Why? Why am I bothering to write a new post? Possibly to convince myself that I still have the ability to convey my thoughts, that I'm still reasonably rational - -
not senile yet, not...quite...dead.
Routine. My present existence is completely routine. Meals, meds, nurses, wound care, bed baths (holy sheeit), meals, meds, meds.
I must be a frickin' addict by now. At least with the pain pills, I'm no longer screaming with pain.
The past few days are muddled. I can't keep things in logical order.
Two days after I was moved to this new room (#609), the two Big Wig social workers ( one male, one female) who run this place, came into my room.
I hate it. They are always messengers of bad news.
Somber and icy, they announced that they're moving me to another room.
ME - always polite and congenial
lost my temper and spewed my disgust.
I flatly refused to be moved.
They looked dour but completely stunned.
Finally, I said "I don't give a crap what you do. Wheel the damn bed outside to the garden."
My exact words.
Several days later.....and I never heard from them again. I regret my outburst, yet I don't care. It's probably not the end.
The biopsy for the "non-cyst" on my arm? So far no results. The head nurses keep calling, and the biopsy place (whatever) keeps stalling.
I'm extremely worried.
Yesterday a nurse changed the bandages on my arm. The "non-cyst" started bleeding hard. My hospital gown, the sheets, and my pillow case were soaked. They had to change everything.
Nurse finished the bandages and left the room.
Ten minutes later, blood was streaming down my arm. The bandage was soaked. I was horrified. Grabbed a towel and put pressure on it, while struggling to press the "Help" buzzer.
Nurse (finally) returned. Had to change the bandages and reinforced the "non-cyst" with stronger bandages. So far no more blood.
Nothing unnerves me anymore. I'm used to be pummeled with crap.
How's Hospice?
They sent several social workers to ask me myriads of questions. I'm very good at answering and feigning the fact that I'm sane.
The problem with Hospice is that their sole goal is to make you comfortable until you croak.
They want you to die.
They are admittedly nice - - one of their nurses sees me twice a week.....and I still have the nurses here at Signature Health Care.
BUT - I'm no longer having physical therapy here. I guess the insurance no longer covers it.
Hell, I admittedly don't know what exactly is going on. My tired mind can't concieve all the red tape.
I think I have the option to lose Hospice and go home, back to the Quality Home Care nurses. But I desperately need physical therapy (which they provide).
I just hope I can keep my sanity for a little while longer....and hang on....
For several recent nights in a row, I've been having dreams that I can walk again. Joyous dreams!
.....are they only dreams......?
Jon 🧡 dreaming
Top image
One of my AI creations. I know some of you are tired of it and don't like AI, but I plan to do several future posts about it.
First of all, I truly dislike turning this blog into a boring, self-serving medical journal - - yet, my health issues are overshadowing everything else in my mundane existence. I feel some obligation to keep documenting my physical and mental progress - - or lack of it.
I'm sure it's often difficult to discern exactly what's going on with me. Is it my back and spine, my useless right leg, the "pressure" sores on my butt, the edema and blog clots? Congestive heart failure? I suppose it's everything combined.....but there's a lot more to this.
Yesterday (Thursday?) was a monumental day. I had the opportunity to see all of my medical records from 2023 when I was desperately ill - - and was able to discuss everything with a group of nurses, doctors, and physical therapists who know me well.
What I learned was not exactly surprising, yet definitely horrifying. I knew that I was very seriously ill in 2023 but never realized the profound effect that it had on everyone concerned - - in Cookeville Medical Center and here at Signature Health Care.
Two major things have come to light. First, all the doctors and staff at Cookeville in 2023 were secretly certain that I would never survive my ordeal with cancer, but thought it was best not to tell me.
Second, when I eventually pulled through the ordeal, everyone was absolutely astonished with how strong I was - - physically and mentally.
I don't take any credit for that. I fully believe that my strength came from a divine source above.
The cancer was extensive, with a malignant tumor right by my main artery, which made an operation impossible. I would bleed to death.
This caused constant major hemorrhages (I wouldn't dare describe what I went through, it's too shocking). I lost so much blood that it caused a heart attack. A cauterization was employed.
In July 2023, as a last resort, I was sent to Centennial Medical Center in Nashville. The doctors there were somber and curt. They had no hope and advized me to go home in the care of Hospice.
Cookeville attempted a final ploy. Seven weeks of chemo and radiation.
Two and a half months in the hospital - - over three months in physical therapy.
When I was discharged from therapy in November, 2023, I wasn't fully cured. I learned that the staff kept checking the obituaries to see if I survived.
My latest cat scans and pet scans showed no trace of cancer.
My strength, courage, and dignity has impressed everyone - - except me. I've done nothing heroic, nothing special. I simply survived.....thus far.
And it wasn't easy.
Jon ❤️
One thing is certain - -
The trials and tribulations never end. The battle always remains uphill. Happy endings mostly occur in fairy tales......
I seem to be climbing a mountain every day. If I ever reached the summit, I'd undoubtedly fall off. Bad luck seems to follow me like a shadow.
An aside:
My birthday falls on Friday the 13th this year. December.
My annoying blogging habit (one of many) is that I take too much time getting to the point.
On Friday morning (the 15th) I got up very early, before dawn. I felt fairly decent - which is just about the best I can get. Made coffee and breakfast.
Afterwards I decided to go back to bed for an hour or two. I really wanted to repaint the kitchen floor. I ordered a new cabinet that will be delivered on Monday.
Deciding between the two exciting options, I went to bed.
About an hour later I woke up with an extreme backache. And leg ache. When I pried myself out of bed, the pain was unbelievably bad. I hardly made it to the kitchen. I took a couple of Tylenols. That was unusual. I don't like taking any pills/meds.
In the summer of 2023 I had two major surgeries in Cookeville and refused any medications for pain.
Went back to bed. I awoke soon with pain that was alarming. Stumbled back to the kitchen. Got into my wheelchair. Sat there for half an agonizing hour. Carefully got up again.
I felt incredibly weird, besides agonizing pain. Suddenly my right hip was frozen. And my right leg was completely paralyzed. No exaggeration. I couldn't move an inch. I grabbed my pants leg and tried to pull myself forward. It was impossible.
I really panicked. I'm all alone, in the middle of wilderness. It was late Friday afternoon. The home care nurses office is closed for the weekend. I never experienced paralysis before.
I'm in the kitchen. My two cell phones were in the bedroom. I stumbled and knocked a table over with the landline phone. Tried for twenty agonizing minutes before I could retrieve the landline phone.
Loooong story short. I decided to stay in the wheelchair by the kitchen table all night. I couldn't walk one step. Couldn't do anything. I wanted to call 911 but kept procrastinating. Ambulances, doctors, hospitals. Again.
Hell no!!!!
I'd be damned to go through it again. I'd rather perish at home.
The night hours were agonizingly long. I took more Tylenol (there was a water bottle on the table).
About an hour before dawn, I did the impossible. I stood up, grabbed the walker with my right hand and the wheelchair with my left. I only walked with my left leg - - dragging my right leg along.
This was an insane feat but I went inch by inch. I'll be damned that I was going to do it. Pure anger gave me strength.
I hung onto the walker to get the cell phones in the bedroom. Then I dragged the walker, the wheelchair, the cell phones, and my right leg to the living room.
FINALLY I called 911.
I had no choice. Took the ambulance about 45 minutes to get here. The attendant and driver had to carry me down the front steps. Humiliation.
Onward to Livingston Hospital 20 miles away on narrow winding mountain roads. I could see the sunrise in the back window. My pain was beyond intense. I finally shuddered and thought I would pass out.
Once in the hospital my memory is blurred from the intense pain. I had to get xrays and a cat scan.
This caused more excruciating agony than I could endure. The attendants were rough trying to get me in the right positions for the xrays and scan. I kept yelling out from the PAIN.
Finally I was brought into another room and plied with intravenous injections. MethylPrednisol, Orphenadrine, Ketorolac. Made me feel very weird and disoriented. But some days I feel that way without medications.
I was in that room for five or six hours. I was freezing. Coldest damn hospital I was ever in. They could hold a polar bear convention in there.
One of the doctors frightened me with the test results. Degenerative disk disease. Severe scaiatica. Scoliosis from severe spinal injuries.
I guess I already knew that. I had several spinal injuries due to accidents and nasty falls during my life. I ignored most of them, due to no medical insurance. I was very used to ignoring serious situations. And now it's catching up with me.
I knew my spinal problems were increasing due to being in hospital beds for six months last year because of cancer and heart problems.
I know now that my major health problems are solely caused because of my spinal issues. That's what's causing my mysterious fevers (had one last week) and...other problems.
Well, I was released (thank God) just around noon. Taken home in another ambulance. I was very apprehensive about what might happen next. But I was able to walk again with very little pain. And I was able to make dinner and enjoy the rest of the day.
I now have a prescription for prednisone. Some kind of steroid thingie (my medical term).
I just realized that this was the day I was released from physical rehab last November. Thanksgiving is next week. I am truly - very truly - greatful for still being around.
I'm sorry for this long rambling post, but I wanted to get things out of my system.
BTW
I made the "Climb Every Mountain" video late last night. I literally threw it together in fifteen minutes. It's my piano arrangement, recorded when I was eighteen. (Video volume is weird on my computer. Turn volume up, or watch it on YouTube).
We all have mountains to climb. Thanks for reading this.
