President's Day 2020
In My Bloodstream: Lisinopril, Amlodopine, Omeprazole, Tamsulosin
On The Stereo: Dentist: Steve Martin (Little Shop Of Horrors sound track)
I was going to skip today's post, as Kath is off for the day, and we have actual things to do, other than teach, for her, and write, for me. You can see that did not happen.
I thought it best that I catch you up with my life, but my intent is to make this a Micky Rooney version of my normal blog.
Last Monday I exercised for the first time in several months. My wounds are healing nicely, and since I have managed to gain 15 pounds over the past two months, something had to be done. You probably remember that my most recent skin cancers chose to appear in several inconvenient places, and some movements, like walking, stretching, lifting anything, or turning over in bed, would cause bleeding and oozing. And as a result, I have turned into a sloth, with less ambition. And I contracted a severe case of cabin fever. My muscles have atrophied and my brain was turning to oatmeal. A hot mess, as we say.
So back to my exercise. On Monday, my wounds were dry, and I marched some three miles. Around here, it is a hilly hike, so I was huffing on the inclines. It was quite breezy as well, so the walk was worthwhile. I am sure my heart rate increased and I was thankful for the workout, as small a step as it was. It was a start. A much-needed beginning.
The next day, with some small amount of procrastination, I walked the same circuit, and was pleased with myself for staying with the plan. Apparently I am easy to please.
Golf the next day. I took my push cart, and walked The Hills course. That afternoon, I was tired. And sore. Apparently I am also easily beaten down.
Thursday, I had a short walk and cleaned the house. To the best of my ability.
Friday was a busy day. Before 8, I drove The Teacher to school. And after that, at 11 am, I had an appointment at Moffitt. If truth be told, I did not even know who it was that needed to see me. I would find out when I got there. I have a large staff, you know. An entourage. I am well attended.
On check-in, I found that I was to see a new dermatologist, Dr. Tsai. He and Rihanna, the resident, inspected me, head to toe. Actually, that is not quite true. She even looked at the soles of my feet. She also asked if she could look at my "bottom". Just like a woman, I thought. They just love me. I was disappointed that she did not comment on its hairy perfection. A good number of my readers have seen that butt. You know what I'm talking about.
The doctors looked at my current wounds, and agreed that I should have some relief. Dr. Tsai was a terrific guy. He was pleasant and very understanding. I had explained my current state of mind. I am of an age that involves due consideration on any future operations. There is a race underway. It is a race of diminishing returns. There is death, somewhere in my future, and that is offset by the pain and discomfort of medical treatments, designed to keep me alive. At some point, as one nears life's end, the delaying of death does not make sense. In this case, we are discussing only minor surgeries, so the decisions are made easier. In the end, they only took one more biopsy from my left wrist, and sprayed freezing on another 15 spots, most around my face and neck. Then, I was sent packing. Three more months of parole. Not much, to most. To me, everything.
On the drive down, the tire pressure light lit up. So, when I was finished with the dermatologist, I headed to the dealer, to get my tires checked. About a half-hour trip, further away from home. That done, off to Costco.
My car GPS had been glitching, and the dealer suggested a software update might be required. That would necessitate another appointment. That would need to wait.
As I left, I wanted to find the fastest way from southwest Tampa, where I was, to Costco, just off highway 75 at Wesley Chapel. Of course, the GPS chose not to respond. Siri would have to step up.
"Siri, give me directions to get to Highway 75 north". Siri: "would you like directions to highway 93?"
I exited and tried again, asking the same question. Siri gave me the same response. "Siri, you idiot, how can you mix up 75 and 93? They don't even sound the same." I then repeated, with slightly different words, the same order. And I still got the same response. Siri: no response. I am not above arguing with a machine, but I had now entered traffic, and I thought I had better pay attention to the task at hand.
Then, as if by magic, or perhaps one machine had decided to come to the aid of another, the GPS came unfrozen. Now I needed to provide it with an oral direction, so I asked it to get directions to Wesley Chapel, as I did not know Costco's address. And I was in late afternoon traffic in south Tampa. We were good to go. The directions were visible, right in front of me.
Eventually, I was traveling north on 275, which I knew would, at some point, spill into I75. And it did. I looked to my right and saw a parallel road, which I recognized, as the long exit which would have taken me to Costco. I had missed the exit. I was still being directed to the town center, still north and east of where I was. I took the next exit, headed back south, and then turned off the highway and into my destination.
This whole meandering escapade was as a result of a battle of wits and wills, between man and machine. There was no winner. Both were imbeciles. Siri and Rob. Now I am telling you and Siri is reporting back to Google. Likely different versions.
I purchased the necessities required, and headed home, with barrels of whiskey. Things might soon get better.
Saturday came and I gave Kath her second injection of Humira. I had a rough time finding a fatty piece of stomach to give her the needle, but I persevered and we made a success of the event. Again, she had no pain, as was intimated by her doctor.
Sunday was golf day. Our first outing since January 2nd. It was fun not playing well. Just to be out.
This morning, I had blood on my bed. One of the biopsy sites on my back had reopened. Arghhh.
Our dentist played host to us today. Kat hates dentist visits. I considered drugging her to calm her down, but she recovered her senses just prior to our leaving. Deep breathing worked. All teeth well and accounted for. Six months until her next battle.
Last week's story of bravery resulted in my receipt of several beautiful notes. I openly thank those who responded, and wish to thank in particular, Susan, for her most kind words, and Janice, who provided me with the following:
“Be strong and courageous
Do not be afraid, do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go."
Joshua 1:9
We finally get to see Star Wars tonight. We are really looking forward to it. And the day will come to a close. Hope your week topped ours. Because I loved this week. Siri and dentist and all.
So I lied, in the beginning, about brevity. Sorry.
Thank you all for sticking with me. Post Valentine love to you all. I apologize to Hallmark for not buying one of their cards. Every day is Valentine's in this house. I hope it is in yours, as well.
As always, your calls and messages are welcome. Until next week...
jrobinmullen@gmail.com
On The Stereo: Dentist: Steve Martin (Little Shop Of Horrors sound track)
I was going to skip today's post, as Kath is off for the day, and we have actual things to do, other than teach, for her, and write, for me. You can see that did not happen.
I thought it best that I catch you up with my life, but my intent is to make this a Micky Rooney version of my normal blog.
Last Monday I exercised for the first time in several months. My wounds are healing nicely, and since I have managed to gain 15 pounds over the past two months, something had to be done. You probably remember that my most recent skin cancers chose to appear in several inconvenient places, and some movements, like walking, stretching, lifting anything, or turning over in bed, would cause bleeding and oozing. And as a result, I have turned into a sloth, with less ambition. And I contracted a severe case of cabin fever. My muscles have atrophied and my brain was turning to oatmeal. A hot mess, as we say.
So back to my exercise. On Monday, my wounds were dry, and I marched some three miles. Around here, it is a hilly hike, so I was huffing on the inclines. It was quite breezy as well, so the walk was worthwhile. I am sure my heart rate increased and I was thankful for the workout, as small a step as it was. It was a start. A much-needed beginning.
The next day, with some small amount of procrastination, I walked the same circuit, and was pleased with myself for staying with the plan. Apparently I am easy to please.
Golf the next day. I took my push cart, and walked The Hills course. That afternoon, I was tired. And sore. Apparently I am also easily beaten down.
Thursday, I had a short walk and cleaned the house. To the best of my ability.
Friday was a busy day. Before 8, I drove The Teacher to school. And after that, at 11 am, I had an appointment at Moffitt. If truth be told, I did not even know who it was that needed to see me. I would find out when I got there. I have a large staff, you know. An entourage. I am well attended.
On check-in, I found that I was to see a new dermatologist, Dr. Tsai. He and Rihanna, the resident, inspected me, head to toe. Actually, that is not quite true. She even looked at the soles of my feet. She also asked if she could look at my "bottom". Just like a woman, I thought. They just love me. I was disappointed that she did not comment on its hairy perfection. A good number of my readers have seen that butt. You know what I'm talking about.
The doctors looked at my current wounds, and agreed that I should have some relief. Dr. Tsai was a terrific guy. He was pleasant and very understanding. I had explained my current state of mind. I am of an age that involves due consideration on any future operations. There is a race underway. It is a race of diminishing returns. There is death, somewhere in my future, and that is offset by the pain and discomfort of medical treatments, designed to keep me alive. At some point, as one nears life's end, the delaying of death does not make sense. In this case, we are discussing only minor surgeries, so the decisions are made easier. In the end, they only took one more biopsy from my left wrist, and sprayed freezing on another 15 spots, most around my face and neck. Then, I was sent packing. Three more months of parole. Not much, to most. To me, everything.
On the drive down, the tire pressure light lit up. So, when I was finished with the dermatologist, I headed to the dealer, to get my tires checked. About a half-hour trip, further away from home. That done, off to Costco.
My car GPS had been glitching, and the dealer suggested a software update might be required. That would necessitate another appointment. That would need to wait.
As I left, I wanted to find the fastest way from southwest Tampa, where I was, to Costco, just off highway 75 at Wesley Chapel. Of course, the GPS chose not to respond. Siri would have to step up.
"Siri, give me directions to get to Highway 75 north". Siri: "would you like directions to highway 93?"
I exited and tried again, asking the same question. Siri gave me the same response. "Siri, you idiot, how can you mix up 75 and 93? They don't even sound the same." I then repeated, with slightly different words, the same order. And I still got the same response. Siri: no response. I am not above arguing with a machine, but I had now entered traffic, and I thought I had better pay attention to the task at hand.
Then, as if by magic, or perhaps one machine had decided to come to the aid of another, the GPS came unfrozen. Now I needed to provide it with an oral direction, so I asked it to get directions to Wesley Chapel, as I did not know Costco's address. And I was in late afternoon traffic in south Tampa. We were good to go. The directions were visible, right in front of me.
Eventually, I was traveling north on 275, which I knew would, at some point, spill into I75. And it did. I looked to my right and saw a parallel road, which I recognized, as the long exit which would have taken me to Costco. I had missed the exit. I was still being directed to the town center, still north and east of where I was. I took the next exit, headed back south, and then turned off the highway and into my destination.
This whole meandering escapade was as a result of a battle of wits and wills, between man and machine. There was no winner. Both were imbeciles. Siri and Rob. Now I am telling you and Siri is reporting back to Google. Likely different versions.
I purchased the necessities required, and headed home, with barrels of whiskey. Things might soon get better.
Saturday came and I gave Kath her second injection of Humira. I had a rough time finding a fatty piece of stomach to give her the needle, but I persevered and we made a success of the event. Again, she had no pain, as was intimated by her doctor.
Sunday was golf day. Our first outing since January 2nd. It was fun not playing well. Just to be out.
This morning, I had blood on my bed. One of the biopsy sites on my back had reopened. Arghhh.
Our dentist played host to us today. Kat hates dentist visits. I considered drugging her to calm her down, but she recovered her senses just prior to our leaving. Deep breathing worked. All teeth well and accounted for. Six months until her next battle.
Last week's story of bravery resulted in my receipt of several beautiful notes. I openly thank those who responded, and wish to thank in particular, Susan, for her most kind words, and Janice, who provided me with the following:
“Be strong and courageous
Do not be afraid, do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go."
Joshua 1:9
We finally get to see Star Wars tonight. We are really looking forward to it. And the day will come to a close. Hope your week topped ours. Because I loved this week. Siri and dentist and all.
So I lied, in the beginning, about brevity. Sorry.
Thank you all for sticking with me. Post Valentine love to you all. I apologize to Hallmark for not buying one of their cards. Every day is Valentine's in this house. I hope it is in yours, as well.
As always, your calls and messages are welcome. Until next week...
jrobinmullen@gmail.com
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