O, to breathe again

Today I have returned to the land of the living.  That would be the land where I can go literally hours without actually thinking about breathing.

I don’t know if this virus we passed around was swine flu or not, but it was really a rugged beast.  I am thankful that I was only truly sick for three days, but even three days is a long time to struggle for each breath, cough till your back aches, and live in a fever fog.  (Be it noted for the Guiness Book that I did set a new world record by downing a full eight ounce bottle of cough med – two tablespoons at a time – in 30 hours.)

The virus left as suddenly as it arrived, and since all six of us have now experienced it in one form or another, I think we could each honestly say, “Thank God Almighty.  We’re free at last!”

Modern medicine

In March, Scott flew over a ski jump, landed it hard, and injured his heel.  He’s been in pain with it ever since.  He’s been to the doctor several times and it’s been x-rayed.  The diagnosis is a heel spur and plantar fasciitis, and the treatment thus far has been special exercises and a shoe insert.  They haven’t helped at all, and in fact, when I went online and read about the condition, I learned much more than Scott’s been told at three doctor’s appointments!  For example, since the tissue is INFLAMED, an ANTI-INFLAMMATORY medication is strongly indicated.  (duh)  So after four months of pain, I suggested (again) that he take some Alleve or at least Ibuprofen.  He took the Alleve, and it helped greatly, but had the doctor ever mentioned that?  NO WAY.

So yesterday, he finally had an appointment with a foot specialist.  She was a bit more aggressive, adding new exercises, different orthotics, weekly physical therapy, a brace to wear at night, and a highly technical way to keep the arch supported during the day.  Are you ready?  I promise that I’m not joking.  The preferred arch support is to tape the sole of the foot with . . . DUCT TAPE!  Honest Injun!

Yes, every morning, we apply strips of duct tape to the sole of his foot in a specific pattern.  Now, I am a firm believer that you can fix anything with Duct Tape, but even I never dreamed of wrapping your feet with it.  As Scott said, “and this is the medical care I paid hundreds of dollars for.”  I guess if it works, it doesn’t matter how silly it sounds – or looks – right?

So, for the near future, we will keep Duct Tape on our Wal-Mart list.

Urgent Care update

Good news.  Last night, Josiah mentioned in passing that the fine folks from Urgent Care called back to say that all the results of his tests are perfectly normal.  No beasties.  No treatment needed.  I guess the fact that they called in two days instead of “a week or so” redeems them.  Maybe.

Thankfully, Josiah is feeling MUCH better, has no fever, sports a fairly normal 15 year old appetite, and has about 90% of his energy back.

Jessica is still fighting the runny nose, cough, and weakness, but she is also now fever-free.

Andrew has been perfectly fine and was still perfectly fine at bedtime last night, but woke up this morning feeling quite awful, with an upset stomach, and running a temp of 101.

I will not be taking him to Urgent Care.

Urgent Care

Josiah got sick right after his mission trip.  He’s been having some digestive issues, feeling weak and puny, running a fever, and having virtually no appetite.  It’s the no appetite that made me sit up and take notice, so I called his doc.  That would be the doc who is his second new doc in 18 months, compliments of insurance limitations and staffing changes. No, they couldn’t see him today, but could see him tomorrow.

Analyzing the situation, I figured it was probably some obscure bug he had picked up in another country and that a broad spectrum beast-i-cide would knock it out.  I’d gladly write him such a prescription if I could do so legally, but I’m not an M.D.  I could actually think of three possible causes for his symptoms, two of which would probably require prescription drug(s) to overcome.  Of course, if it was viral, it’d just have to run its course and all would eventually be well.

Given his symptoms and the fact that he had just returned from overseas, the doc’s office strongly recommended that I take him to Urgent Care.  So I did.

Three and a half hours, one two-minute exam, one urinalysis, and one blood-letting later, the friendly Urgent Care doctor gave us the following information:  Josiah will not die, but he is sick.  He is having some digestive issues and is running a fever.  He feels weak and puny and has virtually no appetite.  There are three possible causes for his symptoms.  He may or may not be contagious.

Moral of the story:  I could be an M.D.

Oh, for Dr. Kym!  If she were still in practice here, life would be so simple and quick.  I would call her office, explain the situation to Nurse Chris, and request the med I think is most strongly indicated.  Two hours later, Nurse Chris would call me back and say, “Dr. Kym says you’re probably right, but even you’re wrong, it won’t hurt to treat him with a dose of beast-i-cide.  I’ve called the prescription in to Walgreens, and you should be able to pick it up in about an hour.  It’d be good to rest the gut with clear liquids for 24 hours and then he can eat whatever sounds good.  If eating solid food causes diarrhea, just make sure he tanks up on Gatorade.  If he’s not better in three days, call me back and we’ll work him in for some testing.”

Now, those were the good old days of health care in Branson!

Meanwhile, we’ve been advised to do a day of clear liquids, a day of BRAT, a day of yogurt, naked noodles, and plain baked potatoes, and a day of bland solids before resuming normal food.  Additional testing sometime in the future (virtually impossible on clear liquids and BRAT, where all one does is pee!) may yield a more specific diagnosis, at which time the root cause of the illness could be treated, if necessary.  But by the time all that happens, we expect Josiah will be fully recovered.

For long waits with few results, I’m pretty sure the only thing worse than Urgent Care would be Government Care.

21st century health care, conclusion

The St. John’s Urgent Care in Springfield is housed in the the Smith-Glynn Calloway building. I hobbled in and followed the signs to the Urgent Care waiting room. A sign on the wall told me to take a number and be seated, which I did and was.

Sure enough, in less than five minutes the desk lady called me and I hobbled up there. She asked a few questions and pulled up all my information (including the previous week’s broken toe episode) in her new nifty St. John’s system-wide computer. She knew more about me that Scott does. She then told me to have a seat and the nurse would call me back. When I asked how long I might expect the wait to be, she said I’d probably get into an exam room in 45 minutes to an hour. I hobbled back to my seat.

Pulling out my Bible and notebook, I flipped to where I was supposed to be reading that day, and the nurse opened the door to the inner sanctum and called my name. Great! This wasn’t going to take nearly as long as I had feared.

She took me to a small room, took my blood pressure, pulse, and pulse ox, and asked a number of questions. Then she told me that I should have a seat in the waiting room and she’d call me later. Interesting. I hobbled back to my seat in the waiting room.

Other than one bathroom break, that’s where I sat for the next hour or so. Once the Bible reading was done, I browsed some magazines and tried to ignore Oprah. I was seated under the TV, but the toe really hurt and I didn’t want to take the effort to move.

Eventually, a different nurse called my name again and escorted me to Room 4, which was to become my new home away from home. She, too, asked a few questions and pulled up my life story on the computer (“so the doctor will know where to look when he gets in here”) and left. I propped my foot, leaned my head against the wall and tried to sleep.

Maybe 15 minutes later, the doctor came in. He listened to my lungs (“no wheezing”), asked about my symptoms, gave my toe some cursory attention, and told me he wanted me to take a breathing treatment and have a chest x-ray. The nurse would set up the breathing treatment in this room and then I’d go to x-ray. After that, he would talk with me. Sounded good to me.

It was probably another 30 minutes or so by the time the breathing treatment was over. It did help some, and I was feeling a couple notches up from cruddy. Nurse then arrived and told me I need to go to x-ray. Now, I had spent a LOT of time in the Urgent Care waiting room and MORE time in Exam Room 4, and I had never seen x-ray or any signs directing one to x-ray.

“How far away is x-ray?”

“Well, it’s down at the end of the hall, around there (pointing).”

As we walked/hobbled out of Exam Room 4, I spied a wheelchair against the wall.

“Would it be okay if I wheeled myself? I broke my toe last week and it’s pretty sore.”

“Oh, okay. But I’ll push you.”

I don’t know what it is about being pushed in a wheelchair, but I really dislike it. I guess it’s the total loss of control thing and feeling powerless. However, I didn’t feel good enough to argue, so she pushed, and it was a good thing, as it would have taken me five minutes to hobble to x-ray!

Nurse parked me at the x-ray registration place, where they pulled up my information and asked me a lot of questions. I was then wheeled to a little changing room to don everyone’s favorite garb. An x-ray technician then wheeled me farther into the bowels of the building and did two nice x-rays of my upper torso. She wheeled me back to the changing room and then handed me off to the Nurse, who had miraculously re-appeared to wheel me “home.”

She trundled me through some secret passageways that brought me back to Exam Room 4 from the opposite direction. As I stood to disembark, the doctor, who was working at a counter nearby told me to wait a minute. He said he needed some blood work on me, so I would need to go to the lab. (We had passed the lab earlier on the way to x-ray.) Back into my vehicle I plopped, and Nurse wheeled me back around the circle, out through the Urgent Care waiting room, and down to the lab.

At the lab, I went to the registration desk, where yet another nice lady pulled up my records and asked me several questions. Again. Then I wheeled myself over to a corner of the lab waiting room and prepared to wait. Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait long. In less than ten minutes, a friendly phlebotomist called my name and I hobbled slowly to the guillotine. Because I had not known I was going to have blood drawn, I had not drunk my customary 1.5 liters of pre-blood-draw water. ( I am what is known as a “tough stick” and I am always easier to draw if I am over-hydrated.)

To save the friendly phlebotomist time and myself pain, I told her that they usually have to go with a butterfly in the back of the hand. She was agreeable and did her job almost painlessly, extricating the requisite FOUR tubes of blood. Bandaged up, I hobbled back to my wheelchair in the lab waiting room. Nurse had not miraculously reappeared this time, so I wasn’t sure what to do. I could hobble back to the Urgent Care waiting room, but if I did that, I would be leaving an Urgent Care wheelchair in the lab waiting room, where it clearly did not belong. My toe would also be very sore; sorer than it already was.

I decided to wheel myself back to Urgent Care, and I quickly gained added respect for my sister-in-law, who is in a wheelchair. I always wondered why her chair has such a low back, and now I know. With the typical hospital high back version, you can’t reach far enough back on the rims to get much momentum. Very poor ergonomics!

Back at Urgent Care, I parked and hobbled up the registration lady. I gave her my name and told her I was back from both x-ray and lab. She pulled up my information, refrained from asking any questions, and told me I could go back to Exam Room 4. I, of course was nearly there by the time she finished talking. Back in my room, I grabbed two different magazines, plopped into my chair, propped my toe, and began reading.

I read Midwest Living and 417 Magazine cover-to-cover. I read everything else of even moderate interest I could find in that room from beginning to end. I had turned my cell phone off to be courteous, so I didn’t know what time it was, but out in the work area I could hear ladies talking about who was ordering what for supper. There was extended discussion over whether or not a certain place offered fried chicken as well as grilled chicken. So far, I had had only water and two Certs that day, and despite my sickness, I was actually beginning to get hungry. I called through the closed door, “I’ll take the grilled chicken.” They laughed, but I never got a meal.

I proceeded to sit in that room for a full two hours. Between the raspy breathing and the tortured toe, I couldn’t get comfortable enough to sleep, and I was bored beyond belief. I decided to at least open my door, hoping that maybe there would be something interesting going on out in the hall. I hobbled over to the door to open it and several heads turned to look at me. Seeing a two foot high stack of magazines on a counter and said, “Uh, I was just looking for something else to read.”

The doctor was working at a counter and he said to me, “I’m just waiting on one of your lab results to come back and then I’ll be in to talk to you.” That was nice to know. At least I hadn’t been completely forgotten!

It was about 30 minutes later when he finally entered Exam Room 4 with his verdict: asthmatic bronchitis. I should take a round of Zithromax and use a different inhaler. His friendly staff would fax my scripts in to Walgreens in Ozark and once Nurse came in with some papers for me to sign, I was free to go. She came, I signed, I went.

Out I hobbled, through the Urgent Care waiting room, past the lab, almost down to x-ray and out the front door to my van, now parked all by itself way out near the street. I drove to Walgreens and for once, they had my meds ready. 20 more minutes and I was home, where Jessica had made a fabulous meal of White Chili and fruit salad. It tasted wonderful, and by the next day I was breathing much better and feeling like a person again.

And since I had to wait SO long at Urgent Care, I was seen by an M.D. (not a nurse practitioner), so whichever insurance company it is that carries my exorbitantly-priced health insurance will certainly pay for my visit.

The moral to the story: If you feel you must get sick, do it on a Monday, so you can schedule an appointment with your own doctor on about Wednesday or Thursday. Not only will you save time, you will probably be sicker by the time the doctor sees you, which will make his/her diagnosis even easier!

21st century health care in America

Because I am now feeling much better, I want to take a few moments to document what happened last Friday, August 1.

I’d been battling a cold that was much more throat than nose for about 10 days at that point. Instead of getting better, I continued to get worse, waking up at night choking, lots of unproductive coughing, trouble breathing despite using a Ventolin inhaler, extreme weakness, no appetite (convenient and useful for weight loss), and scary periods where my pulse stayed at 92 while resting. On Friday I decided that it was time to find out whether or not I had pneumonia, because that’s what it felt like.

I actually didn’t think it would be terribly hard to get a diagnosis. After all, I am an established patient with Dr. Gordin at the St. John’s clinic in Ozark. All I needed was an appointment – or even a work-in – and a chest x-ray. If it was pneumonia, she’d prescribe an antibiotic, and if it wasn’t, she’d advise what I should do to feel better soon. I called her office about 11:00 AM. She was booked solid, and there was no way she could see me until Monday afternoon. Was I having trouble breathing? Well, yes. In that case, if I got ANY worse, I should go to Urgent Care. Noted.

Having struck out at the doc’s office, I did indeed decide that Urgent Care was the way to go. In fact, the week before, when I broke my toe, I had called the St. John’s Urgent Care in Branson to see if they had x-ray capability. Although they normally did, on that day, they did not, and I ended up going to the St. John’s Urgent Care in Nixa. There are actually three Urgent Cares in Branson now – St. John’s, Cox, and Skaggs. My insurance had failed to pay when I used a Skaggs facility for a mammogram a few years ago, so I have been sticking with St. John’s.

Since I knew the St. John’s Urgent Care in Branson could do x-rays, I took my Bible and notebook (you always have a long wait at an Urgent Care) and drove to Branson. With my broken toe. It was about a zillion degrees out and I hobbled in blistering sunlight into the building and up to the counter. Could they help me? Yes. I suspected I had pneumonia and wanted a chest x-ray. Sadly, it turns out that “although we normally have a physician here on Fridays, today we don’t.” I was discouraged. What on earth good is an Urgent Care that one week can’t do and x-ray and the next week has no doctor?!?!

Well, would they please give me the phone number for the St. John’s Urgent Care in Nixa? I knew they could do an x-ray. They did my toe last week! Well, the nice ladies at the front desk looked up some stuff and told me that the St. John’s Urgent Care in Nixa is only open after hours. Meaning? Meaning 5:00 PM to 9:00 PM on weekdays and all day Saturday. Sigh. If knew from experience last fall that if I really was dealing with pneumonia, a day or even a few hours could make things worse. Okay, in that case, if you thought YOU might have pneumonia and you had to use a St. John’s facility, what would YOU do?

They put their heads together in a large three-ring binder and came up with a list of St. John’s Urgent Cares that were open right then. There was one in Springfield (45 min away) and one in Rolla (a couple hours away). I wasn’t about to go to Rolla, so I took the number for the Springfield one and hobbled back through the heat to the van.

As I began the trek to Springfield, I called the St. John’s Urgent Care there. Did they have x-ray capability today? Yes. Whew! And did they have a doctor? Well, they would have one later in the day, but right now they just had a nurse practitioner. That didn’t matter to me. I felt pretty cruddy and I knew that a nurse practitioner could diagnose and prescribe just as well as an M.D. But wait! The receptionist wanted to know what kind of insurance I had. HealthLink. (It was still through Central Reserve Life, but it had changed from FirstHealth to HealthLink a few months ago.) Aha! She told me that she used to have HealthLink through her husband when he worked for the state, and sometimes HealthLink would pay for a nurse practitioner and sometimes they wouldn’t. It was on a policy-by-policy basis, so I might want to call them and confirm that my policy would indeed pay for a nurse practitioner. I thanked her for that tidbit.

I then pulled out my insurance card and, steering with my forearm, tried to find a lens through which I could read the small print, gave up and looked below the bifocals. Now, you must picture my insurance card in order to fully appreciate what happened next. In the top left corner, it says “Central Reserve Life Insurance Company” with the CRL logo, and in the top right corner, it says “HealthLink www.healthlink.com” with the HealthLink logo. Under that, it lists my ID number, my Group ID, my effective date, and my name.

The back of the card is slightly more complex. First it shows a Mail Claims To address in St. Louis. Next it gives an EDI Payer ID number, whatever the heck that means. Then comes a toll-free number (we’ll call it Number 1) for Care Coordination Services, followed by “PPO Provide Locator Services and Travel PPO. PPO Provider Locator Services can also be accessed at www.worldinsco.com/cgi). Finally, one reads “For benefits and eligibility information, contact Continental General Insurance Company at (another toll-free number that we’ll call Number 2).”

I was sick, probably more than a little sick. I was exhausted, and I was having a little trouble breathing. I was driving and trying to read my insurance card. Now, I may not be too smart, but my eyes finally focused on Number 1, so I called it. I told the lady that I thought I had pneumonia, I was on my way to Urgent Care, and I needed to confirm that my insurance would pay if I saw a nurse practitioner instead of an M.D. She routed me to someone else, to whom I asked the same question, and who then routed me to someone else.

Explaining my situation fro the third time, I was told that I would need to call HealthLink to get my question answered.  They gave me a toll-free number for HealthLink, which I called.  There I was asked to give my ID number, which I did.  Then I was asked which company my insurance was through.  “Well,” I said, “My card says ‘Central Reserve Life’ and ‘HealthLink.’  It’s HealthLink insurance, but it’s through Central Reserve Life.”

“We don’t show any policy for Central Reserve Life.  Do you have World Insurance?”

“I don’t think so!  I have HealthLink through Central Reserve Life.”

“We show HealthLink through World insurance, but nothing through Central Reserve Life.  To get your question answered, you’d need to call this benefits number”  (and she gave me Number 2 from the back of my card!)

So I called Number 2 – which you may or may not remember is a Continental General Insurance Company number and explained my situation and asked my question yet again.  By this time, with my raspy voice and rapid breathing, I was feeling so sick that I just wanted to put my head on the steering wheel and sleep.  The lady at Number 2 was quite nice, and she asked me if I had World Insurance.  I wanted to scream, “NO!” but I didn’t have enough voice left to scream.  We talked for quite a while and she kept saying, “I apologize for the inconvenience, but I just don’t show ANYTHING for Central Reserve Life.”  She finally put me on hold to “research my question further” and finally came back with some news I could use:  “I can’t tell you about your benefits, but I have the number you need to call.”  She then proceeded to read me Number 1 from the back of my card.  I thanked her and hung up.

At this point, I was trying hard not to try.  When you have a lower respiratory thing going on, you DON’T want to cry.  It would only make the breathing situation worse.  I found a wide shoulder and pulled off.  I called Scott, crying, told him what all had transpired and asked him what to do.  He wanted all the information on my insurance card.  I read it ALL to him in a voice that sounded worse than a teary-eyed frog.  I told him I felt so cruddy that I no longer cared about the money or whether or not the insurance would pay for a nurse practitioner.  I JUST wanted to get to a medical person and have a chest x-ray!  He told me to keep going toward Springfield and he’d get the insurance stuff straightened out and call me back.

A few minutes later, he did indeed call back.  He told me that he had called one of the toll-free numbers and had been told that he was not authorized to have any information about my policy.  He was steamed and I was livid.  The only way he could talk to them about my policy was if I was on the same line and gave them permission to talk to him.  Since I was on a cell phone, this was, of course, not possible.  Scott said, “Is this really America??? This sounds like health care in a communist country!”  In order for him to be able to talk to my health insurance company – whichever on earth company it was -  in the future, *I* would have to call and request them to send me a form that would authorize Scott to talk to them.   Lovely.  Simply lovely.  He gave me a number to do so.

As there was really nothing else to do on the way to Springfield, I called that number and requested that form.  I also asked whoever that lady was about my nurse practitioner situation and she said, “Oh, if it’s Urgent Care, that’ll be fine.”  Completely exhausted physically, emotionally, and mentally, I finally pulled into the St. John’s Urgent Care in Springfield at about 1:00 PM.

(to be continued. . . )

Fashion statement

There’s a reason I haven’t posted in a few days, and it’s not for lack of desire.

For one thing, I have been battling a pretty intense cold that has given me a raw throat, some asthma problems, and possible fever – or maybe that’s just the hot flashes.  Then, added to that, I slipped on the bathroom floor Saturday morning and slammed my foot into the edge of the door.  The door is harder than my foot, and my foot lost the encounter, or, more precisely, the fourth toe on my right foot lost.

It hurt like crazy and when I looked down, I noticed that the toes on my right foot seemed to be doing a Vulcan greeting.  In slo-mo, I thought to myself, “Now I’m quite sure that toes are not supposed to look like that.”  I reached down and shoved them back the way they ought to be, and was relieved that their appearance was instantly much more satisfying.  Unfortunately, the pain was just cranking up.

I had to leave in negative five minutes to pick up Josiah, so I hobbled with extreme discomfort into the bedroom and got dressed.  I decided that whether I had sprained my toe or broken it, it would do best with some support, so I put on my tennis shoe.  That was a very big mistake.  With the shoe on, I was not even able to set my foot on the floor!  Off came the shoes, on slid my sandals, and out to the car I hopped.  Barefoot, I was able to drive with my right heel, so I successfully retrieved Josiah.  Back at home, I told him that I thought I had broken my toe and would he please help me into the house.  Which of course he did.

Scott and I talked about the prognosis.  The pain was quite extreme whenever I tried to put any weight on it, and considering the angle of dislocation at the time of impact, I was fairly certain it was broken.  But what do you DO for a broken toe?  Scott said you can tape it to the toe next to it, but since I know I am allergic to latex we’d have to use paper tape.  Do we have any?  And wouldn’t it rub raw between the toes?  And wouldn’t the skin die under it if it had to stay taped till the bone heals?  I just didn’t have enough information.

I called our local Skaggs Urgent Care, and they said it sounded like it needed to be seen.  The ALWAYS say that.  If I called Urgent Care with a runny nose, they’d say it needs to be seen.  I asked what they could do for a toe that was broken.  Well, it would depend on where it was broken and how it was broken.  That didn’t help much.  Then they told me that they were really busy, they had only one doctor there, and they’d be closing about 2:00 PM.  It was about 11:15 AM at the time.

So I started calling around.  I called St John’s Urgent Care in Branson and they said they didn’t have x-ray capability that day.  Our doctor in Ozark is open on Saturday mornings, so I called them, but they were just about to close.  They told me that the nearest Urgent Care to them was St. John’s in Nixa, and that they could x-ray it and would be open till 7:00 PM.  That sounded much more promising, so off I went to Nixa.

The clinic there is brand new and was quite empty, but I still had to wait almost two hours.  At least it was a nice place to wait. After declining two offers of a wheelchair at the sign in desk, once I was in a room and the x-ray lady came to take me to x-ray, I gave in and took the wheelchair.  That was a good choice, because if I hadn’t she and I might STILL be inching down the the three halls it took to get there.  She took three lovely foot photos, none of which I was allowed to bring home.

The doctor was a cheerful fellow that I liked and respected immediately.  He showed me the fracture in my right fourth proximal phalanx and explained that I really did it up well – no boring old straight break for me!  I managed to slice the bone at a very neat 45 degree angle (hence the Vulcan greeting) and had effectively “set” the break when I pushed the 4th toe back into line.  The toe would heal on its own, given time, and my task would be to make myself as comfortable as possible while it did its thing.

Doc said I should stay off it, keep it elevated, and ice it frequently for fifteen-minute intervals.  Ibuprofen for pain would be also be a nice touch.  All those things sound fine in theory, but how often in YOUR day is it possible for you to sit around with your foot in the air on ice?  While I could certainly minimize my walking, it simply would not be possible to entirely refrain from walking, or at least hopping!

Doc told me that the sandals I was wearing would never do.  Of course, that was already obvious.  I needed something very hard and flat with no flex to the sole; in fact, he said the best thing would be something like a piece of a board with Velcro straps to hold it onto my foot.  As he thought about that, we both saw a distinct light bulb come on above his head.  “A surgical boot is what you need!” he said, and off he went to find one.

Doc returned with a sporty “boot” in a lovely shade of navy with matching Vecro straps.  Patty now models the unisex size medium version on her right foot only, while her nifty white Hanes crew sock nicely compliments the boot’s snow-white sole.  Of course, the sock also hides the patriotic bruises now covering most of her toes – the bruises that Andrew insists are “GROSS!”

So now I am perfectly shod, making a true fashion statement as I hobble/shuffle/thump from the recliner (where I have perfected the technique of rubber-banding the ice pack around the maximally elevated toes) to the table (where I can put my foot on Scott’s lap while we eat) to the piano (where I am learning to sit at a 45 degree angle, prop my right foot on a dining room chair and pedal with the left), up to the desk (where I keep an extra folding chair handy for right-foot-propping; although it’s also proven an effective stumbling block to other family members), to the bed (where I am heading now, and where I still wear the sock and boot so as to prevent unwanted movement – and painful yelps – in the night).

The silly toe just swells and throbs too much when it is down for extended times, but if I raise and ice it before and after, I can lower it for limited periods of time.  In fact, this evening I was able to go out into the yard and water the flowers and veggies for a while.  They were gasping and glad to see me again, and I’m sure every one of them took note of my new fashion footwear.

Of needles and drills

Last Thursday night, a significant chunk of filling fell out of one of my back teeth. I was flossing at the time, which is what I am supposed to do, right? So in the morning I called our friendly dentist, Dr. W, but it was the Friday morning before Memorial Day weekend, and there was no answer. I left a message.

Thankfully, there was no pain, and this morning (Tuesday), the dentist’s office called and said he could see me this afternoon. I was glad to get in so soon, but I was frankly dreading the cost. I knew it was a big filling, and it would probably be in the $150 range.

I went in, waited, and eventually Dr. W’s assistant, Ron, came in to take an x-ray. He wanted to make sure there was no other structural problem with the tooth. Mentally, I added about $25 > $175. What remained of the tooth was okay, so Dr. W gave me that joyful numbing injection, and ten minutes later began drilling. There was a lot of drilling to be done, with various sized drill bits. Partway through, he poked around with his “explorer” and elicited a yelp from the normally cheerful patient. He paused and suggested more anesthesia. I heartily agreed that more drugs would be appropriate and mentally added another $25 > $200.

After a pause for the second injection to work its magic, more drilling and poking ensued. Finally it was time to pack the cavern with silver amalgam. He started with his normal silver squirter (or whatever that thing is called), but then went to another room to get a different (larger?) one. He loaded it at LEAST five times – maybe six – and packed the silver in. I am not sure what the going price for silver is, but I upped my mental estimate to $250. Chuh-ching. There was enough metal added to my already significantly metallic mouth that we both joked about TSA’s metal detector at airport security going wild the next time I walk through.

Oh, well, it’s just money, right? And the dentist has a family to support. And I’m paying for his expertise to do something that I cannot. And he is really nice. And he did get in me the same day. He unscrewed that form thingy, did the carbon paper test a few times and released me to rinse. mission accomplished. So with all said and done, I thanked Dr. W and went up to the front window. “Okay,” I said, “It’s time to settle up.”

“You’re settled,” said Ron.

“What do you mean?” I replied.

“No charge,” he said.

“I don’t get it. He did a LOT of work in my mouth.” I was completely taken aback.

Ron explained, “That was a tooth Dr. W worked on in January, so it was a re-do and there’s no charge.”

Wow! Was I every thankful!!! I don’t know if Dr. W is a believer or not, but I believe God used him to bless me today.

Easy, free, weight loss plan!

This is so simple that I wonder why someone hasn’t written a book and sold three million copies yet.

This morning, I decided to delay my shower and check email first.  I have good reasons for doing that.  Now, I ALWAYS weigh immediately after my shower, while wearing the lightweight suit I got for my birthday (47 years ago), but since my shower would be late, I went ahead and weighed before leaving the bedroom.  Then I went to my desk and worked (or vegged or whatever) for about an hour.

I then left my desk, not having had even a molecule of food or drink, and not having visited the bathroom since my weigh-in an hour before.  I returned to My Friend, the scale, and guess what he said?  By simply sitting at my desk, pointing, clicking, and typing, I had lost one-and-a-half POUNDS!  I was ecstatic!  No one ever told me that rapid finger action is the key.  Why have the experts been keeping this a secret for so long?

At this rate, if I’m super diligent to NEVER leave my desk, I could lose 10 pounds a day!

Pop! Goes the ankle

Jessica and Josiah were at an AIM service project in Rockaway Beach.  They were raking a lady’s yard.  Jessica ran across the driveway to another part of the yard and landed sideways on her right ankle.  She said it made a loud pop or crack and the pain was excruciating.

Katie had taken the Toyota to Springfield that morning for her regional History Day competition.  I had driven up in the Honda to be with her for the awards ceremony that afternoon.

Jessica had driven the van to Rockaway Beach – sort of.  She was supposed to pick up three other AIM siblings on her way, but when she got to their house, she remembered that she couldn’t legally drive more than one non family member under the age of nineteen until she’s had her license for six months – and she’s only had it for four.  Ugh.

So the mom, Teresa, took them all down to Rockaway in our van and took the van back to her house, planning to return to pick them all up a few hours later.

All that meant that when Scott got the call that Jessica had injured her ankle, he was at home with no vehicle.  Teresa had to use our van to come get him and Andrew, Scott dropped her back at home and then went to get Jessica.  He took her to urgent care, they did three X-rays, deemed it not broken, prescribed ten days of an anti-inflammatory, twice daily hot/cold water soaks for forty minutes, a few exercises, and said she could walk on it as soon as she could.

Jessica is getting around pretty well.  She can put some weight on it, but only if she holds the ankle very stiff.  She’s keeping in wrapped in an ace bandage, and we set up buckets in the living room so she can soak in relative comfort.

She hobbled into church on Scott’s arm today, and tonight AIM is doing a presentation at a homeless shelter in Springfield.  She cannot present, so Tess (leader) will don makeup and do her parts.  However, she went – wouldn’t have missed it – and will do some videotaping and other support stuff.

I am VERY thankful the ankle is not broken and also that Jessica has stayed in such good spirits through it all.