When You Can't Hoot Worth A Toot
So here I am, more nervous than a cat in a BB gun factory. I'm ordered to stay off the computer and be quiet...watch TV or read...rest. So this is a clandestine post done under the cover of a running vacuum cleaner in the hall. The warden can't hear me clacking away right now.
My voice sounds like that of a very old walrus, trying to sound out a call for another smelt. And I smelt this one coming. I knew my voicebox would get trashed by this pneumonia and what the doctor describes as "acute bronchitis". There's nothing cute about it.
The only reason I write about this on-line is because some of you might wonder what happened to me on the morning newscasts on WNOX. Others have been so gracious and kind to call and check on me, and offer prayers of support. Thank you so much. It means a lot.
I had thought a cold that had passed through the family was going to miss me. My daughters, and my grandaughter were first with it. And it could have been an itty bitty sneeze from Sarah that got the ball rolling for me.
As Julie's wedding approached, so did the bacteria. They set up a base camp in my goozle and proceeded to sell off territory to a developer so it could subdivide. The lung wasn't zoned for infection, but the bacteria had one little guy live in a cell in the precinct, and he voted "yes" to develop. The wedding party's young folks kept asking "Mr. Foulk, are you okay?" At that point I wasn't sure if they were asking me about my physical, or my fiscal condition. Both of them not so great, eh?
Anyway, I thought the worst was over just after the wedding, and then I noticed one morning that I was holding myself up to the sink by my elbows as I washed my hands. If doing that was such a hard task, I knew I needed to get to the doctor for an audit of what was taxing me. Soon there was an x-ray, and pulse and oxygen test, and a blood test, and an oil check of my pickup truck....and the results came in. Yes: there was a reason I was breathing like a locomotive with a bad piston.
Baby boomers are learning a whole new thing in health care as we age:
Home Health
This time, the home health guy brought what is called a "nebulizer" for me to use every four hours. It is nothing more than a noisy electric air pump, and a little device that atomizes whatever liquid that is placed into a container. There is a mouthpiece for you to inhale the atomized liquid. My darker side sees this as a whole new opportunity for abuse of some kind here, perhaps atomized alcohol? Boomers all over America suddenly develop breathing trouble!
So here I am- scaring the daylights out of the dogs with this thing that looks like a bong designed by an aquarium shop, unable to squeak out more than a few words, and trying like all get-out to stay silent and allow things to rest.
Then there is the steroid treatment. Ever done a round of prednisone? It's like putting 100 octane gasoline in a Chevette. You get the creepy-jeebies...more nervous than a prom queen at a prison rodeo. Sleep is difficult because your entire metabolism is cranked up as the medication fights inflamation in your body.
You have all of this mental desire to write checks that your body is not capable of doing at the present moment: Your brain says .."but if you stay on the line, a member of the fatigue department will be with you shortly".
Ever wonder about the first human to take medication like that? The same docs that came up with that treatment are the ones that give you Fleet enemas and have rest rooms with no magazines.
Uh oh, I think the vacuuming has stopped for the moment.
I'd better get busy doing nothing.
