Christmas Miracle

Christmas wishes do come true. Despite the Shingles and all that goes with that particular malady, I can say that life is good. The sporadic back and leg pains as well as a dull headache still plague me. Who knew that my headache was one of the symptoms?

The last two years have been trying as my Dad battles cancer. Watching him shrink before my eyes has been the most emotionally painful thing I have ever experienced. Not watching was not an option. I have treasured every single moment I got to spend with him.

When the oncologist pronounced that there was nothing left to be done, that the cancer had won, we all took turns crying on the porch. He had struggled through the chemo all summer as weak as could be. Needing more help than he wanted to admit. My Daddy has always been the care GIVER and was not ready to be taken care of. There were times when I knew he was in pain. He would never say so, unless the pain became more than he could bear. The scowl on his face told me so, though. His need to go take a nap was his way of escaping all those caring eyes.

Hospice moved in and the chemo was discontinued. As the chemo left his body we would notice small improvements in his daily life. Still using a walker, he seemed to be able to stand longer and walk a little further. His hand tremors disappeared and he became more interested in his surroundings. When I left to come back home the second week in December, I was cautiously optimistic because he was feeling so much better.

My plans were to come home for my wedding anniversary and Christmas, then plan my next visit. And you know what they say about best laid plans. I knew I didn't feel good when I left and that my back and leg were hurting, but figured it was the long hours driving. Little did I know that I would end up being confined for nearly 3 weeks.

I remained worried about my Dad for the last month. Christmas came and went and all I wanted was for my Daddy to feel good again. I prayed for him daily. I researched every cancer site I could find on-line and none of them offered much hope for him. All I asked for was that he would not be in pain, and that his quality of life would improve.

I called him a couple of days before the New Year and got no answer, left a message. Didn't give it much thought. He was still mobile and plenty of step family lives close by to help. Called again on New Year's Eve. No answer in the morning, or again in the afternoon. I was worried. I decided to wait until 5:00 and went on with my daily routine of sitting in front of the TV until pain decided to stab at me and cause me to pace until it subsided.

During a rotation through the kitchen the phone rang. I knew it had to be either Mama or Daddy calling me back. I resisted the urge to demand to know where they had been. Mama sounded happy and that is how I always know how my Dad's day is going.

They had been to the doctor's office and shopping, then out to eat!. My Dad was so excited to tell me he had not even had a nap! He went on to talk about how good the fried catfish was and that his sense of taste had come back, He reported a weight gain of 19 lbs. and his "heart" doctor likes his blood pressure.

It is a Christmas Miracle! I am over he moon with happiness that my Daddy is feeling so good. Not sure what it means as far as the cancer goes, but just to hear him feeling so good means the world to me!

Water, The Aftermath

I would post pictures, but for a couple of problems. Blogger refuses my attempts ..... and I didn't take any.

You will recall that when last we met I was longing for a hot shower. It was my one and only Christmas wish. I did get one on Christmas Eve. But, getting to that shower is the real story.

I gave you an account of the pipe bursting and water shooting into the kitchen, didn't I? Well that happened several more times. The configuration of the pipes that supply water to our living quarters, as well as the entire park are all inside, not 20 feet from my kitchen. There is no door separating this area. We need the heat from the building to keep the pipes warm.

The pipe delivering the water from the holding tank to the mouse trap assembly that disperses the water to the park, to the building, and everywhere is at waist height and it was right above this that the weak point was, so that when the pipe ruptured it shot straight into the kitchen. I wasn't too happy about all the water on the floor the first time, but took it in stride. A good rinse for the floor and not the end of the world ....... until it happened again and then again.

Finally the "plumber" gave up and we went to bed. The next day he was off to purchase more "parts" and I sat in my own sweat and waited. A neighbor learned of my dilemma and brought a 6 gallon jug of water. I used it to flush the toilet and heated it up to wash the dishes and prepare supper. I was resigned that a shower would not be forthcoming and washed my face (in cold water) and brushed my teeth. I was all settled in front of the TV in my pj's when I was told to go get my shower!!!

I was so happy. The pipes shuddered and spit water at me until things leveled out and I luxuriated in soap and water. I went straight to bed my skin still warm and snuggled down with my dogs. Before the plumber got his shower the pipe connection failed yet again.

The saga continued on Christmas Day and was finally resolved the day after. Since then we have been plagued with all the problems that come after the pump has been shut down. The sediment has collected in the pipes and I have had to take the diffuser off the kitchen sink. The shower is still spitting and sputtering and now the toilet refuses to  fill the tank. My "plumber " is putting new parts in the toilet as we "speak".

I awoke with one goal in mind today and that was to clean up the laundry/pump room. The aftermath of the floods is still there. Everything still wet. Plastic bins holding various plumbing and electrical parts were still holding water. Everything got wet. 

So, I spent the entire morning sifting through all the stuff that fell to the floor in the flood and all the containers with water in them. Not to mention the packaging of every part involved in the repair that was either on the floor (wet) or on any available surface. All clean, almost organized again. Makes me feel so much better .....

Mentally, that is. I worked up a good sweat and as the sweat rolled down and trickled across my initial outbreak, it burned like acid. The nasty looking scabs are drying. One would think that was good, that the healing process had begun. One would think that the pain would be abating with this drying. One would be wrong.

I am happy to have running water again, I am happy to have scabs instead of blisters, I am happy to have one area clean again ...... and I am happy that this year is coming to an end. Next year will be better!

I'm Dreaming Of A Hot Shower ......

My great powers of observation are still intact. While heating a cup of yesterday's coffee, I stopped the process with 7 seconds left. This made the handle of the mug be on the wrong side! One minute and thirty seconds will leave the mug handle in the correct position. Important information.

So, why was I re-heating yesterday's brew? Because I have no water. What? How can that be? The weather is mild and no pipes are frozen. My own fault, I suppose. It is that pesky power of observation I have.

I noticed that the pump was coming on and off every minute or so. This is usually an indication that we have water leaking (gushing) somewhere in the park. Sometimes you just need to flip the big switch to the pump and leave it off for a bit, then flip it back on ...... like resetting the modem for the internet. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't.

I did the flip switch and went on to do a load of laundry. I stacked the dishes from the previous evening and readied them for a bath, as is my habit for an early morning hot water treatment to my aching hand joints. I was offered a dishwasher, but was loathe to part with cabinet space and I don't mind the dish washing for the two of us ....

Before I washed the dishes I was distracted by the need to finish an item in my sewing room. I transferred the clean load of laundry to the dryer and put another load in the washer and decided to sit down and have a third cup of coffee and peruse my lap top. That is when He Who Tows came home and I reported the pump issue. He checked all the sites in the park and found no leaks.

This when he decided to dicker with it. He did something with the compressor in the water shed outside where the holding tank for the well is housed. He would come in and flip the switch off and on, totally confusing the washing machine. I did suggest that he wait until the machine was done and decided to leave the dishes and retreat to my chair in front of the TV with my cooling cup of coffee, made form my stash of coffee beans my son gave me. Coffee to be savored, not gulped!

The dishes still sat unattended. The washer was finally allowed to complete the cycle and He Who Plumbs made a trip to the hardware store to obtain plumbing supplies. No water. Says he will have it fixed quickly upon his return. I really wanted a hot shower, but decided it could wait until he returned. I escaped to my sewing room, half a Vicodin on board.

I plundered and played and managed to accomplish very little, as I was longing for a shower. He Who fancies himself to be a plumber returned and decided to re-route something or other to main intake of the water supply to the entire park. This contraption already resembles the Mouse Trap game. PVC and other materials bearing metal clamps and such. These metal clamped parts have been known to fail in the past ....

I kept checking on his progress as the day progressed. I still had high hopes for that shower and the dishes still sat, as well as the fact that I needed water to prepare a meal. It was starting to turn dark. I went to the freezer and filled a glass with ice and that's when I saw water shooting into the kitchen from the Mouse Trap game.

Toni Louise and Wall-E were caught in the gush. I yelled at Wall-E to "RUN" as he slinked to his belly and crawled along the wet floor like he was in a race through an obstacle course. Toni Louise stood directly in the path of the water and tried to drink it. I peeked around to see He Who was the cause, flipping the breaker. It was amusing, if you could get past the fact that my kitchen floor was flooded and I STILL HAD NO WATER TO SHOWER!!!!

I threw together a pot of chili, adding to the stack of dirty dishes and we ate a frill free dinner of sorts. It was after 6:00 and I, still un-showered, was not in the best of moods. He Who plumbs announced a trip to Home Depot for more plumbing supplies and I settled in for the evening with canines in my lap. This is the time of day when all maladies seem to be at their peak. I dutifully swallowed my last dose of anti-viral meds and took the other half of my Vicodin along with some extra-strength Tylenol.

I was miserable and could not stop longing for hot water therapy. The plumber came in with his PVC stash around 8:30 and announced that he had a two call and would be back "soon" to remedy the water situation. I went to bed at 9:30. I confess that I did the Molly Shannon thing and put my fingers in my armpits and sniffed them ...... I really wanted a shower.

I must have dozed off nestled in my bed with four dogs and a fat cat on my feet. I tip-toed out to check on the water works and saw my hero hard at work, the smell of pipe glue filled the air and I watched for a bit as he sanded a piece of PVC. I tip-toed back through the still wet kitchen floor, noting that it was after mid-night.

I don't know what time my plumber came to bed. He was trying to be extra quiet. Despite the fact that I had no shower, I still had his side of the bed warmer on so that his sheets would be toasty warm for him. I figured he showered before falling bed.

I was wrong. The big gap of connecting pipes alerted me to the fact that water does not flow. The dishes still sit and I could fry eggs with the grease in my hair. The toilet does not flush. Thank goodness I have leftover coffee in the carafe or things could get really ugly here in the land of no running water.

Maybe Santa will bring running water?

I Could Be A Spokes-Person For The Shingls Vaccine

I have been sending photos of my Shingles rash to my kids as it progresses. I like to share my pain. Unfortunately (or, maybe fortunately) Blogger is not cooperating with downloading today. I started with the day I was diagnosed. It was red and angry.

Started out looking like a bug bites. I wondered about fleas at first. Those little "bites" grew to very angry sores about the size of a pencil eraser with all the tissue around the patch very red. It was hot to the touch and the lightest touch would shoot pain through my body.

The sores progressed into bigger misshapen pustules. Looked like islands on a red sea. Still very painful. Flannel pants and sweat pants became (and still are) my wardrobe.

I just swallowed my last dose of anti-viral meds. Yesterday I updated the newest photo and sent it to the kids. Because I like to share and I like sympathy. The son responded immediately with soothing words of sympathy and love. His twin sister is much more practical and artistic. She thinks my belly looks like a view of a planet from space with craters in it. The pustules have dried up and the dead skin is started to peel. Baby girl was just concerned about the location of the rash. You know, like my face!

I sent the photos to convince them all to get the vaccination. Today the rash is looking sad. The inflammation around the sores is gone, but the sores are really ugly, dark red to black and I am quite certain they will leave scars. Those scars will remind me to get my own vaccination.

I think the makers of the vaccine should hire me as their spokes-person.

The Ghost of Lawrence Welk

While trolling Craigslist, I dropped the remote and what to my wondering eyes should appear ...... Lawrence Welk. The show, not the man. He must be long dead. He was old when I was a child.

My mother loved this show and forced it upon us with great regularity. This was back in the day when each household had only one TV and few viewing choices. You either endured the show or left the room. Mother would clap along and tell us all how very talented all the singers and dancers were and bubbles would appear behind the band. She loved it.

I stared in fascination as a grown man was dancing with a little girl of about 5. She was decked out in an emerald green triple ruffled dress and ankle socks with lace. I could almost swear that my Mother had cut the child's hair. Short, straight little bowl cut with extremely short bangs. I know the style well, since I wore it on my own head until I was old enough to object.

The little girl heel-toed all around the man as held her hand, then he swooped her up. Looked like he was going to plant her on his shoulders and at the last minute decided to perch her on one shoulder. Unfortunately she landed askew and her much ruffled stiff little dress was above her waist in the back, easy to see as the man twirled around in time to the music. Finally, he lifted her down. The dress, however stayed up. Lawrence Welk would never have let that happen! 

How Do You Spell 40?

When I was bored enough to watch lots of mindless TV, I decided to cut back on my pain meds. I have a pretty high tolerance for pain and thought I could just push through the pain and be able to get some things done.

Wasn't the best idea I ever had. Although the initial outbreak is drying up and the secondary outbreak has stopped in its track, the pain has not. Sleepless nights have followed. One of my problems is that the Vicodin does not make me sleepy. It makes me happy. Happy, while bestowing upon me a false sense of well being. The false sense of well being causes me to want to accomplish things and when I do, I end up in more pain.

A vicious cycle. I read that the pain can last MONTHS, even YEARS. I choose months and I choose only one.

It has been the longest week! We celebrated our 40th wedding anniversary this week. Since I couldn't go anywhere, we had take out. I was experiencing a haze of pain and He Who traveled 46 miles to get two steak dinners was tired. It was just another day. Not really a celebration. Maybe next year? Maybe in ten years.

Even though we had no big celebration, I feel accomplished. Forty years is a long time. And just to show you how Vicodin works in  my head, all I can think about right now is the spelling of the word forty and why it is spelled without a "u". Because "four" is spelled with a "u", so why isn't the spelling "fourty"?

My mind thinks too many thoughts already, I don't need the boost from my pain meds. Causes me to wake in the middle of the night and ponder weird stuff.

Bored, Really Bored

I must be getting better. I am bored. Still very sore and tired of having to sleep "on guard". I do feel almost human today.

Watching too much TV. Watched a show about moving houses today. The episode I happened upon was a house that was to be on the water. It was three stories high and took 2 years to build. They had to moved it across land to get it into the water, then navigate to the slip. Took them under a bridge and through some narrow waterways. At certain turns they would illustrate what could happen should the house become unstable and fall over. I want to blame it on the Vicodin, but I found the parts showing massive destruction to be my favorite ones.

It did occur to me that He Who watches the oddest things on TV would love this show, so I recorded the next 4 episodes for him. I am nothing, if not thoughtful. We watched it together and I think he might have found it a little bizarre that I was enjoying the destructive scenes so much. He would look over at me while I was having fits of laughter as the house being moved was depicted in an illustration showing total devastation.

I am really bored. Really, really bored.