Le monde de fromage de Kate

I’ve always been a dedicated fan of and sometimes contributor to the Tiny Pineapple Nurse Book Collection: Career Romances for Young Moderns. But tonight – what to my wondering eyes should appear, but THIS:

It’s Christmas Morning all over again.

That is a message I would like to impress upon my Father. He’s in the hospital again. He’ll have good care; hopefully he doesn’t need another angiogram.

But through my worry I find myself so angry and frustrated. One of the VERY few nights I don’t play vampire (trying to be a “normal” person and sleep more often AT NIGHT) and my Dad’s up all night having dizziness, trying to faint, having stomach symptoms. His solution was to sit and take his own blood pressure to see how low it was – again and again and again. Finally, I guess he woke up my Mother at about 5:00 a.m. and they went to the hospital when he finally decided that seven thousand REALLY LOW blood pressure readings were not good.

I had no idea. I went out to the garage to get cat food at about 7:00 a.m. and wondered where my Mom had gone so early. I called her hours later, because I was getting VERY curious and a little concerned about the early departure, etc. and she told me where they were. I thought perhaps my insisting on the paramedics at the airport last month might have made an impression. I imagine that he thought that since they let me drive him home (his oxygen saturation was okay, his EKG was okay, his blood pressure and pulse were low, but not dangerously). He just didn’t really listen very closely to the part about FOLLOWING UP WITH HIS DOCTOR because they couldn’t do blood cultures and other tests. And I’m not sure he listened to the part about how stents can get clots and can collapse and all such fun. He was leaving town again in a few days so he followed up the by calling the nurse. AHHHHHHHHH!

He has seen the heart specialist since then, which was good. HOWEVER, after spending time feeling like he’d narrowly eluded his own death, he went back to his same, over-working, over-stressed ways (I grant you, it’s hard to change a stressful nature, but the WORK…).

And let’s put the heart problems aside, and the stroke risk – even the foreboding hernia – and talk about what should be considered his most drastic health issue – the cancer. What is going to happen if he has to go on chemo when the androgen therapy finally fails and they don’t have a post-androgen solution yet? The man WILL NOT wash his hands effectively, cover his mouth when he hacks all over – you name it. I can’t imagine a worse person to be immunodeficient. We’ll have to hose him down regularly with hand sanitizer, I guess.

I’m truly sorry, this is not the sort of festive holiday message I would have liked to post right now. But this just impresses so strongly in my mind that my number one holiday wish for EVERYONE I know and love (okay – and for the World) is that they take good care of themselves. And please, please let the medical professionals take over when you are at a loss.

My best and warmest holiday wishes to everyone; GOOD HEALTH and happiness to all.

Dearest Shirleen,
Elder Sister of Mine,
Eldest of ALL the Siblings,
Eldest Grandchild of the Matriarchal side of the Family,
Eldest Grandchild of the Patriarchal side of the Family,

I want you to have the Most SPECIAL Fortieth Birthday of ALL. What a rite of passage! I cannot wait until I take this momentous step myself. Oh – wait – yes I can.

Instead of the standard Birthday Blather, as you are a scholar of history and science and anything else that strikes your fancy, here are some most interesting facts about your natal day:

Cool, huh? But there’s more! Here’s a plethora of fun birthday facts from “The Death Report – Morbid Facts About Your Birthday:”

People who died on December 17, 1967 (the exact day you were born)

• Harold Holt, Australian Prime Minister
• Jack Perrin, American actor

Unusual Deaths in 1967

• …a flash fire began in the pure oxygen environment during a training exercise inside the unlaunched Apollo 1 Spacecraft, killing command pilot Gus Grissom, senior pilot Ed White, and pilot Roger B. Chaffee. The door to the capsule was unable to be opened during the fire because of its particular design. Had the soviet union revealed the earlier death of Valentin Bondarenko, this incident could likely have been avoided.
• Vladimir Komarov became the first person to die during a space mission after the parachute of his capsule failed to deploy following re-entry.

Natural disasters in 1967

• Belvidere – Oak Lawn Tornado Outbreak
• Caracas earthquake
• St. Louis tornado outbreak

People who died on December 17 (various years)

• 2006 – Larry Sherry, American baseball player
• 2005 – Marc Favreau, French Canadian humourist (Sol)
• 2005 – Jack Anderson, American journalist
• 2003 – Otto Graham, American football player
• 2003 – Ed Devereaux, Australian actor
• 2002 – James Hazeldine, British actor
• 1999 – Rex Allen, American actor, singer and songwriter
• 1999 – Grover Washington, Jr., American saxophonist
• 1998 – Claudia Benton, Peruvian, Pediatric Neurologist and researcher
• 1992 – Dana Andrews, American actor
• 1987 – Linda Wong, pornographic actress
• 1987 – Marguerite Yourcenar, Belgian novelist
• 1982 – Homer S. Ferguson, American politician
• 1978 – Don Ellis, American jazz band leader
• 1964 – Victor Franz Hess, Austrian-born physicist, Nobel laureate
• 1962 – Thomas Mitchell, American actor
• 1957 – Dorothy L. Sayers, British writer
• 1940 – Alicia Boole Stott, Irish mathematician
• 1933 – Thubten Gyatso, 13th Dalai Lama
• 1917 – Frank Gotch, wrestler
• 1917 – Elizabeth Garrett Anderson, British physician
• 1909 – Léopold II of Belgium
• 1907 – William Thomson, 1st Baron Kelvin, Irish-born physicist
• 1897 – Alphonse Daudet, French writer
• 1833 – Kaspar Hauser, German foundling
• 1830 – Simón Bolívar, Venezuelan-born libertator, six nations
• 1721 – Richard Lumley, 1st Earl of Scarbrough, English statesman
• 1663 – Nzinga of Ndongo and Matamba
• 1273 – Rumi (b.1207)
• 1195 – Baldwin V, Count of Hainaut
• 1187 – Pope Gregory VIII
• 942 – William Longsword

What auspicious company! Men and women of science, the screen, the pen – a Nobel laureat, a Dalai Lama, a Pope, royalty, revolutionaries, PORN STARS – what more can I say? Oh – I can tell you that we are directly related to William Longsword (843 – December 17, 942), also known as Guillaume Longue-Épée and Viljâlmr Langaspjôt, who was one of the six famous Dukes of Normandy (all ancestors of ours); he was, more specifically, our somethingth great-grandfather.

But seriously (she says after a long report of death facts – HAH), you are an inspiration to me, my bionic, Bluetooth® enabled big sis. And though I haven’t figured it out yet (let’s see, dinner is at about 6:00 – I still have a few hours), I really want to do something special for you – I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. If I fail miserably, know that the thought counts. Right?

Every year without fail, from somewhere – I don’t know exactly, I get a birthday reminder for Syd – a week before, another a few days before. I know I subscribed to some service eons ago that sends me this message, but I don’t get the reminders for anyone else. No one. And I won’t cancel it.

Her’s is one of the handful of phone numbers in my mobile directory that I cannot erase. I just can’t. Her obituary and some of the newspaper articles written at the time are still on the kitchen bulletin board. They’ll stay; I don’t know how long.

I stole this picture from Hobie. I hope she doesn’t mind. My thoughts are with you, my dear, and your family!

I don’t know what play is pictured, I don’t when it was painted, but it feels like it’s every show, every time.

Yes, it is December, but if I close my eyes REALLY tight and chant, “Punkin, punkin, punkin, PUNKIN, PUNKIN, PUNKIN*!!!!” I am magically transported back to October. I had some things to get done then, so I don’t need any new items on my to-do list (which exists only in my ginormous noggin, and that is unfortunate, indeed, given the unreliable nature of the contents thereof).

*While I wantonly sprinkle “u” into words (honour, colour – you’ve all seen it if you’ve read ANY ENTRY WHATSOEVER in this blog) in a delusional British wannabe manner, I rarely if ever use the word “pumpkin.” I’m entirely too fond of punkins. So sue me, gourd people.

Here are a few of the things about which I’ve been meaning to write and some I had no intention of covering. They are in no particular order.

Come to think of it, that’s a really inept expression. I may not list these things in chronological order, order of priority or order of preference, but they are in a particular order: The first I list is the FIRST in order, the second is SECOND and so forth.

• Sarah turned nineteen on November Fourth. (Happy Birthday! Woo Woo!) I believe this gives her the privilege of BUYING cigarettes in Utah though she could have legally SMOKED them last year (at least that was the law at some point, I believe). She doesn’t smoke, so I cannot really say she partied hard over this entitlement.
  She has developed a penchant for wearing lots of black, which I find really amusing (and not just because she used to dress like “Rainbow Brite”), as I started the same preference around her age. Too bad I kept it up for the next…too many years. Then again, the musicians’ and the actors’ world doesn’t help you embrace vibrant colours.
• I joined a gym (again). I have found, from past experience, that the act of belonging to the gym in and of itself does not make one fit. Go figure. I have concluded, therefore, that I must visit the gym other than to tour the facility and to come back and pay to join. Admittedly, I don’t FEEL more fit from these first two visits, so getting on a treadmill or in the lap pool might be a good idea.
• Lovely Ms. Emma turned twelve on November twenty-second. She is ENTIRELY too grown up for my comfort. When did she become a “young lady?” It’s just untoward. I remember speaking and singing to her while she was in her mother’s womb (which, as far as I can tell, did not do any long-lasting damage).
• I payed a visit to Emma, Zoe, Paige and Abby (and Maxwell, though he was really into his iPod while I was there – I did get to hear a recording of a band comprised of his friends – very impressive) the other evening. I have wrangled (successfully) groups of grade-school kids, hundreds of junior high school students as well as small intense groups doing Shakespeare, a bunch of peppy first-graders and Kindergarteners, large groups of even younger children, and I cannot keep the decibel level of any interaction with these wacky punsters much below slightly deafening. But I don’t have my own wacky, delightful brood, so I must borrow Jenny’s and Grettir’s sometimes despite the festival atmosphere I seem to unwittingly incite. I did try to leave a while before their actual bedtime so they could have time to chill, meditate and be Zen.
• If you get your mammogram during Breast Cancer Awareness month, you get presents. As far as the actual process, I didn’t think it was nearly as bad as people make it out to be. To be frank (as we should be about these issues), I am not…well – I am not “perky” or “small.” I can see how that might make the process more painful. The most uncomfortable part of the mammogram, as I see it, is the fact that they try to get as much as possible of your CHEST WALL in each shot. I’m coming back to this topic, I assure you, so stop covering your ears, William. This is a MEDICAL procedure.
• I think I should end with a confession. I thought that Grettir invented TinyUrl. Yup. It did say “Tiny” and I hadn’t seen them before he used them…

I keep promising “Part II” and updates and I haven’t managed it. I will, however, share an interesting fact that I learned but SECONDS ago: My blog has a janitor.

Who knew.

Yes, it was the big rivalry game of the year: BYU versus The University of Utah. Let’s just say my Father is a die-hard BYU fan (he is a BYU professor). Since the University of Utah is my alma mater, I derive the greatest pleasure from the football rivalry through giving my Dad a REALLY HARD TIME and teasing him about it whenever possible (as he takes it a little too seriously).

But the title above refers more to the idea that I almost had to tackle my Father at the airport today so that he’d let the paramedics take a look at him. He did not want to miss the game, for one thing. But, there are times in one’s life when one can say, “Sit down!” with the right balance of force and concern so that a man who, as a rule, does NOT listen to one me very often, OBEYS (although grumpily). And I had to do something other than body-slam him (though it was very tempting), as this seemed rather counterproductive to preserving his health.

It’s been a LONG day. I’m going to “part II” this whole thing. Aren’t you all excited.

My Dad spent the last few days especially grateful to be alive. The angiogram and resultant angioplasties in and of themselves are not serious procedures, relatively speaking. Two stents are certainly better than a quadruple bypass or – well – a fatal heart attack.

But my Father has spent the last two years having symptoms of heart problems (despite medication and and a lifestyle designed to manage his hereditary high blood pressure and high cholesterol). And OH what a family history. He’s the oldest of eight siblings, and at least one of his brothers has already had serious heart trouble. His mother’s cholesterol (and she’s tiny) has been as high as 400. She’s had miny strokes, her siblings have died of heart trouble and strokes. My paternal grandfather died unexpectedly of a heart attack* at age seventy; one moment he was walking around, and a moment later he fell over and was gone. Just like that.

And here’s the rub: My Dad had a treadmill test a few years back; it was inconclusive. A few other indeterminate exams here and there… And then in late April he had an MRI and an extensive series of accompanying tests (despite the fact that the insurance company did not want to pay for it – imagine that). The radiologist called my father’s PCP and said everything was “clear.”

Then, last week, he sent the doctor the actual report. I don’t think anything on that report was “normal” except the size of my Dad’s heart. The report indicated horrible percentages of plaque blockage in a number of locations and recommended immediate catheterization. Immediate.

This is what, in medical ethics terms, we call a MEDICAL MISTAKE. Yes, physicians are human; mistakes happen. And I found myself grateful that the radiologist sent the report at all, though I do hope he was horrified at what could have been a fatal delay. I imagine a scenario in which he was making calls SEVEN MONTHS AGO, reading from an overwhelmingly tall stack of reports, and he simply gave the wrong results to my father’s doctor. Who can say.

All I know if that my father had started more and more often to feel faint and dizzy, fatigued, etc. So much of it you can write off: He has bone cancer, his schedule is ridiculous, he has sleep apnea and doesn’t wear his CPAP enough, he puts the “a” in type “a” personalities (? – well, you get the picture), he has asthma, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and he deals with a ridiculous amount of stress.

Honestly, I felt like a heart attack was inevitable at some point in his life (especially when I’ve given him a really hard time, stressed him out and felt really guilty about it).

But then there was the cancer recurrence. And he’d delayed his colonoscopy for – oh – a decade (and said, “Well, I already have cancer,” which was supposed to be a joke). When I finally dragged him to get one he had two (or was it three?) precancerous polyps that they were able to excise right then. The irony: Colon cancer can be quick and insidious (okay, lots of cancers can be so) and so he could have died of colon cancer before he even reaches a difficult point in his bone cancer treatment (it’s really prostate cancer, but I always feel odd saying that since they did the radical prostatecomy years ago the “first” time he had cancer).

Then there’s the ticking time-bomb hernia. Tomorrow he’ll get a report about the tests he had on that last week. If it’s BAD I’m not taking him to the airport Tuesday to go to Disneyland – NO SIR.

I don’t know what I’m saying (insert joke here?), except that I, too, am grateful that my Dad’s alive. And I’m very glad he feels so much better; getting a little oxygen flowing efficiently through your system will do that, I suppose. But retrospectively, I’m really frightened. I don’t suppose that makes tons of sense, but so be it. He’s actually healthier and now I feel afraid.

If the radiologist had suppressed the report or delayed it any longer, who knows when the massive myocardial infarction would have happened. Probably while my Dad was at work in the middle of the night. He might have ignored it until it was too late; he was getting so sick of “inconclusive” or supposedly “clear” tests.

AAAH! I cannot think about this any more.

Everyone? Please just TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES. And get your flu shot, please.

*I think that was it. He and my grandmother were in Germany at the time, so there is some confusion about the diagnosis (as he was the one fluent in German) – it could have been some sort of embolism. The whole thing was confusing; the airlines lost his body as it was being transported back to the States (just temporarily…).

Today after the Roto-Rooter they gave my Father two stents (gave – hah – they probably cost $10,000 CANADIAN a piece). He now has one in the left and one in the right side of his heart. I thought it was nice that they are symmetrical.

They said he has some plaque in other locations, but new medication should be sufficient for that. I tell you, someday soon you’re going to find one of my family members spooning pills into a pillbox like the one on the advertisement where the man puts an apple for each day of the week into the GINORMOUS “pill” box.

For those of you who are not eighty-five or haven’t a penchant for impersonating dowagers (or whatever the male equivalent is):

Yesterday they scanned my Dad’s worsening navel hernia (to see when it might just explode?). I don’t think they told him anything about it (probably just stood about mumbling, “Hmm, yes, yes, interesting. Don’t you think that part looks like a horsey?”). But I’ll tell you what’s cute: My Mom and Dad have matching hernias. Hers, however, doesn’t hurt. His pains him increasingly they tell me.

But guess what you get with two stents and a hernia that portends DANGER? A TRIP TO DISNEYLAND!!! I kid you not.

As Shirleen does NOT get to go to Disneyland (staying home like OTHERS of us ) she pouted by heading from my Dad’s hospital room down to the Emergency Room to have a breathing treatment. This week she eschewed breathing (breathing well, anyway). She works at that hospital now and cannot seem to get enough of it.