Father’s Day

Kelly and I had a wonderful day yesterday. We crammed so much into one day I am astonished we pulled it off (almost) completely without stress, meltdowns or need for naps. The highlights for me were some time spent at Sanson Winery for their Summer Solstice event and a long leisurely walk with Kelly in the evening.

The invite for the winery event came from Vicky, a fellow local blogger, who READS MY BLOG!!  She had met Kelly before, but not me. It was so cool to have someone I’ve never met look at me as though they recognize me and then say, “I read your blog.” with a smile.   I got as big of a kick out it as went Kitty stopped us in a mall in Waterloo by yelling out “Kelly?” as we went past her. Anyway, it reminded me that I have not posted anything in quite some time. So here I am.

I am feeling much better and am back to my regular routines. I returned to work on Wednesday, which gave me the chance to work only a few days before the weekend break rolled around. Even though I was back, things were not quite back to normal because one of my department members was retiring on Friday. I spent a good part of my time arranging a retirement lunch on Friday. I can’t really talk much about circumstances surrounding this retirement, but I will say that it’s the resolution of events which began back in October/November of last year, and had been the cause of much stress. It’s definitely a very good thing for everyone involved.

We had a BBQ today for father’s day. My dad got to choose what he wanted for dinner and after some thought he settled on steak.  I may have mentioned before that my father has Parkinson’s. I think I may have mentioned as well that I love my dad very much. It’s been hard these last few years, as his disease has progressed, to watch him change. He needs more and more help with things, and I with my own situation, am unable to help him. It also limits the things we can do together. My dad was a worker. He was always building or fixing or planting or otherwise doing something outside and around the house, and I was always right there with him. He now finds himself unable to do any of those things he so used to enjoy.

One of the ways my dad and I bonded when I was younger is by going on long walks. I was never one to sit still. Ever. Before my surgeries, I had a three speed bike and was always gone riding. Later, after my surgeries, my dad would take me on walks around the neighbourhood. It wouldn’t matter what the weather was, even in frigid temperatures we would bundle up and my dad would push me around for hours in my manual chair. He knew I couldn’t stand sitting still, and we both liked spending time together. And we would talk. We would talk for hours about anything. I loved those walks. When I got my power wheelchair, I could go on my own. I was free! I didn’t need my dad anymore, he could do whatever he wanted and I could go on my own.  But I missed him, and after a little while, we started going on walks again, and more often than not, he would ride beside me on his bike.

For years now he hasn’t been able to ride his bike, and they took his drivers license away a few years ago. He can’t walk very far, so going on long walks is out of the question too.

But today, as I was about to leave to go to my favorite butcher shop to pick up the steak, I asked my dad if he’d like to come with me. He hesitated. I told him he could stay in the van if he wanted, just come along for the ride, He smiled and started looking for his shoes.

We went for a long ride. I drove in the wrong direction at first, to check out a different butcher shop which took us along the riverfront. I pointed out where Kelly lives, and he commented on the marina and what a great view it is. A little further he commented about the beach and some sailboats. Pretty soon we were talking about all kinds of things. I took him way across town to see the children’s centre that is being rebuilt (where I am on the board), and then we stopped at the butcher shop that I had originally planned on going to. All told we were gone well over an hour, and I really enjoyed my time spent with him.

It’s a roll reversal that I had not anticipated, but one that I welcome. He does not get out much at all anymore. It was clear by some of his comments that there are parts of this city he hasn’t seen in years. If someone doesn’t take him, he can’t go. How familiar that predicament is to me, and yet I  let such a great opportunity slip past me for such a long time. I’ve been longing for a simple fun way to spend time with my dad, and today, on father’s day, I think I found it.

Mid?

I’m getting old. There’s no way around it. I don’t mean that I feel ancient or decrepit or anything, I just mean that I am noticing things that I had once thought only old people would notice.

For instance I am having real difficulty seeing fine print in low light. Just a few years ago, I could read the tiniest mice type in near pitch black darkness, and now I find myself searching out a window, tilting my head and moving the object back and forth, trying in vain to read instructions which I am SURE were printed  larger last time I bought these.

I’m driving slower. Kelly may argue this one, but she isn’t always in the car with me. When I was alone, I used to drive 15km over the limit. Always. That was my rule. And if I needed to get past someone, I might even go a fair bit faster, just long enough to get ahead of that slow poke who is for sure trying to box me in.  In essence I was an idiot. Not dangerous, but an idiot nonetheless. Not so much anymore. I’m quite content tooting along at just a few kilometers over the limit, enjoying the scenery and cursing at those young punks who zip past me.

But the biggest thing I’ve noticed lately is an awareness of the age of those around me. Facebook is the worst for this. I’ve had some time on my hands lately and so I’ve been surfing around in Facebook at the pictures of some of my old high school and grade school friends. Wow are they old! Of course they are the same age as me, but…they look so…OLD! Of course, if I was to ask a stranger to guess how old they are, they would likely guess around 40, which is correct. But that’s just it. They’re 40! When did that happen?  Last night I was looking at a picture of a friend, I hadn’t seen him since high school. It occurred to me that he looked like any of our dads looked when we were in grade 8 or 9. And then it hit me. We ARE at the age our dads were when we were in grade 8 or 9.  This isn’t something I had thought about, because I don’t have kids, but I did the math and it’s true. I am 41. When I was in grade 8, my dad was 41. I don’t know why, but thinking about it in those terms freaks me out a bit.

Then there’s the age of people providing services. One instance was in the hospital recently, on the second last day. Without giving you too much detail, I was to have small procedure involving VERY personal care, direct manipulation of a certain part of my anatomy.  My nurse, who herself was likely only 25 or so, asked if it was ok for her to have one of the student nurses do it so she could get some experience.  I said sure, of course, as I am not very shy and usually don’t mind student nurses.  So she spoke to the curtain and told the young lady behind it that it was ok for her to come in. Well, for Pete’s sake, this girl looked like she was 13! She did what she was there for, with instructions from the nurse, and she got through it with only a few nervous giggles. I’m sure she will be great nurse someday, but right now she looks like she should be playing with dolls or an easy bake oven, not handling my ummm…goods.

And then there’s today. I went to my family physician and he ordered blood work to make sure I am on track since leaving the hospital.  I went to the lab in the same building took a number and waited. When I was called in, the young lady taking my blood did not inspire confidence. I am not usually one to judge people on appearance, but other than being very young, she also had three piercings on her face (eyebrow, nose, lower lip). That alone I could have gotten past, but it was more the way she did her job. She was sloppy and rushed and somewhat cold. At one point she tossed, yes tossed, one of the vials of my blood on the little table behind her. It rolled to the edge and if it weren’t for the cotton swab she had already tossed there, my blood would have been on the floor. My immediate reaction was to blame her sloppiness on her age. I didn’t think “Wow she’s grumpy” or “Geez what’s wrong with her” or even “What a useless tool”  No, I thought to myself “This young person has no work ethic, what is wrong with kids today?”

I’ve thought that a lot in the last few years. But these last couple of months I’ve started wondering more if it’s just my age, or rather the age that I have reached. The age where we look at the next generation, the one just entering the workforce, and we think they either look way too young or are completely inept. Does every generation do this? Is it a phase? Am I going to adjust?

Maybe I just need some highlights, and a motorcycle.

Darkness

So I went to church on Saturday evening. No big deal, I’ve been going fairly regularly in the last several months. I find it comforting. Our priest is very good and quite inspiring to listen to. I go because I want to, not because I feel I should, and that, in my mind, is the only reason one should go to church.

My sister is much more involved in our parish than I am, and she had let our priest know that I was in hospital recently. During the sermon, he happened to glance in my direction and we made eye contact, or so it seemed. When it came time for communion, he was the one offering it at the end of the aisle where we were sitting.

As I walked up and it was my turn, he looked at me and said, “Welcome home.”

Well, I just about lost it. It took everything I had to not start sobbing. And I can’t quite understand why.

I know I’ve been through a lot in the last few weeks. And from where I sat only two weeks ago, there was nothing more I could have hoped for but to be back in church on a Saturday evening, or anything else routine for that matter.

But those words, “welcome home”, they seemed to mean so much more, more than he intended. Or perhaps not. Perhaps he knew exactly what he was saying, on every level.

I clearly have bags and bags of bottled up emotion about all of this. Some of it I can’t explain to you. There were a few events, one in particular, that still haunt me. And all that emotion is just sitting there right under the surface, waiting to flood out without warning.

After dinner I went for a walk with Kelly to the marina. I am feeling well enough that I can easily forget the few hurdles that I still need to get over. When I am with her, everything else is ok, I am fine. We had a great time together. But after we parted I went for a long walk alone. I’m still trying to sort through a lot of this in my head.

Just before dark, I found myself back at our church. It’s only blocks from my house, and it has a nice peaceful garden with a fountain in the front yard. As I wandered the garden, I noticed movement inside the house attached to the church. I stayed in the garden a while longer. I think I was hoping someone would come out, someone who might be able to help me sort through all of this.  Maybe help me understand why I am feeling the way I am, and how to accept it or move forward from it.  Nobody came. I left disappointed, relieved, and confused, arriving home in the dark.

Give It

Before I forget and move on to hopefully more lighthearted topics, I need to post about this.

On my first evening in the ER, I had lost a lot of blood internally. A blood test revealed that my hemoglobin was very low and I needed a transfusion. It was decided that two units was the amount required.

My blood type was checked and re-checked and all the risks were explained to me. At some point I think I signed a consent as well. Then it arrived. The first unit, a little sack of life hooked to my I.V. pole, and slowly began dripping strength back into my body. A few hours later, the second unit. Gradually I stabilized. Heart rate came down, blood pressure stabilized, all vitals returned to acceptable ranges. I’m not saying ALL of it had to do with the transfusion, but it certainly WAS a large part of helping me get back on track that night.

Later the next week, I was in a semi-private room with an older gentleman. He had been admitted because it was discovered he had a tumor in his colon that had been bleeding for some time. He would need surgery, but first he needed to get stabilized and get his strength up. I heard the surgeon assuring him that despite his age, he was a strong man and that the surgery would not be difficult. Three units of blood were ordered and administered through the night. By the next morning he was changed man. The colour was back in his face, his voice had weight to it. His son-in-law came to visit and commented how well he looked. “Eets da blood dey give me!” he told him in a thick polish accent. I was discharged that day, but I am confident this man is doing well.

So here’s the thing. Give Blood. Just do it.  No.  I don’t want to hear your excuses.  Do it.

Kelly does it at every opportunity, like clockwork. When the required amount of time has passed, she’s right back in there giving again. I’ve always admired her for it, but it’s hard to understand just how important it is until you are on the receiving end. From that perspective, all I could do was pray that the supply was there and thank God that someone was kind enough to make the effort for me.

If you aren’t a blood donor but are a good candidate, please look up your local blood bank and make an appointment to give. Do it now.

If you are already a blood donor Thank You! You are making a huge difference in someone’s life every time you roll up your sleeve.

I Went Back

Yesterday after dinner, I went back to the hospital. Don’t worry, nothing is wrong, I went back to get an item I had forgotten in my room when I left.

My buddy had come by during the day and converted my van back to the configuration which makes me the driver, and I really needed to get behind the wheel. I was itching for a reason, even though I still feel quite weak.

I told myself I would start out and if it proved to be too much for me, I would turn back. But it was fine and I made it there only to find the main entrance closed. I had forgotten that on weekends after 6pm, you have to be let in by security at the emergency entrance. This put me right in the waiting room of where I had spent a very difficult 20 hours or so. But I was ok. The guard called the nurse’s station to verify that it was ok for me to come up. This took about 10 minutes, while I controlled my anxiety. I was not nearly as anxious as I thought I would be as I roamed the hallways of the 7^th floor where I had spent most of my time. The bed I had been in already had another patient.  I located a nurse, retrieved my item, and left as quickly as I could.

On my way back to my van, I noticed an elderly lady sitting on her walker, her coat buttoned up tight around her neck. She had been sitting there when I had pulled up. She was waiting by the main entrance, which was now fairly deserted. She was alone, and people had been walking right past her as though she wasn’t there. She was clearly waiting for a ride, but from whom? The taxis in this city are on strike, how long would she wait? Had a family member forgotten her? Is she cold? Does she need phone? How long has she been there?

These are all questions I could have pondered all the way home. But I didn’t. I turned around and wheeled up to her.

Me: “Are you ok ma’am?”

Her: startled, “Oh, yes, yes I’m fine”

Me: “Are you waiting for a ride?”

Her: “Yes”

Me: “How long have you been waiting? Do you want to use my phone?”

Her: “Oh I’ve been here since about 6pm I guess, not sure what’s taking them, but they’ll be along. They were going to Staples anyway so I told them to go to the one just up here and then come get me after.” (note: it was 6:45pm)

Me: “Alright, so you’re ok then, you’re warm enough?”

Her: “yes, yes I’m fine. Thanks just the same though” with a smile.

Me: “Ok, you have a good night.”

My mind at ease, I carried on to my van and drove home. I wondered about what made me stop and ask. I think I saw helplessness, real or imagined, I saw it. Having spent almost two weeks in a hospital bed, completely relying on the help of others, and often being left waiting helplessly due to understaffing (most of the time) or appalling indifference (only one nurse in particular), I saw someone that perhaps needed some kindness. I was in a position to help, and I just had to. Had she seemed distraught, I would have gone as far as driving her home myself. But she was fine. And perhaps the fact that a complete stranger cared enough to ask made her feel even more ok.

What Happened?

This is my third attempt at writing this. The first was extremely detailed. The second was less so, but still outlined step by step what I went through, or at least it would have had I finished it.

The problem is, I can’t. I can’t do it. I can’t re-live it just yet. As I was writing it, I felt my anxiety level rise. I knew I had to stop. It’s too early for me to do this.

So here is the short version.

On Monday May 4^th I underwent Extracorporeal Shock Wave Lithotripsy (ESWL).

It’s supposed to be routine and in fact it IS for most people.

Not so for me. That very night I ended up in hospital, unable to urinate. I was sent home with a tube in a place nobody wants a tube. The next day was a fairly good day, and I thought I was over the hump.

Wednesday everything went downhill. I ended up in the ER by ambulance. It turns out the procedure had cause a large hematoma on my kidney, essentially a sac of blood. I required two units of blood. Also, it caused Ileus. This created serious problems for me and the resulting distended abdomen made it difficult for me to breathe. Also noteworthy was a fever of 39.9C (103.8F)

So, 10 days in the hospital, 3 of them in the ICU, and now I am back home.

I am tired, I am weak, I am bruised all over, and I still have some symptoms that are bothering me. But for the most part, I am much much better.

Being home is by far the best for me. Here I can get stronger again. And hopefully with strength, I will see these other troublesome issues go away.

I want to thank ALL of you for your kind and encouraging words. I was able to keep my blackberry for most my stay in the hospital, and knowing that so many of you were sending me positive vibes, prayers, and keeping me in your thoughts  made a huge difference.

I have to say a special thank you to my very dear (and crazy) friend Violet. Her concern and support through all of this kept me focused on the ultimate goal: to get healthy, get home, and start being a smartass on her blog again.

Another very special thank you for some dear friends who shared with us crucial medical information which made everything SO much easier for me. I was getting bits and pieces from my specialists as they rushed in and out of my room, but to have it all put into context by someone with such knowledge and experience allowed me to understand what was really happening to me and it put my mind completely at ease. It made a world of difference for Kelly and me. O and M, thank you so so much for everything!

My sisters were there for me in a big way through all of this. They will both claim that it was nothing, and that they felt helpless most of the time, but that isn’t true. It WAS something. I needed them, and they were there. Whether it be at my bedside in the ER, or fetching me my toothbrush from home, I knew I could rely on one or both of them to be there. That’s comfort. That brings inner peace when everything else is going mad. Thank you C and M.

Lastly, I am struggling for the right words to express how I feel about Kelly and her loving support. Without too much detail, the night in the ER was terrible. It was one complication after another, and another and another. Kelly’s love and support helped me hang on, kept me from giving in to what surely would have had much more dire consequences. I could NOT have done it without her. She said something to me at one point that night which brought me to tears then, and it’s bringing me to tears now.  I’m sorry I won’t share it, but she was absolutely right. And having that perspective helped me fight, and fight hard. Her love gave me strength and kept me going. I Love You Kelly. Thank you so much.

Grace in Small Things

• A wonderful evening with Kelly on Friday night.
• Spending the day exploring Ann Arbor on Saturday, no stress, no expections. Just being with Kelly and letting the day be what it wanted to be.
• Whatching a squirrel peel bark off a tree branch today, and gather it up in his mouth before bouncing away. (I had no idea they did that, how have I not seen this yet at my age?)
• Having six days off work, and each one having something special about it,  including a fantastic Easter meal with family and freinds at my sisters house on Sunday.
• Oh yes, and then there’s this today:

Birdhouse Project

I mentioned a while back, in passing, that I was building a birdhouse. Perhaps “building” wasn’t quite the right word to use.  I have been assembling a birdhouse. Last year, while in Muskoka, Kelly and I stopped in a few souvenir shops and a log cabin birdhouse kit caught my eye. I bought it and it’s been sitting in my den ever since. I noticed it again a few weeks ago and decided it was high time I put it together.

I have to say that I really got into this. It was a very fun way to pass the time, despite the million other things I should have or could have been doing. I was able to completely zone out and focus on the task at hand. I suppose that’s the point of hobby isn’t it?

Here’s a few pictures of the various stages.

I had to paint it, as I intend on putting it outside for birds to live in. I decided against staining it as I was afraid the chemicals might be toxic to the birds. I used a latex outdoor paint, and did not paint interior surfaces.

The last step, which I almost forgot, was to install the little sign letting the birds know which country they are in.  Being so close to the border here,  migrating birds might need a little reminder that they’ve crossed and international line.

Evil Weirdo

As many of you know I have a slight quirk about me. I sometimes attribute human emotions to inanimate objects.  I imagine that these items have feelings, and this makes it difficult sometimes to toss something in the trash, or move past an object that has fallen off the shelf in a store. You see, it doesn’t want to be on the floor. If it were me, I would want to be back on the shelf with my buddies. And so I have to pick it up, put it back, and then I can move on. It’s a form of OCD. I’m sure it must be. It doesn’t control me, but it’s a part of me, and often it can make me do things that would cause a casual observer to think I am completely nuts.

In order to understand what I’m about to show you,  you first have to READ THIS POST by my dear friend Violet. More importantly, read the first few comments, and the exchange between Violet and me.

My intent was to demonstrate my impairment in a comical way, and to possibly have Violet play along, or perhaps appease my anxiety in some way. But no, not the Evil Weirdo Violet. She chose to torture me. She saw a weakness and went in for the kill, exploiting the situation and attempting to give me nightmares about the plight the poor Mr. Rope.  What had started as a joke, she made into a tragedy for me.

It could have ended there. But no, this wasn’t enough for the Evil Weirdo. She concocted an even more devious plan, rubbing her hands together and laughing maniacally. (I’m not actually sure if her stubby arms allow for her hands touch each other)

On Friday night, I came home from work to find a small box had come in the mail. I was puzzled, as I had ordered anything. The return address meant nothing to me, just a street address and a postal code, no name and no city. Odd.

I opened the box slowly. Inside, on top, a three page letter with the note “read me first”  I began reading and started to think it was some sort of scam, one of those Nigerian prince type of things. But it wasn’t.

Here is the entire letter:

Reaching deeper into the box, I pulled out poor Mr. Rope. Weary, still damp, and stiff from his long dark journey crammed into the tiny box.  Before heading out to dinner with Kelly, I stretched him out on the floor and  I promised him I would do right by him.

The next day, a bright sunny Saturday afternoon, I took Mr. Rope into my backyard and asked him if he would like to live with us. He was thrilled. I tied his three dismembered pieces together and with a long extendable pole, looped him over a high branch in our Maple tree. The sun warmed his yellow strands, and the wind helped him dance around and turn in each and every direction, taking in his new surroundings. From there he will watch over us all summer. He can also see into most of the neighbours yards too, and even peek into some of their windows.  He is looking forward to his new life. Although he will miss the boys, Coffee, and even Violet, he has plenty of new things to see here. And most of all, he knows he is wanted.

Oh and Violet? Sleep with one eye open dear.

A Day With My Camera

This week, Brandi’s challenge was to go on a bit of a photo safari. I’m not a photographer, but I do like to take pictures. Nature is usually more my thing, trees, birds, flowers etc. But today, I took my camera with me all day, and when I remembered, I snapped a picture or two. So come on, let’s go, you’re coming with me through my day.  (you can click on all of these to make them larger, some were left very large so you can see more of the detail.)

As I left for work, it was a beautiful sunny day.

This is a pine tree in my front yard with the sun behind it.

Not sure why I took this one, it’s the gate to my backyard. But I like it.

Once at the office, I took this from our front window. This is across the river from us, this is the city you are likely seeing on the news. This is Detroit, and the buildings on the right, that’s GM headquarters.

This is the view from where I sit at work every day. I am thankful to be working. Very thankful.

Coffee time.  This is breakfast. Every day at 10am I have coffee with a very good friend who used to work with me. He was let go in the first round of cut backs a few years ago. Thankfully, he now works across the street. I am also very thankful to have so many great friends.

Off in the distance,  but always visible.

At the construction site across the street, a man was getting a bucket ride.

A closer view of some cool buildings in Detroit. My favorite is the reddish one on the right. Zoom in on the detail. It’s quite beautiful.

The ships have started moving again along the Detroit river, part of the St Lawrence seaway.

When I returned home, I noted that my tulips are doing quite well.

After dinner, I went for a walk on the trail. These shoes always catch my eye.

At the base of the lighthouse.

At the marina.A pedestrian bridge.From the bridge, this is “Little River”

I love this old abandoned building and it’s faded sign.

The faded sign on the front is different. Is it spelled wrong?

This is a fork on the trail I was on.

At this point, the sun was setting and chose to head back home.

That’s all. I hope you enjoyed my little photo tour.