Why can't I get into my boots? It mustuh been that bag of gummi worms three weeks ago.
Then, this morning, my foot was noticeably disfigured and my thigh had swelled by a third. I'm obese, but this weight gain was WAY too sudden. Home remedy for edema is to elevate the limb(s) for an hour.
The nueropathy in my feet and in the fingers of my right hand has been unrelenting. I can only walk about 600 feet, round trip. I increased my meds from two times a day to every 7 hours.
What next? Do I wait to find out? The ongoing question.
I didn't need any nitrile gloves
....and I didn't learn much. Dr. Vu said my prostate felt a bit soft, but that apparently didn't indicate anything; no masses and it wasn't abnormally large.
She prescribed Finasteride 5mg, to further shrink my prostate as that's the usual cause of urinary problems. It can take up to six months to reach full effect and it's most common side-effect is suppression or dissolution of one's libido, but I probably won't need it anyway.
BooooOOOOORing.
When we last left our hero, he'd done another stint at The Nativo where he mastered the application of condom catheters and the associated drain bag (straps to the leg when upright).
This being a second round in The Motel, he left with a hell-bent-for-leather mindset that had him driving north with a vague plan to circle through Colorado, thence to eastern Utah and back to Albuquerque for a urology appointment near the end of June.
A few miles north of Cuba, New Mexico, highway 112 goes due north from highway 96. It's a narrow, little-used road that one can amble on without raising too many ires.
Tired from the day's drive, I took 112 only a short distance before turning off onto a National Forest access road.
At camp I discovered I was at 7,000 feet elevation. Not only that, but in the process of changing into evening wear, I discovered the condom catheter(s) had pulled sections of the top skin off my penis. The only solution was to switch back to puppy-pads augmented with washcloths stuffed down my tightey-whities.
The washcloths need changing every couple of hours and as the night wore on, the angina was right there each time. And the continued drop in temperature was noted as well.
The night, a small vision of hell, finally ended. For reasons unknown, the incontinence is only from sundown to sunup.
A year went by before I noticed the pain in my wrist. At first I ignored it, but as time went on it got worse. It demanded notice whenever I opened jars and when doing other things that required a sideways or twisting motion of the hand. Eventually, the origin finally dawned on me...the transradial catheterization.
I write this to alert those considering the procedure, although knowing of the potential for this post-operative annoyance likely wouldn't have dissuaded me, I suspect there are INNUMERABLE other problems that can arise from similar or more invasive procedures; it's served to validate my refusal to have bypass.
My primary-care-provider recently retired. At my annual physical a year after the infarction he said he thought I was doing the right thing by mediating the angina with medication. In our last meeting a couple of months ago his parting advice was, "Avoid surgery."
When I went into the Emergency Room (E.R.) in Tucson one of the doctors -- in his effort to convince me to agree to surgery -- in describing the possible debilitation from heart failure -- said, "You won't even be able to wipe your ass!" He described how they would push the cath up through the vein in the left leg...a dated technique.
I learned of transradial catheterization from the internet...not one of the physicians mentioned it...and I talked with several. It wasn't until the conversation about stenting (with the cardiologist) that he said it was the method he used.
There're worse things though and one that I heard about first-hand from a man's widow involved stem-cell transplant. When Double El was diagnosed with Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia (CLL), stem-cell transplanting was a popular remedy. The widow described how the procedure turned his digestive system, from his mouth to his anus, to hamburger.
Further reading disclosed that his experience wasn't unique; 25% of patients who underwent the procedure died. Many, most, suffered, some for years, with a variety of -- even a host of -- post-operative ailments and/or disabilities.
I convinced her not to do it, but her brother thought it a good idea. I had to write a comprehensive argument to dissuade him of his opinion...such was the influence of the medical establishment's enthusiasm.
Now, more than a decade later, stem-cell transplants are out of fashion, at least for treatment of C.L.L. And, thanks to a much more benign chemotherapy, Double El is free & clear.
My cardiologist tells me all three of my arteries are blocked. But now, after more than two years of taking medication, I'm holding my own. Meds have, evidently, in some cases, at least, advanced to a level where their use is almost as efficacious as surgery, and, in my case, entails a lot less risk. I may not last as long as someone who enjoys a bypass, but I might.
So, I had in mind to go to the Taos steppe, but a little voice said, "That's a bit too far north; it's still winter up there." So, after passing through Española when I saw the sign for Abiquiu I made a u-turn and went. It was only a few miles over to the other highway and soon I was in the land of Georgia O'Keefe. Pedernal, the prominent peak in the area, has a pretty ring of snow around its neck and the Jemez mountains -- on the distant horizon the south -- are snow-capped. If you look closely at the image below, you can (barely) see 'em.
Last Fall I had difficulty breathing at 6,800 feet of elevation. This patch of snow was somewhere around 7,500+ and thanks to the meds, I'm doing okay. I wasn't gonna run anywhere, but I could walk a bit. It's interesting watching one's self adapt to the limitations; it taking some head-work to accept that I can't run anymore.
I remember a conversation several years ago with a guy whose comment on my lifestyle was, "You must not have any health issues." At the time I didn't. Now I know what he was saying. I have to be back Monday to meet with the eye doc on Tuesday...about the hole in my left cornea.
Blah, blah, blah. It's a blog...a web log. A handy reminder. Not for your "reading pleasure."
I was camped at the edge of the Mt. Wrightson Wilderness 40 miles south of Tucson when, out of the blue, I started vomiting. My vision began to tunnel and I recognized the signs of fading consciousness; there was an intense pain in my chest. I figured I should move down to the pavement so someone would find my body before it stank up the car. (When camped in the wilds, people leave each other alone unless hailed.)
Once at the pavement I found a wide spot, pulled over and called Michelle to give her my GPS coordinates. The pain increased until I was uninhibitedly screaming. I writhed over the shift knobs (Phoebe has a long one for her five forward gears and reverse and a short one for the two ranges of four-wheel-drive) for about 20 minutes or so with Michelle listening in.
I managed to channel some of the pain into the repressed rage Alice Miller rights about in Banished Knowledge.
After the attack subsided I spent the remainder of the afternoon (on adrenaline) exploring the desert.
Back at camp the evening went fairly normally (all things are relative), but later I was awakened by angina; I turned on the phone to see the time and, as it came on, it rang. I was astonished to hear Allen Rasmussen, a recent acquaintance, calling to see how I was. It was 3:00 a.m., perzackly.
I complained about the angina -- it was bothersome -- and we formulated a plan (Allen was a retired coronary care specialist) to meet at the emergency entrance to St. Mary's hospital in Tucson.
At St. Mary's I had to lean heavily on Allen in order to make it to the emergency room. There, they did an EKG and determined I was (still) in the throes of a myocardial infarction. They plugged in some morphine, gave me an aspirin and strongly suggested surgery...RIGHT NOW! I declined.
Once the morphine worked its magic and I'd convinced everyone I wasn't interested in further treatment, they released me. The release however, was against their advice (they REALLY wanted to do surgery) so they proffered no medications.
Curious, a few days later I went to Pima Heart (the local cardiology magnates) and signed up for a transradial angioplasty. This $90,000.00 operation -- performed by Dr. Morales -- disclosed both main arteries totally blocked and unstentable. (Stents are popular for holding open arteries that have narrowed from accumulated plaque.) Dr. Morales recommended bypass surgery; I declined. He prescribed some meds. Dr. Vanessa Cole Marin -- at Presbyterian Hospital in Albuquerque -- is now supervising my care.
Nine years ago, an injury to my left eye resulted in a scarred cornea such that I look a bit like one of those Husky-type dogs with different-colored eyes. The eye has been oozing yellow-matter-custard for several weeks so yesterday I went to have it checked. Dr. Tran (graduated last year from ophthalmology school in Pennsylvania) said that blinking -- and olde age -- had worn a hole through the scar and my eye was leaking out. Lacking a slit-lamp camera, a DSLR that attaches to the microscope used to examine patients' eyes, he used his cell phone camera and texted the photos to their cornea specialist. They suggested a cornea transplant but said some super-glue would hold it for a while. They didn't have any glue and I left with a referral to the "other" clinic.
We'll see (no pun intended).
