May must be anvil month for me!

No, I didn’t fall off a cliff.

No, I’m not in the Federal Witness Protection Program.

No, I didn’t run off to live in a monastery in Nepal.

No, I wasn’t captured by Canadians from outer space.

No, I didn’t catch some strange alien virus that caused me to mutate into a new life form and was then quarantined in a Centers for Disease Control lab.

So, what happened to me? Well, friends o’mine, get some popcorn and something to drink, and settle in while I tell you.

First, think back to a little over six months ago. I told you about a couple of places that had opened up on my legs (on the back of my left calf, and one on the front of my right shin) and a blister on the arch of my left foot that had popped and had been rubbed by my shoe. Well, my right leg had healed, but everything on the left side has been going very slowly.

Anyway, a few weeks ago, the place on my leg developed an infection. Dr. Mahmood, the infectious disease specialist at the Wound Care Center, took a culture and was quite cheerful when the lab results came in – it was the kind of infection that’s cured with one or two doses of penicillin. But then he muttered a few choice words in Farsi – I’m allergic to penicillin. (How many of you saw that coming? Be honest.) So that meant I had to take the other treatment, which was vancomycin every 12 hours and cefeprime every 8 hours for 3 or 4 weeks.

Okay, at this point you’re probably thinking “So you have to take a couple of pills for a while. What’s the big deal?” Well...those antibiotics are given through IV infusion....with a PICC line....at home...and I had to give the infusions to myself.

Lose the blank stare – I’ll explain. Whenever a patient needs to have an IV for an extended amount of time, or if it’s a medication that’s hard on the blood vessels, a PICC line is used. A thin tube is inserted just above the bend of the elbow and is threaded inside a blood vessel toward the center of the chest until the end of the line is above the heart. The end that stays outside the body has a couple of ports that the IV can connect to. This is the third time I’ve ever needed a PICC line, and immediately after each procedure I’ve felt like a building had been dropped on me. I had to administer the IV myself at home because: 1) visiting nurses won’t come out to the house so many times a day every day, 2) insurance wouldn’t pay for such a long hospital stay unless I suddenly develop some other, more severe symptoms, and 3) there was no way in hell I was going to leave the house unguarded, making it oh so easy for my brother to go marching in to take whatever he wanted and do whatever he wanted to the place!

At any rate, the antibiotics were doing their job (and making me feel yucky in the process) when I got a call from the city housing authority.... I don’t know if you remember this, but, shortly after my dad died, I discovered that I couldn’t afford to live in the house (not to mention I simply couldn’t get to about 80% of it). Well, I also discovered that my disability pension wasn’t enough to pay for anything, so I had to apply for city housing. I had been waiting so long that I was almost certain that I’d have to become homeless and get on the emergency housing list in order to get a place. (Yeah, it’s really fun having that in the back of my mind while dealing with my health issues plus all the crap from my brother and sister-in-law!)

Well, when I was wondering how I was going to protect the Raggedy Ann doll my grandfather gave me the day after I was born as well as my contributor’s copies while in a homeless shelter (and with an IV stuck in my arm), the call came. Not only is this place accessible, it’s in one of the newest buildings in town; I’m the second person to ever occupy this apartment! And it’s about twice the size of any 1-bedroom apartment I’d seen in the past. It was definitely worth the wait.

That call came on a Thursday. I was set to see the apartment, sign the lease, etc., on Monday. However, I simply couldn’t go that long without something else happening!

It was Sunday, and I had just fixed a sandwich for lunch. I looked down and saw a few spots of blood on my blouse. My eyes went over to the PICC line. Instead of seeing a thin tube coming out from under a 4"x4" dressing, I saw a thin tube coming out of what looked like an enormous overstuffed ravioli. I grabbed a kitchen towel and made a few, desperate phone calls.

I spent the rest of the afternoon in the emergency room. The PICC line had completely popped out of my arm. After a new PICC line was inserted (using a different blood vessel), I was sent home. The next afternoon was spent signing a pillar of papers.

After that, I’ve been dealing with the move (in between IV infusions)....including losing my internet connection. (Grrrrrrr!) But now I’ve got the internet back, and I’m still working on the move. (But, on the upside, I’m done with the IV!) I hope this didn’t cause anybody else a lot of grief. Now to get things to at least look almost normal.........

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“There are worse crimes than burning books. One of them is not reading them." --Ray Bradbury

EW, oh, that sounds so stressful! I hope things settle down for you soon. (((hugs)))

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"The heart has its reasons, of which reason knows nothing." -- Blaise Pascal

Awwww!!!

DON"T ever say "Almost normal" or "could be worse"

The universe had a realy BAD sence of humour at the moment!!!!!! and it seems to be going " realy? normal or worse? try this on for size"

Repeat!!!! They have no sense of humour. evil beings trying to test how strong we are and how far they can push us
(chocolate only help so much, I know this from experience)

LW shakes fist at sky "damn you karma, damn you"


In saying that - is good to know that you are still in the land of the semi sane, have not been kidnapped, are not some test subject in a lab somewhere, don't sure about the Canadian reference, protection program may have merits new start and all, and Nepal would be cold this time of year.

Sending you
love, hugs, prayers and imaginary set of Wonder Woman's Bracelets (deflection purposes only), armour for you chair (producing spikes optional) a big arse shield and some Teflon so things slid off and don't cling to you and a massive stick to beat them away with and my Condor and Owl (short term use only)

- can't help you with the brother, but there is always duck tape

PS and an inner knowing that you are one very strong determined , kick arse, take no prisoners woman, who will survive all of this one way or another

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May the bad things get lost on the way to you door!

Glad you are a-okay! And now that you are on the top of the world, (love the idea of the new place, my MIL condo had been outfitted to be completely accessible so I know what a boon that is..) Keep healing!

P.S. I am glad that the I.V. line didn't irritated the blood vessels like mine did...(just one more thing that could have gone wrong...just sayin...)

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The world looks less difficult when standing next to a close friend.

EW, maybe things would have been easier if you had been captured by Galactor.

I'm glad you're feeling better and moving into what sounds like a better apartment. My brother had a port like you described when he was getting cancer treatments a few years ago, but I imagine having it there between treatments can be a hassle.

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I'm writing a book. I've got the page numbers so far...

Ok, EW, I was getting a bit worried about you and was thinking of sending a distress signal through the site - and you know what??? I was right!!! To be worried, I mean!!!

Glad to read that things are picking up a bit - and hopefully the universe will let you catch your breath!

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They were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Naturally, they became heroes -- Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan.

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They were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Naturally, they became heroes -- Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan.

Isn't it annoying how life tends to look like one of those biorhythm waves from the 80's -- either everything happens all at once, or absolutely nothing is happening.

Hopefully the move goes smoothly for you and then you get a few weeks of welcome boredom.

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Perspective Alters Reality