Aw hell @VOW , I swear we’re all doppelgangers here. Up to 11/16, I was a NPR junkie. Had to quit cold turkey because I might hear his voice. I stopped watching TV news because his face might pop up at any moment. And those teary farewells standing at the near end of the Rainbow Bridge: both sweet George and my darling Cookie gone within 6 weeks of each other. I don’t mean to hijack your suffering, but if misery loves company, well there’s quite a bit to go around.
I’m expecting the protests to pick up a lot in the spring. I can’t stand for very long any more, so bought a lightweight camp stool so I can wave my sign with the rest of the Boomers. See you all on the front lines!
Plenty of room in the Suffering Boat. Yes, it’s got a leak, but that hole will also let all this water drain out, right?
The protests should increase astronomically until November. Midterm elections. The TV commercials will have us puking our way to full-blown anorexia by then.
I’m a bit worried about your state of mind that you would think you wouldn’t be welcomed back. You were expecting us to throw rotten tomatoes or call you a two-timing trespasser?
What’s up with that?
Perhaps you’ve gotten too full of the paranoia the news is selling. Nobody here is out to get you. Rather the opposite; we’re here to help.
Less news; more Dope. It’s the antidote to modern times.
I certainly remember you, Vow, and your friendship with Beck. She could have used you last year when someone tried to give her a thrashing in The Pit. But the plucky Arky beat them back with a ham bone.
Gah, Beck went into The Pit? I probably would have kicked her butt for going there!
(What’s up with this whacked out autocorrect? I don’t like arguing with inanimate objects!)
I wasn’t expecting a hosing from Straight Dope. I guess my problem was with self-castigation. Nobody can beat you up better than when you do it yourself.
Yet another episode of our Family Whammy: Mr VOW and I were scheduled for routine check ups with our Primary Care. I got a telephone reminder yesterday about MY appointment. Mr VOW? Oh, his appointment was canceled last November because the doctor was overscheduled. When he just called to find out what in Hell was going on, he was given a new appointment.
We had routine dr visits with our primary care doctor yesterday. My blood pressure is low. No big, right? It’s been on a gradual decline. I reduced my BP med as instructed, and it’s still doing the gradual decline. I lost about twenty pounds almost a year ago, and the pounds have stayed gone. It only takes forever for your body to adjust to a weight loss, and that’s probably what the gradual decline is from. Yay me, right?
I bet the decline in blood pressure is partly the reason why I just can’t get going on anything. I’m surrounded by all the little things I want or need to do, and my response has been, “The Hell with it.” Now that I know why, maybe I can scoop up a bit of emotional momentum.
Our doctor listened to the sad stories of the sprained ankle followed by the swelling and pain of the opposite foot. She didn’t think the swelling and pain were due to infection. My bloodwork shows a increase in uric acid, so her suspicion is that it was probably a gout flare. I have to give up beer and organ meats, which won’t cause great suffering since I consume neither. At all. Ever. Heredity plays a role in developing gout, and my mother took Zyloprim for years.
Gout makes me think of the old Maggie and Jiggs cartoon.
I’ve had my own foot problems this past year. Wore a walking cast for several weeks.
Being off your game is a horrible way to be.
I do as much as I’m able around here. My daughters and Ivy keep cattle prodding me along. I believe my foot break and big toe kerfuffle, at last are behind me.
About Feb.2 I took a header onto my bathroom rug. Nothing broken but my nose certainly felt cracked and the ribs on my left side have been extremely painful. X-rayed, no breaks, lots of tissue damage. Doc said “bruised”. Then I got pluersy. Now that hurt. Luckily short lived.
Of course they were more concerned with why I went down. Nothing definitive.
I go in hospital next week to get the pain pump hockey puck placed in my abdomen. I really really need this pump because my dialysis has become very painful. And it just saps me. I have less and less good days. I believe this pump will help because I won’t have to take massive meds every other day to deal with the pain. The surgeon says this will use way less meds. Tiny amounts.
The rib thing has set me back. Crossed fingers I don’t have any “accidents” before the surgery.
Old is old. I could deal. Old and sick and injured is for the birds.
My mantra these days is either “Getting old hurts,” or “Getting old sucks.”
I was doing pills (filling pill caddies for Mr VOW and me) and I needed to get up to get something. I didn’t rise fast enough, and the idiot office chair with demented rollers decided to scoot back to get out of my way. My balance left the building, and I fell down on my butt.
And couldn’t get up again.
I have very very bad knees, and I cannot bear ANY weight on them. My arms are as useless as a T-Rex’s arms. Admit it, you’d never see a T-Rex being able to pull himself upright with his arms if he fell down!
Bottom line: The Daughter had to call the paramedics to pick up her mother off the floor. Once I was upright, one of the paramedics asked me if I hurt anywhere.
