Getting Near
Christmas! The big gift-giving, family-seeing, holiday-partying extravaganza that just happens to coincide with a day on the Christian religious event calendar is only ten days away! Ho, ho, ho.
Cyndie and I have watched two holiday movies in two nights this weekend and she is currently on day two of her cookie-baking blitz. I am pleased to be able to report that she is getting near that elusive point of feeling fully recovered from the illness that has befuddled her, sapped her energy, and imposed a splitting headache for about a week now.
I am less happy to admit that my willpower to resist over-sampling the sweets coming out of her double oven has been weaker than I remember since recognizing I suffer from becoming easily addicted to sugar in my diet.
“Be gone from me, cravings!”
I’d spend more time outside to get away from the aroma of cookies fresh from the oven, except the frozen glaze covering the land has made it dangerously slippery, especially when attached by leash to a dog that doesn’t care whether it’s icy or not.
I had finally assembled the lower half of my winter “spacesuit” so that I could jump into my boots and pull up the overalls like a firefighter answering the bell when the temperatures moderated, and now I’ve been romping about outside, spacesuit-free.
We’ve enlisted the help of some horse-care volunteers through the rescue organization This Old Horse to cover evening feedings for a few days to give me a break from this spell of solo duty on the ranch. There is no reason to rush Cyndie back into dealing with the elements again while she continues to make her way to full health, as far as she can get anyway on the continuum of what full health is for her.
Ten days, folks. The six-year-old me is getting as excited as possible for being stuck inside a 65-year-old ever-more-Grinch-like party pooper. (For the record: In my opinion, Christmas decorations are the most make-work hassle current society has ever manifested.)
Have a holly jolly next ten days, everyone!
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Creative Listing
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beginnings and endings all wrapped into one
wrinkled recipes
wastebaskets as decoration
old shingles, no longer flat
one last morsel of something
hilarious holiday movies
flames
constant vibrations not coming through our ears
sweet moments that have nothing to do with flavor
moon shadows close to midnight
lead pencil with a perfectly intact eraser
phrases no longer in use
the one thing you will never bring home from a grocery store
a houseplant that never grows, yet never dies
landline phones with actual push buttons
nerve endings that tingle
dust that never seems to settle
gusts that eventually do
settle, that is
a list with no actual purpose
prose masquerading as a poem
Saturday mornings home alone
a sigh of monumental proportions
kind words spoken in a sultry tone
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Minor Inconvenience
The cold weather arrived as predicted to grasp us in its firm grip. I suppose it is a sign of my lifetime of exposure to the harshness of season-long snow and cold that this cold snap has barely presented a minor inconvenience to my normal routine.
I’ve complained in the past about growing less and less patient with my slow and laborious effort of donning what I have taken to calling my “spacesuit” before heading out to do chores. The tedious struggle is well worth it though because the crazy cold hasn’t been a problem for me in terms of comfort.
I need to pay attention to the minutes Asher is out because the pads of his paws are vulnerable to the cryogenic extremes. Other than that, he shows no sign of having any problems with the cold.
The horses look to be coping just fine. Breakfast time almost feels warm under the cover provided by the overhang and bathed in the rays of sunlight beaming in during the morning meal.
The main challenge at feeding time in extreme cold is managing the knots on the hay bags. That and scraping away frozen pigeon droppings on the placemats under their feed buckets.
Yesterday, Asher and I even made a successful outing in the car, and the cold didn’t break the seal on any of the tires. He had a grooming appointment in Baldwin that Cyndie usually drives him to, but since she is being a good patient and staying indoors, I became the chauffeur.
I had forgotten that Cyndie mentioned there are cats roaming loose at the dog grooming place. I was taken by surprise when I noticed Asher nose to nose with a big long-haired cat just inside the door. He looked mildly curious but not the least bit threatening as I tensed up and probably triggered him to be more concerned than he initially was.
Luckily, the check-in process happened so fast, there wasn’t time for any problem to erupt.
On a cold day when my preference would be to stay snuggled in and avoid any potential for unexpected driving issues, I was sent out a second time at dusk to pick up a change of meds for treating Cyndie’s pneumonia. She developed a rash from the first prescription.
We are hoping that was just a minor inconvenience on her road to a full recovery.
My trusty car performed well despite the deep freeze. In the end, the most difficult part of the whole day for me was working through the checklist of getting myself in and out of my spacesuit every time I had to walk Asher or do the horse chores.
Remember the old saying, there’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing.
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Nuisance Amounts
So far this winter (even though winter solstice is still nine days away), we have only been receiving what I call nuisance amounts of snowfall. It’s barely enough to justify shoveling, yet too much to leave on steps and walkways. Last week, when Asher and I got caught in that epic snow-burst, we couldn’t see the barn. In the end, so little snow accumulated that it was all gone two days later.
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Yesterday morning, I spent a few minutes clearing the driveway closest to the house with a shovel.
I like having the cleaner pavement, but that minimal covering of snow isn’t enough to deserve firing up the ATV to plow, and I’m not inclined to push the shovel the rest of the length of the driveway to the road. I saw the township plow go by on our road, so I carried a shovel when walking Asher. That big blade didn’t throw up enough snow to make any difference.
I shoveled what little there was anyway. So now the top and the bottom of our driveway are cleared, and the middle is just a series of tire tracks and footprints until we get enough sun to evaporate whatever snow remains.
Since the temperature was forecast to drop precipitously overnight, I made sure the horses had plenty of good hay to stoke their internal furnaces. They are decidedly picky about one of the batches of bales we’ve been trying to use up on them, and they regularly ignore any amount that we mix into the hay nets. I chose to dump some of those dregs out on the ground where we are building a hay path for traction in advance of future icy conditions. That way, I could fill the bag exclusively with hay they prefer.
What’s the first thing that happens?
Mia comes over and starts eating the hay I dumped out.
I don’t blame her. Free of the netting, she can dive in and more easily scrounge out any desired nibbles mixed in with the stringy grasses she doesn’t like. She probably thinks of them as “nuisance amounts.”
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Gathering Facts
Taking advantage of Cyndie’s reduction in activity, we spent some time while she rested yesterday, creating a chronological outline of the medical issues she has experienced throughout her entire life. If each one were a chapter in her autobiography, the book would be more than 40 chapters long.
We came up with 15 surgeries and 3 or 4 medical procedures, starting with one before she was even a year old and not counting two pregnancies or the time she stepped on a rake and split her eyebrow open. In some of the occurrences that have happened since I started blogging, I was able to hunt for and find exact dates, including pictures.
I wonder if I have a picture for every surgery.
After searching, we couldn’t find evidence that I had blogged about the concussion she had that took us days to figure out because she didn’t remember what happened when she hit her head. She picked up a friend the day after and remembers telling her of having a severe headache. The day after that, Cyndie was home, and we were hosting a visitor. Cyndie looked fine in the morning, but in the middle of the day, I noticed Cyndie had developed a profound black eye that extended from her forehead to her chin.
Why I wouldn’t have written about that is a mystery to me. I was also hoping to find a picture of how vivid her bruised-looking face had become. That led Cyndie to make a doctor’s appointment, which resulted in her getting an MRI of her head.
She loves telling the story of the technician asking ever so gently if he wasn’t also supposed to get a view of her face since it looked so bad. Both of us laugh about her having already signed up for a Master Gardener class that she tried to complete despite the concussion but, in the end, wasn’t able to remember much of anything she learned.
It was a very interesting day-long exercise of dredging up past events and then trying to compile a chronological outline with dates so we could have all the information in one place. So many stories that we’ve told and re-told over the years, but never before locking in dates or the order of events.
It paints quite a varied portrait of incidents, both dramatic and mundane, in her medical history.
Now that we have the outline, I’m eager to capture some of the interesting details that can present a fuller story about what her experiences were like for each of the different incidents.
Maybe I’ll end up amending the subtitle of this blog to “*this* John W. Hays’ take on Cyndie’s experiences.”
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Results In
The doc says Cyndie has pneumonia in her right lower lung. Whaaat? She was tested for both types of flu, got a chest X-ray, and had a blood panel done. Interestingly, she learned she has a partially collapsed lung that is a possible residual from one of her surgeries with general anesthesia in the past.
They’ve prescribed an antibiotic and told her she should expect to feel better in 36 to 48 hours. It feels like a deja vu from my experience when I returned from our Iceland adventure. Based on that, I hope she is able to feel better as quickly as I did. I had assumed it would take me weeks to clear my lungs, but that wasn’t the case.
Now, I just need to convince her to behave like a lazy person so her body can recover without delay. That’s not going to be easy. While I was picking up her prescription in River Falls with Asher and then feeding the horses, she went downstairs and took the laundry out of the dryer, and then had dinner waiting for us when we got in.
See what I’m up against. Her excuse for making dinner was that she needed to take her medicine with food and wanted to take the first dose as soon as possible. Okay, dear.
Asher is doing his best to show her what to do to make it easier for her body to recover.
If she won’t listen to me, maybe she’ll pay attention to the examples he’s been demonstrating.
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Numb Fingers
Are you familiar with Raynaud’s phenomenon? It is a reaction where a drop in temperature can trigger blood vessel spasms, usually in the fingers and toes. Cyndie’s hands have reacted to cold in this way for a while, but on Saturday, she was surprised that it triggered so quickly in temperatures that weren’t that drastically cold. Also, it was only happening to one finger on her left hand and a small portion of two fingers on her right hand. Usually, it’s all the fingers.
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It was so dramatic that I asked her if I could take a picture of the colorless digits.
She looked up information on why it might afflict only certain fingers and one possibility for that situation pointed to torqued wrist positions. She realized she had been holding her hands tucked under her crossed arms as we walked with Asher for a bit before heading to the barn. Maybe that would explain it.
We are hoping for a more informed assessment of all the issues Cyndie’s experiencing after she visits with a doctor at our clinic this afternoon. She had been feeling off for almost a week before it finally manifested with the fever the last two days, which took things to a new level and got her to stop trying to carry on with normal activity.
After driving from the Cities in the worst of that snow burst we experienced, one of her legs cramped up in a wicked knot as she was trying to walk from the car into the house. It was so intense that she couldn’t walk, could barely stand, and it had her sobbing in pain.
She has been struggling to keep her core warm and was spending every opportunity with a heating pad on her torso or feet.
At this point, I have not experienced any symptoms similar to hers, so we have that to be thankful for. Asher, the horses, and I are all carrying on and keeping calm. Well, most of the time, anyway. When I stepped out of the barn to tend to the horses yesterday afternoon, they were in a tizzy about something that I couldn’t identify.
It had them racing around, jumping and rearing, and generally acting like the sky was falling. It made poo pickup a little more adventurous than I wanted. As soon as I served up buckets of grains, the usual calm settled over them. Food coma arrived soon after.
Then, I went back to being Nurse John, in addition to being a fine dining chef for the evening. I heated up some homemade chicken noodle soup that Cyndie had pulled from the freezer. For the record, no fingers went numb as a result of her doing that.
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Nurse John
Personally, I don’t find that my nursing abilities offer all that soothing a touch, and now our head cook has called in sick, so I am faced with pretending I’m a chef in addition to her nurse. No pressure. Only, I’m going up against the comparisons to a person who has nursed and fed me better than one could ever imagine whenever I’ve fallen ill.
It just seems like such an unfair circumstance for Cyndie when she gets sick. Laid low by a fever, she is currently confined to quarters and stuck with me as her primary caregiver. Luckily, she is a very patient patient, and repeatedly tells me I’m providing everything she needs. It never feels like enough to me.
Plus, there’s always the battle against her trying to do things for herself so as not to trouble me as I struggle to anticipate her next move and cut her off in the nick of time by getting her the ice pack or warming her heating pad in the microwave.
Nurse John is not that much fun when he gets grumpy as he is trying to soothe what ails the patient and serve Malt-O-Meal and toast before it gets cold.
I am thrilled with how sensitive Asher is to Cyndie’s not feeling well. Instead of being a pest and demanding more roughhouse play, he has chosen to mirror her as a way of showing his support.
Right up until he hears something outside that requires a rant of “big boy” barks followed by some half-hearted “woofs.” I’m sure that does wonders for her headache. At least he gets back to the mirroring part in short order.
That allows me to practice a little of that mirroring support of my own, although I suspect that technique is not included in the practices one would find in the nursing handbooks, not to mention that it leaves the kitchen looking a frightful mess.
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Paw Prints
As a result of the fraction of an inch of snow coating surfaces outside, we get new opportunities each morning to see where all the nocturnal visitors have tread around our grounds. The other day, I found some decent-sized canine prints on Paddock Lake that could easily have been a coyote passing through.
Lately, I’ve been thinking that the neighbor’s cat that practically lives on our property might be polydactyl. This morning there were some very clear prints on the driveway that revealed I was probably seeing double.
What I was seeing in most cases is the result of the hind paw landing in the same spot as a front one. When they don’t align so closely, it becomes much easier to see what’s happening.
What I haven’t been seeing in numbers like years past are hoof prints from deer. Maybe that explains why we saw so few hunters in the woods around us this year. No deer, no reason to hunt.
If the weather forecast proves accurate, we will probably lose what little snow cover we’ve got by the end of the weekend.
Then it returns to Asher being the only one to know where the critters have traveled in the hours before we show up on our morning walks. When tracks are fresh, he becomes maniacally obsessive about urgently following the scent. I don’t remember seeing “bloodhound” in the list of breeds identified by his DNA, but it sure seems like he thinks he is one sometimes.
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Relative Something 