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Archive for the ‘health’ Category

Heart Healthy We Hope

Ahh — only one day in the hospital this time.  Good.  In and Out.

My third cardiac procedure went well.  The cardiologist  also implanted a loop recorder, a monitor, to see how I do.  Right now,  four days later, it’s the only thing that hurts.  The probe insertion sites are fine.  Guess they’re used to it, huh?

So, I’m a bit tired as can be expected, however, I was glad I didn’t have to be in the hospital over Valentine’s Day, our anniversary.  The card and roses and Whitman’s Sampler and spaghetti dinner were better at home.

I’m planning our next big trip.  Look out, road, here we come!

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Observations

After a period of unseasonably warm weather, Raggs, our calico, decided to find her own way to cool off.  She was out on the deck, on her back, all four paws in the air, letting the wind blow her belly fur.  She was quite comfy it appeared.

A new quilt, in patchwork calico, can certainly jazz up the bedroom decor.  Besides, it’s warm.  Ask Ginger, our dog.

Nothing satisfies a sweet tooth like warm brownies with vanilla ice cream melting down the sides.

Date night is extra special when you’ve not been on one in a good while.  Popcorn, diet cokes and an interesting movie.  Fun and relaxing.

Persuading other book club members to try massage therapy, my comment was, “the worst one I ever had, was wonderful.”

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Okay.  Six weeks out from the surgery in November, I am much better.  My surgeon was well pleased with my progress at my recent check-up.  My cardiologist also thought I was doing well.

Then —  I caught Bruce’s cold.   Blow, sniff, cough, wheeze.  Thank heavens my chest incisions were almost healed or I would have been in big, and painful, trouble.

After lots of sleep and cough syrup, and Benedryl and Tylenol, I am much better.  Bruce’s cold is gone too.  Just in time for Christmas.

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Hello Again

Hey everyone!  It’s been so long since I’ve blogged that I forgot my password. . .  Took me about seven tries to get it right.

Although I am much better, I’m still not 100%.  Yet each day I feel a bit stronger and can do a bit more housework.  The doctor said it would take a while for everything to resolve itself after the ablation.  However, my a-fib episodes, although frequent, are much less debilitating.  I just take my meds and soldier on.

Thinking I’d be running laps around the block by now — boy, was I optimistic — I offered to host our June get-together for my garden club.  That was back in early May.  Thank Heavens for a hard working husband who takes great pride in the yard and garden.  He had the place looking grand.  After all, it was the GARDEN CLUB, who would notice weeds (some could tell you the latin names) and the failure to dead-head.  Bruce outdid himself.  The old homestead looked fantastic!  One lady asked Bruce if we had professional lawn care.  Himself beamed with pride.

Bruce, aka The Grillmeister, produced juicy hot dogs and hamburgers.  The others brought the side dishes.  We ate and ate and talked and laughed and enjoyed the screen porch and the deck.  The weather was glorious.  Humidity was low and the breeze was steady, so unusual for Augusta at this time of year.   I’ll probably be getting a bill from the weatherman for ordering up such a lovely evening.

Needless to say, we were happy we had leftovers as neither of us strayed far from the recliner or the porch the next day.  We were too busy sniffing roses.

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Sick of It

I’ve been sick.  More so than I can ever remember.

The problem is my heart condition — atrial fibrillation — which has gotten progressively worse in the last 6 years.  Unfortunately, I inherited heart disease from both sides of my family.  We can’t escape from genetics.

I was supposed to have an ablation at the beginning of the month but pre-op labs showed severe anemia.  They canceled the procedure and stuck me in the hospital for blood transfusions.  No place makes you love your own bed like a hospital.  So now I’m on iron tablets and liver dinners.  It’s helping to improve my hemoglobin but I have to start over again with the cardiac procedure after they track down my anemia — which I think was just a fluke.  I had almost given up eating red meat.  Now I’m back to the beef.

Anyway, I’m learning patience and humility.  That’s not a bad thing.

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Ahh . . . Springtime in Augusta.   The garden is planted.  The pine pollen is finally receding.  The Masters is on television.  And I’m sick, as the proverbial dog, with allergies.  Last year I said they were the worst ever — unfortunately, this year they’ve risen above that mark.  I’ve been on Benedryl and my asthma inhaler since the first of March.  The hepa filter in the bedroom really helps at night since I turn it on high all day to clean out the air in there.  But still — I can’t spend every minute of the day sequestered.

Friday I planted more flower seeds in the newly arranged beds Bruce prepared in the flower area near the back door.  I had an idea of how I wanted them to be so I really needed to do it myself.  Boy, oh boy — I paid for it on Saturday.  I was as limp as an old dish rag and spent most of the day in bed, never even getting out of my robe.

When I was a kid, I remember one trip to Colorado with Mom, Dad, Hugh and Patrick and me.  It was June and the pine trees next to our mountain cabin in Estes Park were pollenating.  Mother, poor dear, was terribly allergic to them.  We no sooner unloaded the car than she folded up like a tent and fell into bed.  After several days of taking care of her and cooking for all of us and chasing a 3 year old Patrick, Dad decided he wasn’t really enjoying himself.  He packed us all up and we headed home.  Of course, with each mile away from the pollen, Mother improved.  By the time we got back to Illinois she was fine and well-rested, but Dad, on the other hand, was not!

At least I’m not chasing a 3 year old!

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How Accessible?

It took only one day of pushing Bruce in a wheelchair to discover that “handicap accessible” isn’t necessarily so.  Even though there are many places we’ve gone to repeatedly, we discovered we didn’t have any idea where the handicapped parking was even located!  One good aspect is that those areas have a flat access that can actually accommodate wheels.

The tag was easy to obtain.  I went online and found the form for Georgia, printed it out, presented it to his doctor, got it notarized at the hospital, and went to the tag office and received the hanging tag within a matter of minutes.  However, maybe because it is so easy to get, it seems everyone and his uncle has one.  The handicapped section at the Family Practice parking lot out at Eisenhower Medical Center is always full and that lot alone has 17 slots — I counted.  Granted this is a place where sick people go, so I shouldn’t be too surprised, I guess.  The last time we were there, I didn’t dare go look for tags or license plates on all those cars because I knew I’d find some with no designation and I’d be tempted to call the MPs and make trouble.  Life is too short.  The MPs can do their own policing, can’t they?

We’ve found extremely steep ramps that make pushing uphill a challenge.  Sloped areas right at the doorway are equally tricky.  Especially challenging are the doors.  Try hanging onto a chair that is trying to roll away and open a door at the same time.  (His model has brakes like a ten-speed bike.)  Whew!  Fortunately, someone usually sees me struggling and comes over to help.  I decided yesterday that if no one is available at a restaurant, I am going to go inside and ask one of the chirpy greeters to come help hold the door.

Since there is nothing wrong with Bruce’s arms, he has started helping me lift the chair up into the trunk.  Man, that is really helpful.   The chair we got for Bruce is not as bulky as it could be — however, bulky enough for one semi-old lady to manage single-handed.

Best if all are the stores with automatic doors and the electric carts.  Look out, Bruce just might mow you down as he flies by!

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