Can you hear me now?

I've got hearing trouble.
 Now, I'm nearly deaf in one ear and aching in the other for over 3 weeks. When I saw the doctor I asked what could be done. I've put every thing over the counter into the ears to clear out the wax, done self flushes with bulb syringes and drops for pain.

After the Doctor looks into my ears and says I need major cleaning ,  declaring it a painful and lengthy process, I agree and submit. How dreadful that I'm unable to clean my own ears!  After 3 hours of drops, soaking, flushing repeatedly, and a nurse with gritted teeth and determination to bring brain matter and wax out of the ear or push it through to the other side,  I called it quits after regaining muffled hearing in the deaf ear. Now sound come from behind me. Strange but its like the noise is started in front and it's arched around to the back. Maybe after all that messing around with the ear canals, they were diverted to the back of my head?  I'm like a cat. . . sitting quiet and peaceful then whipping my head to the side when there's a sound with big eyes-"What's that noise?".
 Yesterday there was a deep rumble and vibration so I thought San Andreas was parting California from the union, but it was the construction trucks next door and weird that it was so much louder inside my head than it really was.
I was directed to continue to swim every day but to keep my ears out of the water. 10 gallons of water have already been forcefully pushed into the ears by the nurse. Really! Not possible.  What would be the point? I do my best strokes under water. I swear that if I shake my head I can hear the water sloshing in there like a water bottle.
 For now, I'll walk around and be chased by the sounds. At least I can hear something! I can definitely hear myself very clearly-Isn't that what really matters? -My voice is most unpleasant and nasally- Has it always been like that? . . . just can't hear any one else! Absolutely have lost the higher pitched noises like the phone or doorbell so friends, stop any hurt feelings if you feel you've been slighted or ignored. Try banging on the door. Captain will come and get me.
I need an ear trumpet. That might work for me as a temporary aide.
  If you want to talk,  tap me on the shoulder and stand behind me so I can hear every word . If you are successful reaching me by phone, I'll hold the receiver to the back of my head.
Where is Verizon! - "Can you hear me now?"

I've exercised and I can't get up.

I went for a walk in the park the other day with my power walking friend. She is a pillar of health and strength and had already walked 2 miles to meet and motivate me to walk  with her. I used to be an avid walker, but since the knee blew out and lost all of its cartilage and I'm too stubborn to have it replaced with bionics, I can't go walking like I used to. Dear girl is all encouragement and smiles.

So we begin our walk . It's early, early morning and cool out. Overcast and no sun beating down on me.   I'm pumped. I can do this. I used to do it 3 times a week for years with no problem.

I begin the walk going up-hill. No effort at all- until we  reach the 100 yard mark. Now I'm hot. I'm panting. I cannot talk and walk but that's okay, my friend is doing all the talking and pretends  she doesn't notice me counting the steps until the hill is over. After 200 yards, I'm beginning to wonder why I ever thought I could just start walking like by gone days  on the spur of the moment. I should be working myself up for it.

At 250 yards, I tell my friend that I need to stop and pant for a bit at the stop sign ahead. At 300 yards, I see the stop sign is still another 100 feet away and just stand there on the curb panting and sweating. Apologize to my friend, but she is still  smiles and encouragement , carrying on pleasant conversation, but I know she is regretting that her power walk has turned into a stroll and she is nearly jogging in place waiting for me to continue.

I know that at the top of this endless hill there is a fire station full of firemen and paramedics so I decided to hold off on the heart attack until I got within sight of them. I forgot my phone-otherwise I could have dialed ahead and ordered my resuscitation.

We circle the massive park, overstepping the billions of snails trying to escape their dried up brush  for moisture across the path to freshly watered lawn, and work our way back up hill to the parking lot where just glimpsing the blue of my car in the distance gives me hope and a surge of energy to finish off what's left of my knee. It's been nearly an hour and I am sopping wet, a hot mess,  even though it's cool enough for my friend to wear a sweat shirt . I'm gulping my water as if I've just been released from the Mojave dessert. My friend is still smiling, not a lick of sweat on her brow or staining the shirt front, back, or pant legs of her outfit. I am all done in. No cardiac arrest but  I'm going to take some aspirin to prevent any blood clots from forming just in case. My blood isn't used to this much stimulation this early in the day.

I'm skipping the coffee and going for the diet coke as soon as I get home. I need a nap . A massage. A margarita.

My friend is kind and understanding. I doubt she'll be calling for a repeat of the day. The brush with death too close.  It was touch and go there if she'd have to carry or drag me to the car. As I bid her good day and thanked her for the bonding time, she jogs off, another  2 miles up hill to her house and I gladly jump into my car and coast 2 miles down hill toward mine. If there is a next time, I'm going to bring an electric scooter and wear an emergency responder button. "I've exercised and I can't get up!"

Maui Memory

  

One of my favorite vacation  places  is Maui. Who doesn't like Maui?

On one of our visits, we met up with some  friends from our city who were also vacationing on the island during the same week. We met them at a favorite snorkeling area, Black Rock, which is by a popular seaside resort. The water was too rough and churning for good snorkeling and the surf there can get  rough. You don't want to turn your back on it. Still, having  swim fins on is a good idea to help navigate better through the rough parts. The beach is full but there's no one in the water. Good. We won't have to worry about watching out for anybody but ourselves.

The surf was too rough to put the fins on in the water, so we put ours on while on the beach and did the backward walk into the waves. Remember, you should never turn your back on the waves crashing, but there was really no choice. My friend and I decided to give swimming a try, don our fins and start backing into the water. Our husbands are sitting on the beach, watching and opting to just work on their current sun burns.

TJ is excited and before I know it, she's already backed into the water up to her calves. Half a second later, a churning wave smacks her backside and she falls down, looking surprised and shocked. I'm rethinking the wading in treacherous ocean water, but drawn to it because it is my favorite beach and I'm in Maui! You just have to swim every day and I think I'm a pretty decent swimmer.

The wave hits the heels of my fins and I take a tentative step backward. Here comes T.J. She's still down, and now she is washed ashore like a piece of seaweed. She looks up at me, laughs and says, "Man, this is rough! " and regains an upright stance, only to be knocked down again and dragged out to her neck by the attacking wave.

She's yelping, flailing her arms to get balance on the sand below, but her head is above water. I'm out of the water taking off the fins. Forget it. I'll just wade. Throw my fins to Mr. Man to guard and turn back toward TJ.  As soon as you can say "FLIPPER", she's  back on the shore, rolling toward me like a red carpet being unfurled. These waves are relentless and unforgiving.

The beach full of people are watching her intently. No one is running to her aide. It's more fun watching her get churned up and spit out again and again. On her fifth attempt, her fin footed self is rolling around on the shore, feet in the air and her bathing suit and cover up are askew as she is laughing and spinning on her back like an upside down turtle in the middle of her own tide pool and eddy. Tough little thing, she is soon upright again, with arms waving in circles for balance, trying to dislodge the pounds of sand from the fins, decides to sit down and scooch into the water when a bigger than usual wave reaches up and smacks her on the back of the head, knocking her over, leaving her panting and sprawled again in the sand as the wave slides back and leaves her high and dry ashore.

She is a sight. Laughing hysterically and looking nearly drowned, rolling around in the surf. I'm no help to her. She is not able to regain balance long enough to stay on her feet for more than 2 seconds. We both have reverted back to toddlers. I have laughed too hard and wet myself. Our husbands are looking away and pretending not to know us. No help coming from them. One last time she is nearly into the surf up to her knees when she is expelled from the ocean like a mighty vomit, covered in sand and crawls up out of the surf and saves herself.

Neptune wins today. As we give up and walk up the beach toward the resort, there is a HUGE sign stating, "DANGEROUS AND TREACHEROUS SURF AND UNDER TOW- NO LIFE GAURD ON DUTY---Swim at your own risk accompanied by a picture of a little stick  man  in swim shorts, waving farewell as a tsunami wave symbol tosses him upside down.

I'm surprised more tourists don't get dragged out to sea and drown. Neither one of us got more than 10 feet from the shore, but the beach side resort full of people got quite the show and I got a delightful Maui Memory and lesson learned. . . . no matter how good a swimmer you think you are, it's always prudent to use caution and take the posted warning signs seriously. I think I still have sand in my ears.                                                                                            

Don't worry T.J. You are a cute sea tortoise and you made a whole lot of people laugh. 

We'll make it into the ocean next time.

Extended vacation.

Every year we take an extended vacation of more than a week , planning every single day in detail on a "grid" so we don't forget to have fun or miss something we wanted to do. (This is Mr. Man's rule). I am more of the free spirit. If I know there's a place to sleep that's safe at the end of the day with indoor plumbing, that's pretty much all I require. Otherwise, my plans are flexible and I like to find the fun spontaneously. This year, we're taking a road trip.

It seems as if there's a lot of prep  for leaving the house. Rules and directions cleaning and such. I don't want to have the house sitters or pet care givers choking on dust or fur. I clean out the fridge, leaving only the jams , olives and condiments. The refrigerator shelves are usually packed full of tasty tid- bits for our meals and snacks, but as the shelves are cleared and the food eaten, Mr. Man begins to panic about what his dinners are going to consist of . . . especially when we're down to frozen mystery meat and various canned goods of random sauces and soups.

Out of the 4 shelves in the fridge, We are down to 1 with actual edible food and a drawer of soft cheeses. The game begins -to create a meal that can be digested and presentable . (Mr. Man is picky despite his protests to the contrary and likes "attractively arranged" platters of food for dinner.   He voices his concern that we have no bread, meats, "good" veges, fruits or "fun snacks" and the fridge is looking far too empty.  We're down to half a bottle of white wine, a gallon container of pickle relish, some questionable onions, and a tub of marinated mozzarella balls .  The beer is nearly gone. Only 6 pints of IPA left, so the rationing has to be carefully calculated. . until our departure date.

The fridge clean out is a great opportunity to start our new diet plan and refilling it only with the last resort foods because they're good for you stuff. Maybe that's why Mr. Man is anxious about the empty fridge shelves. Good eating habits are only a vacation away! 

Fridge nearly empty and cleaned.
 House and pool prep completed in 1 day.

Pet supplies -obtained.                                                                                

Bathing suits packed. Hiking boots ready to walk about.

Car gassed and tires inflated.

GPS loaded and reservations saved on the cells.

We are vacation ready and good to go. . . let's do this!  (photos to follow).

Get over yourself!

Bagged salad was on  sale at the local Trader Joe's. Love the baby spinach there so I headed over to get that deal. There is a man standing in front of the refrigerated case full of all the bags of lettuce and premade salads. As I walk up and stand beside him, I'm wondering which two I will buy'; the big bags are 2 for $5 or small ones buy one get the second half off. I thought the man was pondering the same. . . so many choices, so cheap. I ask him, "which ones are we buying today?" He turns and looks at me. Shocking reply . . . "I'm married".  He walks off without choosing and I stand there blinking and wondering how that was interpreted as a  request for a hook up.  Dude! I've got news for you. I'm just shopping for vegetables, and you just may qualify with a little more practice.  Why don't you head on over to the big produce section and sit yourself between the artichokes and the squash. Get over yourself!

"Isaac"

"Isaac" is 7 years old and has asthma. He has had several hospitalizations for it in the past, but this time, he also has pneumonia . He's been having difficulty breathing for days, and with the help of I.V. antibiotics, steroids and endless breathing treatments around the clock , he's getting better after day 3. Now his problem is keeping his oxygen saturation levels above the doctor prescribed 94% and to do this, he has to keep his oxygen mask on or the level drops and the machine that measures it, the pulse oximeter, alarms to let the medical staff know he is dropping below that target.

The pulse oximeter is usually a finger probe or small light sensor connected to an adhesive strip that goes on the finger; or toe. Isaac is tired of having one of his digits covered by the probe. . . trust me, its been moved around to every possible place to keep it on. His oxygen levels have been constantly lower than 90 percent without oxygen, and with the oxygen, he is barely maintaining the 94%. The battle is constant to keep the oxygen mask on him because the nasal cannula was used as his chew toy, his sling shot, his lasso, chair whip and even was braided into his IV tubing causing an extreme excess of time to detangle and unkink. He complained about his nose hurting from the cannula so we switched him to a mask to give his nose some time off.

No amount of explaining about keeping the oxygen on or promises of going home sooner would impress this boy to keep the oxygen on his face. Heck, I would have settled for the general area, giving him a tube of blow-by oxygen that he could point in his direction if only he would do it. Short of strapping Isaac to the bed and confined into 5 point restraints, ILLEGAL I should add, we were all having a challenge keeping oxygen on this boy. The respiratory therapists and nursing staff were out of ideas how to help this child help himself. No amount of coercion , distraction or bribery worked. We needed to find out what his button for motivation was. The pediatrician tells me to do whatever it takes but has no luck talking to the boy either and no suggestions about how to achieve it.

Taking my turn at Isaac for the second shift in a row and frustrated as the rest of the staff and doctors, I walk in to find the boy wearing his mask on his ear. "It's by my face!" he shouted. Yes, but not in the right place. We discuss at length AGAIN, why he needs the oxygen, why the doctor isn't going to send him home until he wears it and gets better, etc. . . Feeling smug that I've had a break through with the little man, I replace his oxygen, walk out and alarms sound before I get to the desk. He has a lot of energy for a child who can't breathe well and clinically is pretty sick! This is going to be a very long and tedious day. My partner is laughing at me and glad she is on the other run of the pediatric unit with her compliant babies and innocent cherubs. 

Looking at Isaac, he now has his mask on top of his head like a hat. Cute, but not really conducive to air flow. The Respiratory therapist, who has the patience of a saint, has to stand and hold his treatment to make sure the IV pole isn't the one getting the nebulized medications. This is getting ridiculous. The mask has migrated to the back of his head, his chest, "look! I have a boob!", his elbow and every other body part except over his nose and mouth. All this while he's virtually panting . My best bet is to stay at the bedside with him until he falls asleep, but he's not sleepy yet!

We talk and talk and he tells me between deep breaths, that when he is a rich man, he's going to be a jet pilot and fly around the moon. When he has a ton of money, he's going to buy himself a football team and be famous. All his dreams revolve around money. I have an epiphany. Money is what this boy likes. I am going to pay him to keep that oxygen on. I like coercion better than bribery, but desperate times you know...We strike up a deal. 25 cents for 30 minutes. If the alarm goes off  because the oxygen is off his face, the timer resets. He loves the timer. I have a sand hour glass  and give it to him to start , along with an egg timer we keep for nursing breaks. My idea works. He is raking in the quarters. After the first dollars worth, he is excited. He calls his mother and tells her he has a paid job. I call her and tell her to bring more quarters! We have a craft time to make a "bank" for his money. The day is getting better for all of us.

Best $3 investment ever. Isaac got to go home 2 days later and after that first day, we weaned him off that oxygen and he didn't need to get paid to get better any longer. I'll always remember him fondly with his little oxygen mask ear muff and smile, and glad that he is breathing better. So am I!

chilling in the pool

One of my favorite past times and little luxuries is chilling in the pool. What a complete waste of time, but rejuvenating and peaceful. I've done some of my best napping and reading poolside. Not to mention the outrageous snack trays, pre-made margaritas and barbecue. I've even written term papers, taken online testing and copied transcripts, all while standing in the pool.

Getting into the pool takes no time, its the prepping that is key.

Our planter is lined with ficus trees. Lovely and green, providing shade and privacy, they drop their little balls of, "fruit?" in copious amounts filling the pool skimmer to capacity. If there's a breeze, you hear the plop, plop of the little balls hitting the water and sweeping them up is an endless task, but if you step on one it really can hurt. (Note to new pool owners. . . Don't plant these around the pool if you don't like a lot of mess!). So begins the task of prepping the pool for my entry. I have to drain the skimmer basket first.  I will not reach in to grab it because you never know what's floating in there under the layer of bobbing ficus balls.

As I pulled the basket up, a Japanese Beetle comes crawling up my arm, grateful to escape its watery grave. Little did it know its demise was eminent as I blood curdle scream and gag at the feel of its legs crawling up my limb. It was hurled into the concrete fence and as it got up to fly away, it's hit 50 yards out of the yard with the skimmer net. Still feeling it crawling on my arm, I may need to sever it or seek psychotherapy to get over the horror. If the beetle lived, I hope it warned off its friends to stay clear of my yard.

Alas, pool prep isn't over yet. I have to remove all floating matter off of the top of the water before getting in. Not risking bug contact and really hate it when a leaf sticks to my body. OCD about the floaters, and spend 30 minutes skimming the pool until its ready for entry. In the meantime, Mr. Man struts out, mounts the diving board and plunges in , heedless of bugs , balls or leaves. He taunts and heckles me the entire time I'm skimming and if he were not such a heartless man, he would prep the pool for me . Once I'm in the pool, I stay in, swimming laps, floating on my back looking at the clouds or a plethora of other activities for hours at a time.  This is southern California living at its best. I am so lucky to have this place of peace and beauty. If  you're looking for me, I'm out at the pool. Come on in. The water is fine!