Daily Archives: April 10, 2016

Westward Ho! Day 14

Lamar, CO (8:30 AM Mountain) to Roeland Park (Kansas City), KS (6:30 PM Central).  474 miles.
Notables: Jim Butcher’s audiobook Small Favor (laugh-out-loud supernatural fun).

Mourning Dove, Cabin Lake Viewing Blinds, Deschutes National Forest, Near Fort Rock, Oregon

Eastern Colorado got hot yesterday; upper 80s and dry as shed rattlesnake skin.  So, it was pure d-lite to open the windows of my shabby-chic turret room and sleep with the night air washing everything cool and clean.  Mourning doves woke me this morning; a sound I grew up on and always says home to me.  I’m close now.

Jane, my host, made a real breakfast for me and the family staying downstairs; a wedge of watermelon with blackberries and strawberries sprinkled on top, French toast with a warm orange/lemon sauce; bacon; and really good coffee.

Sour-Cream-Chocolate-Bread-from-ChocolateChocolateandmore-34aJane started B&B-ing twelve years ago, and like the other pro-hosts I’ve met on this journey, her hospitality far exceeds expectations.  She carried my heavy bag upstairs for me, even though I tried to stop her.  She came back in a few minutes with a cut-crystal glass of ice water when she saw my little fridge was out of bottled water.  A slice of her chocolate bread waited for me on an antique breakfast-in-bed tray.

Like Doris in Roseburg, Oregon, Jane did all these wonderful extras matter-of-factly.  Just part of the job.  But their businesslike demeanors cover fonts of generosity and genuine kindness.  These are the kind of ladies you want for neighbors, who show up when disaster strikes and get to work doing what needs to be done.

th736MWWNCI met the family staying in the downstairs room briefly when I arrived; a dad with a tween daughter and younger son.  Breakfast was pleasant with kids who weren’t too shy or too bored to talk.  And the dad had lovely manners (Jane and I were both “ma’am”).

He mentioned in passing that he wrote crime novels.  My ears perked up, but I didn’t pry; he didn’t seem inclined to talk about it.  I looked him up, though.  The blurb for his latest novel, Cry Father, claims:cry-father-9781476734354_hr

In the tradition of Cormac McCarthy and Larry Brown comes a haunting story about men, their fathers, their sons, and the legacy of violence.

Cool!  I’m downloading that book tonight!

(He looks like a total bad-ass in that PR photo, but he was quite shy with a nervous giggle).

That was the fun part of the day.  The rest was… Kansas.  Like Iowa, there’s not much to see; a few cattle grazing, lots of wide spots on the highway that have names, gas stations and rest stops.  But my audiobook and the pull of home made me cheerful.  And a new witticism from my Navigator.

thDNKM0U8QA stretch of I70 is a tollway.  John announced, “Congested traffic ahead.  Cough it up.  That’s medical humour.”  And he gave a very Cleesian snort of disgust.  Just when I thought I’d heard all his funnies.

Tonight I occupy the basement of a young, professional bachelor.  He’s out to dinner at the moment, so I’ve let myself in (per his kind instructions) and set up shop.  Soon, my Ramen noodles will be burbling, and I’ll see about finding Ben’s book.

A good day.

Tomorrow… home.

Westward Ho! Day 14

Lamar, CO (8:30 AM Mountain) to Roeland Park (Kansas City), KS (6:30 PM Central).  474 miles.
Notables: Jim Butcher’s audiobook Small Favor (laugh-out-loud supernatural fun).

Mourning Dove, Cabin Lake Viewing Blinds, Deschutes National Forest, Near Fort Rock, Oregon

Eastern Colorado got hot yesterday; upper 80s and dry as shed rattlesnake skin.  So, it was pure d-lite to open the windows of my shabby-chic turret room and sleep with the night air washing everything cool and clean.  Mourning doves woke me this morning; a sound I grew up on and always says home to me.  I’m close now.

Jane, my host, made a real breakfast for me and the family staying downstairs; a wedge of watermelon with blackberries and strawberries sprinkled on top, French toast with a warm orange/lemon sauce; bacon; and really good coffee.

Sour-Cream-Chocolate-Bread-from-ChocolateChocolateandmore-34aJane started B&B-ing twelve years ago, and like the other pro-hosts I’ve met on this journey, her hospitality far exceeds expectations.  She carried my heavy bag upstairs for me, even though I tried to stop her.  She came back in a few minutes with a cut-crystal glass of ice water when she saw my little fridge was out of bottled water.  A slice of her chocolate bread waited for me on an antique breakfast-in-bed tray.

Like Doris in Roseburg, Oregon, Jane did all these wonderful extras matter-of-factly.  Just part of the job.  But their businesslike demeanors cover fonts of generosity and genuine kindness.  These are the kind of ladies you want for neighbors, who show up when disaster strikes and get to work doing what needs to be done.

th736MWWNCI met the family staying in the downstairs room briefly when I arrived; a dad with a tween daughter and younger son.  Breakfast was pleasant with kids who weren’t too shy or too bored to talk.  And the dad had lovely manners (Jane and I were both “ma’am”).

He mentioned in passing that he wrote crime novels.  My ears perked up, but I didn’t pry; he didn’t seem inclined to talk about it.  I looked him up, though.  The blurb for his latest novel, Cry Father, claims:cry-father-9781476734354_hr

In the tradition of Cormac McCarthy and Larry Brown comes a haunting story about men, their fathers, their sons, and the legacy of violence.

Cool!  I’m downloading that book tonight!

(He looks like a total bad-ass in that PR photo, but he was quite shy with a nervous giggle).

That was the fun part of the day.  The rest was… Kansas.  Like Iowa, there’s not much to see; a few cattle grazing, lots of wide spots on the highway that have names, gas stations and rest stops.  But my audiobook and the pull of home made me cheerful.  And a new witticism from my Navigator.

thDNKM0U8QA stretch of I70 is a tollway.  John announced, “Congested traffic ahead.  Cough it up.  That’s medical humour.”  And he gave a very Cleesian snort of disgust.  Just when I thought I’d heard all his funnies.

Tonight I occupy the basement of a young, professional bachelor.  He’s out to dinner at the moment, so I’ve let myself in (per his kind instructions) and set up shop.  Soon, my Ramen noodles will be burbling, and I’ll see about finding Ben’s book.

A good day.

Tomorrow… home.


Life is Tenuous At Best

image

Atina the Amazing Malinois was trying to climb this tall tree that you see here.  I looked where her gaze was riveted, and thus is what I saw: the back end of a raptor of some sort, white underside, soft, with enormous grasping talons.  I knew the rest of it must be on the other side of the branch the corpse had been draped over, or rather, dropped over by the triumphant winner of what must have been a hell of an aeronautic battle.  No blood, which points to a slam from above, a tactic used by other raptors to rid themselves of competition in their hunting territories.  Here is the other side:

image

The young raptor’s beak curves off to the left.  You can see how she is just draped across the crotch of this piñon pine, as if she was simply dropped there.

Well, she was.  I’ve never seen anything like this before.  She was too high up to have been put there by people, who use this place in the forest on the Coconino Plateau, close to the Grand Canyon, as a hunting camp.  You can tell from the numerous white-picked skeletons of young elk and deer, headless and mostly whole except for the parts easily hauled off to be picked by the eaters of carrion.  And the young raptor, so far, has been left alone by Nature’s cleanup crew, so it must have happened very recently.

I had a heart attack five days ago.

It happened at about 6:15 on Monday morning.  I was awakened by a piercing pain on the right side of my head.  My blood pressure has been out of control lately, and I’ve been trying different meds to bring it down.  The one I’m on helps some.  I tried a tiny dose of a beta blocker, but my pulse went down to 48 and stayed there.  The next one clashed with my lithium so I couldn’t take that.  Another one is now waiting for me at the Walgreens in Flagstaff, but I’m chilling on the Plateau.  I’ll pick it up tomorrow.

Monday morning.  When I had the big pain in my head I thought, well, here it is, now I’ll really lose my whole left side.  At least language will be preserved, though, since the stroke is in my right brain.

But that pain went away, and suddenly my left chest got crushed by a great weight.  The weight also crushed my throat.  I couldn’t believe it.  I could barely breath.  My chest wouldn’t move.  I couldn’t move.  All I could do was wrap my arms around my chest and moan.  Atina plastered her full length against my side, panting.  I also panted.  I couldn’t expand my chest without aggravating the already excruciating heart pain.

It took maybe two hours before I was able to move.  And the rest of that day, all I could manage was to make my way from the bed to the bathroom, and back to bed.  Atina did get to go outside, but not for our usual two to three mile walk.  I gradually recovered my energy over the next few days.  I think I’ve been having some episodes of angina, heart muscle pain that comes and goes.  I’ve been having that for some time.

Listen, I found out the body does not like heart pain.  At all.  When the heart is not getting sufficient oxygen, it screams.

This is the third episode of heart pain I’ve had.  The first was maybe two years ago.  That time the pain woke me from a deep sleep.  It sat on me for hours.  I kept thinking, I should perhaps dial 911, but the phone is on my bedside table and I can’t move.  They always tell you it feels like an elephant is sitting on your chest.  They are right.

I had a third, smaller one in between the bigger ones.  That was when I tried to seek care at a large hospital with a large reputation, and ended up leaving without being seen because they were so rude to me I thought I was going to have a stroke.

I’m not afraid of dying.  I am afraid of the medical establishment, and I am afraid of having my life even more dominated by tests, invasive procedures, and “experts” than it is already.

For example, the only real way to find out what’s going on with my heart is to do a cardiac catheterization.  They thread a fiber optic tube through a blood vessel in your groin, all the way up into your heart, and from there they shoot some dye right into the three major arteries of the heart, and watch where it goes on a screen.  This way they can see whether the vessels are blocked, and if so, where and how much.  If the vessel is only partially blocked, they can open it with a balloon and maybe put a stent in there to keep the vessel open.

That sounds pretty simple, and most of the time it is.  But my blood vessels are very friable, meaning that they rupture easily.  Like, just opening a cabinet door, or walking over the edge of a rug.  Any little bump or stress, and I’ve got a painful hematoma.  So a major vascular procedure would be terribly risky. 

I’m much more afraid of a cardiac cath than I am of a crippling or fatal heart attack.  I just have to figure out how to save Atina from being locked in the van with me if it happens.  I’d call someone, but when this happens I’m unable to move.  So I’ve taken to leaving the doors unlocked at night.  Hopefully someone would show up eventually and let her out.

I wish all this grim stuff was not reality.  I have so many things I want to do, finally, and now this.  I feel as if I’m in the grip of some evil force that is making my life into a big joke.  I’ve been feeling that for decades, but the joke is getting worse and worse.


Life is Tenuous At Best

image

Atina the Amazing Malinois was trying to climb this tall tree that you see here.  I looked where her gaze was riveted, and thus is what I saw: the back end of a raptor of some sort, white underside, soft, with enormous grasping talons.  I knew the rest of it must be on the other side of the branch the corpse had been draped over, or rather, dropped over by the triumphant winner of what must have been a hell of an aeronautic battle.  No blood, which points to a slam from above, a tactic used by other raptors to rid themselves of competition in their hunting territories.  Here is the other side:

image

The young raptor’s beak curves off to the left.  You can see how she is just draped across the crotch of this piñon pine, as if she was simply dropped there.

Well, she was.  I’ve never seen anything like this before.  She was too high up to have been put there by people, who use this place in the forest on the Coconino Plateau, close to the Grand Canyon, as a hunting camp.  You can tell from the numerous white-picked skeletons of young elk and deer, headless and mostly whole except for the parts easily hauled off to be picked by the eaters of carrion.  And the young raptor, so far, has been left alone by Nature’s cleanup crew, so it must have happened very recently.

I had a heart attack five days ago.

It happened at about 6:15 on Monday morning.  I was awakened by a piercing pain on the right side of my head.  My blood pressure has been out of control lately, and I’ve been trying different meds to bring it down.  The one I’m on helps some.  I tried a tiny dose of a beta blocker, but my pulse went down to 48 and stayed there.  The next one clashed with my lithium so I couldn’t take that.  Another one is now waiting for me at the Walgreens in Flagstaff, but I’m chilling on the Plateau.  I’ll pick it up tomorrow.

Monday morning.  When I had the big pain in my head I thought, well, here it is, now I’ll really lose my whole left side.  At least language will be preserved, though, since the stroke is in my right brain.

But that pain went away, and suddenly my left chest got crushed by a great weight.  The weight also crushed my throat.  I couldn’t believe it.  I could barely breath.  My chest wouldn’t move.  I couldn’t move.  All I could do was wrap my arms around my chest and moan.  Atina plastered her full length against my side, panting.  I also panted.  I couldn’t expand my chest without aggravating the already excruciating heart pain.

It took maybe two hours before I was able to move.  And the rest of that day, all I could manage was to make my way from the bed to the bathroom, and back to bed.  Atina did get to go outside, but not for our usual two to three mile walk.  I gradually recovered my energy over the next few days.  I think I’ve been having some episodes of angina, heart muscle pain that comes and goes.  I’ve been having that for some time.

Listen, I found out the body does not like heart pain.  At all.  When the heart is not getting sufficient oxygen, it screams.

This is the third episode of heart pain I’ve had.  The first was maybe two years ago.  That time the pain woke me from a deep sleep.  It sat on me for hours.  I kept thinking, I should perhaps dial 911, but the phone is on my bedside table and I can’t move.  They always tell you it feels like an elephant is sitting on your chest.  They are right.

I had a third, smaller one in between the bigger ones.  That was when I tried to seek care at a large hospital with a large reputation, and ended up leaving without being seen because they were so rude to me I thought I was going to have a stroke.

I’m not afraid of dying.  I am afraid of the medical establishment, and I am afraid of having my life even more dominated by tests, invasive procedures, and “experts” than it is already.

For example, the only real way to find out what’s going on with my heart is to do a cardiac catheterization.  They thread a fiber optic tube through a blood vessel in your groin, all the way up into your heart, and from there they shoot some dye right into the three major arteries of the heart, and watch where it goes on a screen.  This way they can see whether the vessels are blocked, and if so, where and how much.  If the vessel is only partially blocked, they can open it with a balloon and maybe put a stent in there to keep the vessel open.

That sounds pretty simple, and most of the time it is.  But my blood vessels are very friable, meaning that they rupture easily.  Like, just opening a cabinet door, or walking over the edge of a rug.  Any little bump or stress, and I’ve got a painful hematoma.  So a major vascular procedure would be terribly risky. 

I’m much more afraid of a cardiac cath than I am of a crippling or fatal heart attack.  I just have to figure out how to save Atina from being locked in the van with me if it happens.  I’d call someone, but when this happens I’m unable to move.  So I’ve taken to leaving the doors unlocked at night.  Hopefully someone would show up eventually and let her out.

I wish all this grim stuff was not reality.  I have so many things I want to do, finally, and now this.  I feel as if I’m in the grip of some evil force that is making my life into a big joke.  I’ve been feeling that for decades, but the joke is getting worse and worse.


My Poor Murdered Bike

My sister ran over my bike. It had fallen over in the garage and she didn’t see it.  “I think I ran over the back tire,” she says.  I go to look at it.  I don’t think the back tire should be curly.  Dammit!  I’m not happy.  But then again, the tires were already flat and the chain was off and jammed.  Already, the bike was a useless fixture in the garage.  How mad can I be?  I’m mad at myself because I hadn’t repaired it before now, and I’m  mad that I didn’t buy the hardware to hang it up when we first moved in here.  Now I went to look at my bike again, and it looks even WORSE!  The seat is all wonky and has smudge marks like maybe that got run over too!  Part of me wants to get really mad at my sister, and part of me wants to get really mad at me.  This is the perfect opportunity to have a ragefest!  Maybe the Abilify is smoothing me out, because I just can’t work myself into a rage.  All I can do is think “I have to take this fucker into the shop and evaluate my options.” Is it fixable?  If so, how much?  Can I afford it?

Although I’m not grateful for two flat tires, a curly wheel, a jammed chain and a wonky seat, I guess I am grateful for an even mood that just says “Deal with it.” This is new!  This is different!  Maybe I’m ready to make my own Abilify commercial!  I don’t know.  This is my Saturday wisdom. Take the good where you can find it. This is my good.  I’m not having a cow.  I’m dealing.  It’s ok.  And now I’m gonna go eat pizza.  Peach out!


Filed under: Bipolar, Bipolar Anger Tagged: Bipolar, Blogging, Hope, Humor, Mental Illness, Psychology, Reader

My Poor Murdered Bike

My sister ran over my bike. It had fallen over in the garage and she didn’t see it.  “I think I ran over the back tire,” she says.  I go to look at it.  I don’t think the back tire should be curly.  Dammit!  I’m not happy.  But then again, the tires were already flat and the chain was off and jammed.  Already, the bike was a useless fixture in the garage.  How mad can I be?  I’m mad at myself because I hadn’t repaired it before now, and I’m  mad that I didn’t buy the hardware to hang it up when we first moved in here.  Now I went to look at my bike again, and it looks even WORSE!  The seat is all wonky and has smudge marks like maybe that got run over too!  Part of me wants to get really mad at my sister, and part of me wants to get really mad at me.  This is the perfect opportunity to have a ragefest!  Maybe the Abilify is smoothing me out, because I just can’t work myself into a rage.  All I can do is think “I have to take this fucker into the shop and evaluate my options.” Is it fixable?  If so, how much?  Can I afford it?

Although I’m not grateful for two flat tires, a curly wheel, a jammed chain and a wonky seat, I guess I am grateful for an even mood that just says “Deal with it.” This is new!  This is different!  Maybe I’m ready to make my own Abilify commercial!  I don’t know.  This is my Saturday wisdom. Take the good where you can find it. This is my good.  I’m not having a cow.  I’m dealing.  It’s ok.  And now I’m gonna go eat pizza.  Peach out!


Filed under: Bipolar, Bipolar Anger Tagged: Bipolar, Blogging, Hope, Humor, Mental Illness, Psychology, Reader

My Poor Murdered Bike

My sister ran over my bike. It had fallen over in the garage and she didn’t see it.  “I think I ran over the back tire,” she says.  I go to look at it.  I don’t think the back tire should be curly.  Dammit!  I’m not happy.  But then again, the tires were already flat and the chain was off and jammed.  Already, the bike was a useless fixture in the garage.  How mad can I be?  I’m mad at myself because I hadn’t repaired it before now, and I’m  mad that I didn’t buy the hardware to hang it up when we first moved in here.  Now I went to look at my bike again, and it looks even WORSE!  The seat is all wonky and has smudge marks like maybe that got run over too!  Part of me wants to get really mad at my sister, and part of me wants to get really mad at me.  This is the perfect opportunity to have a ragefest!  Maybe the Abilify is smoothing me out, because I just can’t work myself into a rage.  All I can do is think “I have to take this fucker into the shop and evaluate my options.” Is it fixable?  If so, how much?  Can I afford it?

Although I’m not grateful for two flat tires, a curly wheel, a jammed chain and a wonky seat, I guess I am grateful for an even mood that just says “Deal with it.” This is new!  This is different!  Maybe I’m ready to make my own Abilify commercial!  I don’t know.  This is my Saturday wisdom. Take the good where you can find it. This is my good.  I’m not having a cow.  I’m dealing.  It’s ok.  And now I’m gonna go eat pizza.  Peach out!


Filed under: Bipolar, Bipolar Anger Tagged: Bipolar, Blogging, Hope, Humor, Mental Illness, Psychology, Reader