day at the moment to save my energy and try and get well again. I am paying attention.

And here's a song by The Once - their voices are haunting and I think of my grandparents and their kitchen when I hear it.

The Waiting Game

I had all the tests done today. Boy did it take a whack out of me. I was so fortunate my niece was with me and did the wheelchair thing and waited and amused and conversed. I went to a smaller hospital, St. Clare's as I find them more intimate and friendly compared to the massive Health Science Centre which is exhausting even in getting parking before you begin the trek of endless halls and poor signage.
St. Clare's

Health Science Centre

So it was efficient with all the tests and the wheelchair really helped as my breathing after even a few steps is, well, rotten. EKGs are amazing now, none of that cold gel I remember but all these plasters, very fast and efficient and with a sports bra (ha! irony) one doesn't have to strip anymore for the lung Xrays.

Niece and I rewarded ourselves with a large farmer's type breakfast afterwards. We inhaled it.

SOS had a reading of our petition in the House of Assembly here in St. John's this afternoon. I hated missing it but I can only manage 1 or 2 events in a day and the hospital tests had wiped the floor with me.

House of Assembly

I'm so relieved to be home. Several people I met today were being admitted in various stages of distress and anxiety. I thought I might be amongst them and had felt so very sad leaving my apartment this morning.

I am so grateful to be home and just waiting for results and I am pretty positive in my outlook.

Thanks for all your support dear readers. It means more than I can say.

Close a Door, Open a Window

Life's like that, isn't it.

I'm meeting a Toronto friend for dinner tomorrow night. She's in St. John's for a conference and staying with another of her friends in the city. We're meeting for dinner to get caught up as she's been moving around quite a bit and currently lives in Florida. Her friend is organizing a get together for later that evening and invited me to come along and meet her and some more of their friends from university. And added she had a spare bedroom and a bed for me. Up to last week I'd have had to turn down such invitations because of Ansa. But now I realize another world and other opportunities have opened up.

I had a radio broadcaster stay with me for 3 days and 2 nights as she conducted interviews in my town with local residents. It seems we've got ourselves noticed quite favourably due to our volunteer library and other initiatives. And it's quite odd this feeling I have: I was interviewed for about 2 hours (the total of about 10 hours she's recorded of everyone will be edited and whittled down to about 1 hour)and I would have been a fumbling bag of nerves three years ago. I literally bless the blasé now, I've gotten used to being interviewed and while I'm flattered at some level it's all part of my life here. I'm conscious of "ums" and "hesitations" and I suppose I'll be right teed off when the interviews stop (what? I've lost my oomph?)but for now I truly understand the fleeting life of any kind of fame and know it's quite ephemeral.

The fabulous weather continues to astonish out here on the Edge and I feel my life is becoming more controllable. Tourists take a lot out of one, it's constantly a performance and sheets and towels and breakfasts and cups of whatever and entertainment. Now it's wound down and I'm so very glad to get my life back. Today was my very first day of getting to choose exactly what I want to do, hence this post.

I'm a little rattled by a locum doctor who saw me yesterday and was very thorough both in questions and in assessment of my health. However, he validated some anxiety I had about my endurance when walking where my legs would seize up and I have to stop and take a rest. I am so thoroughly sick of hearing "It's all in your head" which is the standard opinion offered to most women when they complain of such "minor" ailments. He took about 1/2 hour to examine me and told me he was setting up a hospital appointment for further tests as it appears the circulation in my legs is not up to snuff and stopping activity when walking was due to oxygen deprivation. I must say that even though I'm worried I also feel relieved as I've had medications switched as my permanent doctor thought it was the meds I was on that caused this leg pain.

So a lot of open windows here. I've started a nightly gratitude list again to keep me in the right frame of mind about life. I do have much to be grateful for.

Up on top of this post I have a postcard, which I framed, of Venice, where Grandgirl was recently. At 21 I was there too. She's now 21 and fell in love with the palette of Venice, the subdued and enchanting colours, as I did. Life is full circle.

Exits

I'm trying to think of happy deaths. You know, death surrounded by loved ones, favourite music playing, candles lit, hugged and loved to "the other side" from the peaceful hospice or home.

I can only think of one. One!

We have industrialized death. All the way through to formaldehyding bodies and encasing them in expensive varnished caskets and "laying them to rest" in ridiculous funeral "homes".

(See all the sanitizing language used?)

But it's the pre-death procedures that have me appalled. Final days, hours, minutes in a sterile hospital room or worse, a noisy ward full of strangers. Tubes and drugs and chemical injections. Bruised, battered and bloodied from all the medical procedures and "interventions". Especially, oh especially, when there is no hope. One is terminal. Stop the procedures already. Let me go home, my precious home, or a serene hospice, away from the loudspeakers, the clanking trolleys, the anguish of strangers, the nauseating smell of industrial food permeating the corridors.

Surely, mein gott surely, in this 21st century, a doctor, specialist, surgeon, knows when there's no hope. So why doe she put a terminal patient through surgeries, through chemo, through radiation when there is only a few months of life left? Surely it is all about the quality of that life then, rather than misery and hopelessness and immobility and the body unable to heal from incisions and the patient confined to bed and bedsores (misery piled upon misery)worried as in D****'s case, about the last thing left to her, her brain, abandoning her too? Or in H****'s case, her face turned to the wall in despair and loneliness and indignity?

Have we commercialized medicine to this huge degree? There's so much money to be maid from death and dying that Big Pharma and their poodles have to pick the very bones of these tragic potential corpses and leave them with absolutely nothing?

Surely when the lights are turned out for the final time, the leave-taking has to be better than this horrific travesty of compassion and "care".

PS sorry to be so graphic but truth is rarely pleasant and what I have witnessed in the last 20 years freezes my heart and I weep anew for my deceased loved ones.

Shifting Sands

Something has shifted. Don't know what, how, where or when. It could be the weather. It could be taking myself off some pills which were doing me in with constant coughing (with an 8 week afterlife, good gawd Big Pharma, you're killing us!). Still coughing 3 weeks later. Nighttime is the worst. But it's not getting me down or anything or making me feel hopeless and sad and you know, that depression thing.

I reported what I'd done to my doctor yesterday and we shifted meds again. Doctors are awfully disappointed when meds and patients don't play well together. Especially when it's a now a couple of meds that don't agree with me at all. I felt his disapproval. A personal failure on my part. Sorry doc.

I actually look forward to a doc visit. Not for the doc. It's the waiting room and next door pharmacy which are like social clubs. I meet neighbours and chat and get caught up and the doc or the pharmacist become almost incidental. I was pleased when a stranger (to me) walked in and looked at me and said "Oh, you're ____'s mother!" And I said "How do you know?" and she said "Oh, you're so alike!" Daughter was the head off her father for years and years but as she ages my gene pool seems to be taking over.

My crying jags are less frequent, grief takes its own journey, patience is essential along with acceptance and letting it all out somewhere safe like in my counsellor's office.

It is gorgeously beautiful here so I got out and about and took some photos. A camera in my hand makes me happy.

To Do List

(1) Saw the doctor as my own (new)BP machine was scaring the hell out of me. It scared him too. He added another pill to my expanding pharmaceutical shelf. If you knew me well you'd find this absolutely hilarious. I've had a war going with Big Pharma for, like, most of my life. Bellicose was my stance.

(2) I had a wonderful couple of days alone with my beloved Grandgirl. Now she's gone to her mum's and they are spending one-on-one days together and are coming back here on Xmas Day and then Grandgirl leaves on Boxing Day. Far too short a time for this grandmother. But my, at 21 she's such a very interesting person and truly kind and beautiful. I can hardly wait to see her in her future plans which truly encompass the world.

(3) I wrote to the husband of my BFF, a task I had long put off. What to say? But the words came and flowed. I was ready.

(4)Plan Writers' Workshop outlines starting January 4th.

(5)Rehearse the 2 person play, opening sometime in February.

(6)Finish editing the anthology that came out of the last series of workshops.

(7)Knit a bit

(8)Buy a yoga mat

(9)Plan beginning of training for Tely 10 2016. Can I do it? Sez I to Doc. Why not? Sez Doc, but train slowly and work your way towards it.

(10)Defrost turkey.

Mind over Matter

I would consider myself fairly in tune with my body, my emotions, my mind, you know?

Imagine my shock when my doctor adamantly, adamantly disagrees with me.

I thought I was cruising along nicely, yeah, it's been a shyte year, so many losses I can't count them at the moment.

And yeah, I feel on the edge a lot of the time. The edge of what I couldn't tell you. Disaster I suppose. Another awful thing maybe looming around the corner ready to grab me by the throat.

And Doctor tells me my health is really, really suffering. My blood pressure is now worse than before, my blood sugars are all over the place, my body is not happy, my outlook is depressing. And to top it off my eyes are red like I've been on a bender.

Surely to gawd, I say to him, grief couldn't cause all this havoc in my body.

And he laughs at me.

List all the griefs for me, he says, pen poised.

And I do. And I was surprised, the list was so very long.

And he says: death of many major friends, loss of family, loss of emotional connections, a dying dog, a long-time missing daughter - you need grief therapy. Stat. Meanwhile I'll up your meds again, but this is it. There's no more up, we ran out of ups today.

I've obviously lost the run of myself.

Let Me Tell You About my Bunion.

PS I don't have bunions. And the illustration reflects the graphic nature of the medical conditions shared with me.

What is the secret of good conversation? I was really driven to question this today. I know there are certain so-called “rules”. You know, ask questions, listen to the answers, try not to stick your own oar in the waters all the time. Evaluate your responses, be thoughtful. Really hear the other person.

I put this to practice today. We had our monthly book club meet and Elsie, a person I don't know very well, asked me to give her a ride home. We had already engaged a little in the kitchen where we were plattering the lunch. She'd asked me if I were going to Ireland this year and barely waited for my answer before launching into all the (medical) reasons she couldn't go there this year, this being the 10th year in a row she couldn't go there. A blow by blow accounting of 10 years of medical history. And yes it was savage and awful. But hey, behind her now. She survived. Maybe it is just me and maybe I'm being harsh, but lawdy, everyone I meet lately launches into med-speak with me, from their hangnails to their bowel movements, from their meds to their tumours. And their tests, their scans, their MRIs, their ultrasounds. It can get extremely wearying. Especially when the person is standing in front of me, alive, vertical and in motion. And it's all behind them now. It's history.

Maybe I'm lucky with my health and if it fails maybe I will grab you by the lapel or blog-wrestle you to the ground and blister on (and on) about it too. But it is completely boring. It would be completely boring even if you were a beloved family member/friend.

Don't get me wrong. If you are in hospital or need any kind of assistance to get to one of your appointments, hospital tests, anything, I'm there in a heart beat. Lean on me. Or if you are currently ill. One of my friends is and I listen intently to the symptoms and the medical assistance she is getting. I love her. It is important.

But for Dog's sake – leave the history of every health travail in your private journal once you are well again.

And that ride home with Elsie? More about her gall bladder than I would ever need to know - even about my own. This was after she asked one question about what road races were coming up for me and before I even mentioned the first one she launched into the 99 reasons she couldn't do it. All of them medical. All of them historical.

Needy. Yeah, I know. And I don't lack compassion. But shyte, at some point in 60+ years on the planet there should be a smidgen of growth, of self-awareness, of interest in others. Especially if you've shown a curiosity in the greater world by joining a book-club?

Time Warp

I've had a few health issues in the last wee while. Minor, I should hasten to add.

It was time to find a local doctor.

I asked my friends and had various recommendations – but some of their doctors were full to the maximum and I've always had to feel that personal 'click' with a doctor. Simpatico, empathy, humanity, compassion, you name it.

About five summers ago I had taken a neighbour child to her family doctor when she fell ill and her grandparents had gone to town leaving her in my care.

I was blown away by this doctor and asked at the time, if he could take me on. He regretfully told me he didn't have room for an additional patient.

In the last few months I've had several calls from his wife who was on the same page of protest and activism as I was when it came to getting high speed for our area and had read my columns in the paper on this topic.

Yesterday I called her and asked her if I could get in with her husband, the doctor I had liked so much 5 years ago.

No problem at all, you're in, she said. Today was my first appointment.

I was greeted warmly at the door as before and led into this extraordinary light filled clinic overlooking their lavish gardens which has a wooden hand-carved roll-top desk, wooden cabinets, wooden examining table and floor to ceiling medical books.

The doctor and I then proceeded to talk Newfoundland history, motorbikes, the never ending trips one can take in this magical province, archaeology, family history, organic gardening, how you build your own cabin. That took 45 minutes. He then extracted medical history from me and examined me while discussing family diseases and our adult children.

We then surveyed a map of Newfoundland and he pointed out places I should visit where, long before Cris Columbus sailed for America, a whaling station was established in Northern Newfoundland and a dig has discovered the bones of the boats and the whales perfectly preserved in sub-zero temperatures.

My mouth must have been hanging open when he handed me scrips for 2 prescriptions and a requisition for my local clinic to get some blood work on me and a further requisition for a specialist appointment.

“Oh you're surprised at the time I took,” he said. “I do this with everyone. I only see 20 patients a day. I believe in personal service. I am not running a factory. My computer is in the basement where it should be. I simply love my work.”

I pinched myself all the way out to my car.

People: this is a real doctor in a real world. I am still gob-smacked.

REMOTE AREA MEDICAL

This is the most heartbreaking video I have seen in a long, long time. I cried and cried.

I come from a country which honours its citizens' health and welfare. A country whose greatest Canadian, as voted for by its citizens, is the late Tommy Douglas, the founder of Canadian universal health care.

Remote Area Medical, a wonderful volunteer organization, were medically helping people in the remote corners of the Third World but decided that the citizens of the U.S.A. desperately needed its medical care not only for the millions and millions of people without health care but also for those WITH healthcare who cannot afford the deductible or have been denied coverage on the flimsiest of excuses.

I weep because in most countries in the world we take our free medical care for granted and don't realize that in the huge U.S.A. thousands of people are bankrupting and dying and in pain every single day for the lack of it.

For shame!