cbtreks

Irish was awarded disability from Social Security on the first go-around. Whoo hoo! That takes so much mental and emotional pressure off him (he's felt, since he first became unable to work, that taking care of the house and cooking, etc., wasn't enough - felt he had to contribute financially somehow to be a good husband) and it's taken a load of pressure off me, as well. What I earn does stretch to cover our expenses, but it's definitely a stretch and leaves little room for extras. Irish won't be getting a ton of money a month by any means, but it's enough to let us keep up with our bills, put a bit aside every week (I get paid weekly), and not have to make such choices as "Hmm. Pay my school bill on time or live on rice and pasta this week?" (Which doesn't sound like such a big deal, but I'm much healthier and feel better when I'm not consuming large amounts of carbohydrates. Irish's doctor has also advised him to eat more protein and vegetables and less starch. Hard to do if you don't have a halfway decent grocery budget.)

Also, he got a bit of retroactive pay. We put aside a chunk of it so a friend and I can fly out to Las Vegas in April, rent a truck, unload our storage unit, and finally have all our possessions in one place. That'll be wonderful. I can have my piano back! Also, the money we pay each month for the storage unit will be welcome in our bank account. (You might wonder why we paid for a storage unit when we were so broke for the last year. Good question, and more than once I was tempted just to quit paying the rent and let the company get rid of our stuff. But there are things in there it would still break my heart to part with - milk glass that belonged to my dad's mom, things Aunt Lizzie gave me, things my dad gave me. If I'd have had to let them go, I'd have dealt with it - they're just things, in the end. Right now, though, I glad I held out.)

We got some things we need - clothes for Irish, whose old clothes are getting shabby; a futon for the living room (I'd have liked to have a sofa but Irish has been set on a futon almost since we got married and you know, it looks fine and it's comfortable, so why not?); a tuneup for the car, which was jumping and stuttering at every stoplight. (And I love not seeing the gas gauge drop to 1/4 tank after just 20 or 30 miles - having a tuneup when you need one really does help with gas mileage.) We'd been thinking about getting a new car - ours is 12 years old - but after further thought, we decided to put it off for another year or two. Ours is really in pretty good condition and while I wouldn't try driving it across the country again - that's a lot of wear in a short time - it's good for what we need and I certainly don't miss having a car payment.

We also splurged a bit: bought a computer and got Internet access, which was installed today. So I'm typing this at home. Can I even convey how excited I am?! We haven't had Internet access at home in about five years. This is living in the lap of luxury. *g*

On a related note, now that I'm putting money in savings every week and not having to touch it, I'm beginning to understand the thrill some people get with just watching that balance grow. It is definitely a nice feeling.

Got to bring Irish home from the hospital on Tuesday. That was just two days ago - wow, it's been a long week. This whole thing was over and done in just a week; it feels a lot longer. I'm so glad to have him home and so are the kitties. (They're not kitties, they're full-grown cats - but we always call them the kitties. I'm sure they find it appalling!)

Anyway, he did have a mild heart attack. The doctor who did the angiogram said there was a blockage but it was small, not large enough to balloon or stent, and reversible with time, medication, and no smoking. (Also, diet and moderate exercise.) Then when the admitting doctor came in to finalize his records so he could go home, he told Irish that he was surprised they didn't want to do surgery because there was a lot of blockage and a lot of disease. Who to believe?? The angiogram guy was actually looking at Irish's heart in real time and showed the pictures to Irish, including the blockage. Irish told me, after we got home, that the admitting doctor was a surgeon and thinks he was hoping for a chance to perform surgery. Who knows? In any case, he also told Irish to quit smoking, moderate his diet, add moderate exercise, and take his medication religiously.

About the medication - last time Irish was in the hospital (end of August), the pharmacy across the parking lot from the hospital took his VA card and charged his meds to the VA. This time they wouldn't, so he still hasn't had his prescriptions filled. Fortunately, he had two of the most important medications at home already, since he already has prescriptions for them. Today he went to the VA clinic and goes back Monday, at which time he should be able to get the rest of them. I wish they would've given him samples at the hospital to carry over till then but they didn't.

As far as smoking - unfortunately, due to his meds, Irish can't use the patch or gum or any other nicotine-replacement things. He'd been cutting back and was down to half a pack a day by the time he went to the hospital last Wednesday. Since then, he's an no tobacco whatsoever. None. Yay! I'm very proud of him, because I understand nicotine is one of the most difficult addictions to quit. There's no tobacco in the apartment at all and he hasn't made any talk about getting more, either.

I'm so looking forward to the weekend! I want to sleep in Saturday, maybe slip off to a movie or Barnes & Noble, catch up on all those things that were left undone over the past week (dishes, laundry, vacuuming... ugh, not looking forward to that bit!). And tomorrow's payday. Yay! And my sweetie's at home.

I mean that sincerely - not being a bit sarcastic, here.

Last Tuesday (a week ago today), DH (aka Irish) complained of being very tired and went to bed early. About half an hour later, he called me into the bedroom and said he was hot - feverish - but clammy and his chest hurt, especially when he took a deep breath. He didn't have any jaw or arm pain, it wasn't radiating, and he wasn't sick to his stomach but of course we called 911 anyway. The EMTs came quickly, checked his blood pressure and listened to his heart - all fine - and hooked him up to a monitor - the readings were normal. Since everything was normal, he didn't go to the hospital, but went to a small VA clinic the next morning (Wednesday) to be checked out further.

At the clinic, all his readings were also normal, but because he still had pain in his chest, they wanted him to go to a larger clinic the next morning (Thursday). On Thursday morning, Irish dropped me off at work and drove himself to the clinic. About an hour later, he called and told me they were admitting him to the hospital because his blood pressure was so high (it had been normal on Tuesday and Wednesday). I called my mom, who lives about 20 miles away, and she picked me up at work and took me to the hospital. I got there about an hour after Irish, but I'd been speaking with him on the phone, so knew he wasn't feeling any worse than he had been and that they weren't rushing him into surgery or anything.

By the time I got there, he was in an examining room hooked up to oxygen and a monitor with a drip in his hand (and bleeding all over the place because he tore the tubing loose trying to use the little plastic urinal - he'd told them there wasn't enough slack but they said there was - guess who was right on that one!), watching tv. The ER doctor had narrowed the problem down to pleurisy or a blood clot. Of course we were hoping it wasn't a blood clot; Irish had a blood clot once not long before I met him and ended up in open heart surgery, and neither of us wanted that. Sometime after noon, they took him for a CT scan. Around 3:00, we still hadn't received results, so mom drove me over the the VA clinic to get my car, then she went home.

When I got back to the hospital, they'd finally received the CT scan results. Unfortunately, they showed blood clots - one in each lung. (Oddly, the larger one didn't cause any pain.) Also, once they had a diagnosis and they knew they didn't have to perform surgery or more tests, Irish was allowed to eat. (It was after 4:30 by the time he had a sandwich and he hadn't eaten anything all day.) The rest of the evening was a matter of waiting around till a room was available, which wasn't until just after 10:00 that evening.

So that's why I say "thank God for anti-climaxes" because it really is a bit of an anti-climax to the story to say Irish stayed in the hospital for four and a half days, get shots every twelve hours, and spent most of them bored and restless and wishing he could go home, and I picked him up at noon today and now he's home resting. It's a good anti-climax. This is the kind of adventure that doesn't need to keep building until something big happens. I like to think that Irish is too young (53) to have a fatal heart attack or stroke and that I'm too young (42) to be a widow, but I know that's not true. Anyway, now he's a non-smoker (and an avid cinnamon gum chewer) who has to take Coumadin every day, shave with an electric shaver, avoid wresting with the kitties, and revise his diet (which we both need to do in any case) and, God willing, we'll have a lot of years together. Hopefully without further medical adventures!

Sunrise Hospital, in Las Vegas, by the way, is wonderful and the ER and 5th floor nurses rock. I suspect they're as short-staffed and overworked as hospital nurses are around the country, but they were never cross, short-tempered, or impatient. (Maybe it helped that I told Irish he had to be good to the nurses because they run the place and could make his life miserable? My middle sister is a nurse; I try to treat them as well as I'd like people to treat her.)

And now it's 5:30 and I'm so tired - you'd think I haven't been sleeping but I have - and there's no food in the house, so I'm off to buy a healthy supper to bring home to my sweetie and spend the evening watching more Due South.