Don't Call It "Exercise"

Posted on April 17, 2013 by

Reblogged from 777 Peppermint Place:

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Anyone who's followed this blog for any length of time knows how I feel about exercise, so you'd think MSB would know too. We went for a walk the other day, me trying desperately to keep up with his stride.

"You're going too fast."

"This pace is better exercise."

"If this is exercise, I'm going home. I'm out for a stroll.

Read more… 511 more words

Thought you might enjoy this one again. When I get well, I'll have to join a gym and my opinion of "exercising" will have to change, but meantime, I still hold this one. Love to all.
Posted in Writing | 4 Comments

How Can He Get Away with That?

Posted on April 15, 2013 by

Reblogged from 777 Peppermint Place:

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I have now read one-fourth of the way through a thousand page novel. Four hundred pages into Tom Clancy's The Bear and the Dragon. And, other than in the first chapter, the action is just now beginning. Finally.

Clancy is the quintessential example of how not to write a book, at least according to all the how-to's I've read. He has far too many settings.

Read more… 712 more words

Not feeling too great today, so I settled for a repost. Still love Clancy, and he still drives me nuts.
Posted in Writing | 2 Comments

Thirteen Moons Review

Posted on April 12, 2013 by

13 moonsSometimes I come across a book that will draw me in and keep me steadily turning pages without me clearly understanding why. America, America, by Ethan Canin, was that way, and so was this one. Maybe that’s part of the magic of literary fiction. Not everyone likes literature, but I’m learning to appreciate it more, and I definitely learn from it. Charles Frazier, for instance, has a delightful way of slipping in wit and humor without warning, and his descriptions are superb. Some variation of his techniques will no doubt make their way into my own writing.

In 2010, I read The Fire in Fiction by Donald Maass and decided to read every single book he mentioned in this work to see what catches his attention and makes the grade in his opinion. Thirteen Moons is on pages 29-30 under the subheading “Greatness” in Chapter One.

Perhaps you realized the implications of the previous paragraph. Yes, after all this time, I’m still in Chapter One. I didn’t realize how many books Maass mentioned or how little time I’d have to read for pleasure. I’m still determined however, and God willing, I’ll be out of Chapter One by the end of the year.

The novel is a memoir of sorts of the ancient Will Cooper, spanning from an era before there were civilized settlements along the Mississippi River, through the Civil War, and further into a time when telephones were new contraptions and passenger trains criss-crossed America. Abandoned by his people and adopted by the Cherokee, Will becomes a businessman, lawyer, white Indian chief, Washington DC lobbyist for the Cherokee nation, and a state senator. To hear Will tell it, everything kind of happened by accident, although some may have been by design. He tells of his successes with humor and his failures with honesty, but little remorse. He is a capitalist who disdains capitalism, a rich man with no respect for money, and a life-long lover of a woman who isn’t free to love him back. His two primary influences include Featherstone, the worst the whites have to offer, and Bear, the best the Indians have to offer. His interactions with the two are part of what makes the book so compelling.

Occasional rough language and mild sex in the novel will prevent some who visit this site from reading it; the fact that it’s literary will prevent others. But if you’re game for a different type of Indian story, you should check this out.

Posted in Reading, Reviews of exceptional books | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

It Just Keeps Coming

Posted on April 10, 2013 by

J&J“How have you been doing?” the lady at Walgreen’s asked. She’s always there when I go, always checks me out, so even though I don’t remember her name, I know her as more than just a Walgreen’s employee. When she asked how I was doing, she did so with genuine interest.

And I gave her as close to a truthful answer as I could: “I’d complain, but there isn’t any money in it.”

In truth, I was scared and in quite a bit of pain. I had stopped by Walgreen’s before going to my doctor’s appointment because I was afraid I wouldn’t want to afterward, and I really needed the surgical pads and 4 X 4s and paper tape needed to dress the surprise that cropped up on me a couple of weeks ago. And I needed the Whoopers candy I bought on impulse. Really needed those Whoopers.

The doctor I was going to was my local surgeon, the one who has taken care of me for almost fifteen years–the one who’s scared to work on me now and who sent me to Tyler for my current medical care. I wanted to ask him about the surprise, a second opinion of sorts, but I was terrified. I’d had nightmares the night before of probes and silver-nitrate sticks. Ever have an injury, perhaps a puncture wound, treated with silver nitrate? Don’t.

The people in Tyler are doing a great job, I don’t doubt that. But for every ounce of good news that comes my way, I get a pound of bad. The surprise abscess that I thought was going away got worse, and my ankles are even more swollen than before. After having them x-rayed, I called for the report. Guess what they said? My ankles are swollen. Really. Yes, they said it in medicalese, but that’s what it boils down to. At least they aren’t fractured. And I called for the results of the blood test and found out that the swelling is not related to my kidneys either. They’re fine, thank God.

Dr. C doesn’t know what’s causing them to swell, but his best guess is that it has to do with the Crohn’s and the rest of this mess that’s going on with me. They were so painful yesterday that I wore sandals instead of shoes, which was fine–it was close to 90 degrees outside. But we have a cold front moving in that’s going to make my weekly trip to Tyler a bit chilly, so I’m still debating what to do about that.

I showed Dr. C my surprise, and he confirmed the conclusion I’d reached over the weekend. It isn’t an abscess at all, but an enterocutaneous fistula. I don’t want to have to explain what that is (if you’re curious, go “here” for the best explanation I’ve found; be sure to find the definition of enterocutaneous fistula). Suffice it to say, it’s not pleasant, but it’ll go away in a couple of months. Fortunately, he was able to determine this without a probe, and silver nitrate isn’t an appropriate treatment, so at least my nightmare didn’t come true.

Sigh.

777 Peppermint Place is turning into the journal of my illness, of my battle against Crohn’s Disease. I try not to focus on this entirely, but it’s hard not to. And it’s so hard to remain optimistic when all my good news is shot down so quickly after receiving it. Still, I know God is with me and carrying me through this; otherwise, I’d never be able to crack a joke about it, never have a “good” day, never be able to focus on anything else. Truth be told, there are people going through things far worse than this with a less promising prognosis. Eventually, I’ll be fine again. Some folks won’t be.

Posted in Personal | Tagged , , , , , | 17 Comments

What’s Your Rub?

Posted on April 8, 2013 by

TeapotIt is said that when Golda Meir, the fourth prime minister of the nascent nation of Israel, had something on her mind, she’d spend hours polishing her silver teapot. I doubt that the pot looked like this one, but I bet it was just as shiny. Being prime minister can deliver some hefty problems to a person’s shoulders. Rubbing a teapot is a mindless activity, almost hypnotic and soothing, freeing the mind to explore problems and their solutions.

Lately, I’ve found that rubbing the alcohol pad on my PICC line’s port has the same effect. I’m only supposed to do it for a few seconds before shooting the saline or Heparin into my vein, but I find myself comforted by the motion, and I keep rubbing until whatever my mind is working on is settled. Fortunately it doesn’t take hours–my problems aren’t as heavy as Golda’s. Mine are a writer’s challenges. How can I bring this scene to life? How can I introduce this character? How can I infuse tension into this chapter? Rub. Rub. Rub.

When they remove the PICC line, I’m going to have to buy a silver teapot.

People have different ways of mulling things over. One friend says she uses her walk to the mailbox–which apparently is quite a distance from her front door–to work out problems. Washing dishes by hand always works. Vacuuming. Dusting. Even scrubbing out the tub. All that sounds too much like work, but it’s mindless and perfect for settling plot problems. Still, there’s only so many times you can clean a house.

When I’m not rubbing my port, I’m staring out the window, as if all the answers I need are out there. Of course, they’re not–they’re in my head. Dialogue. Action. Poignant scenes toned down from melodramatic to just the right degree of tear-jerkiness. I mull them all over as I watch bluebirds winging from the oak to the elm or follow the chase of the squirrels across the lawn.

What do you do? What’s your teapot?

Posted in Writing | 5 Comments

Good News, Bad News, No News Yet

Posted on April 5, 2013 by

X-rayI just got back from having my ankles x-rayed. Don’t know what’s wrong with them yet, but I’m anxious to find out.

I made my weekly trip to Tyler yesterday for yet another doctor’s appointment, but this time I was optimistic. After the last CT scan of my belly, we found out all but one of the abscesses are gone and the last one–the one the drain has been in all this time–has shrunk like crazy. During the days leading up to yesterday’s appointment, the drainage from both that abscess and my little “surprise” abscess had slowed considerably, so I felt like we were finally going to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Then, I got hit with the bad news: my infection marker had jumped from five-point-something to ten-point-something. I tell ya, I just about cried when I heard that. Doesn’t do much good to cry, but as I watched the helium leak out of my balloon, I came mighty close.

The good news was that the doctor agreed with me: those abscesses have done all they’re gonna do. Next up for them is a total disappearing act. The doctor and her nurse took the drain out of me yesterday. You don’t know what a relief that was. It hurt for just the few moments it took for them to do what they had to do, and then I was free of that blasted thing. It had been there since the middle of January, so occasionally I still feel for it to see if it’s okay only to be reminded that the sucker’s gone. Glory hallelujah!

So what does all this have to do with my ankles?

There is a remote chance that I fractured them when I wore heels to my granddaughter’s wedding, since they started hurting soon afterward. There’s also a remote chance that the Crohn’s is affecting them somehow or other. And there’s the remote chance that the IV antibiotics we’ve been pumping into my veins since December have messed with my kidneys, and the excess water weight is making my ankles swell. Any one of these could have made my infection indicator rise, and if it’s none of these, then something else is wrong. We don’t know yet.

But there ya go, the good, the bad, and the don’t-know-yet.

I need chocolate.

Posted in Personal | Tagged , , , , | 12 Comments

Big Plans

Posted on April 3, 2013 by

bank robberI wouldn’t call the room cheery, but it’s nice enough. White, boring walls, with plenty of windows allowing sunlight to filter in between the slats of the blinds. The chairs are comfy, and there’s a huge TV that’s never on. This is the “infusion room” at my doctor’s office.

That day, there were six of us: two nurses, three patients, and a plus-one who turned out to be a preacher working on his notes for an upcoming funeral. I sat with my arm out so Shirley could draw blood and change the dressing on my PICC line.

“So what have you been doing since the last time I was here?” I asked her.

“Me? Nothing. Work.” She smirked. “That’s all I ever do. Go to work, go home, watch TV with my cat.”

“We need to get you a life,” I said–me, the one whose life centers around doctor appointments and the occasional jaunt to Kroger’s. “I know–let’s rob a bank.”

Evelyn turned from the IV she was hooking up for one of the patients. “With this economy, that might not be a bad idea. I’ve always wanted to mastermind something like that. It would be such a challenge.”

“I’ll drive the get-away car,” said another patient whose IV dripped steadily into her vein. She was a retired truck driver.

“I don’t have fingerprints,” Shirley said. “Don’t know why not. They kept trying and trying to print me at a job I worked at before. Never could get any.”

Just for fun and to pass the time, we talked about it for a while, how we’d all work together, what we’d do with our share of the money, et cetera. I didn’t have much to offer to the scheme other than writing a book about it someday. Probably in prison.

Later, Evelyn unhooked the patient she’d connected the IV to, and the woman stood to leave. I’d noticed she’d been quiet during our silliness and realized why when the only man in the room stood to leave with her. “Ah!” I said. “No wonder you didn’t pitch in with our shenanigans. You’re married to a preacher!”

“She’s a preacher too,” he said.

She patted me on the shoulder on her way out. “Y’all go ahead with your plans. I’ll take your confessions when you’re done.”

That’s teamwork for ya.

Posted in Personal, Writing | 12 Comments