As you can tell, I’ve been a long time away. The Man left me on this earth alone almost two years ago. He lived to his 90th birthday on November 6, 2014 and he was gone by December 1st. It will take me awhile to tell all the stories we shared leading to that fateful day.
I’m still mourning, often without people understanding, myself not understanding what exactly is happening to me.
I am alone.
Finally, a really good, soaking rain here in drought stricken Texas. For old farmers that means a great deal. For example, it means I have had to watch more weather than I want to since I am married to an ole farmer. It also means I have been relegated to checking the rain gauge several times a day. (Often while it is still raining!) (The Man just can’t do that walk to the rain gauge anymore.) Being raised in the city, I never did either of those things. I just couldn’t go outside and play when it rained; all outside activities were suspended. Of course today during one of the information gathering conversations with The Man I asked him why rain gauges were such a funny shape – meaning tapered down to the bottom. The answer, built in with a bit of smuggery (Is that really my made up word?) was to measure small amounts of rain, such as a tenth or two tenths. Older rain gauges, back in the “ole farmer days” were flat bottomed. Then, someone got smarter or someone gave a flip and fixed that.
Once upon a time, a man we affectionately know as Red (who aggravated the hound dog out of The Man for more than a few years) was complaining about not having a rain gauge. The Man found one of those old ones and went to Red’s house armed with hammer and PLENTY of nails. He proceeded to place that rain gauge right up next to Red’s front door as far under the porch as he could get it and attach it with all PLENTY of nails. Red is long passed away. Now, The Man and I are wondering if that rain gauge is still on that porch.
I’ll ask the people that bought his place at church this Sunday. Story ending to come after I find out the answer.
Dear People, (City of Fort Worth, Automated Red Light Enforcement)
It is plain to see that I ran that red light. The worst part of the whole ordeal is that my granddaughter was in the car. We had spent the day shopping for material to make doll clothes and she had said, “Oh Grannie, that light was red.” Of course, it was too late. I had desperately tried to get over, but being unfamiliar with the new roads, waited too long. (No one was being too friendly.)
I do want to say this, ” I was sure the intersection was clear, but could not get even one more look up to check the light.”
So, to sum it all up – I am really sorry for breaking the red light rule. Here is my punishment along with sending you the knowledge that my granddaughter (who was in a very tragic accident when a drunk driver hit her mother) will probably only remember that her Grannie Pam ran a red light and that, my friends, is a far worse punishment than the fine!
Love to All
This is why the Man needs a private room. Lots of little doctors and nurses.
Well, I finally made myself stay home today and not go to see the Man. As you may know, the Man is in a rehab center. He really has improved greatly, but the pain is still just crazy. I really was sick today, but in the back of my mind was the realization that he is tougher when I am not there. He doesn’t let others see his pain and works harder for them when I am not there. I guess it’s like a kid that is not suffering as much until they see their mother. Anyway, it was hard to do, and we had to talk twice on the telephone, but he also learned to use the phone. This was his parting remark (before the I love you part), “Maybe I should just come home to see about you.”
I am hoping that one more week along with some proper equipment at home and we can make it at home for a while longer. I am tired of sleeping alone.
Proof That Mitt Romney Thinks You’re Stupid
14) “What I support is no change for current retirees and near-retirees to Medicare.” Here is how Romney’s Medicare plan will affect current seniors: 1) by repealing Obamacare, the 16 million seniors receiving preventive benefits without deductibles or co-pays and are saving $3.9 billion on prescription drugs will see a cost increase, 2) “premium support” will increase premiums for existing beneficiaries as private insurers lure healthier seniors out of the traditional Medicare program, 3) Romney/Ryan would also lower Medicaid spending significantly beginning next year, shifting federal spending to states and beneficiaries, and increasing costs for the 9 million Medicare recipients who are dependent on Medicaid.
Well, to the hospital we went after another fall; have finished there and now at a rehab center. Physical therapist are a tough breed, but they swear they can help him so we are working at it. The one thing that a rehab center does not want is the spouse hanging around all the time, and he does do better at the therapy when I am not there. He knows I’m a sucker for his pain. They don’t even have a chair in the room, but of course that doesn’t prevent our rowdy crew of 10 from descending all at once. Where the Man goes, we go.
I cried crocodile tears to leave him at night the first time. I’ve never slept in our bed alone. I know they are all sick of us/me already, but I don’t care. It’s our life, and we are sworn to live it in the way we wish. They are hopeful that he will get strong enough to come home and get around. They have given me hope, where I had none.
It’s a strange feeling when you feel alone, but you are not. You don’t want to talk to others because you only want to talk about Him, yet when you talk about Him it is so emotional. Then, they worry about you which you don’t want. You have lost your closest confident because He is sick and you don’t want to worry him any more than he is already. Sometimes, I can’t help but cry like when he told me that I could just crawl up in his bed at the hospital and stay there and when I told him that I didn’t think we would both fit he said there was always room in his bed for me and always had been.
I fear his mind is slipping.
The appointment was requested by me to the Mans doctor on August 16, 2012 during an office visit.
I had researched the doctors within a certain area that would best fit our needs for pain control and possible surgery.
The Mans doctor’s office took until August 28, 2012 to fax the referral. For easy arithmetic lesson, that is 12 days later.
BUT, I did not know that until I had called the Man’s doctor’s office on August 21, 2012, August 29, 2012, September 4, 2012, and September 7, 2012.
On September 10, 2012 the Mans doctor’s office called to tell me when it had been faxed. For easy arithmetic again, that is 4 phone calls to get the date of the referral.
With this information, I decided I should call the specialist. The guru, board certified neurosurgeon with a specialty in pain management and hospital privileges at Providence Hospital. I called them; the lady that answered the phone said, “Oh yeah, you have a 3:00 pm appointment on September the 18, 2012.
The next day I got a package in the mail from Dr. Guru with 10 pages to fill out and bring with us.
The website request these things which I carefully collected.
You will need the following items…
Our office can help to facilitate provision of these films, reports, labwork and referring physician documentation.
I got the MRI on CD for Dr. Guru from the Hamilton Hospital, but they would not let me pick it up, so the Man had to go there and get out in a wheel chair to go sign for the CD. He did.
We changed Dr.s and saw the new GP on September 17, 2012. She told us to go ahead and go and see what he said.
When we got home from that Dr.’s appointment, the message on the machine reminded us of the time and date of our appointment with Dr. Guru and what to bring and that they only took cash and checks and be sure to have our co-pay with us in that form.
We got ready; maybe you can just imagine what that is like.
We drove the 60 miles to Waco with the Man in pain from the long ride. We got lost and called the office of Dr. Guru. Mandy gave us directions and was very personable on the phone.
We found the office.
I parked in the handicap place where the Man could get out most easily.
I went in to get a wheelchair. I never take the walker, because every doctors’ office and hospital I have ever been has a wheelchair available.
I asked if they had a wheelchair.
She said just a minute and returned to tell me they did not.
I asked for assistance to get him in the office. I was about 25 feet to the door from the handicap parking.
She said just a minute and asked the nurse who came out and asked the receptionist to ask me if he was coming from a nursing home.
I heard the question and answered no.
The office manager came to the window and said she was Mandy. I said yes I talked to you on the phone; you gave me directions.
She asked me to step in the back for a minute.
I followed her to the back of the offices to a room with a desk and two chairs and a computer. That is all.
She asked me to sit down and then sat down across from me.
I was confused.
She said Dr. Guru would be unable to see the Man on this day. I asked why. She said their insurance liability prevented them from assisting him into the office. She said they did not have another appointment for three weeks, but she would work me in the next day.
I asked her what good would that do, and she said I could bring my own help or walker.
She was very apologetic and continued to reiterate that she was, “just the office manager.”
I stated that it was unbelievable to me that a neurosurgeon would not have a way to assist people into his office. He surely had patients that were immobilized from back surgeries and other major problems. This is their statement from their website.
Dr. Guru’s company is dedicated to providing world-class, contemporary neurosurgical services with the utmost of care and compassion. Our experienced healthcare professionals are dedicated to treating each patient as an individual, deserving of our time, attention, and respect.
These are some of the procedures they perform, yet they cannot assist anyone in the door?
I explained to her the pain and suffering that was involved in a 120 mile trip on that day only to turn around and do it again the next day.
I asked her if I could get him in the office would they see him. She said yes.
I asked as I was going out to get him, wasn’t she more concerned about the Man and I getting hurt after they had refused to help us?
She immediately told me that Dr. Guru would be unable to establish a patient relationship with the Man, and to have a nice day. What happened to that dedicated, respectful, professional, experienced healthcare person.
She never looked out at the Man. She never came to him and explained. No attention or respect there.
I left. When I got to the car he was trying to get up. I told him they would not see him.
He was confused. I told him what was said.
The Man cried. I cried.
He screamed in pain after another 60 mile trip home as he got out of the car.
I have never in my life had an experience with a doctor like that. Well, actually the experience was with “Mandy (no last name), the office manager.”
Life is full of experiences. Some more memorable than others.
Why do people keep hurting the Man?
Why is America so allergic to elderly?
I know what goes around comes around. I trust in Karma.
Now, I am glad he did not see him, because I think something unusual is going on that an office manager would be able to make those kinds of calls for a Dr. Guru without consulting him. I think maybe they had reviewed the Man’s file and didn’t want him because he was too much for them. I don’t know. I know they may have success because of their selection process. No, I mean because of their discrimination process.
The Man is pissed because they hurt me.
I am pissed because they hurt him.
Help~
We finally got our courage up and changed doctors. Why is there such guilt associated with this particular move? As the Man said, “But, I like Dr. XX so much. I really hate to hurt his feelings.” We just finally had to realize that it doesn’t matter if we really, really, really like him. That’s not the point. I really, really, really like my three-year old granddaughters, but I don’t think I want them treating us for illnesses (although sometimes their presence is more medicine that the doctor prescribes).
I am sick of doctors that are allergic to old people. I have never understood the fixation 
with chronological age. That must be obvious since the Man is 30 years older than I am; however, his blood pressure today was 120/60 while mine probably couldn’t be charted! Age is a relative thing. It’s all in the health. I have diabetes, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, have had a light stroke, migraines, etc. The Man has none of these things. The only thing wrong with him is his bones have served their time with hard work – way harder than most of us could even imagine.
His previous doctor said he had congestive heart failure. I asked how he knew that – was it a blood test or could he detect it with the stethoscope? No, he just said that most people at “his age” have some heart failure. That went into his medical file. How scientific was that, and now it follows him to every surgeon he will see.
The new doctor said she saw no signs of any heart failure and although many elderly do have some, it’s not a done deal. And she also noted that there was no treatment going on for it in his chart.
No more bitching today. It’s been too good a day.
By the way. The new doctor is a woman. Go girls!!
Our household is anxiously awaiting the election. The Man would not even date me until he knew for sure that I was a Democrat. I did not tell him that, but he says that it just showed in the compassion and determination that came out of me. It was a good thing I was, because living with him would have been impossible without that common bond. His most important value he wishes to pass on to his children is to vote Democratic. One of the happiest days of hs life was the day that his daughter, son and wife went with us to vote. He was proud. He commented on the fact that the McCoy’s were Democrats through and through; what the ole timers called Yellow Dog Democrats meaning they would rather vote for a yellow dog than a Republican. Our daughter told people she dated that her dad would flip if she married anything but a democrat. I asked him one time what caused him to be such a hard-core Democrat, and he responded, “I don’t know much. I just farm and ranch, but I know that every time a Democrat is in office I do a little better. I make a little more money and get a little more ahead. And when Republicans are in office I lose it all till I have to just hope that I can hunker down until the next Democrat gets in office. Now, that is a fact.”
Now, he is sick. If he is to vote in another election it will require voting from the car, but I can guarantee that he will insist on going and no early voting because he wants the day to be special. I also can guarantee that he will be able to mark that Democratic box without hesitation.
So, now on a regular basis he asks me how many more days it is till the election, like little children ask how many days till their birthdays or Christmas.
And if he does get to vote on November 6th he will be voting on his 88th birthday. I hope he gets the present he so richly deserves – one more Democratic President, Barak Obama.
Let me tell all you young people out there. Dying isn’t an easy job. The body fights for all it’s worth, and old bodies have been bombarded with all kinds of hardships over many years of rough terrain in life. And although the body fights, the pain is palpable. If you are the one in the dying you suffer, you hurt, you try and try and try to get back to where you were, but cannot because the wear and tear is just too great. Still, you continue on – some with quiet solitude, some with great anguish and noise, some with bewilderment and some just do. The dying is hard enough, but the ability to muster the dignity is greater than soldiers on the battlefield. To suffer in silence; to put on the face of endurance for everyone that comes by. Never show your weakness; never let em see you sweat. I am learning how families of wounded warriors must feel when their wounded soldier works tirelessly, steadfastly, and resolutely to repair the debasement of their bodies.
Once more, I am checking off another point on my list of things that I wanted in a man who I wrote oh so many years ago. My list included silly, girlish things like tall, but it also included the oh so important things that make a man like determined, hardworking, and staunch. Over 30 years, this last requirement has manifested itself more and more in The Man. Such dignity. This is where the Cowboy rides away.
Tough Guys – click for music
Indulge- Travel, Adventure, & New Experiences
Straight up with a twist– Because life is too short to be subtle!
Just another WordPress.com site
Musings from Mama Bird
Yummy food. Pithy commentary. Pretty pictures.
One day at a time...for 6 months! :/
There's always a story.
A fine WordPress.com site
The Fashion/Make up/Lifestyle Blog
Sun Protection & Green Info
Inspiration for meeting life's challenges.
The wacky stories of a crazy lady.
It's all about disbelieving your thoughts
musings on Film, the Universe and Everything
everythingyoualwayswantedtosaybutwereafraid 