Hi readers. Thanks for coming by for a read.
I said in my last entry I might post anew if anything different happened and by gollywolly it did. Different as hell, in fact. The Strategic Air Command HQ, Omaha, Nebraska of different.
You might recall my state of mind as being a bit tentative during the period just prior to my taking a break. I had what medico-oriented people might consider sufficient reason to be concerned about ‘suspicious’ whatchallits on my goozle and lungs, considerable intermittent pain, and a ticker that clearly was behaving outside the range of idealistic tickerism. The Strategic Air Command HQ, Omaha, Nebraska, of lousy ticker behavior this side of croaking.
In short, Texas wasn’t working out as the best place to pursue my options in the less-than-optimum mobility direction following anything coming down the pike involving hospitals. Two cats were depending on me being around and able to do everything necessary to provide them with sustenance.
Jeanne stepped in and save my life at precisely the right moment in human history to allow that option. Suggested at a moment when I was able to consider it, me trucking up to Olathe, KS, and checking into the horsepital here through the Emergency Room. Her taking care of the cats while I was inside.
And agreeing to keep them afterward if I croaked during the process. An offer I dasn’t refuse.
So I loaded up Hydrox and Tabby, groaned into the RV the day before the worst storm to hit Texas in a number of years, I’m told. The Strategic Air Command HQ, Omaha, Nebraska, of winter storms.
Drove most of the night and reached the end of my tether in Gainsville, Texas, north of Dallas. Checked into a motel room to croak.
Jeanne sent her two sons down to interfere with the Grim Reaper by driving me on up to Olathe, KS. Shortly after arriving I parachuted into the ER of the Olathe Medical Center for a week or so vacation.
Turned out after they’d done a lot of poking and prodding I’d killed off allbut about 15-20% of my heart back when all this whining and complaining I’d been doing started in November. And my goozle was a thing to behold over in the gastroenterology end of things. That poor old tube had more ugly mess going on inside it than I’d have dared hope. But [after swilling a tea of Burdock, Turkey Rhubarb, Sheep Sorrel and Slippery Elm for a month before the Cat-Scan] not malignant. Nor was the suspicious lung stuff.
Quicker than you could tell it they stuck a magic electric cow-prod under the skin of my chest/shoulder and ran wires from it down into my heart. It’s there to remind my mildly functioning heart muscle that it needs to keep trucking without any drama if it doesn’t want to get struck by lightning, kicked by a mule, as many times as it takes until it decides to behave itself.
For the past couple of weeks I’ve been sleeping in Jeanne’s recliner, wearing a restraining thing so’s I can’t raise my arm above my head, thus protecting the wire running down into my heart from getting yanked out by the roots. Another couple of weeks and that shouldn’t be necessary.
The RV’s in Jeanne’s driveway, Tabby’s finding a new home for herself with Jeanne’s daughter, Julia, and her sons, Michael and Andrew, and Hydrox is here with me trying to become a Kansas cat.
I’m figuring I’ll be here a couple more months, at least. I’m forming a new relationship with the Missouri Veteran Medical Center mainly because I was so impressed with what all they did in Texas to prevent me having to go to a private hospital in Kansas to find out what the hell was going on inside my body.
But hells bells, I’m grateful for all of it. Been finding a lot of reasons why my life’s going to be a better place as a consequence of not having cancer of the goozle, lung cancer, and having a cow prod in my chest in their stead.
I’m thinking, for one thing, I’ve arrived at a place in life where Hydrox can no longer depend on my services. When I leave here most likely he’ll be staying behind with Jeanne.
All in allI’m the Strategic Air Command Headquarters, Omaha, Nebraska, of grateful to be alive and feeling as well as I do. Luckiest man on the planet, any way you cut it. Don’t try this at home, though.