Betty bakes a pie

Remember I once, at the suggestion of an ill friend, adopted an old lady alternate identity? Betty. My friend had adopted Mabel. At times Betty and Mabel hang out. But, that's not too often because we, uh, I mean they are pretty decrepit. Mabel visited this week and she and Betty had a piece of Betty's pumpkin pie she baked over the weekend. Mabel knows how difficult such a project can be for someone in their situation and Betty was pleased she got to share her pie with someone who understands.

So anyway, on Saturday I, er, I mean Betty baked two small pumpkin pies and it wore her out. See, Betty hasn't had pumpkin pie in two years and has been craving it. She spent last Thanksgiving in the hospital and didn't get to make a pie. She is gluten-free and has an aversion to pies from the stores--read the list of ingredients in one and you'll understand why. A wonderful friend picked up gluten-free pie shells for her from the store to make her pie-making easier. And, her dear husband got down all the spices, took out the eggs and milk, pulled out all the measuring items, and the handheld blender. He also opened he can of pumpkin and placed a chair in the kitchen. He then went outside to work on fall-time chores that Betty can no longer help with.

Betty mixed up pie filling and poured it into the shells. She opened the oven, pulled out the oven rack, and tried to place the cookie sheet with the two pies on the oven rack without melting her IV tubing or her oxygen tube. All the while she was trying to mind where her face was so she wouldn't blow up from being so close to the inside of a gas oven. However, balancing and bending was too much and filling spilled over the edge of the shells and onto the hot cookie sheet.

With the cookie sheet now on the oven rack, Betty grabbed some paper towels and wiped as much as she could off the cookie sheet. She then had to get the oven rack pushed back in but she was light-headed and out of breath by this time. So, she sat on the chair next to the oven for a time, oven door open and unbaked pies sitting on the protruding rack. From her chair she slowly tried pushing the oven racks back, being mindful of her oxygen and IV tubing. The pie filling spilled over the shells again. She wiped up what she could manage without getting too far into the oven and finally closed the oven door.

Betty started the timer on the oven and took a nap without cleaning up her mess on the counter. She dreamed of a time, not so long ago, that she shopped for, prepped, and cooked a whole Thanksgiving day meal. And cleaned up the kitchen afterwards. She really misses being able to do all of that.

There'll be days...

Today was one of those days. It hit me. I woke with a headache and one of those migraine aura things. My oxygen was desaturating pretty quickly with the slightest activity so I felt extremely unproductive with my already limited ability to function. I received more paperwork to add to my never ending pile of medical madness, including a new, full schedule for the Cleveland Clinic for the end of March... tests and appointments that will require a stay-over in Cleveland. I wanted to cry.

Of all things, I became obsessed with something so trivial. I wanted corn flakes. But not any ol' corn flakes. I wanted Erewhon organic gluten-free corn flakes. And, since many conventional grocery stores do not carry this particular brand, I assume it would have to be hunted down... perhaps from as far as the co-op, which is a considerable distance from me. And, even though friends have offered to pick up groceries for me, I felt it would be an unreasonable request to ask someone to track down this cereal, possibly available at some specific store, on today--a blustery, cold day. Nope. I just couldn't bring myself to ask.

I told myself it was just too silly to be so upset over these special organic corn flakes. But then I realized it's not about the cereal. It is my pain, my lack of control, my lack of freedom. I'm in mourning. I'm mourning the ability to get up the stairs without feeling light-headed. I'm mourning the loss of several seasons wasted visiting doctor after doctor trying to find out why I was wilting along with the summer flowers. I'm mourning the missed activities with my husband and daughter. I'm mourning what could have been...

Home sweet home...

Tuesday night I was released from the hospital. I was away from home for a total of ten days and I was horribly home-sick. My mother-in-law was so wonderful, staying several nights camped out in the smallest of chairs and eating the leftover food from my meal trays. My husband was there for a couple nights and was there for the Hickman placement. His voice was one of the first voices I heard when I was coming out of surgery. When I was at the step down floor he made several origami cranes for me and placed them along the windowsill. On the day I was planning to leave, the Accredo nurse, who was training me on the IV pump, turned all the cranes to face home. Through the rest of the day, all the cranes and I looked towards home, anxiously waiting.

Since arriving home I've had daily visits from an Accredo nurse. Each day she has helped us go through the steps of mixing the medication, changing the cartridge on the pump, and starting the meter on the pump. She demonstrated changing the dressing on the Hickman yesterday. I thought it was disgusting seeing the hole in my chest with the tube sewn in. I suppose I will get used to it, but it is so weird. The nurse is extremely sweet and I like her a lot, so when she starts leaving us on our own, like tomorrow, I will miss her visits.

Every day I've been home I've had a gigantic appetite and keep eating. In the hospital I got very little protein. The majority of the food they offered was starches and sugars. What little hunk of meat showed up on my plate, I devoured. The vegetables were canned variety and much of the fruit offered was swimming in artificially flavored syrup. Dessert options included packaged cups of stuff--sherbet, pudding, frozen yogurt--all with artificial or substitute sweeteners, artificial flavors and artificial colors, emulsifiers like headache-causing carrageenan, and other stuff people should never be eating anyway.

Today I started getting my INR monitored, so that I don't take too little or too much blood thinning medication. Being on a thinner means being more careful as the blood will not clot as quickly as normal. I also have to watch certain foods that can alter the function of the medicine or else my INR reading could be thrown off.

I go to the Cleveland Clinic next week for a follow up and more blood-work. I am pretty sure they replaced all of my blood with saline while I was there. So, I assume they want to make sure they drain me again before my body has time to recover.