Last week, a snowicane, (I never heard of it, either), was predicted. A really big snow storm accompanied by high winds. In my day, this was called a blizzard. But then, I'm an old fogey. Some young upstart believes that newer is better. Since I've survived a few Honest-to-God blizzards in my day, I say, "Let's see what you've got".
I listened intently when my youngest son called to invite me to pack a few things and come to his house to spend the storm with his family. I politely declined, opting to spend the time at my home, where I have plenty of food, medication, and good neighbors who see to my shoveling.
Watched as much as I could stand of the news reports of panicked citizens storming the grocery stores to stock up on bread, milk and eggs. Me? If I'm going to head out to stock up on anything, it will be brownies and wine. But I digress. A routine interview will be with the snowplow driver/salt truck operator who informs us that the trucks will be running 'round the clock, and you can just hear the "ka-ching" sounding in his head as he speaks sadly about the time he'll spend away from his family.
"Stay off the roads and let the plows do their job".
"The Governor has closed the interstates".
"Here's a shot of the Turnpike, showing traffic moving well in the one open lane".
It doesn't really matter how much snow is predicted, the news reports will always be the same. PEOPLE! PLEASE! Snow should not be the lead story. This is Winter. This is the Northeast. It will snow. These are all facts. Let's face them and move on.
If I'm looking out my window at a frigid white landscape, I'd rather not watch more of it on my TV. How about dragging out the shots of the kids diving into the local pool in mid-July? Or the folks enjoying the rides and the food concessions at an amusement park? Can you find the interview you did with The Good Humor Man as he made his rounds on the hottest day of the year?
Do you think you can be a little innovative? Go ahead and shoot the shot of the mounds of snow the plow guy piled up. And the snow-covered interstates. And the frosted tree branches. Put 'em in the archives. I'd enjoy looking at them when the temperature hits 97F. in August.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Tiger, Tiger, Burning Bright...
Sorry? Really? For what? Getting caught?
Did your advisors tell you to invoke Mother, Wife, Children, Buddhism in your apology? Oh, yes, and The Game?
You took the counsel your Father lavished on you in his efforts to make you a man and you sullied his memory. You disrespected your family. You made a mockery of your talent. Turned your back on your religious upbringing. Slapped your fans four-square in the face.
But don't you worry about The Game. The Game will be fine. Jones, Palmer, Nicklaus, Trevino, Lema, Singh, Els, etc., etc.
Did your advisors tell you to invoke Mother, Wife, Children, Buddhism in your apology? Oh, yes, and The Game?
You took the counsel your Father lavished on you in his efforts to make you a man and you sullied his memory. You disrespected your family. You made a mockery of your talent. Turned your back on your religious upbringing. Slapped your fans four-square in the face.
But don't you worry about The Game. The Game will be fine. Jones, Palmer, Nicklaus, Trevino, Lema, Singh, Els, etc., etc.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
The Perils of Pauline
I always tell myself that getting sick is not an option. Apparently, I don't listen to myself when I talk. Now, mind you, that is not to say I'm sick. Exactly. That's still in the discovery phase. But when two doctors and three nurses are concerned that I might be sick, I pretty much tell myself that I must be, and of course, then I listen.
Yesterday, I was supposed to prepare myself for my annual colonoscopy. When one day a doctor says you have cancer in there, and takes the tumor and part of said colon out of you, they make you let them look around in there every year to make sure the invader hasn't returned.
All in all, it isn't really that unpleasant. Before the first time you have a colonoscopy, the anticipation is really rough, because you don't know exactly what's going to happen. Well, wait. You do know, but you don't know how you're going to feel about it. You just figure it isn't going to be good. Let me hasten to assure you, (and convince you that you really should see about getting one the minute your doctor says you should), it really isn't as bad as you assume it will be. Trust me.
A nice nurse will help you into a gown, start an IV, a nice anesthesiologist will give you some drift away medicine in the said IV, and off you go. When next you open your eyes, it's all over. Lacking any discomfort in the rear echelon, you'll actually find yourself wondering if they somehow decided not to do the test. Because nothing hurts, or is uncomfortable. When they're sure you're awake and functioning, they'll let you get dressed and go home, where you'll just hang out, eat and watch TV for the rest of the day.
Now as to the prep, that's somewhat more unpleasant. You have to spend an entire day subsisting on a clear liquid diet. Their interpretation of clear liquid does NOT include milk, ice cream, yogurt or anything red. You may have Jell-o as long as it isn't red. You may have bullion, chicken or beef. You may have freeze pops (not red). Coffee or tea but no milk therein. You may have as much of this stuff as you like. Just about the time you are lulled into a sense of security, believing this is a snap, you'll get down to business. You'll take a couple of laxative tablets. (Snap!) Haha. A couple of hours later, we get down to the real business. GatorAde (except red) mixed with 238 gms. of Miralax. Snap, you say? That's 64 oz. of GatorAde, sport. Two quarts. A half gallon. And you are expected to finish it in under two hours.
Plan on spending most of the rest of your evening in the bathroom. Take a book. Take a puzzle. Take the phone. Take a drink. You'll be there a while. Until you're completely empty. By the time you're empty, you'll be going to bed.
The next morning, you'll go to the appointed place, coffee-less and breakfast-less, have your scope, and come home. God willing, the results will be negative. And you'll only have to go every five years if you have no history.
But I have a history. So, yesterday, I prepared to have my annual look-see. And all was going well in the Jell-o, bullion, coffee department. Until about 2PM when a headache set in. (From hunger, I assume) 3PM I take the two laxative tabs. 6PM it's time for the Big Gulp. The phone rings. I have a brief conversation during which I simply cannot find the words I need to say. I AM saying words, but they aren't the ones I want. After about a minute and a half, I say goodbye in a confused babble and go back to my guzzling. Two glasses in and I'm nauseated. And here it comes back up. Figuring I'll feel better now, I try for another glass. And here it comes back up. Again. Call the Doctor. Tell my story. Am advised to call in the morning and cancel the procedure and the next time, they'll try a different prep.
In the morning, the nurse is concerned that there is something more going on than a little puke-fest and insists I see my PCP. Today. She even has the scoping doc call my PCP to tell him he needs to see me today.
Needless to say, everyone is treating this whole episode, (the-not-being-able-to-
form-words episode, which is called expressive aphasia), as something very serious.
So the PCP tells me that it may be something as innocuous as hunger, low blood sugar, stress, or discontinuing my daily aspirin for five days in preparation for the scope. Or, it could be a stroke evolving, a clot, an abdominal aneurysm, or some other catastrophe waiting to pounce. That means we have to have a few tests to try to determine the cause of my faltering speech. I am instructed that should this event occur again, I am to take an aspirin, call 911, and jump in the ambulance that will take me to the ER. This is apparently not a trifling matter.
Today, I went for an echocardiogram, a carotid duplex, a Holter monitor, (which I will wear for 24 hours and dutifully record any untoward "events" that take place before I return it tomorrow). Then on Monday, I will have an MRI and on Tuesday, I will have an MRA, both of which could be done at the same time but my insurance company will not pay for both of them if they are both done at the same time, so they have to separate them even thought the insurance company KNOWS that the doctor will order both at once. What a dodge!!
They could just tie me to the railroad tracks and wait for a long freight train.
Yesterday, I was supposed to prepare myself for my annual colonoscopy. When one day a doctor says you have cancer in there, and takes the tumor and part of said colon out of you, they make you let them look around in there every year to make sure the invader hasn't returned.
All in all, it isn't really that unpleasant. Before the first time you have a colonoscopy, the anticipation is really rough, because you don't know exactly what's going to happen. Well, wait. You do know, but you don't know how you're going to feel about it. You just figure it isn't going to be good. Let me hasten to assure you, (and convince you that you really should see about getting one the minute your doctor says you should), it really isn't as bad as you assume it will be. Trust me.
A nice nurse will help you into a gown, start an IV, a nice anesthesiologist will give you some drift away medicine in the said IV, and off you go. When next you open your eyes, it's all over. Lacking any discomfort in the rear echelon, you'll actually find yourself wondering if they somehow decided not to do the test. Because nothing hurts, or is uncomfortable. When they're sure you're awake and functioning, they'll let you get dressed and go home, where you'll just hang out, eat and watch TV for the rest of the day.
Now as to the prep, that's somewhat more unpleasant. You have to spend an entire day subsisting on a clear liquid diet. Their interpretation of clear liquid does NOT include milk, ice cream, yogurt or anything red. You may have Jell-o as long as it isn't red. You may have bullion, chicken or beef. You may have freeze pops (not red). Coffee or tea but no milk therein. You may have as much of this stuff as you like. Just about the time you are lulled into a sense of security, believing this is a snap, you'll get down to business. You'll take a couple of laxative tablets. (Snap!) Haha. A couple of hours later, we get down to the real business. GatorAde (except red) mixed with 238 gms. of Miralax. Snap, you say? That's 64 oz. of GatorAde, sport. Two quarts. A half gallon. And you are expected to finish it in under two hours.
Plan on spending most of the rest of your evening in the bathroom. Take a book. Take a puzzle. Take the phone. Take a drink. You'll be there a while. Until you're completely empty. By the time you're empty, you'll be going to bed.
The next morning, you'll go to the appointed place, coffee-less and breakfast-less, have your scope, and come home. God willing, the results will be negative. And you'll only have to go every five years if you have no history.
But I have a history. So, yesterday, I prepared to have my annual look-see. And all was going well in the Jell-o, bullion, coffee department. Until about 2PM when a headache set in. (From hunger, I assume) 3PM I take the two laxative tabs. 6PM it's time for the Big Gulp. The phone rings. I have a brief conversation during which I simply cannot find the words I need to say. I AM saying words, but they aren't the ones I want. After about a minute and a half, I say goodbye in a confused babble and go back to my guzzling. Two glasses in and I'm nauseated. And here it comes back up. Figuring I'll feel better now, I try for another glass. And here it comes back up. Again. Call the Doctor. Tell my story. Am advised to call in the morning and cancel the procedure and the next time, they'll try a different prep.
In the morning, the nurse is concerned that there is something more going on than a little puke-fest and insists I see my PCP. Today. She even has the scoping doc call my PCP to tell him he needs to see me today.
Needless to say, everyone is treating this whole episode, (the-not-being-able-to-
form-words episode, which is called expressive aphasia), as something very serious.
So the PCP tells me that it may be something as innocuous as hunger, low blood sugar, stress, or discontinuing my daily aspirin for five days in preparation for the scope. Or, it could be a stroke evolving, a clot, an abdominal aneurysm, or some other catastrophe waiting to pounce. That means we have to have a few tests to try to determine the cause of my faltering speech. I am instructed that should this event occur again, I am to take an aspirin, call 911, and jump in the ambulance that will take me to the ER. This is apparently not a trifling matter.
Today, I went for an echocardiogram, a carotid duplex, a Holter monitor, (which I will wear for 24 hours and dutifully record any untoward "events" that take place before I return it tomorrow). Then on Monday, I will have an MRI and on Tuesday, I will have an MRA, both of which could be done at the same time but my insurance company will not pay for both of them if they are both done at the same time, so they have to separate them even thought the insurance company KNOWS that the doctor will order both at once. What a dodge!!
They could just tie me to the railroad tracks and wait for a long freight train.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Where've You Been?
I have learned, much to my chagrin, that I'm sometimes empty. And in the world of blogging, that's apparently not a good thing. Not, that is, according to the prolific bloggers who manage to blog every. single. day. And so they do their best to make me feel inadequate, unworthy, and incapable by calling attention to the fact that I'm not always here.
First, I'm not always here because I have other things to do. Things that take priority over blogging. Like what, you ask? Like seeing one of my many health care practitioners. Like going for blood work. Like CT scans and colonoscopies. Going to the drug store to pick up prescriptions and refills of same. Now to all you folks who think not blogging every. single. day. makes me ineligible to have a computer, much less a blog, I hope you feel very, very small for judging me in the face of my health issues.
Second, I also have grandchildren who require, nay, love, Grandma's attention. Since said grands don't live with me, I have to get in my car and drive to where they live so that takes me away from my blog on occasion. And the kids don't judge me for not blogging every. single. day.
Third, and finally, the judgemental bloggers who rave on about those among us who fail miserably at the blogging game, the ones who post every. single. day., are more often than not lacking in ideas for a meaningful post and simply put out reams of drivel, pointless and banal blatherings that neither inform or interest, simply to be able to feel superior to the rest of us.
's okay. In the Archives of Life, when the blogs are lined up, The Critic will write, "She was busy beating The Big C." That, mon ami, trumps yours every. single. day.
First, I'm not always here because I have other things to do. Things that take priority over blogging. Like what, you ask? Like seeing one of my many health care practitioners. Like going for blood work. Like CT scans and colonoscopies. Going to the drug store to pick up prescriptions and refills of same. Now to all you folks who think not blogging every. single. day. makes me ineligible to have a computer, much less a blog, I hope you feel very, very small for judging me in the face of my health issues.
Second, I also have grandchildren who require, nay, love, Grandma's attention. Since said grands don't live with me, I have to get in my car and drive to where they live so that takes me away from my blog on occasion. And the kids don't judge me for not blogging every. single. day.
Third, and finally, the judgemental bloggers who rave on about those among us who fail miserably at the blogging game, the ones who post every. single. day., are more often than not lacking in ideas for a meaningful post and simply put out reams of drivel, pointless and banal blatherings that neither inform or interest, simply to be able to feel superior to the rest of us.
's okay. In the Archives of Life, when the blogs are lined up, The Critic will write, "She was busy beating The Big C." That, mon ami, trumps yours every. single. day.
Monday, January 11, 2010
HoHum, I'm Going to Bed
In the category of "Who Cares?", NBC is moving Leno back to late night TV. I'm sure this makes a whole lot of people very happy, not to mention NBC affiliates who were unhappy with the primetime Leno show as lead-in to their 11 PM news. Me? I don't care. As for Conan O'Brien (Conan, who?) I don't care even less, or more, or whatever.
What kind of talent does it take to sit behind a desk, ask a pseudo-celebrity a question, not listen to the answer while silently formulating a response/retort/non-sequitur, being not even mildly amusing in the process?
I haven't watched the Tonight Show since Jack Paar left in '62. Well, not completely accurate. I watched one episode of Johnny Carson when my son phoned me from California that he was at the taping and I should watch. I did, but my son was cut before airing. I never forgave Carson for making me miss an hour and a half of good sleep. Before that, I watched Steve Allen, a true Renaissance man, as he hosted the show during my teen years, back in '53ish. He had a wonderful cast of characters and gave them a spot to perform in true variety-show fashion, without interjecting his own personality into their spot(s).
Jack Paar. What can one say about this man that isn't noteworthy? He had a knack for making you come back tomorrow, just to see what he'd got into overnight. He'd make you laugh. He'd make himself cry. He could be serious without being dry. He interviewed Fidel Castro, and engendered controversy. He went to Berlin when The Wall went up, and engendered controversy. He quit the show on-air in a fit of pique over a joke of his being cut. And with the thanks of a grateful insomniac nation, he returned several weeks later without missing a beat.
Opening line on the night of his return? "As I was saying..." Ya gotta laugh.
Jack surrounded himself with a stable of zanies the like of which has not been seen since. Peggy Cass, Dody Goodman, Cliff Arquette in his Charley Weaver persona, raconteur Alexander King, Jonathon Winters, Phyllis Diller, Genevieve, comic/author Jack Douglas, Oscar Levant. People who knew the value of intelligent conversation.
His writers included Dick Cavett, George Carlin and Garry Marshall. People who made it worth sacrificing REM sleep. And every night, he said hello to Mrs. Miller. An elderly fan who arrived every night early enough to be one of the first in line for entry to the auditorium. When it was brought to Jack's attention that she was there every night, he made sure she was never turned away, and by default, she also became one of his "regulars". A lonely soul who had her fifteen minutes, if only because Jack said,"hello".
I suppose the pretenders who followed Paar led up to the generation that thinks texting is civilized discourse. Because after all, why listen to someone else talk when u can b talking urself?
What kind of talent does it take to sit behind a desk, ask a pseudo-celebrity a question, not listen to the answer while silently formulating a response/retort/non-sequitur, being not even mildly amusing in the process?
I haven't watched the Tonight Show since Jack Paar left in '62. Well, not completely accurate. I watched one episode of Johnny Carson when my son phoned me from California that he was at the taping and I should watch. I did, but my son was cut before airing. I never forgave Carson for making me miss an hour and a half of good sleep. Before that, I watched Steve Allen, a true Renaissance man, as he hosted the show during my teen years, back in '53ish. He had a wonderful cast of characters and gave them a spot to perform in true variety-show fashion, without interjecting his own personality into their spot(s).
Jack Paar. What can one say about this man that isn't noteworthy? He had a knack for making you come back tomorrow, just to see what he'd got into overnight. He'd make you laugh. He'd make himself cry. He could be serious without being dry. He interviewed Fidel Castro, and engendered controversy. He went to Berlin when The Wall went up, and engendered controversy. He quit the show on-air in a fit of pique over a joke of his being cut. And with the thanks of a grateful insomniac nation, he returned several weeks later without missing a beat.
Opening line on the night of his return? "As I was saying..." Ya gotta laugh.
Jack surrounded himself with a stable of zanies the like of which has not been seen since. Peggy Cass, Dody Goodman, Cliff Arquette in his Charley Weaver persona, raconteur Alexander King, Jonathon Winters, Phyllis Diller, Genevieve, comic/author Jack Douglas, Oscar Levant. People who knew the value of intelligent conversation.
His writers included Dick Cavett, George Carlin and Garry Marshall. People who made it worth sacrificing REM sleep. And every night, he said hello to Mrs. Miller. An elderly fan who arrived every night early enough to be one of the first in line for entry to the auditorium. When it was brought to Jack's attention that she was there every night, he made sure she was never turned away, and by default, she also became one of his "regulars". A lonely soul who had her fifteen minutes, if only because Jack said,"hello".
I suppose the pretenders who followed Paar led up to the generation that thinks texting is civilized discourse. Because after all, why listen to someone else talk when u can b talking urself?
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Things That Warm Your Cockles...
We've been in this extended cold spell, along with most of North America, for far too long. The thermostat clicks every 10 to 12 minutes, signaling the kicking-on of the furnace, which signals the whirling-dervishing of the gas meter, and I'm going to need a good stiff drink before I open the next gas bill. But this is, after all, northeastern Pennsylvania in January. Can't ask for a heat wave.
Want a temporary warm-up? A cup of cocoa with melted mini-marshmallows floating on the top. Real cocoa, not the powder in a packet kind.
Or cinnamon toast made the way my great-aunt Pru used to make it. Toast the bread, spread liberally with butter and sprinkle with cinnamon-sugar, and a few minutes in the warm oven, (there's an additional warm-up). Slice it in three slender strips and savor. Once again, however briefly, I'm a six-year-old with a cold, and Auntie, childless herself, knew how to comfort her nieces and nephews.
How about this for a warm-up? Chicken noodle soup - not that stuff in the red and white can - but the real thing, simmering on the stove, while a pan of brownies bakes in the oven.
Don't you love the way the windows get all steamy and the drippage runs down the pane when you go on that Geeze-it's-freezin' cooking spree? Sure, you do. Go on that cooking spree, I mean. I can't be the only one.
Maybe you like the way it feels to put on a sweatshirt straight out of the dryer. Or socks.
If you have a fireplace, (I don't), you could toast your tootsies while you snuggle up with the Times' Sunday crossword. Wrapped in a cozy afghan. And maybe nodding off for 20 minutes or so.
Me? I got the warm-up of all time last night. Looked after my two youngest grandchildren for a couple of hours. We played a game, and we had ice cream with chocolate sauce and sprinkles. And then a bubble bath, which is their very favorite thing. As I was putting on my shoes to leave, the eight-year-old hugged me and said, "We're really lucky girls, Grandma. Know why? Because we have you for a Grandma."
If that doesn't warm the cockles of your heart right through February, maybe you better get started on that chicken soup.
Want a temporary warm-up? A cup of cocoa with melted mini-marshmallows floating on the top. Real cocoa, not the powder in a packet kind.
Or cinnamon toast made the way my great-aunt Pru used to make it. Toast the bread, spread liberally with butter and sprinkle with cinnamon-sugar, and a few minutes in the warm oven, (there's an additional warm-up). Slice it in three slender strips and savor. Once again, however briefly, I'm a six-year-old with a cold, and Auntie, childless herself, knew how to comfort her nieces and nephews.
How about this for a warm-up? Chicken noodle soup - not that stuff in the red and white can - but the real thing, simmering on the stove, while a pan of brownies bakes in the oven.
Don't you love the way the windows get all steamy and the drippage runs down the pane when you go on that Geeze-it's-freezin' cooking spree? Sure, you do. Go on that cooking spree, I mean. I can't be the only one.
Maybe you like the way it feels to put on a sweatshirt straight out of the dryer. Or socks.
If you have a fireplace, (I don't), you could toast your tootsies while you snuggle up with the Times' Sunday crossword. Wrapped in a cozy afghan. And maybe nodding off for 20 minutes or so.
Me? I got the warm-up of all time last night. Looked after my two youngest grandchildren for a couple of hours. We played a game, and we had ice cream with chocolate sauce and sprinkles. And then a bubble bath, which is their very favorite thing. As I was putting on my shoes to leave, the eight-year-old hugged me and said, "We're really lucky girls, Grandma. Know why? Because we have you for a Grandma."
If that doesn't warm the cockles of your heart right through February, maybe you better get started on that chicken soup.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
A New Day
Christmas has come and gone, New Year's Eve and Day - come and gone. And I'm still here. Amazing. Last year this time, nobody was optimistic about that.
Last year this time, I was lying in the hospital with blood flowing into my arm. Remember I told you how cold the incoming blood is and how your arm gets really cold and then you need blankets? Yeah, that. This is the anniversary I celebrate today.
A night in the ER best forgotten, but burned into the brain...BP, temp, the usual questions, blood drawn, IV inserted, a digital exam, two bottles of contrast to drink, n/g tube insertion (and thankfully removed!), a CT scan. I'm sure I forgot something. Actually, I forgot a lot of things.
My son, who was with me the whole time, told me some of the incidents that transpired but that I don't remember. I've tried, believe me, until my head hurts, but nothing he told me returns. I'm sure it's because I don't want to remember anything else about that night. Anyway, there was enough horror to come that I do remember.
For the next two weeks, I was treated to ekg's, blood work, 19 IV insertions, (because they kept blowing out due to poor veins), colonoscopy, cancer diagnosis, surgery, echocardiogram, clear liquid diet for almost the entire time, six roommate changes, and an infection in my incision which required re-opening and irrigating and packing. I'm sure I forgot something.
So, celebrate, while it may not seem to be the appropriate description, is what I'm doing today. Because I'm not in the ER, or the general population, or in the OR. Celebrating because I'm home without roommate(s), and eating whatever the hell I want, which does not include Jell-o.
Last year this time, I was lying in the hospital with blood flowing into my arm. Remember I told you how cold the incoming blood is and how your arm gets really cold and then you need blankets? Yeah, that. This is the anniversary I celebrate today.
A night in the ER best forgotten, but burned into the brain...BP, temp, the usual questions, blood drawn, IV inserted, a digital exam, two bottles of contrast to drink, n/g tube insertion (and thankfully removed!), a CT scan. I'm sure I forgot something. Actually, I forgot a lot of things.
My son, who was with me the whole time, told me some of the incidents that transpired but that I don't remember. I've tried, believe me, until my head hurts, but nothing he told me returns. I'm sure it's because I don't want to remember anything else about that night. Anyway, there was enough horror to come that I do remember.
For the next two weeks, I was treated to ekg's, blood work, 19 IV insertions, (because they kept blowing out due to poor veins), colonoscopy, cancer diagnosis, surgery, echocardiogram, clear liquid diet for almost the entire time, six roommate changes, and an infection in my incision which required re-opening and irrigating and packing. I'm sure I forgot something.
So, celebrate, while it may not seem to be the appropriate description, is what I'm doing today. Because I'm not in the ER, or the general population, or in the OR. Celebrating because I'm home without roommate(s), and eating whatever the hell I want, which does not include Jell-o.
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