I’ve been lax about writing, but not because I don’t have things to say. I haven’t been able to find the words I wanted to use to describe what has been going on.
The visit to Dr. Foley on (gee, it’s been so long ago that I’m having to look up the date!) September 3 went well. He said my kidneys have not decreased in function significantly, which is a good sign. Not that they are going to get better, but perhaps I’m on a bit of a plateau and will be able to spend more time thinking and praying about what my next steps should be. He was very pleased with the status of the fistula – gave it an A+ even! I’m to return in about 6 weeks for follow-up.
About that fistula. I’m glad he’s pleased. But let me suggest a quick exercise for you… Place one of those little pencils, the kind you get at the miniature golf course, in the crook of your left elbow, and tape it there. No, not the long way, but across, as if you were trying to hold it while you did something else. That’s it. Now, keep it there. Try to drink your coffee. Try to stretch your arm up over your head like you were washing your hair. Yeah. See why I’m not *quite* as enthusiastic about it? Oh, and don’t forget that there is a constant thrumming in the pencil, and it always feels warm to the touch. You can’t add the last bit (at least I don’t think you can) which is the most fun of all. Anytime you have your arm crooked for a while, your left hand will get cold and tingle as if it were asleep. That includes when you are sitting properly at a keyboard and trying to type!
Don’t get me wrong, I’m really not complaining, just fussing. I know this can be a life-line for me, and that having it now means that I probably won’t have to have an emergency graft put in when it comes time to succumb to the double needles. But still, it is more than a little frustrating.
Frustration. That’s probably the biggest reason I haven’t been writing. One of the joys of living near the Texas coast (about 80 miles due north of Galveston) is that you get to enjoy the pleasures of Mother Nature’s temper tantrums known as hurricanes. This year we’ve been threatened a couple of times, but Hurricane Ike decided to make real on the threat.
About 30 minutes after I got home from school on the 10th, the phone rang. The Phone Tree had been activated to let everyone know that school would be closed on Thursday and Friday (the 11th and 12th). The decision was made for all schools in the county, because Ike was looming towards the Texas coast, and having the secondary evacuation routes blocked by school buses trundling along with their precious cargoes of kids was not going to help move traffic along.
At home, we began earnest preparation for the hurricane on Friday when it began to look as if it really would hit. Sure enough, after making us wait…and wait…and wait…it finally hit. Talk about a whale of a storm! We lost power about 1 a.m. Saturday (the 13th) but didn’t really feel the effects of the storm till several hours later.
Frustration. I’m so accustomed to being able to just go and do whatever needs doing! It has been driving me nuts not to be able to tote things around, not to be able to even *try* to start the generator. Simple things.Hauling the box out of the attic that had the long heavy-duty extension cords and the instruction manual for the generator was beyond my abilities because I can’t hold anything heavy with my left hand. It meant I had to take the things out of the box one-by-one and hand them down to Glynn. Moving all the stuff off the front porch, so we could set it up as a center for the generator and for cooking…I had to get the little red wagon from the back because I couldn’t carry a weed-eater and a leaf-blower and my hedge trimmers at the same time. Don’t even let me get started on full 6-gallon gas cans. Sigh.
We’ve got a ton of branches down in the yard, but I can’t drag them out of the way. Sure, just because they’re 10-12 feet long, spanning from 4-6 feet in width…still, I *should* be able to drag them off the driveway! And I can’t.
The feeling of helplessness really gets to me sometimes. Then I think of Dad, when Hurricane Alicia hit in 1983. How must he have felt, with Mom and me trying to make the house secure, and he couldn’t even tell us how he had done things in the past. I vividly remember the three of us being in the den on Tartan, with Mom nearly in tears. At the time, I didn’t fully understand what she was going through. Now I do. How was she going to take care of a man who couldn’t tell her what he was feeling, couldn’t tell her if he felt sick or scared or worried? What if he started an infection, like he had done so many times before? How was an ambulance going to get to the house? What about his next dialysis session? How would we get him there, if the clinic was even open? Mom, I’m sorry I didn’t understand it back then.
But enough. It’s 3:30 a.m. on the 18th. We still don’t have power, and aren’t likely to for several more days. School is also on hold because there is no power in Tarkington either. The generator is humming along, keeping us cool and in contact with our world. The dog is a basket case, barking for all he’s worth every time Glynn restarts the generator. We have no damage to the house, the fridge is full, and the search for gasoline has become much easier. Life is good. Thank you, God, for keeping us safe!
If you will excuse me, I need to go sit in my chair and put a pillow under my arm so it will quit tingling and warm up a bit. 
See you soon!
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