I started out last week in something of a good mood, because I finished the third draft of Smoke Showing and then took the preliminary steps toward writing a novel involving the Land of Oz--a project close to my heart that I've been planning in my head for years.
Then the week turned into one of those Medical Weeks. You know the ones I mean: When for a certain period of time everything that happens seems to be health related, usually in a bad way.
Starting from worst, my uncle and my grandmother both fell and broke their hips, and as I write this both are scheduled for surgery today. For my grandmother it was supposed to be yesterday, but they couldn't transfer her to the hospital where the operation will be done because all their beds were full.
You knew the coronavirus was going to pop up here, somewhere.
So everything after that is pretty minor. In fact, very minor, and begging to be made fun of, although sometimes even I'm not in a fun-making mood. It's just that it all happened at the same time.
I got poked by needles four times, for instance, but that doesn't really count because I get two regular allergy shots, anyway. The third was a routine flu shot, so only the fourth--my annual blood draw--led to anything worse than a little soreness.
Besides, one needle was a withdrawal and three were deposits, so doesn't that count as a net gain?
The first day saw the two allergy shots and the blood draw, which my employer has done so they can shake judgemental fingers at me. I had a feeling about the results, so I downed a half gallon of ice cream between then and the follow up ... I figured it was likely to be my last guilt-free food treat ever.
Two days later, we took our dog Beowulf to the vet to get his ear infection looked at, so that counts as one. He's been walking sideways with one ear drooped over, and no, I don't share booze with him. Last time I walked that way was after two strawberry daquiris. (I'm a lightweight. Well, in that way, I am.)
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| Left ear, the one under the dump trunk. |
He's doing a lot better. Yesterday he had enough energy to dig his nails into my left big toe, so for awhile I was walking just like him.
Where was I? Oh, yes, the chiropractor. As usual, my vertebrae were trying to pass each other on a curve, but she pounded them back into submission.
Then came the flu shot, which was entirely uneventful as shots go. My wife and I were together for those last two, because it's important to experience pain as a family.
We closed out the week with a follow up at the doctor's office, where I mentioned two strange little bumps on my left hand that didn't really seem worth mentioning. Turns out they might be the beginning of a condition that can lead to the inability to use that hand without surgical intervention and GAH! I've always had a fear of not being able to type. Talk to text just isn't the same, because the whole reason I started typing to begin with is because I can't speak.
Oh, and also I'm fat.
But you already knew that, and thanks for being polite. The doc didn't actually say so, in so many words. She said my cholesterol was going through the roof, I had a fatty liver, and my PSA levels took a huge jump. Since two out of three of those things mean I'm fat, I took it that way. The third had to do with my prostate, so I guess another visit to Doctor Finger is in my future.
Prostate cancer is one of the cancers that's more common in firefighters, so of course I'm going to have it checked, but I'm not too worried ... and there's nothing I can do about it, anyway. Doctor finger will poke around until he digs out the problem.
Weighing 233 pounds is whatI can do something about.
First I took all the stuff out of my pants pockets, then I cut my hair, and finally I bought a cheaper pair of shoes, so I'm already down to 232.
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| No. Just--NO. |
Other than that, it's the same old story: Eat less, exercise more, make better food choices. My goal is to lose around five pounds a month, then maintain it somewhere below 200. The timing couldn't be worse, as I've gained weight during winter all my life, and the holidays don't exactly help. But losing weight might also help my back problems, and I'm starting to think my chiropractor enjoys causing me pain.
Anyway, that was my medical week. If I read back through this I'd probably feel ashamed of myself for whining, and delete most of it. Then I'd have to find something else to blog about, so hang the edits! I'm going back to my story outlining.
Maybe a trip down the Yellow Brick Road will shave off some pounds.
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| Oh, you'll heard more about my new project later. |
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"
Yes, losing weight will help your back problem. The good news about prostrate cancer is that one usually does not die from it, you live with it. Of course, that isn't what you want to hear. Did your grandmother and uncle break their hip or their femur. I had a broken femur that the hospital called a broken hip when they admitted me. I hope it was the femur and not the hip. Take care. Tweeted.
ReplyDeleteI already had a prostate scare, so I know all about that one--and if given no other choice, that's probably the cancer I'd choose to have. I don't know exactly where their breaks were, but doggone it, they're just too old to have to go through this.
DeleteHoping everyone is better soon and good luck on the weight loss. You should send them here. Our hospitals are throwing people out to keep beds empty "just in case" covid eventually happens... we did have 2 hospitalized with it a couple months back...they're both fine now, thank goodness.
ReplyDeleteThat's the way this thing seems to have been going--one place is overwhelmed with cases, and another has nothing. I just found out that my shift partner has to separate from her family because all of them but her were exposed, and a few are already testing positive, so things could heat up here very quickly.
DeleteLose your watch and possibly the beard. That's got to good for another ounce or so.
ReplyDeleteOh, no--they can have my beard when they shave it from my warm, dead face.
Delete