Imbolc                                                                              Valentine Moon

Feeling much better. All except my bowels which took a beating. I’ve eaten very little over the last two plus weeks, down 10 pounds. Not as hydrated as I normally am. Result: intractable constipation. Since Saturday afternoon, my recovery has been interrupted by this. Beginning to resolve this morning, I think. Sure hope so, misery after misery.

I’ve lost about two weeks. By that I mean, I don’t recall events during the time when illness dominated my body. It’s an odd feeling, but I’m grateful for it. I remember blurs of discomfort, but little else.

Kate went back to Swedish E.R. yesterday. Jon had to take her due to my severe cramping and general dis-ease. They admitted her, though I don’t know exactly what for. She has an appointment with a home health company today to insert the line for her tpn feeding, don’t know what’s going to happen to that.

This was not the most festive birthday week I can recall. Maybe the least? Either way the earth keeps spinning and racing along its orbit.

Imbolc                                                                       Valentine’s Moon

Starting my 73rd year feeling better. Better, of course, is relative. In this case relative to a lost two weeks. I mean that almost literally. The last two weeks were a fog. I know things happened. I know I did things. But what were those things? Mushed together in a perceptual porridge put through a blender. Indistinct.

Saw the doc yesterday. Left lobe cleared of pneumonia according to stethoscope. None in the right lobe. But wait! There’s more! Yes, another “incidental” finding. Atelectasis in my lower right lobe. Sounds ominous, right? Could be old, probably is. It means that some of the aveoli have collapsed.

When Tabitha listened to my lungs, she thought she heard pneumonia in my lower right lung. It was the atelectasis. So it’s significant. It can be the precursor to other bad things like lung cancer. Hope not. Still, when you consider my history. Smoker in my 20’s and early 30’s. Working in two different factories where asbestos and fiberglass were used. Cutting rags to make fine rag bond paper. I did this last job for a year or so and worked in a room filled with the dust from, of all things, Munsingware scraps from making underwear.

I’ve known for years that something like this could come up. If I could go back and change the choices I made while my chooser was broken (grief, alcoholism, lack of wisdom, plus general youthful stupidity), I would. But, I can’t. In my own vernacular, those problems are bought and paid for. That is, I did things that may cause serious problems for me physically, now, later in life. Can’t deny it, ignore it, or wish it away. It’s not clear right now of course whether this will be a serious issue or not, may not be clear for some time, though I imagine there will be a follow-up CT to more closely i.d. the causes of the atelectasis.

We all have to die of something. If this is mine, well, so be it. Not gonna dwell on it, but I do acknowledge it. I don’t blame anyone, not even myself. My 20s, as they are for so many of us, were a time of transformation, mutation, evolution. I learned so much, felt so much, did so much. There was another path for me through that thicket, many paths, I’m sure, but the one that transpired is the one I followed. And, it may be beginning to have consequences.

In other news Kate’s stent is open. CT proved that. Hopefully today she’ll get a pic line put in and get started on some nutritional supplements by iv. TPN, total parenteral nutrition. This should help her overall and make any surgical procedure, like the feeding tube placement, more likely to succeed. A home health service will send nurses here to set it up. Eventually, I’ll manage it. A step in a good direction for her.

Sun. Blue skies. Black Mountain standing tall. All things that will be here no matter how any of this turns out. And, again, I find this a source of deep consolation.

Imbolc                                                                      Valentine Moon

Well, no matter what else happens I can say I made it to 72. Valentine’s Day on Shadow Mountain. Black Mountain obscured by low lying clouds, but still visible. A thin dusting of snow on the solar panels and the driveway. 32 degrees.

The pneumonia continues. Rattling in the chest, coughing, back to night sweats, shortness of breath, some fever. Not how I imagined my birthday, but there you are. I go to see Tabitha, Dr. Gidday’s p.a. today. Hopefully I’ll learn some more. Kate’s ct is today, too. I scheduled my appointment close to hers so I can take her to the imaging center at Porter Adventist, then scoot over to Dr. Gidday’s office for my 11:30.

I’ve been sick 15 days now. Figured out the last time I was this sick was not Austria, but when we lived on Edgcumbe Drive in St. Paul. Never diagnosed. Kate thought it might have been myocarditis. That was 29 years ago. It’ll be ok with me if it’s another 29 between bouts like this.

I’m up in the loft early. Feels nostalgic after 15 days of mostly miss on the mornings. I’m ready to get back to my old life, resume painting, teaching, writing. Not yet. There’s this big bump in the road.

A while back I read an interesting article about snow. A heavy snow eliminates boundaries, covers fences and streets, rocks, even mountains. The world becomes white, curvilinear, jagged edges smoothed. The affective mood of the landscape undergoes a transformation, becomes more connected.

Illness has a similar totalizing affect. The landscape recedes. Old linkages like grocery stores, schools, churches, synagogues fall away. The house, or even a room, becomes a world. In this world there is struggle, the body trying to hang on to life, an invader not caring about that life, but wanting the resources the life has to offer. It’s a raw, pitched battle, tough to watch, tough to experience. Not all illnesses are this extreme of course but pneumonia at 72 is a life or death matter. Either the pneumonia is defeated or the body dies. High stakes.

Like a heavy snow the world around this struggle transforms, becomes homogeneous. Can it help? It exists. No help? It disappears.

Writing from inside that shrunken world.

Imbolc                                                                                    Valentine Moon

Such a romantic lead into my romantic birthday. Kate’s going to get the feeding tube put in sometime. CT next week to make sure the stent’s working, then the tube soon? thereafter. Don’t know. Looks like it will be a home-based operation from the git. No rehab.

Meanwhile on Friday I drug my sorry, tired a@@ to the doctor. Doc thought I’d had the flu. Have you ever had a flu swab? Oh, man. A long plastic handle, a scrub like brush at the top, thin, and a hunk of wire joining the two. One up each nostril? The wire? That’s so they can get up behind the bend of your nostril. Exquisite, but short, pain. Negative, too. As Kate pointed out, that did mean my flu shot worked. Yeah.

So, whatever I’ve had, probably an adenovirus of some type, acts like the flu. Huh. Don’t let me ever get the flu. Doc yesterday it hits “you like a truck.” Good description of the last 1o days. Anyhow, that seems to be gone now, replaced by a follow-on, pneumonia! Yep. Just be too sure I was paying attention, I guess. Got my antibiotics course, ten days, doxycycline. I hope to pass.

Missed two days here. I can feel it when I miss a day, like I’m not yet complete. Don’t like it, but I didn’t feel like climbing the stairs. Hopefully, the plateau has changed to slight upward curve.