Cabernet and Carboplatin

 The forest descends upon you. I woke up on Sunday with a headache but didn’t thing much about it . Until I went to get up. Dizzy,  light headed, trouble breathing. It did not pass quickly so Jerry called an ambulance. Good thing he did. Turns out I had two clots in my heart. By that evening I was in surgery.  So along with my debulking scar I’ve got one above. Yesterday was hideous. Nonstop nausea and pain. The staff could not be nicer. A far cry from the Trundle Ward. But today I’m feeling a whole lot better. Typing is hard because I have IVs in both hands  (and about a dozen other places)but I’m no longer nauseated and it only hurts when I cough. If things keep improving I was move from ICU to a step down ward tomorrow. You know I’m ready

To anyone else in the restaurant who arrived after we did, the four of us looked like two couples enjoying a wonderful dinner on a Thursday evening. But to Jerry and me, and in reality to Kim and Dave as well, it was so much more. It was the first time Jerry and I had gone out to dinner since returning to Baltimore. Black Olive, our favorite restaurant, has an easy entrance, so Jerry rolled me up to the table, and we did our transfer dance. I sat in a restaurant chair. I wore the dress I had planned to wear in London for our 20th anniversary dinner. I wore earrings. Jerry had washed my hair earlier in the day. I felt special. And normal. My nonexistent foot did not fall asleep or itch. My arms were not painful. For the first time in months, I felt like everyone else. Demitris, the manager, knew what a special occasion it was, and he gifted us with a delicious bottle of champagne. A lovely way to start the evening. Kim was the instigator of the evening, and perhaps she and Dave are

I think I mentioned before that I cried just about every day when I was on the ward at the hospital in London. But those were mostly tears-filled eyes begging for Jerry to get me home. But yesterday was the real thing. The explosion. Sobbing. Ugly crying. The thing is, looking back,I can't even remember what triggered it. But it was likely one of the common themes-- I can't even walk across the room to make a cup of coffee. Jerry has to do everything for me. I spend my day on the couch. And then the thoughts got darker. Well, at least I'm almost 70 so I won't have long to live like this. Imagine if this happened when I was 30! If I had died, Jerry would grieve but then he'd at least have a chance to get on with his life, unencumbered. I knew at that point I better look for help. I called the rehab department, because according to their website, they offer counseling. But I was told I needed a referral, and I don't see the rehab doc for another couple weeks.

As Shannon recommended, staying out of my head definitely keeps my spirits on an even keel, but for some reason, I did not heed that advice Sunday morning. My shoulders were hurting pretty badly, so I decided to go up to the bedroom, apply some heat, and then exercise. Lying there with the heating pad allowed my brain to wander into the world of what ifs. What if I had only hurt my arms, and not my leg-- I'd be mobile and so much more capable. what if I had just lost my leg? I could support weight on my arms and be more independent. This went on throughout my abbreviated exercise period and by the time I was finished I was as low as I had been since I returned home. I lay there for a while but decided the best thing to do was to call Jerry to get me back to the living room. Once settled on the sofa, we talked about my depression. I realize someone in my situation could be depressed a whole lot more than I am, and I had to face it that it kinda comes with the territory. I had so

Today was my first real outpatient physical therapy appointment, and while it had some painful moments, it had one absolutely delightful one. Before the therapist started working on my broken left pinky, she had me dip my hand in hot parrafin. It was spa day for my hand. If only the rest if me could have fit in that tiny tub. Once everything was loosened up, torture began. Bending, twisting, stretching a little finger that did not want to obey. But in time, it will start behaving more like the finger I knew and loved, and I will dutifully continue the exercises. Next was the right arm and shoulder. No hot wax bath, but a few minutes of heat to loosen it up. She had me let my arm go limp and she pulled, she pushed, she prodded. I had to remember to keep breathing. It hurt, but I saw progress. Little movements became bigger. And amazingly, after all the manipulation, I feel pretty good. Another big accomplishment today was hiring a home aide. We got a recommendation from my cousin, an

Today was incredibly full day. At 7:30 am it started with an appointment with the plastic surgeon who looked at my upper leg (I just do not want to call it "stump") to determine what it might need. At this point, there are a couple of troublesome areas, so he gave us some ridiculously expensive sheets of voodoo to help them heal. In a week, I see his physician's assistant and a wound care nurse to see how it is going and decide how to proceed. I left feeling optimistic that we are moving in the right direction. Shortly after we returned home we had a zoom call with the team who helicoptered in to save my life. I learned that I was conscious and responsive when they arrived. I answered a few questions, and Jerry stayed close to me as they began to assess and stabilize me. They said he was a great help in keeping me calm so they could do their work. At some point I did let them know that the pain was unbearable and asked for their help, so at that point, they medicated me

Today was another busy day in the endless saga of getting all of my parts working. But it was a good day. It started with an 8 am appointment with a hand specialist. I got my hand x-rayed, and she decided the two pins in my pinky could come out. Was I afraid to have them yanked out? You bet I was! But the worrying was far worse than the actual removal. I then saw a hand therapist who made me a tiny velcro splint. She gave me a couple of exercises to get started, and then she sent me downstairs to sign up for outpatient hand therapy. The very wise scheduler told me I would likely have a problem with receiving at home and outpatient therapy. Medicare figured if you leave home for one, you can leave home for all of them. So when I saw my occupational therapist this afternoon, I explained our dilemma, so just like that, she discharged me and I will schedule for outpatient. My physical therapist comes tomorrow and I will do the same. In other good and moving forward news, plastic s

Okay, maybe two forward and one back, but the one back is a biggie. I saw the orthopedist today. My arms are on track, which means a couple more weeks of no weight-bearing. I knew this, but hearing it makes it so much harder. But he is pleased with my range of motion and strength. In addition, he got rid of the splint from hell and put a cast on my broken finger. so much more comfy! But the worst news was about what is left of my right leg. It is nowhere ready to even think about a prosthetic, and he thinks I need another skin graft. Damn. So we will make an appointment with the plastic surgeon and get the verdict. In reality, while being able to walk again is the goal, being able to do at least something for myself is more important for now. Once I can use my arms... how many times a day do I say that? Jerry's back has started bothering him and it's no wonder. While my left leg is strong, he still has to initiate lifting. Also, he is just about as homebound as I am. Next