Category Archives: Health

Playing catchup

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I apologize for the hiatus and promise I'll try to do better. Mostly it was laziness; to a small extent it was income tax. I got so little money last year I get a refund from the feds and only owe the state a very small amount. I use an online service called TaxSlayer. It's very easy and I was finished within a couple of hours. It would be even easier if I was more organized. I was waiting for one form that never came and the other envelopes got shuffled into a pile with lots of other stuff. By the time I found out I didn't need the missing form, the required ones were out of sight and out of mind. Then, of course, I had to find last year's tax, also out of sight and out of mind. It's a great relief to have it all out of the way.

So I'll tell you what I didn't write about: first, the Seders in New Jersey and New York. We were with friends in NJ. The hostess is from Israel, her family originally coming from Iraq. It was a little different from our usual ritual and very interesting. Our kids were still in Chicago–no holiday from college, but the two sons of the host family were there, along with one girl friend. This is very much a family holiday–these friends are just like family. Our New York Seder was with Steve's family on Long Island, again a little different and very nice.

I had my yearly mammogram last week, no results yet. I wasn't going to do it this year, based on someone's (a government health service)  recommendation of every two years for women over 75. After Alice's experience, I decided to go ahead with the test. I should have a result tomorrow or Tuesday.

The snow is finally gone, the weather has been mostly wonderful, although not while I was in NYC. There I got wet and froze–didn't have proper clothing with me.

I bought the camera but have had it only two days. I promise a report in about two more days.

Here is the tulip tree welcoming spring.

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One last bit of snow. This picture was taken on March 25 after many days of 70 and 80 degrees. The snowpile was created when they shoveled the snow off of the top of the building (parking garage at CMU). Originally it was almost as tall as the building.

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It's finally gone.

Lots of little things

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My refugee student passed his citizenship exam. Three cheers. He wants to continue learning how to read. I'm very proud of him.

Most of my classes are finished for the year. I have one last one tomorrow, but I think I'm going to pick up Eli from the airport instead.

I've been going to the health club and doing more organizing in my workroom. It's a long way from finished, but I'm making progress. I have a very old drafting/light table. It was useful when I was taking lots of slides. Now it's just another surface to clutter. As soon as I finish removing the clutter I'm going to try to sell it. It's really an antique.

I fixed two pairs of pants that needed repairs and took apart two jackets that need altering. I hope I still remember how to do it.

My new doctor told me to get one of those medical alert bracelets because of the Coumadin. It arrived yesterday and I'm wearing it. I feel like I've crossed a line between health and chronic illness, although nothing has really changed.

A tale of two doctors–NOT a healthcare rant

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One of the most difficult things, when you move to a new city, is finding new doctors. In New Jersey I had five doctors in eight years; some years I didn't go to a doctor. When I got to Pittsburgh Steve recommended a geriatric practice, and I've been very satisfied with them. Fast forward to my heart problem, which I am still trying to manage. I was in the ER in what I thought was probably the best hospital in the 'burgh, (it was the hospital of choice for the recent former mayor,) hooked up to several beeping machines and my heart did it's thing, stopping for eight seconds. Within minutes I had a cardiologist, a diagnosis, a surgeon and a few hours later, a pacemaker. I left the hospital with instructions to return to the cardiologist's, Dr. C1, office and medications. The pacemaker keeps my heart from going too slow or stopping; the meds keep it from going too fast. Shortly thereafter I went to China and Japan reassured that everything would be OK.

Unfortunately, it was not, although I got through the entire trip without any problems. In the year since, I've been told I may have some blockage, which was not a surprise, and I have afib–atrial fibrillation, not a good thing. Dr. C1 gave me a bunch of scenarios and and then assumed I rejected all of them. I was just confused. After a couple of visits, which added to my confusion, I asked Robin to come with me to an appointment; she concurred–he was not being clear about what I should do. I had the feeling I needed to make the decisions–I don't know enough to do it. I like Dr. C1. He's charming and has a great bedside manner. But I needed more guidance. I got a referral from my primary care doc and another, very strong recommendation, from a doctor friend and went for a second opinion.

To some extent this was prompted by a bad experience I had on one of my walks. I set off for a two to three mile walk. By the time I did the first mile I was having a bad time with afib. I went into Trader Joe's and got a drink and bought something I needed–I don't remember what. Then I went into Mellon Park and sat for about twenty minutes. The afib didn't abate, but I began to feel somewhat better and finished walking back home. I would have been happy to take the bus, but there wasn't one. I didn't like this at all, and it made me begin thinking about what else I could do for myself. I'm not ready to slow down.

The new cardiologist, Dr. C2, asked for copies of my records. My PCP's office sent the records. When I called the C1 office they wanted a letter to release the records. I immediately sent it, noting clearly that I was looking for a second opinion. A few days later I received a letter from Dr. C1 saying goodbye and wishing me luck. Somehow it seemed to exemplify all of my problems with him.

Dr. C2 is now my cardiologist. He has no charm and seems to have the personality of a drill sergeant. But he is a model of clarity and has let me know exactly what he expects and what I can expect. Tomorrow I go for another stress test to investigate the possible blockage. He's got me on Coumadin, which I was resisting with Dr. C1. (Did you know that stuff is rat poison?) I'll keep you posted on what happens next.

Book review, my first and probably last

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Sometimes, when I have taught classes with an inspirational component, I have recommended books that excited me but never touched anyone else in the class. I suspect the recommendation to read My Stroke of Insight may have been one of those. It is a memoir, but of a highly complex event requiring a lot of sophisticated, technical information. Although the technical part is well written, there is also a fair amount of self-help and spiritual stuff, only loosely connected to the real topic of the book.

Since I have been warned about strokes many times, I found the description of having a stroke and the rehab process to be useful, When I had my heart problems last year I first suspected I was having small strokes. And I have often wondered about the rehab process, which Taylor criticizes.

In 1980 my father had Guillain Barre syndrome. After seven weeks on a ventilator he began to recover and was sent to a rehab facility where they treated him like a stroke patient. The prevailing belief at that time and probably into the present, was that stroke patients had to be continually prodded and motivated to do things. Taylor questions the prodding and the methods of motivating. In effect she says each person should be individually evaluated and treated for their own needs, not by an overall generalized protocol.

Guillain Barre is not a brain disease but rather a disease of the peripheral nervous system. I was told at the time that patients needed only to recover and heal the damaged parts of the nervous system. There was no other treatment. Therapy at the rehab center was devastating for my father. He never trusted doctors and hospitals and was always a little paranoid. Unable to perform as expected he decided the rehab staff was antisemitic and was out to get him. He checked himself out of the hospital, although still unable to walk, and went home to my mother's care. Both were in their 70s at the time. Taylor was fortunate: her mother cared for her and managed her rehab fully cognizant of her needs.

All of this, except for an overdose of adjectives, was the good part of the book. What bothered me were later chapters dealing with right brain-left brain issues and how to connect with the inner peace of our right brain. I could see the publisher leaning on her to make the book a little longer (it's only 183 pages), add some self-help stuff–that always sells.



Musings

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I almost turned off the computer without posting. I guess it wouldn't be a tragedy, but I'll try to hang in there.

No classes today. I took a two mile walk. It was beautiful when I began then the sky slowly began to cloud over and it got cooler. I wasn't properly dressed, having decided I'd be warm enough without a coat. When the bus conveniently arrived I got on, cutting a mile off my walk.

I've gone through about six chapters in My Stroke of Inspiration. I can't say I love it; I'm not sure why it was recommended, but it has an excellent description of a stroke. Since this is what my doctors are always warning me about–high cholesterol and afib–and since I frequently don't understand what constitutes a medical emergency, it's good to read about this in detail. After I fell a couple of months ago I realized it had never occurred to me to use my cell phone and get help. It didn't matter, since help came my way fairly quickly, but I feel remiss that I never gave that phone a thought. I'll write more about this book when I finish reading it. I feel like there are important lessons to be learned from it.

Another week flew by

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Mage, I'm just fine. I still have some interesting marks on my face, but they're fading quickly. I've been concentrating on the book so too busy to write. Often I write things in my head as I go through the week. Most of it never gets put in type. Eli thinks some day we'll have a direct hookup from our brains to the computer. I'm not sure I want to see that.

I went to two of my classes last week: stitching and Rachel Carson. Never got to the third one, fabrigami. Instead, I went on an Osher sponsored bus trip to Amish country in Ohio. Spent most of the time on the bus stitching.

Finally got to the plastic surgeon as instructed by both the ER doc and my GP. He was great; looked at my nose, which looks about the same as always, assured me he would fix it if it came out crooked (no age discrimination just because I'm an old lady) and told me he wouldn't do anything in my case–exactly what I wanted to hear. Told me, using other words, this was a 'cover your ass' situation. Ain't American medicine great.

I come away from this experience, as I always do when I encounter our medical system, with many thoughts about it. When I finish the book I'll do another post about health care.

Since this one is for you, Mage, I'll tell you a little about shopping. The most exciting part of it is that I can now get into regular sizes. I'm still under tall, but that's a condition I can never fix. When I was in New York I bought one pair of black pants, two tee shirts, one yellow, one beige, and a jacket I haven't worn yet: white with a black print that almost looks like embroidery, all at Chico's.

Mostly I've been shopping in my own closet. Yesterday I went to Nordstorms with Robin and Charna. I bought, on sale, a very handsome pair of black pants and a black and white print top. This will be for fall. I hate to pay Nordstrom prices, but I like wearing their clothes. The pants are size 16. Years ago, when I was somewhat thinner than now, I would take a 14 or 16 top and 18 pants. That says much more about what's happened to sizes than what's happened to me. Also, the more you pay, the larger the size.

One last thing: I'm back to walking–three miles in Frick Park on Saturday. 

Exercise can be dangerous

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I'm not really an obsessive personality, but once in a while something will get to me. I think of these things as waking nightmares. When I lived in New Jersey and worked in upstate New York I constantly worried about being hit by a truck as I crossed the George Washington Bridge twice each day. After 9/11 when my Chicago friends asked me if I was worried about a terrorist attack I realized I was much more concerned about those trucks. Over the years I've had a number of these concerns, most of which never materialized.

When I lived in Chicago my concern was about the possibility of getting stuck in Cabrini-Green, one of those notorious housing projects unwisely built very close to the most desirable areas of the city. On New Years Day, 1985, I went to visit a friend, mistakenly sailed past the North Avenue exit of the highway, and foolishly got off at Division Street, putting me right in wrong place. I was driving a VW something; I don't remember the model, and it had an electrical problem that the dealer hadn't been able to find. Needless to say, as I got to the stop sign in the middle of the area, the car stalled. Two men came over and tried to help me–actually, one tried to help–I wasn't sure about the other. The car wouldn't start, they pushed it to the curb, I gave them whatever money I had (about $25) and left as quickly as possible. I also got rid of that car as quickly as possible.

My most recent waking nightmare is about falling: either on my face or breaking something important like a hip. Friday morning, after finishing my tutoring gig at the library, I decided I would take the bus to the Strip if it came before my usual bus. I got there, had a fish sandwich at Benkowitz, went to the Society for Contemporary Craft to see the current exhibit and continued walking to downtown Pittsburgh. It's not very far, about a mile and a half. I got to Penn Station and decided to take the bus on the East Busway, giving me about another half mile walk on the other end to get home.

The area had been newly fixed up. There was a park-like place in front of the building and the walkway leading to the bus stop was newly paved with red brick. I never saw that the pavement was uneven: my foot hit and I went flying, landing on my knees forehead and nose. My glasses cut into my forehead, my nose was broken and I've never seen so much blood except on television.

I laid there for a moment unable to move, decided I'd better do something or I'd be soaked in blood. A man passing by came over to help me. He was wonderful. I'm sure he must have had some EMT training. He helped me sit up then moved me to a shady spot. He picked up the book and jacket I was carrying and helped me take my bag off my shoulder; picked up my hearing aid, which came off when I took the bag off, and found the case for it in my purse; each time showing me and telling me exactly what he was doing. I realized how vulnerable I was and how very fortunate that he had stopped to help me. I wish I knew who he was. I'd like him to know how much I appreciate him.

Someone else called for help. The police showed up, my good samaritan left, the paramedics came. Everyone was great. The paramedics cleaned most of the blood off my arms: I looked like I had been bathing in it. They took me to the ER at Shadyside Hospital (my choice) where I was cleaned up, CT scanned, (fractured my nose), the cut was glued (not a good place for stitches) and Steve and Charna came and took me home. I look terrible–like one of those Kabuki masks you can see here, but I feel OK, even went out for dinner with the kids on Friday night. So, don't worry Carol.

On the road again

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Actually, I'm in
a hotel in San Francisco, sightseeing and keeping Robin company while
she attends her yearly Java conference. I've spent the entire day
walking around and now I'm back in the hotel too wiped out to do much
of anything but watch TV and write this post. I began the day at the
Andersen Bakery, Crocker Galleria, for breakfast. The bakery is
actually from Japan, but not quite as good here. Across the street
there is a sign: YARN–Art Fiber. I was looking forward to going there,
but found it was gone, possibly another victim of our current economic
problems.

I
walked over to the tourist office on Market Street to pick up maps and
current info then spent time in Nordstroms. I'm not a big shopper, but
I have picked up some choice things there. Not today, though. Sometimes
I find the fashion offerings dismaying.

Last year, on
the last day of my visit here, I was walking through that same shopping
mall killing time while waiting for Robin to get finished at her
conference, and I was given a taste of grilled beef from Buckhorn
Grill. It was delicious, but we were scheduled to go out for dinner to Greens,
so I did not indulge. I've been thinking about that meat all year.
Actually, I thought I'd never get back here. Robin didn't think she
would come back to the conference, and I certainly wasn't coming back
here alone. Needless to say, I headed right back there  for lunch.

There are things
in the world one ought to appreciate without trying to expand on them.
Lunch was good, but not nearly as good as that one tiny piece of meat.
I had heartburn all afternoon and probably ruined my cholesterol.I eat very little meat. I thought it was on principle, but maybe I don't digest it very well. 

The new Jewish Museum
is just down Mission Street. The had an interesting exhibit of Passover
Seder Plates and an excellent exhibit about Marc Chagall and the
Russian Jewish Theater.The building
that now houses the museum was originally a power station, one of the
first buildings to be restored after the 1906 earthquake, now repurposed by Daniel Liebeskind, the architect who designed the New York 9/11 memorial.

I needed to sit down so I got on a bus and went to Japan town to the Kinokuniya bookstore. The website says it's just like visiting Japan, an amazing exaggeration. Lots
more walking then back on the bus to the Embarcadero to the Acme
Bakery. I recalled getting walnut whole wheat bread there last year and
was able to get it again–without doubt one of my favorite things to
eat and very hard to find.

Medical update

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Last week when the dr's office told me to return the monitor, that he had enough data and I had extra heartbeats, I was certain he wanted to talk to me about some invasive tests, or worse. It was a long weekend. I didn't really worry; they would have put me in the hospital if it had been really bad, but I'm supposed to go to San Francisco next week with Robin. I didn't want to ruin the trip. So, what was it all about?

He explained how the heart works, what the read-out showed, etc. He thought I was feeling those extra beats when there were none. Although the monitor technicians always asked me what I had been feeling, and I always told them the monitor was doing this all by itself, evidently that was not conveyed to the dr. I felt something only 4 times in the 2 weeks and those were the extra beats. Everything else was normal. I don't know what that damn monitor, which went off every day but one, was doing. The dr asked if I felt good: I do. He told me that was what was important and sent me on my way.

Remember my earlier question about when you tell things to the dr, and the long discussion we had about it? Well, this time I should have kept my mouth shut. True confession cost me two weeks of aggravation and $50 in co-pays. I think I'm going back to my earlier stance of not talking to drs unless I am desparate. 

No news on the health front

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That hard won medication seems to be working well. I won't get back to the cardiologist until July, but I'm comfortable, happily taking those long walks and trying to do other healthful things. The root canal problems awaits a consultation with an endodontist. My dentist described too many scenarios so I want another opinion. Next week I go to my primary care doc, who will probably want to put me on Lipitor, or some such. I've been resisting this for years. We'll see…

I'm about to get ready for another long walk. I have more to write so I promise to come back here this afternoon after my driving refresher course.