art stuff, flowers, weird aging

I made a decision about my drawing. I left the large central petal for last because those white filaments coming off the side petals were tiny and fussy and with small gaps where the petal in the background shows through and the shading of them and quite frankly I don’t think I can detail them in any way that they will look right or that I will be happy with. I looked at lots of pictures of violets yesterday and many, maybe even most, don’t have those things. So. I’ve decided to take them out. I thought maybe when I finished the drawing I could use a little thick watercolor and add them in, experimenting on a scratch piece of paper but then I realized that colored pencils are wax based it might not work. I’ll still test it out so we’ll see. I did a quick little test and it might work but I still don’t think I can get the definition. 

I worked on it more yesterday, the bottom petal, and finally put it aside because I didn’t feel like anything I added or slightly erased was changing it in any significant way. Not sure I’m through but I probably am. Not sure how happy I am with it, for one I know I omitted part of the flower and two I don’t think the shadow reads as a shadow like it does in the photo but, hey, can’t expect every drawing to come out to my satisfaction. I’m not unhappy with it just eventually I get to the point where I’m ready to move on. I think I’m there.

So, now, do I do another drawing of the other violet while I have my pencils out or go straight to watercolor. Or maybe I’ll get out the watercolor pencils and play around with them just to see what they do. And speaking of drawings or rather prints of my drawings, one of my framed prints, the yellow trumpet flower, sold at the Hesed House market.

I had to get up early this morning, and by early I mean 7 AM, for a dermatology appointment in Rosenberg (or Richmond, never sure as the two towns are contiguous). It’s a 25 minute drive mostly on the highway and my appointment was for 8 AM. By choice. Am I crazy? I think so until I get there and no waiting because I’m first and back home by 9. The other choice is in El Campo which is closer but would actually take about the same amount of time to get there. Today is also the day I do my weekly grocery shopping and one of my days to fix dinner so not much free time today.

Just some random photos…Next year’s zinnias. There’s a seed at the end of each petal, not all mature but most.

The indigofera,

the beauty berries turning purple.

Can you see this? That black line in my palm is a rogue hair I pulled out of my left eyebrow. It’s over 3/4” long. Aging does weird things to your body.

not dead yet

Yesterday was my 74th trip around the sun. We went to a Mexican restaurant for a late lunch and margaritas and I was so full that the stuffed feeling didn’t start to abate til about 8 PM and I have left overs for lunch today. I got text messages from two of my granddaughters, a long phone call from my son, and a visit from my daughter who came bearing a gift of three fancy desserts, none of which I sampled last night because see above.

I told Marc during lunch that I think I’m more freaked out about being in the mid 70s than I think I will be when I hit my 80s (positive thinking here kids, putting out in the universe what I desire). The reason being that people start dying in their 70s; my sister who was active, self sufficient, and basically healthy being a perfect example since she keeled over dead at 76 last year. So I looked up some statistics.

According to the Social Security actuarial tables, a female (me) who was 60 in 2015 will live to be 84, 70 in 2015 will live to be 86. I was 65 in 2015 so I should expect to live until I’m 85 at least. But then my sister, older by 3 years died at 76, almost a decade less than the expectation. Here’s another statistic, more than 20% of people will die before they are 70 while almost 60% will live past 80. In 2020 the average age of death in the US was 73.7. At 74 I’ve passed that milestone if only just barely. World wide the biggest cause of death is cardiovascular disease (what killed my sister) followed by cancer, respiratory diseases (in 2021 in the US that was covid specifically) and fourth, various dementias.

In my youth and hallucinatory drug days and later delving into metaphysics and Theosophy and Jung and even the ridiculed New Age stuff, I came to understand that all is one and one is all, that death of the physical body was not necessarily the death of consciousness, that death is really only birth in reverse when we shed the physical body we took on when we were born, that our consciousness cycles through what we think of as reality as independent beings and being absorbed into the All That Is; that past, present, and future are all happening simultaneously. Research and speculations coming out from quantum physics seems to support these notions. 

The upshot is that I’m not afraid of death, but I’m not ready for it either. That’s where the fear and anxiety comes in, that it will happen suddenly like it did for Pam. I saw her one day and she was happy and healthy and the next I found her basically dead on the ground from a massive stroke.  

She had had a heart attack at 50 and at least two TIAs that I’m aware of, one a year or so after her heart attack and one in the year of her death though I think she had at least two others last year, judging from observation, that she wouldn’t admit to because she didn’t want to go to the neurologist and go through all the tests because she was seriously claustrophobic. While I have not had a heart attack or any vascular blockages or mini-strokes, I do have afib which puts me in the cardiovascular disease column, number one killer of humans.

When my death comes, as it will for every living thing in this theater we call Earth, I want to be so fulfilled with life to the point of being tired of living, to be ready to say goodbye and willing to take that last breath and give up the ghost to rest and reflect and plan for the next go round.

In the meantime, I try to be a good person and, if I’m lucky, as loved as my sister was.

aging, grackles, and fire ants

 

The pecan trees are blooming. I've told all three of my trees to stop fooling around and I expect some pecans this year.

We had a small burial Saturday evening. Grandgirl Autumn's hedgehog Penelope, Autumn's companion for the last three or four years, reached the end of her life span and died last week. Autumn asked if she could bury her here and so we did, next to where my Emma kitty is buried.

I had my hair pulled back in a ponytail because it has gotten so long it's always in my face and I hate having hair in my face obscuring my vision and getting in the way and just being a general nuisance when Autumn remarked on how white it was at my temple. When did that happen, she asked. It's been happening for a while, just not very noticeable with my hair down. At nearly 73, my hair is still predominantly brown but the gray has been steadily creeping in, especially this last year. I may be in for a shock myself when I get my summer cut.

This morning I've got the back door open listening to the birds chirp and twitter and the woodpecker out there who has found a nice sounding board as he tries to attract a mate. The wind chimes are singing in the slight breeze. I can see the bird bath from where I sit and right now there's a male cardinal getting a drink. Cat is crouched under the yellow ginger thinking she's going to get a squirrel if one comes for the peanuts I threw out.

And what is up with the grackles this year? Usually they swoop in in a big flock, forage for a couple of days, and then swoop off to annoy another neighborhood two or three times a year. Not so this year. There are two or three scouts that are plaguing me and my sister over our bird feeders. I'm having to chase them off constantly as they are big and loud and greedy and bully the other birds and eat all the seed and if I don't chase them off, next thing you know they've sent out the word and there's a dozen or more. I am not feeding grackles.

Sunday I spent the day killing fire ants. I forget how many times I filled the 5 gallon bucket, at least four, maybe five, probably five. I treated 22 fire ant mounds, an unusually high number, from a few small start ups to mostly humongous incubators and still missed at least three. After breakfast I mixed up two more 5 gallon buckets going back over the mounds at the edges of my flower beds and retreating the survivors trying to salvage eggs and regroup. Didn't get the mounds I missed because I used all the orange oil before I got to them. The stuff is expensive, about $30 for a quart, but it usually goes a little further than this year. I've probably got about 50 fire ant bites on my feet for my trouble.

As generally happens, I wrote the above yesterday and then ran out of time to post before it was time to walk the dog and go to yoga. I led the class last night and probably will Wednesday because Abby texted me a picture of the shingles she broke out with in and around her black eye that her son accidentally gave her with his elbow last week.

Some pics around the yard...

Isn't this the prettiest little viola?

The byzantium gladiolas are starting to bloom

as are the clasping leaved coneflowers.

A volunteer squash in the compost pile which I think is probably an acorn squash.

we are goddesses

image via http://hautemomslife.com/blog/2016/9numurkix8ph58xyvwvjmwh6miarhy

All things that are born, that live, age and die. It's the natural order of things, the way of life. No one, nothing stays young forever and since aging is inevitable it is best that we accept it gracefully. Youth is not where true beauty lies anyway and trying to hold on to our youthful looks out of vanity is sad really. There's nothing wrong with using products to keep our skin healthy but it will lose it's tone and elasticity, it will develop age spots and scaly spots, old scars will reappear. It will wrinkle and become crepey, our lives will be writ large on our faces and hands and we should embrace that. I know, those of us that are well past our youthful looks, we don't feel different inside and we look in the mirror and wonder who is that old person looking back at us. That is us, that is who we are after living and playing and loving and crying and laughing and mourning and dancing and losing and winning and working and resting and all of it, all of it, and we should not let a culture drunk on youth or family or friends or enemies tell us we are not still beautiful. Our worth is not derived from smooth skin.

Last Saturday we learned that an attractive woman we know is in the ICU. She had decided to get a face lift for her 50^th birthday and things went terribly horribly wrong. I don't know the details, just that blood was running down her throat from the bottom of her face and they had to poke a hole in her throat and insert a tube so she could breathe.

Women, we are goddesses, please do not succumb to the haters, do not go under the knife to keep a smooth face beyond its time. Age with grace and dignity. Stretched skin looks exactly like what it is.

I hold no animosity towards her in my heart for her choice but it saddens me that she made that choice and that it turned out to be so disastrous for her. Any anger I feel is solely directed at our culture that only celebrates women in our youth and ignores us, or worse, denigrates us, as we age and come into our power. If you can look at another older woman with wrinkles and creases and droopy eyelids and mouths that start to turn down and lips that thin and hair that has grayed and see that she has lived and see her beauty and power, then look in your mirror and give yourself the same compassion. 

faded and tattered

a buckeye butterfly, it's wings faded and a little tattered, sort of like me

Had a hard time falling asleep last night so I got up and read to stop my brain from going down useless paths. I'm 71  and my thoughts are turning more often to how much time I don't have and the inevitable end of us all, which of us will go first and if it's him will I be able to make sense of the bills and finances or know how to run the kiln (as if that will even be happening by then), will I still be able to wipe my own ass or be wearing diapers unable to get out of bed, will my ingrown toenail have made a complete circle and cause constant pain. Like I said, useless paths.

I think about my friend Kathy who is younger than me and whose husband is in his 80's and whose health has taken a serious nosedive this past year. I think about my friend Gene a year or so older than me who has several stents and whose longest friend died in his arms last year. I think about the trip my grandgirl Autumn wants me to make with her and Jade and it fills me with anxiety, the traveling, the being gone even though I would like to see other parts of the world. I think about the old man who walks his old dog down my street whom I haven't seen in a while, but there he is this morning so I'm relieved to see him, a man I don't even know.

It's silly, I know. I'm in relatively good health, I'm active, I'm interested in life, I still create, I could possibly live another 20 years. Twenty years sounded so long when I was in my 30s and 40s but now, it's just a blink of the eyes, and the body is irrevocably breaking down. My skin is thin and so crepey any flexing at all produces a sandstone canyon of wrinkles and ridges easily pulled away from the body, not to mention the general wear and tear of old scars and age spots and scaly patches. White hairs keep sprouting from my chin, upper lip, eyebrows, and even in my nose which I repeatedly yank though the hair on my head is still holding on to its color. I no longer grow hair in my armpits. My eyes are developing cataracts (fixable) and macular degeneration (not fixable). Not a pretty picture.

Well, today I'm alive and I have pansies to get and plant, an azalea to get in the ground, a drawing to finish, wax forms to make, yoga to do, birds to listen to and flowers to admire, a shower curtain rod to install, a dinner to fix, a dog to walk, a garage to organize for wintering over tender plants. Life. I'm not frail, not yet.

Time to get on with it.

short stories, volume whatever

I think I'm having hot flashes again. What the fuck is up with that! I can be sitting here doing nothing in my air conditioned house and break out in a sweat. They're not as bad or last as long as they were/did back when I was going through menopause but they are annoying as hell. Just about every night I wake up in a sweat. Just now, sitting here, I broke out in a sweat. It's bad enough sweat rolls off me when I'm working outside. I'd just as soon it didn't when I'm sitting inside. Granted, we keep the thermostat at 78 but still...

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The last bit of cool air we will see til fall rolled in Tuesday night. I know I think I've said that before but this time it's really true so sez the weather prognosticators. Am I taking advantage of it and getting something done outside? No, no I am not. Clearing that fence took all my outdoor work ambition for now.

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The flowering meadow of the big backyard has been mowed. Plenty of things that escaped the flower beds were still blooming in the yard although declining but so much other spring stuff was done done and it was getting too hard to walk out there it had all gotten so high.

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We've had several phone calls from family the last few days. One of our peers is dying. He’s the second. The first being my sister's husband nearly 10 years ago. Now it is my sister-in-law's husband.

“It’s beginning”, I said to Marc.

“Yes”, he answered, “we’re dying”.

And yet Marc’s mom, Aunt Anna, and Uncle Sid persist. I think my brother-in-law only has days from the looks of it. Dying in the days of covid-19 is a dilemma. What, where, how, and when do you do what you would ordinarily do? And while Jerry is not dying of covid-19 and has his family there with him, how do you go through the rituals when so many who would participate are in the 'at risk' category. We will not be traveling to Dallas but there is a vague plan to somehow do something via FB Live or Zoom maybe.

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Making more progress on the house for my sister. In fact I think I've done just about everything I can until we have a house. I got the elevation survey certificate needed for the permit, I got a new address for the future house since you can't have two electric meters at one address, I've picked a septic system provider though I still need to get a copy of the plat of the property (phone call made, it's in the mail). Now all we need is a house and to put it all together. Pam and I are going to risk driving to San Antonio next week (with masks and social distancing and maybe even gloves) to look at houses at the place my daughter bought hers. If infections are going to explode here because our Trump toadie governor is opening the state even more than he already has next week, then we'd rather take the risk now rather than later and time is also a faction. Right now we have plenty of time but if we wait til things have settled (and when will that even be) then we may not be able to get the house ready for her to move into by the end of November.

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Progress on the shop room buildout continues but sometimes the left hand doesn't know what the right hand is doing. Besides the room for working in, Rocky is building new walls for the half bath. Before Harvey, only the toilet was enclosed in a little closet while the sink was not, just there in the back corner room where the water heater had been and we had all that torn out, the toilet, the sink/vanity, and the water heater (don't need hot water over there). So they built walls enclosing the new half bath (and I will be so glad to finally have a toilet over there again so I don't have to run around to pee behind the shop), sheet rock on the inside, beadboard on the outside, two outlets inside for lights (ceiling, wall) and we only need one but no light switch to turn either one on, and while the connections for the water lines were sticking out of the wall, they had sheet rocked over the sink drain pipe. Uh, guys...

musing on beginning my 70th year

I'm going to be 70 on my birthday tomorrow. April 30, Taurus, Sunday's child, you know, bonnie and blithe and good and gay, the last year of my 7^th decade on this planet. Next birthday I'll be entering my eighth decade. That's sort of mind boggling, especially since I just finished clearing 218' of heavily overgrown fence.

When I was in high school, 50 seemed really old to me. As it happened, when I got there it was much like the 40s only a little more relaxed, maybe a bit easier. After that I really had no conceptualization of age or aging other than not being like my mother who announced at some point after she turned 60 that she was old now and didn't have to do anything and parked her butt on the sofa and that was that. But the 60s were hard to accept. Maybe because of the sudden aging of my face. I had maintained a fairly youthful appearance for so long and it just seemed to crater soon after crossing that threshold even though my hair is still mostly dark, which amazes me every day, and was the reason for the year of the selfie when I was 64. I figured if I took and looked at enough pictures of myself I would adjust and I did. The 60s have been a pretty good decade after all even if I now have age spots everywhere and wrinkles and deep creases and crepey skin and chin and mustache hairs. For all of that I am still strong, still limber, can still work hard though not for as long, and my friends tell me I don't look 70, but then I expect no less from them.

So, 70. Both my parents died in their 70s. I'm planning on lasting longer.

When I was working my birthday was always a personal day off but every day now is like a personal day off since we retired from doing the etched glass and the small pate de verre sculptures are getting fewer and farther between. Our go to celebration for birthdays has always been a movie and dinner out, something we won't be doing this year so I imagine tomorrow will just be another day. No party now though one was planned, postponed and maybe canceled. Who knows. Covid-19 maybe.

In any case, it will be a good day because I am alive and healthy and the yard is blooming and we got some good rain and the mockingbirds are singing and the mississippi kites are back and the magnolias are in full bloom and scenting the air and the earth is a beautiful place and I have family and friends even if we have to keep our distance for now and I have no real complaints.

thursday

the 15 packets of sugar they delivered with my oatmeal and two cups of coffee for breakfast Thursday morning

The afib stopped about 9 Wednesday night, they came in twice during the night to take my vitals and I was glad to see my blood pressure and pulse with good numbers but when I woke at 6 Thursday morning almost immediately an afib episode started so since I had been admonished by the day nurse to buzz them when I feel it happening, I buzzed the night nurse. Because my vitals had been good during the night I was surprised when she said I'd been in and out of afib all night. And flutter I asked. Yes flutter too she said. So it didn't work? I'm not a doctor she says.

After she went out I cried a little but I thought what good would that do me besides make the afib episode worse and raise my blood pressure and stuff up my nose and make my eyes red. It certainly wasn't going to improve the situation so I stifled it as best I could and blew my nose and wiped my eyes and tried to pull up my big girl panties but my mood had darkened, was in no mood for visitors. The episode didn't quit after the normal length of time and even got worse. I hadn't had one this bad since before I had started on the metoprolol. Well, I guess I'm not going home today after all I thought, so WTF, I'm worse off than I was before I submitted to this whole process...flutter not gone, afib worse, a bruised throat, and a hole in my groin. Yay! So I started a list of questions for when the doctor showed up and reminded myself that even so I was in much better shape than all the other patients on the floor. Decided FB and Twitter weren't doing me any good so no more of that and then I tried meditating to get it down which did help but didn't bring it under 100 and later even jumped to over 140 but went down again. This one didn't stop til right before 2 PM. At 4 the doctor was still a no show so the nurse went to give him a call. About 5 his physician assistant showed up and they came in to do another EKG. You've been in afib the PA says. Yes, it started just after 6 this morning and stopped a few minutes before 2. That's right, she said, you can tell, she asked? Yes, I can always tell.

Anyway, the EKG showed a perfect sinus rhythm but I wouldn't let her leave until I had asked all my questions which I won't go into detail here but, yes, the ablation worked. The flutter on the previous EKG was not generated in the right atria but is a different flutter associated with the afib in the left atria (remember, I had two different conditions) so the ablation in the right atria was a success. If it's going to revert, she said, it does so immediately and after the doctor zapped the spot he tried to induce the flutter again and nothing happened. So. It is possible that in a year or two the spot might heal or find a way around and it could revert and another ablation would be necessary but that only happens in about 5% of cases she said. The doctor wanted to observe me for another few doses, if nothing else happens he will release me. If I continue to have afib episodes he will try a different medication. If none of the meds stop it but only partially control it ie keep my pulse rate below 100, is that life threatening, I asked. No, she said. So ablation of the left atria is a quality of life choice. Apparently they are more concerned with keeping the heart rate below 100 than with completely stopping the irregular rhythm.

All stayed well and when the night nurse came around at 9 PM to give me the eliquis she told me she couldn't give me my next dose of the sotalol because my heart rate was in the high 50s and they had instructions not to give it to me if it dropped below 60. So how is the doctor supposed to observe me on this medication if he won't allow it to given to me?

Friday morning my pulse was still under 60 so I probably wasn't getting my morning dose either though I'm pretty sure under 60 is my normal resting heart rate and all I had been doing for three days was resting. Well, I had had enough of that and so I ordered my breakfast, put on my housecoat and slides and started walking the floor while I waited for it to arrive which caused a bit of a stir. The nurse hurried over making sure I wasn't woozy (every patient on the floor is considered a fall risk regardless and in fact the aide had told me earlier I was the only one on the floor that could walk, every one else being too sick I guess). After awhile she came in with my morning dose, it worked, she said, your pulse is up.

About noon the doctor came in. Ready to go home, he asked. Yes! Marc arrived promptly to come get me but it took until 3 PM to get all the necessary paperwork in order so it was nearly 5 before we got home.

I went ahead and went to the pharmacy before I settled in at home. Oh, the pharmacist says, we have to order the sotalol, we don't have any but they checked the sister pharmacy in El Campo about 12 miles down the road and they did have it so they transferred the prescription to them and I went to pick it up. Life in a small town.

So far so good. I haven't had a major afib episode since the one ended 2 PM on Thursday but since Saturday night every 3 to a dozen beats or so it will skip a beat or add one off and on, as if the afib is trying to manifest itself, and my pulse has remained consistently low from about 48 – 64 bpm. I imagine it will take some time to adjust to the medication now that I'm taking it twice a day and perhaps it will need to be adjusted. Right now I'm just taking it one day at a time. Haven't felt like getting out and doing any sustained yard work but I'm still supposed to be taking it easy for a few more days and it's too damn hot out there anyway.

previous:

the test and the procedure

recovery and observation

recovery and observation

I vaguely remember them removing those big patches they put on me but I don't remember if it was in the ablation lab or the recovery room but I woke up uncomfortable with headache, nausea, and sore throat intact with orders to stay flat on my back and not bend the leg whose vein they had gone through. They had given me meds for the nausea and I asked for something for the headache both of which stubbornly refused to go away. Marc and my sister Pam came back after I woke, Pam had to leave because she had out of town guests but daughter Sarah arrived and she and Marc stayed with me in the recovery/prep cubical til they were ready to move me to my room. At one point I had to pee so Sarah went and got the nurse assigned to me, would I prefer a female nurse he asked? No, not necessary, so he got the small shallow plastic bedpan and slipped it under my butt and exited the room. Have you ever tried to pee in a bedpan laying flat on your back? I finally coaxed my body to release and by the time I was done my entire butt was wet. Another nurse, a woman came in when I was done because my guy wasn't in sight and got me on my side, took away the bedpan and dried me off. I'm just glad I didn't have to poop.

Marc had gone to get me a banana during the bedpan incident because I thought maybe I could get that down but the first little bite convinced me otherwise. Once in the room the nurse brought me some saltines which I thought I could possibly nibble on and get down but gave up after half a cracker and not because of the nausea but because it was terrible, tasted like cardboard. I remember when saltines were good. I remember when store bought cookies were good, so many things our food industry and greed have ruined.

I had a very nice private room, all the rooms in the Heart and Vascular Institute at Memorial Hermann Southwest are private rooms, but I had to laugh at the bed which had a large heavy duty puppy pad on top of the bottom sheet that covered the bed by about 3/4ths and a smaller puppy pad on top of that one under my butt (which by end of day Wednesday I had pushed to the foot of the bed because, for one I wasn't going to wet the bed and for two every time I got up I had to smooth it out before I got back in because I've got the whole princess and the pea thing going and even the smallest wrinkle feels like a stone and for three one thing to smooth out was enough).

Anyway, shortly after I was in my room Marc left. He had been up since 4 AM and had to go retrieve the dog from my sister's house and let the cat out that had been housebound all day but Sarah stayed and when the nausea and headache finally went away I was feeling pretty good, in a good mood, yukking it up with my daughter. I wasn't supposed to sit up til 5:30 according to the instructions from the recovery nurse. I waited til 5:45 to sit up. At 6 my day nurse came in to help with the sitting up, saw me sitting up...aaand she's sitting up, she said in an admonishing tone. Yep, I'm still me.

Apparently I was feeling entirely too cocky and about 6:30 PM I started having an afib episode during my dinner and I guess the heart monitor went nuts because the day nurse came in and fussed at me and told me to finish my dinner and lay back and relax. When it was still going on at 8 the night nurse started me on the new drug an hour early and it stopped about an hour later.

Wednesday all was well, I'd sort of figured out the menu and tried to order things I thought they couldn't ruin and the doctor came by noonish, the ablation was successful and I could probably go home the next day. And then at 3:30 I had another afib episode. The nurse came in with the EKG machine at 4, you're in afib she says so we're going to do another EKG. Yes, I said, it started at 3:30. You could tell, she asked? Yes, I can always tell, I know when they start and when they stop the medical professionals always seem surprised about that. Any chest pain, she asked, no, never have pain but I can feel it happening. So they did the test and called the doctor and he increased my dose of the sotalol but the EKG showed flutter as well, the thing the supposed successful ablation was supposed to stop.

previous: the test and the procedure

next: Thursday

the test and the procedure

Wednesday night and I'm still in the hospital as I write, post test, post procedure. (that's when I wrote this, I'm home now, got home about 5 PM Friday afternoon)

I was told to be at the hospital at 7:30 AM for the TEE, transesophageal echocardiogram, no food or water past midnight, where they were going to have me swallow a thin tube with an ultrasound camera on the end to look at my heart from the inside, looking for blood clots before they did the ablation. My throat is still sore.

So we headed out at 6:30 and ran into blinding rain almost immediately all the way through the gauntlet of the Fort Bend County road work, narrow lanes through canyons with no shoulders that changes configuration often and when we finally got out of the blinding rain we hit all the slow traffic heading into the city. But we did get there mostly on time and they checked me in and sent me upstairs to wait my turn, about half an hour or so before they called me back to prep me which involved stripping from the waist up and putting on a hospital gown, an IV, taking blood for tests, an automatic blood pressure cuff, oxygen in my nose, and about a dozen leads all over my body for an ongoing EKG. The anesthesiologist, the doctor performing the test, and the tech, all good looking younger men, all came in at various times to introduce themselves, explained what they were going to do, and ask if I had any questions. The anesthesiologist sprayed a numbing agent into mouth and told me to swallow oh nasty stuff that made my mouth water like a fiend and a really weird sensation and handed me the dental spit sucking tube til it calmed down and when they were ready to start they had a red mouthpiece for me to bite on and strap around my head which would keep my mouth open during the test.

I started laughing.

I already felt like Frankenstein's monster all wired up but when the tech pulled out the mouthpiece that scene from Pulp Fiction flashed in my head of Bruce Willis and Ving Rhames all trussed up for rape which is of course not very funny at all but there ya go. The anesthesiologist wanted to know what was so funny. I couldn't see telling him why I was really laughing so I told him I just imagined what I must look like. Anyway they got started, the anesthesiologist started the drug saying breathe through your nose, breathe through your nose, breathe through your nose...and that's the last thing I remember til I woke up. I wasn't awake two minutes before a nurse came in. The whole thing had taken about 7 minutes. No blood clots, I was good to go. Oh and no food or drink for another two hours and nothing hot. Which wasn't really a problem because my throat really hurt. I managed to get down a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a scrambled egg, and oatmeal, not all at the same time, and went to bed early because I was to be back the next day at 6 AM for the ablation.

We planned to leave at 5 AM so I got up at 4:30 thinking that was plenty of time to do my yoga routine, take a shower and scrub with antibacterial soap as instructed, and get dressed. It actually took me 40 minutes so we got off 10 minutes late in the dark through more rain but not blinding. After about 10 minutes I asked Marc if he wanted me to drive. No, I'm fine he says. About 5 minutes later I asked him again. Why, he says, am I driving erratically. No, sez me, but you're going 60 in a 75. Relax he tells me, they can't start till you get there. So I meditated the rest of the way and we did get there mostly on time. The same lady checked me in, how are you today she asked? I had been deprived of coffee for two days, I had a small headache and my throat hurt. Not as chipper as yesterday, I told her.

Once again I was sent upstairs to be prepped for the ablation where they were going to send a zapper through a vein in my groin into the right atrial chamber of my heart, induce the atrial flutter, and then zap the spot/s dead that were sending out the rogue signal which would put an end to the flutter. In theory and practice. Usually.

Whereas before I just had to get naked from the waist up and a hospital gown on, this time I had to get naked under the hospital gown but they did give me some socks. So new IV, this time in my wrist instead of higher up and the minute she stuck me blood just gushed out all over my hand and the towel underneath but she got me cleaned up and the rig all taped down, more EKG tabs, an automatic blood pressure cuff, shaved my pube halfway and then washed. Once I was prepped they let Marc and my sister Pam back to sit with me while we waited for the doctor to arrive and when he did I was trundled into the room where the procedure would take place by Terry, the male nurse who would help with the rest of the prep and whose job it would be to stay by my head and respond to anything I needed or felt during the procedure because I was going to be awake!

He wheeled me into the room which was so full of machines and equipment that there was barely enough room to maneuver the bed in to switch me over to the platform for the ablation. 

He was very chatty, really they all were, telling me about the equipment, what it did, what the doctor and assistants were going to do while they covered my entire torso with these huge 5" diameter ice cold sensors front and back, more oxygen in my nose. They had 12 monitors in here he said so that they could see every detail of my heart.

Then they tied my arms down.

I'm laying there breathing through my broken nose which constricts my nasal passages some thinking I forgot to clean my nose when I showered this morning and maybe I should have remembered to do that. They covered me up to my chin with a protective layer with a hole at my groin. When the doctor came in Terry started the sedative and said the doctor would stick me with an anesthetic, it would feel like a bee sting but would stop hurting immediately. In reality I barely felt the prick. And that was the last thing I remember until I rose to consciousness to complain that my shoulder was aching and again to say that the ache had spread to my collarbone. And again to tell him I felt nauseous so he had me turn my head to the side and held that dental spit sucking device to my mouth but the urge passed until it came again and again until I did throw up some gastric juice which he sucked away immediately. The nausea was an effect of the afib, he said. I had gone into afib during the procedure. Somewhere in there I remember hearing them talk about seeing the flutter circuit and again when they had established a nice sinus rhythm and that's it til I woke up back in the prep area, headache, nausea, and sore throat intact. Instead of the 4 hours I had read it would take it took less than two. Once I woke up they let Marc and my sister and my daughter Sarah who got there after they had wheeled me away for the procedure back into the prep/recovery room to wait with me until they were ready to take me upstairs to my room.

next: recovery and observation

preparing the mind, MAGA, and a finished piece

I had sent off my barrage of questions Friday a week ago via the patient portal. Monday I got a reply that the doctor was out of the office that day, would be doing procedures all day Tuesday so it would be Wednesday before they had any answers for me. Actually it was Thursday mid morning but I didn't see it til after 4 PM that day. Too many questions with too many parts and the doctor thought it would be better to answer in person so if I could come in on Friday he would make time to see me. Far too late in the day for me to reply and, I figured, for them to set up a time for me. And the last thing I wanted to do was drive into the city through the gauntlet of Fort Bend County construction and deal with the horror of the Medical Center since I would have to see him in his office there instead of the nearer hospital center where I had seen him previously and where the procedures will take place.

In the meantime I had seen some terrible reviews of this doctor...get yourself a different doctor!...mostly concerning his bedside manner or not taking time to explain things as well as far more great reviews...he saved my life!...with praise that he took time to explain and answer questions, exactly the opposite. Thursday evening I was feeling anxious about the whole impending thing, didn't want to submit without my questions being answered, didn't want to spend a whole day going into the city at the drop of a hat, thinking maybe I would just postpone the procedure and subsequent change of medication until I had a chance to talk with him especially since several of my questions were about the new medication but Friday morning I called the doctor's office, explained the situation, and the person on the phone told me he would see me at noon. OK, I'll be there. The drive turned out to be not so bad as the maps app routed me around the city with a straight shot to the medical building and parking was easy and with the return trip home just 3 1/2 hours out of my day.

When I got there the waiting room was empty, about noon they put me in a room and about 12:30 Dr. Cheng came in. He shook my hand and explained why he wanted me to come in so he could answer them in person, he had a print out of my questions but when I pulled mine out he deferred to me and answered everything to my satisfaction. I'm a little anxious about all this, I told him. Understandable he says.

One of the things I asked was which was the worse ailment, the flutter or the afib. The flutter he said which surprised me. But it makes sense since that is the one he wants to treat with ablation and address the afib with medication. When I asked why not just increase the medication I was on for afib instead of starting me on one with such heinous possible side effects that he wants to observe me in the hospital for a few days he said that the meds I am on don't really address afib. After the ablation he'll take me off those.

When I left, the waiting room was packed. So this has set my mind at ease, I'm impressed that he made time for me during his lunch hour on a day when he obviously had a full schedule and didn't rush me or seem impatient to be done so I'm ready to go through with the procedures as scheduled on Monday and Tuesday. Maybe even looking forward to not having these episodes anymore since my anxiety has had the flutter going full bore the past two days.

In other news that pathetic and despicable man occupying the White House wants us to believe he called off his thoughtless impulsive order to bomb Iran for shooting down our spy plane over their territory (Iran supplied coordinates to support their claim and they also declined to shoot down the manned plane accompanying the drone while the US has provided zero proof that they were not in Iranian airspace) because he really cares about the 150 probable deaths of Iranians instead of finally being convinced that it would look bad for his re-election campaign and there would be a ton of bad press which is the only reason he would call it off especially considering he doesn't give a shit about the lives of all the would be immigrants being held in concentration camps on our border in unsanitary overcrowded conditions with disease rampant, insufficient food, sexual and physical abuse dished out by their captors, no clean clothing or laundry facilities or even diapers for the babies, children taking care of toddlers they aren't even related to. Our government thinks it's all fine that they are sleeping on concrete under a piece of foil, that they don't need soap or toothbrushes and or actual real meals instead of frozen uncooked/unheated dinners and those kids who are so sick they are unresponsive, why, they're  just sleeping. So yeah, sure, Trump called off the bomb raid on Iran to spare the lives of Iranians and now he wants to be praised for not killing them. MAGA!

The latest piece is out of the kiln and washed but no finish work done yet. This is the third of the four large Drowned Feather pieces, actually #4 in the series but cast out of sequence. Yes, that's a dried up fern frond, the whimsy part of the set. 

10” x 10” x 1/2”

one more and then on to other topics

I'm trying to keep up with everyone's blogs but I'm rather preoccupied as I'm sure everyone can imagine, still spending hours researching, sent off another barrage of questions via the patient portal. I've had a comment from one twin granddaughter on FB and a face time call from the other and been chastened by my daughter for not telling her/them about the results of my doctor's visit before I published it on my blog. That's not the way for her to find out, she tells me. Oops. My only excuse is that writing about it helps me assimilate what's going on. But, yes, I should have called her first.

Here's some other things I learned...atrial flutter is a right atrial disease, afib is a left atrial disease. In typical cases of flutter, the atrial (the upper chambers of the heart) are contracting at a rate of 150-300 bpm (beats per minute). The atrial rate of bpm is not the same as the pulse rate (ah, so this is why). The pulse rate originates in the ventricles (the lower chambers of the heart) which beat at some ratio of the atrial bpm.

So, the ablation is scheduled for the 25^th with a TEE scheduled on the 24^th. The TEE or Trans-Esophageal Echo is an echocardiogram from the inside where they can get pictures of my heart without having to look through the rib cage and lungs like a regular ultrasound echocardiogram from the outside, which is what I thought I was going to have after I told him btw, the cardiologist 2 years ago told me I had a leaky valve. I'll have an IV and they will sedate me but not put me under then numb my throat and ask me to swallow a tube with a camera on the end! Not sure I can do that especially with my throat issues. And how do you swallow a tube!? 

This whole thing just gets better and better and by that I mean worse and worse.

I had resigned myself to the outpatient ablation which turned into an inpatient procedure and drug administration and now this! This is way more than I'm prepared for. One of the questions I previously asked through the patient portal was if the sotalol manages flutter as well as afib why not just try the sotalol first to which they replied that it doesn't manage the flutter as effectively as it does the afib and flutter can induce afib so eliminating the flutter first makes it easier to control the afib. Basically. That and that as I age the condition will worsen and possibly become constant. Treating it now is more desirable than treating it once it becomes worse. Well, I have a whole week to decide whether or not I'm going to go through with it or get a second opinion (or rather third if you count the RNP as the first) or decide on trying just the medication first.

I'm in total overload. No more thinking about it til Monday. I have a mold to finish filling, I have a dog to walk, and a yard to water. Eleven inches of rain week before last and the ground is already so dry it's cracking.

not one but two

The past week's worth of days have been so busy what with working on the mold (of which all forward progress came to a screeching halt last Sunday morning and has yet to resume) and the visit from Kathy and the appointment with the electrophysiologist and a surprise visit from grandgirl Autumn just a bit ago that here it is late afternoon or early evening depending on where you live and how you measure such things and still so many chores to take care of, a big one of which is to start putting up some of the three bags of tomatoes I have in the refrigerator but it's too late in the day to start something like that. I should have finished that mold on Tuesday after Kathy headed home but I didn't, instead being lazy all day. Wednesday was all about the doctor's appointment and today was all about absorbing that.

So, yes, I finally had my appointment with the electrophysiologist, the cardiac specialist that specializes in heart rhythms. My appointment was at 11:15, I finally got in sometime shortly after noon. The cardiac RNP had sent my file over previously so basically all they did was take my blood pressure and do another EKG, since I was having an episode while I was there, before the doctor came in. So it turns out I have two different heart rhythm abnormalities, atrial flutter and atrial fibrillation. You can have one without the other but if you start with flutter you generally develop afib and the older you are, the more likely you are to develop it. He wants to do a catheter ablation  now for the flutter and then try and treat the afib with drugs before considering the ablation for afib as that is a more invasive and difficult procedure so since the drugs I've been on aren't doing the job he wants to try a different one, sotalol, that requires keeping me in the hospital for a few days while he monitors its effect on the afib and for any of the side effects that apparently can be bad. So they are contacting my insurance company and checking doctor and hospital schedules and will call me with the appointment.

Of course as soon as I got home I'm trying to explain to Marc what he said and I'm all over the internet reading about this med and the procedure and flutter vs afib and I'm even more confused. So I called the doctor's office with a long list of questions this morning.

Atrial flutter is rapid, but even, heartbeat defined as having 150 and up beats per minute. The highest mine has been is 125, that I'm aware of, and that was before any medication. Atrial fibrillation is irregular heartbeat with or without it speeding up. So how do they know I have flutter when the rapid beating part could be caused by afib especially since my heart rate has never been that high? When both conditions are present they interfere with each other so the typical bpm no longer applies but atrial flutter also has a very distinct 'sawtooth' pattern that shows up on the EKG and it's all over my tests.

Do I have to be having an episode to have the ablation? No. I actually asked the doctor this and when I asked how then does he know where to zap my heart he sort of chuckled and said it was his secret power, and then he answered my question. The process involves a way through tests conducted during the procedure in the heart to pinpoint the rogue spot that is sending out the signals.

If both conditions are caused by faulty electrical impulses why is ablation for afib considered more invasive? With flutter, there are only one or a few spots in the muscle tissue of the heart in the upper chambers and they can be pinpointed and eliminated. 

Ablation for afib involves all 4 of the pulmonary veins (the veins that bring oxygen rich blood from your lungs to your heart) and as they can't pinpoint the exact spots, it involves a process called pulmonary vein isolation which causes scar tissue around the veins near where they connect to your heart because that's where the chaotic signals originate for afib.

So then I got a call to pick a date, the three soonest dates were June 21, 24, 28. I picked Monday the 24^th so I'll have an echocardiogram on the 24^th and then go back the next day for the ablation and a couple more days while he tries the different medication so I'll be at or in the hospital most of that week. Oh joy. I barely accepted the possibility of the ablation as outpatient procedure and now I'm going to be in the hospital, the place I avoid at all costs and haven't been in a hospital as a 'patient' since 1979 when my son was born.

I am not looking forward to this.