Two Weeks Ago
Screaming bloody chaos from across the hall as the "Oh God" Woman further disintegrates. Any time a family member appears she performs an enhanced act worthy of an Oscar. Or, a Tony. And yes, she used to be famous and well regarded, but now she suffers often and out loud, especially whenever her son visits.
It wouldn't be so bad if her door was kept closed. But in those particularly rare instances, she acts out. She threatens. She's even called 911 before. So the door remains open. For all to hear. For all to ear-witness.
They tell me she's not in any particular pain. They insist. And I've overheard (not difficult) her frequent demands for more percocet. More than that, she's the one with the blaring television heard throughout the unit. Heck, it was so loud on Monday the paramedics couldn't hear me talking. Well, okay… they COULD hear me, but I had trouble deciphering their message.
So yeah, I had another adventure… and wound up with an all-new feeding tube. I'm still trying to work out the kinks. I'm not even sure if the problem was solved. I don't think so. But what the heck do I know? I'll figure it out. I'll solve the equation. I always do. The gastroenterologists are entirely useless. Besides, I hashed out a possible solution with my online friend, the one 1867 miles away. And also, discussed "best options and focuses" with the ever dazzling staff member named Linda.
And Betsy?
Well, she's not involved in that type of solution, but she did shower me today. With water. And soap. And shampoo. And conditioner. And put up with my crappy attitude. But lately I've been in pain for a lasting periods of time, so I tend to get a little bit cranky now and again. Not towards her, nor towards anyone in particular, but just my generalized attitude is several shades less positive than normal.
So she tolerated me in the shower and it went swell.. my first one in two weeks. Of course, Betsy is the only human capable of orchestrating a shower for me. Which is okay. I'm glad there's one hunan who can do this… one who knows what she's doing.
Most importantly, she doesn't rub me too hard, nor too softly.. utilizing the perfect amount to make me clean (although, I think she uses way too much conditioner in my hair!).
Okay then, I've got some sudden 'for no apparent reason' nausea coming on so I better do something about that …muy pronto! Plus, Hogan's Heroes is coming on at 9 o'clock. Something to watch in Arizona Time. And I need to prepare for Flush / Bandage Time.
NOTE: the "Oh God" Woman went A.W.O.L. today - and it's not just me, but the entire staff is relieved
Oh, Maureen came in to check on me… which was nice. Her family members have kind of, sort of, adopted me (they are that family full of psychologists). Or maybe they've just adapted to me.
They visit fairly often. But better than all of that, I get along swimmingly with each individual family member.. easy conversations with far ranging subject matter. Okay, maybe the two year old is a wee bit slow on the uptake in comparison to the others, but he'll get there eventually!
As I've mentioned, not many people get visitors here, so attention from any outsiders is appreciated (typically, visitors do indeed kindly converse and/or acknowledge unaffiliated residents). It seems most of us residing here permanently are either leftovers or afterthoughts. And thus, I suspect a little love and a little attention go a long way with my fellow residents. They perk up notably with any attention given.
But that was a couple of days ago. I've been staying inside. Recovering. Recovering decently. Trying to right the wrongs inside my COVID inflicted intestines. Because.. Yes. That's what I believe. I believe my huge stupid bout with the virus (and/or the many antibiotics employed) destroyed my intestinal biome balance.
Evidence? I've been consistently (and sometimes painfully) bloated ever since. Intestinally wrecked. Often caught up in a state of intestinal stasis.
Saturday Night Live
I'm in the dark. The lightbulb in the lightbulb socket above my bed got itself overworked. So now it's burnt out. Or burnt up. The only visible light I see comes from the carwash, the one across the recently scraped clean desert landscape. Although, notable growth is making a comeback.. green growing low and slow, soon to die from the summer sunlights determined solar strafing. Brown death across the desert floor. Coming soon!
But what matters most right now is that I do not have the necessary lighting necessary to accomplish necessary tasks.
Yes, the television is alighted. Always. But the flashing blinking blue night is borderline useless… creating a false strobing effect. Angular shadows. In essence, a nuisance glow.
Also, purposeful headlight beams from vehicles engaging the not-so-distant highway on-ramp briefly angle towards me, flashing me.. so my eyes avert. Avoid. Still, I appreciate their noted movement.. the action.. the myriad possibilities presented by their traversing distances never to be known by me.
And now I've been told, "no light bulbs until Monday!"
It's Saturday.
My roommate cannot turn his light off or on, because the attached chain is broken. A work order was put in ten days ago, but…
I had Betsy affix my leftover birthday balloon ribbon to the remaining chain remnants, but that solution was temporary.
So we wait.
Stating the Obvious (present time)
Pain Mega-Hurts (no, mine isn't all that bad all the time). I've found workarounds that occasionally work for the better. Mainly, ice applied adjacent to the stoma dulls the nerve endings, and then applying heat to the lower abdominal area soothes. Plus, there's this one statuesque position I can take on, so that if I do not stir for hours on end, the irritation does not become exacerbated.
I've had worse pain. Each of us has. Really, all of this is a matter of persistence, perspective, and perpetuity. Okay, this is not exactly perpetuitous happening… but you know what I mean. Sometimes words sound better absent their meaning.
Anyway, who the hell can write during all of this? It seems I cannot. And really, I didn't want to get into all of this, but figured I had to say something. Write something. Express.
Have I expressed emotionally? Nope.
Okay then. How about this? I am upset and frustrated. Currently intolerant. Occasionally angry. And now and again I am unaccepting.
What can be done? I am supposed to see a G.I. … eventually. But the G.I. can't do anything to help. I must reduce my intestinal bloating to reduce the burning bile that's preventing my stoma from healing properly, and thus directly irritating nerve endings and causing skin ulcers. Simple, right?
I am utilizing Triad Coloplast ointment, applying it directly to the stoma (to facilitate healing), and then applying Desitin on top of the surrounding skin (for protection).
Anyway, these are my personalized COVID-19 after effects.. messed up intestinal flora.
This shall eventually be resolved, this issue. These problems. But for now I am a wee bit grumpy, yet still hopeful overall. My muscles and energy are still .. maintaining.
Take care,
Howard
Red My Mind
My Sky Above
My Faithful Friends
Me... being angry and frustrated of late
Screaming bloody chaos from across the hall as the "Oh God" Woman further disintegrates. Any time a family member appears she performs an enhanced act worthy of an Oscar. Or, a Tony. And yes, she used to be famous and well regarded, but now she suffers often and out loud, especially whenever her son visits.
It wouldn't be so bad if her door was kept closed. But in those particularly rare instances, she acts out. She threatens. She's even called 911 before. So the door remains open. For all to hear. For all to ear-witness.
They tell me she's not in any particular pain. They insist. And I've overheard (not difficult) her frequent demands for more percocet. More than that, she's the one with the blaring television heard throughout the unit. Heck, it was so loud on Monday the paramedics couldn't hear me talking. Well, okay… they COULD hear me, but I had trouble deciphering their message.
So yeah, I had another adventure… and wound up with an all-new feeding tube. I'm still trying to work out the kinks. I'm not even sure if the problem was solved. I don't think so. But what the heck do I know? I'll figure it out. I'll solve the equation. I always do. The gastroenterologists are entirely useless. Besides, I hashed out a possible solution with my online friend, the one 1867 miles away. And also, discussed "best options and focuses" with the ever dazzling staff member named Linda.
And Betsy?
Well, she's not involved in that type of solution, but she did shower me today. With water. And soap. And shampoo. And conditioner. And put up with my crappy attitude. But lately I've been in pain for a lasting periods of time, so I tend to get a little bit cranky now and again. Not towards her, nor towards anyone in particular, but just my generalized attitude is several shades less positive than normal.
So she tolerated me in the shower and it went swell.. my first one in two weeks. Of course, Betsy is the only human capable of orchestrating a shower for me. Which is okay. I'm glad there's one hunan who can do this… one who knows what she's doing.
Most importantly, she doesn't rub me too hard, nor too softly.. utilizing the perfect amount to make me clean (although, I think she uses way too much conditioner in my hair!).
Okay then, I've got some sudden 'for no apparent reason' nausea coming on so I better do something about that …muy pronto! Plus, Hogan's Heroes is coming on at 9 o'clock. Something to watch in Arizona Time. And I need to prepare for Flush / Bandage Time.
NOTE: the "Oh God" Woman went A.W.O.L. today - and it's not just me, but the entire staff is relieved
Oh, Maureen came in to check on me… which was nice. Her family members have kind of, sort of, adopted me (they are that family full of psychologists). Or maybe they've just adapted to me.
They visit fairly often. But better than all of that, I get along swimmingly with each individual family member.. easy conversations with far ranging subject matter. Okay, maybe the two year old is a wee bit slow on the uptake in comparison to the others, but he'll get there eventually!
As I've mentioned, not many people get visitors here, so attention from any outsiders is appreciated (typically, visitors do indeed kindly converse and/or acknowledge unaffiliated residents). It seems most of us residing here permanently are either leftovers or afterthoughts. And thus, I suspect a little love and a little attention go a long way with my fellow residents. They perk up notably with any attention given.
But that was a couple of days ago. I've been staying inside. Recovering. Recovering decently. Trying to right the wrongs inside my COVID inflicted intestines. Because.. Yes. That's what I believe. I believe my huge stupid bout with the virus (and/or the many antibiotics employed) destroyed my intestinal biome balance.
Evidence? I've been consistently (and sometimes painfully) bloated ever since. Intestinally wrecked. Often caught up in a state of intestinal stasis.
Saturday Night Live
I'm in the dark. The lightbulb in the lightbulb socket above my bed got itself overworked. So now it's burnt out. Or burnt up. The only visible light I see comes from the carwash, the one across the recently scraped clean desert landscape. Although, notable growth is making a comeback.. green growing low and slow, soon to die from the summer sunlights determined solar strafing. Brown death across the desert floor. Coming soon!
But what matters most right now is that I do not have the necessary lighting necessary to accomplish necessary tasks.
Yes, the television is alighted. Always. But the flashing blinking blue night is borderline useless… creating a false strobing effect. Angular shadows. In essence, a nuisance glow.
Also, purposeful headlight beams from vehicles engaging the not-so-distant highway on-ramp briefly angle towards me, flashing me.. so my eyes avert. Avoid. Still, I appreciate their noted movement.. the action.. the myriad possibilities presented by their traversing distances never to be known by me.
And now I've been told, "no light bulbs until Monday!"
It's Saturday.
My roommate cannot turn his light off or on, because the attached chain is broken. A work order was put in ten days ago, but…
I had Betsy affix my leftover birthday balloon ribbon to the remaining chain remnants, but that solution was temporary.
So we wait.
Stating the Obvious (present time)
Pain Mega-Hurts (no, mine isn't all that bad all the time). I've found workarounds that occasionally work for the better. Mainly, ice applied adjacent to the stoma dulls the nerve endings, and then applying heat to the lower abdominal area soothes. Plus, there's this one statuesque position I can take on, so that if I do not stir for hours on end, the irritation does not become exacerbated.
I've had worse pain. Each of us has. Really, all of this is a matter of persistence, perspective, and perpetuity. Okay, this is not exactly perpetuitous happening… but you know what I mean. Sometimes words sound better absent their meaning.
Anyway, who the hell can write during all of this? It seems I cannot. And really, I didn't want to get into all of this, but figured I had to say something. Write something. Express.
Have I expressed emotionally? Nope.
Okay then. How about this? I am upset and frustrated. Currently intolerant. Occasionally angry. And now and again I am unaccepting.
What can be done? I am supposed to see a G.I. … eventually. But the G.I. can't do anything to help. I must reduce my intestinal bloating to reduce the burning bile that's preventing my stoma from healing properly, and thus directly irritating nerve endings and causing skin ulcers. Simple, right?
I am utilizing Triad Coloplast ointment, applying it directly to the stoma (to facilitate healing), and then applying Desitin on top of the surrounding skin (for protection).
Anyway, these are my personalized COVID-19 after effects.. messed up intestinal flora.
This shall eventually be resolved, this issue. These problems. But for now I am a wee bit grumpy, yet still hopeful overall. My muscles and energy are still .. maintaining.
Take care,
Howard
Red My Mind
My Sky Above
My Faithful Friends
Me... being angry and frustrated of late
