I Refer Everything To My Gynecologist

Its been a long, interesting month for sure. I'm well on the road to getting back to game shape, and the world as they say, might possibly very well be my oyster.

Health-wise, I'm doing much better; my pneumonia is gone, I'm actually able to walk (badly) for short distances, and glorioski - I can even drive my car again. I have to tell you that being somewhat mobile is something that I really took for granted. Seeing as how for the past 3 weeks, the only time I was able to leave my apartment was either to get rushed back to hospital, or have a friend pick me for doctor's appointments, I was really feeling like Jimmy Stewart in Rear Window for a while there.

Weather-wise, it's been crazy. Thursday was a rare (living on the west coast) lightning storm, Friday was a huge blizzard first thing in the morning, Saturday was rain, sleet, then another blast of snow so thick that I could barely see the end of my street,

This was yesterday.

and this is today, and it is nothing but net.

It's so sunny all the snow has melted and we are back to the amazing, west coast spring that I've become accustomed to. The trees are budding on my street, flowers are flowering, and even my own Bloomy has gone & done bloomed again (3rd time in a year - the old slut just doesn't know when to stop - God love her).

News-wise, well being laid up for the better part of a month, I've missed a couple of things for sure:

The Grunion Run came & went in San Diego - one day I would dearly love to check that one out. San Diego is apparently quite lovely, and I could use an excuse to get down there and see all there is to see.

A knuckle-head fishing off a pier in Australia latched on to a 250 KG Bronze Whaler shark, and after catching and killing it described it as "A beautiful fish'' and said "...sharks were much more intelligent than most people realised". He then was going to keep the sharks head as a trophy. Good to see that basic conservation strategies are alive & well. (As is irony, and a complete lack of common sense).

And, there's a guy who was mugged not only gave the kid his wallet, he also gave him his coat, and then took him out to dinner. “If you're willing to risk your freedom for a few dollars, then I guess you must really need the money.” He then talked the kid into giving back his wallet, the knife that was used to rob him, and as an added bonus, gave the kid $20, a good talking too, and a valuable lesson.

Speaking of valuable lessons, last year I was dating a doctor. she's an OBGYN who's biological clock was loudly (and obnoxiously) ringing off the charts. She was 38, single and really, REALLY wanted to settle down and have a baby and do it damned quickly. Obviously I wasn't the guy for her and 2 weeks after dumping my ass in short order, she met the next candidate, and got knocked up shortly thereafter. We did remain friends though, and as I was in between family doctors, she took control of my test results, and was able to get me into the hip specialist, get me at the top of the list for MRI's and CAT scans and such, and basically shepherded me through the process. When it came time for my hip surgery, I had to refer all test results to my Gynecologist. It always brought me a lot of laughs from whatever medical professionals I saw. The reason for all of this is that after the incident with the pulmonary embolisms in my lungs, she told me that that I was literally about a day or so from possibly stroking out or, well, even dying if I hadn't sought treatment when I did. Come to think of it? I SHOULD have knocked her up.

I've been thinking about that one long and hard, and also been waiting for the epiphany that goes along with it. The score so far? Nada. No life changing moments, no dramatic renewal of purpose, just your basic room temperature cheese sandwich.

Now, it's not like I've been living in Darfur, or getting traded to Baghdad or anything, but the other night, my friend Diane came over with a bottle of wine and some schnitzel (How she found a schnitzel place in downtown Vancouver, 4 blocks from my apartment is beyond me), and we got to talking. Diane last summer survived a very scary episode with abdominal cancer. It was touch & go for a while, and well, it was as dreadful and as scary as one could imagine. She's about my age, very attractive with a great husband, and she faced the big enchilada right in the eye and stared it down. So we got to talking about her episode, and possible scenarios, and we attempted to figure it all out. We never figured it out. I suppose that is something that we just have to adapt to, and make the best of what's around.

One of the things that has come out of this whole thing is that with spring well, springing, is that its time to find someone. I mean a real someone. Someone who isn't my plants. I think that would be great to have someone warm and female around to hang out with, to have someone to dial 911 the next time I'm about to stroke out from blood clots in my lungs, or clean me when I'm sick, or if I could go out on a limb? To just be with someone.

I'm going to have to do some thinking about this, and the other vagaries of life, like attending next year's Grunion Run.

Now, at risk of being totally maudlin, I have to say that I love Scrubs. It is smart, clever, and has a ton of heart. The episode "My Philosophy" dealt with a doctor who got attached to a female patient who was waiting for a heart transplant that never happened. He asked her what she thought death was going to be like, and she responded that "I really hope it's like a big Broadway musical. Everyone's all dressed up and singing to the rafters, and you go out with a real flourish." Well she did indeed. It's a song called "Waiting For My Real Life To Begin" by Colin Hay from Men at Work, and I saw this on TV the other night, and I found it touching as all hell.

I'm going leave my apartment and go back to work tomorrow. It's time to keep moving forward, and see what happens.

A Couple Of Days Later

Here's how my last couple of weeks have gone:

Just under 3 weeks ago now, I went in and had my hip replaced. Stayed in hospital for a couple of days, got jacked up on self-serve morphine, and as an added bonus - the guy in the bed next to me (who was about my age) not only did HE have a laryngectomy, his visiting father did to. Without a word of a lie it was like a bad, surreal South Park episode (especially while jacked up on self-serve morphine). Get released from hospital, and a couple of days later, spike a fever of 104 degrees. I called my dear, long-suffering friend Gino to take me into emergency, and after waiting there for 9.5 hours, they ambulanced me back to the original hospital to get leveled off, and they released me a couple of days later.

A couple of days later, I then came down with something that was like a rabid flu. Call Doctor, says it isn't surgically related, and "I probably just got unlucky, as there is a flu bug going around, so just take some over the counter meds, gut it out, and you should be fine in a couple of days". A couple of days later, the flu has gotten much, much worse, I was alternately spiking fevers and chills and, as an added bonus, I contracted what could quite possibly have been the world's worst case of Diarrhea. Too much information? Possibly, but the reason for telling you this, is you haven't lived until you've had such an affliction with a brand new hip, while immobile, while drugged up the wazoo, while sick as a dog. If you've ever about as mobile as I don't know - a monolith? Then trying to get out of bed at 3:30 AM drugged up and feverish, while flailing for the walker to make the bathroom in a timely manner has got to be a real highlight of the year (thus far anyway).

So about that whole previously mentioned / threatened blood clot thing? Turns out they weren't lying. A couple of days later while still sick as a dog, with excruciatingly painful hip, it got worse. Last Monday night, while lying on couch trying to breath, I realized that I couldn't breath very well. I let it go as I was zapped out on painkillers, was very sick, and just wasn't up to anything. Tuesday morning? I totally couldn't breath. Get emergencied back to hospital. As it turns out? I didn't just have the flu, but I had a snazzy case of pneumonia, and - wait for it - Pulmonary Embolisms. That's right. I had blood clots in my lungs as a side effect of the surgery that were impairing my breathing and general functionality of said lungs. How cool is that?? I stayed in hospital, got leveled off, got jacked up on pain killers, more meds, and thrice daily home administered injections of blood thinner which I'm going to have to take for the next 6 months until the clots in my lungs go away.

So now, I've officially turned the corner. I'm feeling at least partially human, and the meds appear to doing their thing. I actually got 10 hours of sleep last night (which was a record, as I haven't slept more than 4 hours a night since my surgery, plus all the other shenanigans that went along with it). I've been very lucky and blessed to have friends that have stopped in to drop off food, come by to clean my apartment, drive me to hospital, or pick up medication and such for me. Yesterday in fact, Randy, Drew, Little Jack, Bon & Stevie came over. Bon cleaned my place, Stevie brought me some fruit salad, Randy took my laundry in to get done, Drew changed my dressings, and little Jack did his best to run around and break my stuff. (he also digs the fact that I have an elevator - what else could one expect from a 3 year old?) Gino & Melanie have been calling every day, and Raili actually took a day off work while I was in the midst of pneumonia and gussied around my place making a big fuss about everything.

I'm not fine yet, but I'm getting better. It's nice to be back (and breathing).

Here's something I've been listening to recently, courtesy of my friend Randy. It's depressing, but a nice song all the same. Strap in for some Sondre Lerche, Tragic Mirror. Nice music to recuperate to. ("Is a man aware of his defects?").

Say HelloTo My Lil' Friends

I can't think of many better weeks than this one: Not celebrate my birthday (on purpose), while apparently hitting middle age on the chronometer, and to top it all off? Tomorrow, I'm fucking going in the fucking hospital to get my fucking hip replaced. Fun times.

I seem to be the proud owner of a couple of things: 1) Born with inbred hips. which is why even as a kid I could never sit crossed legged. I'd also like to take this time to thank my parents. (Good thing they are both dead - else they would be getting stern talking to right about now). 2) Mmmm Osteo-arthritis. (I'll take a double serving please!) 3) Avascular Necrosis. The short story is that the bone that comprises my hip joint is well - dying.

Usually the hip-ball is round and smooth, and fits into the hip socket which is also round and smooth, and smooth joint related, pain free activities usually should occur (sleeping, walking, having sex, living a normal life etc) with no discernible after taste, or discomfort of any kind. However in my case, if you took the above, tossed it in a blender, and hit puree? Well - you'd be me.

With Avascular Necrosis? Well picture Mr. Hip-Ball, Round and smooth just like a cue ball. Mr. Hip-Ball sits right in Mr. Hip-Socket. They usually co-ordinate well, and life is grand. But when the AN kicks in - Mr. Hip-Ball starts to die, splinter and fragment, which of course is at odds with the smooth socket. Best I can describe it would be to picture a cue ball eaten by moths. I could also describe it as mind altering, painful intensity of 1000 white-hot suns about to implode on my nether regions - but then I'd just be getting all literal and girly.

With Arthritis?I can only look on this as a huge bonus. Usually, in a healthy specimen, When Mr. Hip-Ball starts rubbing on Mr. Hip Socket - there is usually a thin layer of stuff protecting Mr. Ball from Mr. Socket, basically nature's little lubricated buffer zone if you will. Luckily for me though - arthritis has eaten that thin layer of lubey-buffery-goodness away, so it is not only bone on bone - but it is splintered bone on bone. Nice.

So after biting the bullet after the better part of 4 years, it's finally getting done. Tomorrow. A few days ago, I went to the hospital for my 3 hour indoctrination session, and suffice it to say? A better time was probably rarely had. (Sure I think those Roman orgies might have been a riot, as would have been my high school graduation - if I'd graduated - but that's for another time). So there I was. Me & 6 other people who were all over the age of 70. It was the hip / knee replacement class; what to expect, how do sit up, get out of bed, how to use the bathroom etc. They showed us all the nifty tricks of the trade and then starting talking about the injections we'd have to be giving ourselves. (It turns out that there is a fair to middlin' chance of developing blood clots, which could like, kill me).

Me: "Excusemecouldyoubackupthereasecondplease?"
Nurse: "Which part?"
Me: "Thepartaboutgivingyourselfinjectionsinthestomachforthenext30days?"
Nurse: "Didn't your doctor discuss this to you?"
Me: "...Apparently not".

It went downhill from there.

So it goes like this. I can't bend at all for 3 months. (Hip could dislocate and pop right out). This means tying shoes, putting on socks, bending over, loading the dishwasher etc has all gone the way of the Dodo. I also can't sit with my legs and hip at a 90 degree angle for 3 months, which basically means sitting normally. (Hip could dislocate and pop right out). I can't swivel my hips for 90 days (Hip could dislocate and pop right out) so this means simple things like lying in bed and doing something normal like reaching over and turning off the alarm clock has to be completely re-thunk. I also can't cross my legs, knees or ankles for the next 3 months (Hip could dislocate and pop right out), and due to the 90 degree thing, I also can't drive for at least 2 months. Even then, I'm at risk if I have to slam on the brakes, and apparently my insurance doesn't cover this type of thing according to my current policy.

Back to the hospital; Most importantly they said, is that you have to have someone with you for the first few days when you return from the hospital as you will be infirmed, on morphine, and basically not able to move at all. they brought up some helpful alternatives like: "Do you have a girlfriend? A wife? Roommate? Significant other? Friends that can some and stay with you for a couple of days?" I responded "Well - I have some plants...", so I think this is going to go extremely well.

So it is Sunday afternoon, and I'm frantically cooking up a bunch of stuff to freeze for the next few weeks. I also have been to the Red Cross, and am fully loaded and pimpin'. I have my shower seat, elevated toilet seat (nice!), My walker, crutches, cane, sock-putter-onner, foot-picker-upper, elongated shoe horn, and what I think is the coolest thing - one of those elongated reach down and pick things up sticks like those litter convicts have by the side of the road.

Back to Sunday. I have some of my famous Beef Stew simmering away in my grandmother's old crock-pot, and I'm out to my dear friend's Terry & Sab's place for a belated birthday dinner (and so I can sponge some Tupperware from them. When I'm back, stopping at Home Depot for some 6 inch cinder blocks to raise the height of my couch and easy chair to the specified requirements, then buy some Segal's Bagels and then finally make a huge vat of my vegetable soup - again in reference to the coming weeks.

I'm worried about work. I'm the only one who knows what's going on there, and as we seem to be eternally balancing precariously on the knife-edge of ruin - without me there for the next few weeks will only add to my already formidable stress quotient. Lastly when I was at the hospital a few days ago, the nice lady said "Is there anjy more questions?" and amongst a room filled with geriatric patients, I asked "What about having sex?" She gave me a look like I was a complete and total nitwit. She's right. On so many different levels.

I stumbled over an old song by the Mighty Mighty Bosstones. One of the things I loved about them was Ben Carr. He was not only a Bosstone, but was their "Manager" and didn't play an instrument, nor sing. All he did was dance. During every song. All night.

I'm looking forward to doing the same.

See you in a couple of weeks.