Monthly Archives: November 2022

It’s my Blogiversary

Fourteen years ago today I mirrored my first post on this site. I forget how many links or even what kind of wreck was most common that day, and I had a bunch of trouble because this site and MySpace used different flavors of HTML for links and neither one had it automated back then. Now WordPress uses another flavor of HTML from the one I used back then, and MySpace is where you go to listen to new music and not where people meet to discuss whatever. And also, today is the 59th anniversary of JFK getting shot. And also the same anniversary of the first episode of Doctor Who.

Also, I did not win either the Powerball or TX Lotto yesterday, so my financial status is still p’, as in too impoverished to buy a vowel.

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Well, poop!

Mrs. the Poet is settling in at her new address nicely, but it’s just a little too far for frequent trips by ride-share, and DART is still dodgy from driver shortages. And I haven’t had a hug in 2 weeks and few and far between before that. I’m not going to spend this post feeling sorry for myself, but dangit it’s hard not to. I’m facing the same dilemma as most people on fixed incomes, I have to keep cutting things out of the budget but soon I won’t have anything unessential to cut.

The massage budget is gone, the transportation budget is down to almost nothing, food budget is up but the costs of food is up more, utilities budget is overdrawn, and the entertainment budget is basically the internet budget.

Needless to say the build budget for the Sprint-T is also wiped out pretty much for the forseeable future.

Coming up on my blogiversary

Hard to believe I’m coming up on the 14th anniversary of this blog on this site. The first edition of the blog was on an adult dating site, because I was running Linux and that was about the only blog site that didn’t crash or crash my computer. Then I migrated to MySpace because it also didn’t crash my computer, but after a few months it would block people from reading it because I linked to a bunch of external articles because I was covering media treatment of bike wrecks and there were like anywhere from 6 to 20 wrecks reported in the media, and they thought I was pushing Spam. I was getting 1k to 1400 readers a day then so blocking my blog was cutting their nose off to spite their faces. But anywho, I started posting here I think on the 22nd of November 2008, I’ll have to look it up because I accidentally did my first blog post here on the anniversary of JFK’s assassination. Not on purpose, but there were a lot of coincidences between that and me.

I was treated in the same ER as they treated JFK after he was shot. He died in the ER, I died before I was taken to the ER and came back before they took me. JFK never spoke again after he was shot in the head, I apparently never shut up even when I was unconscious. I gave the wrong address for my home, giving the one where I lived while I was in high school 25 years prior, my parent’s phone number from several years before we moved to Dallas, and a whole bunch more information that while correct was not current, and none of it was for the state I was living in. I was in the middle of telling the joke about getting hit by a truck because the bus had stopped running at that time of night when I regained consciousness, and was able to talk seriously. I think that because I was dead when they first got to me they weren’t expecting me to make sense when I talked.

Anywho, there were lots of crossover things between my life and JFK.

This is probably bad news

They’re getting ready to transfer Mrs. the Poet from the hospital to a nursing home. And it will probably be the one she will die in. She’s not showing a lot of improvement except that they were able to give her a shower where I couldn’t. I think that had more to do with them and where they gave her the shower than with her, because it’s very hard to get Mrs. the Poet in and out of our shower, because of the small door to the bathroom and the size of the shower. I might have been able to get her clean if I stripped down and took a shower with her, but with my lack of upper body strength I have my doubts.

Anyway, I was only able to get to one of the nursing homes on the list they gave me, the one closest to the house. I can just barely walk to this one because I can rest when I get there before I have to walk home, and it is an easy drive for my son. The only one of the children living in the US who would have a problem is the daughter living out in BFE, which for the purposes of this post is Aubrey TX. I might have spelled that wrong, so when I get the actual spelling of the town I will edit this post with the right spelling but leave this mess.

Getting back to Mrs. the Poet, they had to do a skin graft over the infected hole in the top of her foot while they were checking to see if the infection went to the bone or just to the exposed tendons. And yes I know that doesn’t speak well of my level of care, but I did the best I could with bandaging her up and changing her socks, including buying her new socks in a larger size to fit over her swollen feet. When her feet got so swollen that I couldn’t fit my slippers over her feet I knew for a fact we had a problem.

As I posted earlier, a big part of the problem is my lack of upper body strength. I have a very low lift and carry limit, and that frustrates me no end. Some of this is from old injuries, some of it is from lack of exercise probably due to those old injuries making exercise a literal pain. I have shoulder injuries that make raising my arms straight over my head impossible, and signaling a right turn on my bike where the arm is parallel to the ground from the shoulder is also a pain if I have to hold the signal for more than a few seconds. So no upper body strength, and those injuries were from the Aughties and early Teens of this century.

And I really need to put a load of laundry in the washer, so I’ll cut this one short now and maybe do another post after visiting Mrs. the Poet this afternoon.

Things have been happening

But now I have a minute to actually write about them. First of all Mrs. the Poet is mostly OK, she’s in the hospital because of the not-mostly part. We now have proof that Mrs. the Poet would deny she’s in pain while being eaten alive by a monster, because she was. Denying she was in pain, not that there are any monsters in the house to munch on her.

Let’s start from something close to the beginning. After getting out of rehab in September Mrs. the Poet had to wear a diaper because she couldn’t get to a toilet fast enough to not pee her pants. Or sometimes poop her pants. The fact that we have a pre-ADA house and the bathroom doors are not wide enough to get through with a rolling walker (the walker I had after the wreck was not a rolling walker and had no problems with the bathroom door but that’s a different story), has a definite bearing on this story.

Anywho, because she can’t get from the bed to the toilet quickly she’s been sleeping on our recliner-couch in the living room with a commode next to it, which was good as long as she ate and drank and consumed enough calories to maintain her health. And I think y’all can see where this story is headed, but don’t get in too big a hurry to get to the final destination that you miss taking the journey. We did good for about a month, and then I think she got tired of doing her business in the living room in front of the picture window (with the blinds down and closed so nobody could see in, but that wasn’t the point) and started limiting her intake to limit the number of times she bared her butt in the living room.

Now a contributing factor was our different sleep schedules, I’m nocturnal and she’s an Early Bird. Before her problems with UTI and her tummy she would sometimes get up about the time I was going to bed. Now I kept the same -to-bed time as before but her rising was much later, so there was a considerable period she sat wet on the couch until she could nag me awake before I was through sleeping, leading to a general lethargy on my part until after Mrs. the Poet went to bed until she started shifting her sleep to later in the evening but still not much past midnight. This let me get a few more hours of shut-eye, but still not enough to let me be my cheerful happy self /sarcasm. I’ve never been cheerful or happy since the wreck and TBI in 2001, but moving on. I think that the periods she sat in the wet diaper might have had an effect on her outlook on life, and she started consuming less fluids, which led to a possible UTI and rashes and (worse) skin ulcers. And she also started eating less because food was still tasting bad, but I think she just didn’t want to poop in front of the window.

And the combination of not enough fluids and calories caught up with her and she just got too weak to stand with the walker when I pulled her to her feet from the couch. And too weak to stand means too weak to use the potty because she has to stand to get her pants down and diaper off and butt wiped (she has to be standing clear of the potty for me to get in and clean her). And Tuesday of last week she fell getting to the potty and had to be helped to her feet by the EMTs and didn’t get her diaper changed and had to sit in a dirty diaper all day, and the next day and the next and on until Sunday when I called for an ambulance to transport her to the hospital where they cut her clothes and dirty diaper off and found massive skin infections and other things I don’t even want to think about, all because she was embarrassed to potty in front of pulled and closed blinds. [exasperated sigh] And this makes several trips to the hospital because of potty issues. The first trip at the beginning of Summer was over her not drinking enough and getting a UTI, the second trip was because the antibiotics she took for the UTI caused her to have C. diff, and now because she was embarrassed about going potty in front of the window (with the blinds down and closed). Now the first two were because she was actually sick from diseases, but the last trip was because she was sick because she was embarrassed. And because while she was still relatively healthy she didn’t want to go to the hospital. And now she’s practically immobile in a hospital bed with 3 IVs, one in each arm and a third in her hand. [another exasperated sigh]

And if she hadn’t been able to convince the nurses I wanted to have her transported on Tuesday instead of waiting until Sunday I would be in jail now for elder abuse. And I still want her to be healthy and sleeping in my bed even if we only sleep for a couple of hours together, because we belong in the same bed, sleeping together.