Category: My Life

Lemonaid

Back to the old saw, “When life hands you lemons, make lemonade.”

Yes, I realize that I misspelled lemonade in the title, but that was deliberate as it has to do with my previous post.

I left you, the reader, with the better half and me poised to head up to southern Illinois to look at homes where we could retire.

Thursday evening of the weekend before Labor Day weekend, the dog Filbrix was due at “Doggie Camp” the next morning, our hotel room was booked, and we were nearly packed for our trip when my daughter called in a panic. It appears that at the last possible moment, she and her significant other were told to vacate their premises because they were “Out of Control.” It sounded to the better half and me that my daughter and her significant other were deemed “Out of Control” because they were in a same-sex relationship.

Relationships aside, they needed a place to go. I didn’t hesitate, nor did my better half. Life had handed my daughter a lemon. I was going to aid them by offering our hospitality… hence, the term “Lemonaid” in the title.

A few back and forths later, it was determined that my daughter would make her way from Georgia to Texas at the same time the better half and I were on our way to house-hunt in Illinois. Since she would arrive in Texas in our absence, we arranged for a key to be held by a mutual friend so my daughter could gain access to the house.

Crisis averted, for her. More lemons to come for us.

When we went to Illinois, we had a specific house in mind to look at and/or to make an offer for. In-town, close to a dog park (one of the dog Filbrix’s favorite things), nicely done back yard, and solar panels already installed and running. The better half was sold when she saw the solar panels. Two-thirds of the way to our destination, our Realtor called and told us that the house had been taken off the market. Sold. Dang!

Fortunately, we were forearmed of the possibility that the house we wanted would be unavailable, so, we had three other places we would look at.

The first was an older grey stucco in an historic district with a detached garage which looked like there would be a Studebaker hidden inside once the garage door was opened. It looked lovely until we went inside. Apparently, the previous owner had passed on to his reward and the house was being sold as part of his estate. There was trash (neatly bagged) in the living room and other indications that nothing had been done to make the house more saleable. Not only that, but the garage was empty. No Studebaker.

We then moved on to a newer place, a ranch house, with what could charitably be called a pie-shaped backyard. There were signs that the neighbors were potentially noisy and the house had a weird layout. We passed.

The third place was perfect. Large, fenced-in yard, fantastic master suite, well laid out, and a sunroom where we could install a hot tub!

We made an offer, but someone beat us to it.

Back to the drawing board.

We had a chat with the finance guy and a chat with the Realtor. The upshot was that while our credit was swell and we could pull the money together for a down payment and closing costs, we needed to sell our house in Texas before we could buy a house in Illinois.

Now, our trip wasn’t a total wash… we did manage to connect with the other half’s children (and the grandchild) while we were there. We also found a decent place to get barbecue. The trip back was scenic (although it involved a few more hours of travel than we would have liked), and we got a few ideas of places we’d like to visit once we relocated.

Once we got back, though, we knew what needed to be done. We were determined to make the move, but now we had a clearer vision of what needed to be done and in what order. And then there was the task of getting the house in order with two more humans to either help or hinder.

But that’s a tale for another time.

Be Seeing You!

Who Needs a Gym Membership When They Have a Dog?

This morning, I took the dog Filbrix out for an extended walk on the Chaparral Trail from the Farmersville trailhead while strangers came to look at my house.

The strangers were there for a good reason. The better half and I have put the house up for sale so we can move ourselves and the dog Filbrix to southern Illinois. Our hope is that the strangers who came to look at our house will find it at least tolerable and will want to move in straight away.

Or at least after the fifth of November.

Why the move is because of several factors… among them being two stepchildren and one and two-thirds of a grandchild already living in southern Illinois. After making several trips up there over the past few years, we have found less expensive housing (some of that actually “cheaper” as you will find out as you continue to read this essay), the people are generally friendly, and there are actual hills and forested areas nearby.

Shades of southern Ohio!

After having suffered through Chemotherapy in the past twelve months, both the better half and I decided it was time for a change. Except for one stepdaughter, we no longer have a good reason to stay here in what I have called, “My own little corner of the DFW Metromess.” The strongest tie we had was my Mother-in-Law, until recently, living in San Antonio. My wife drove there once a month or so over most of the past year while the M-I-L wasted away due to Parkinson’s. She passed in May. Her ashes, as well as the ashes of her late husband, are in what the better half calls our “Conservatory.”

One other reason for us to “Head for the Hills” is that the better half’s job will come to an end in early November. She is a day nurse for a juvenile with physical “issues”. Her patient will age out of the system, meaning he will turn 18, meaning she will no longer have a patient to attend to. So, she has decided that she will retire at about the same time the two-thirds of a grandchild will make his appearance among the living.

Two-third’s older brother can hardly wait. A brother, Nana, and The Colonel (an inside joke) will all be in Illinois along with much of the rest of the family.

The decision to move was made in early July. I started perusing Zillow and found several houses available in what I thought would be an attractive price range. That in mind, I girded my loins and made a solo trip to look at a couple of candidates in a town once known for producing washing machines.

I made an appointment with a Realtor to look at what I thought was the best candidate for the money. The appointment ended up being a total bust. The neighborhood was nice, the house looked nice from the outside, but once inside, it was a total disaster. It seems that the house had been repossessed and that the lein holder was anxious to get at least some money for the money he or she was about to lose. If someone would have left the electricity on, the basement would not have gotten wet, leading to several other problems.

One of the other homes I was half interested in viewing was a rambling place on the other side of town, again at a bargain price. I had a quick glance and that was all I needed to convince myself that I didn’t want to even think about the place. There was a four to six foot ditch in front of the house. Seriously. Evidently, it was on the wrong side of the tracks.

My trip in July wasn’t a total wash, though. I left with a favorable impression and was able to touch base with the kiddos. It became a further win-win on the way back to Texas when I concluded that there were certain stretches of road in Oklahoma I didn’t really want to drive on.

I returned with a determination that I wanted to relocate. Plans for a second trip in August, this time with the better half, started to come together. We made reservations, found a place to park the dog, worked on getting pre-approval for a mortgage, had a handful of houses we thought we might be interested in viewing, and were practically on the road when something came up.

More later. The story will get interesting, I promise.

Be Seeing You!

Past Due for an Update

This one may take a while.

For those of you who follow me solely on WordPress, I’m still here and I’m relatively healthy. Chemotherapy is now four months behind me. From the looks of it, I’m thriving. I had a CAT scan, a visit with my Oncologist’s Physician’s Assistant, and a session with the nurse in the infusion room to clear my port. The only lingering effect has been the neuropathy in my fingers and my feet. My Primary Care Physician put me on a drug that was supposed to help… two months (and $120) into the recommended therapy and I don’t feel as if there has been any difference. The PA at the Oncologist’s office told me that healing takes time. (Lord give me patience… RIGHT NOW!!!)

Part of my tardiness on this platform was due to my Mother-In-Law’s illness and eventual passing back in May. She had been having a tough time with her health, exacerbated by the death of my Father-In-Law just before Christmas last year. My wife, with my blessing, drove down to see her mother in San Antonio on average once per month. I pointed out to her that while the distance was daunting, she would appreciate having time to spend with her mother before her eventual demise. Not to pat myself on the back too hard, but I was right in my assessment. My wife returned to the house from her last trip to see her mother less than 48 hours before her mother died. My wife was grateful that she went on my insistence.

With death comes responsibility. We have spent more than a little time attending to details involving my M-I-L’s estate and planning a get-together for a memorial service in San Antonio. We were able to gather for the memorial service with little or no problem. I arranged for hotels and a couple of meals for an assortment of family from as far away as Southern Illinois. It was good to see the grands and to marvel at how much they had grown in the past two years or so since we last saw them. The service was on Saturday and some of us deliberately took time on Sunday to go down to the Riverwalk in Downtown San Antonio. It had been a while since I last went there, and it will likely be a while before I head back down there.

Now I could say something to the point that life returned to normal after we returned to our home base in our little corner of the DFW Metromess… but that would be less than truthful.

During the last of my Chemotherapy sessions, I started taking a look at our family’s fiscal position in anticipation of my wife’s retirement. Not long before losing her mother, my wife’s hours as a nurse for a patient in the next town over were cut to accommodate a situation with her patient’s care. Her patient was allocated so many hours of care per week. She had been working overtime – a situation not appreciated by the agency she worked for. After doing some calculations it was decided that she would continue with fewer hours with her income supplemented by Social Security. In the short term, we would be a bit better off. In the long term, we came to the realization that since her patient turned 18 in the first part of November, her job would go away. Since she turned 67 in March, she decided that enough was enough and that she would just go ahead and retire at that time.

So the question came up – “What comes next?”

Three years ago, my stepdaughter and her husband moved to Southern Illinois. Her brother, my stepson, joined her about a year later. The attraction was a lower cost of living (as compared to the DFW Metromess). Both of the stepchildren were able to purchase homes of their own for considerably less than what they would have to pay here in the Metromess. I did some prowling on the internet and found more than an ample supply of housing we could purchase, again at a reasonable price, leaving us with a considerable nest egg after selling the house we are living in now. I started prowling on the internet well before the demise of my Mother-In-Law, keeping it mostly to myself until a few weeks after the memorial service. My wife warmed up to the idea after I took a solo trip to the area to get a feel for it… well, that and the presence of a grandchild (soon-to-be grandchildren).

I’m still running the numbers, but it looks as if a move could be likely in a few months. Allow me to expand on the idea at a later date.

Be Seeing You!

This time – Gold!

A few days ago, I quit communicating with a young woman supposedly living in Los Angeles calling herself Ellie. She was one of several young women who have “accidently” gotten a hold of me on Telegram – a secure platform boasting end-to-end encryption, enabling privacy for any number of purposes.

For the most part the purposes I have encountered have included an investment scheme, usually involving Cryptocurrency. Ellie started out differently. When I asked if she was doing Crypto, she answered that she had lost in the low six-figures in Crypto.

Her investments were in gold… but it sure sounded a lot like the pitch for Crypto.

When the subject of investing in gold came up, I politely declined and we had conversations covering other areas, such as her desire to ride a horse, or her plans to visit her parents in Singapore, or another plan to visit Japan, or even telling me about the time she got mugged in Paris. France.

Eventually, though, every conversation we had (with the full knowledge of my wife) circled back to an invitation to invest in gold. I came to realize that my conversations with Ellie had only continued because I was, to her, a project, not a person.

Here’s a bulletin – I am not a project. I have more than a few friends who are much better off than I will ever be (barring an unlikely win in the lottery) and none of them has treated me as a project needing their assistance. My friends know that thanks to good money management on my part, I am in relatively good shape financially. I have what I need to thrive. I am not some poor schlub needing a fabulous investment opportunity handed to me. I am an equal. Occasionally, one of my better-off friends will buy me lunch.

And I am good with that.

The better half and I won’t be driving around in a Bentley or one of Mr. Musk’s battery-powered vehicles anytime soon nor will we jump into an airliner to visit Singapore on a whim. However, we pay our bills and usually have enough left at the end of the month to put into savings and take the occasional trip to the Hideaway Ranch where we can soak naked in a hot tub.

Now, if Ellie or anyone else REALLY wants me to take advantage of a short-term investment opportunity with a large return, I need a lot more information than a name and a vague idea where that person lives. And in the unlikely event that I agree to make an investment, I need to know a heck of a lot more about where my money will be going. I don’t care to be providing a dividend for someone further up in the food chain in some Ponzi scheme.

Some years ago, I fell in love with the movie NETWORK. William Holden’s character was in the process of breaking up an affair with Faye Dunaway’s character, delivering the line that Ms. Dunaway’s character was “… television incarnate… shallow, vapid, and lacking any sort of soul.” (I am paraphrasing, here.) I thought of that movie in my dealings with Ellie. She (and others like her) are the Internet incarnate. Shallow, vapid, and lacking any sort of soul. All I can do at this point is to say bye bye. Better luck with the next person you wish to sucker into your investment scheme.

Gold standard, indeed!

Be Seeing You

Continuing the Journey – 8 Weeks Later

Eight Weeks

May 9, 2020

Taking Care of Business

Eight weeks ago today, I had the needle going into the port feeding me chemotherapy drugs removed for the last time. Today, I am in a bit of a daze, coming off anesthesia administered while I was undergoing a Colonoscopy. The good news – nothing was found in my colon. The bad news – I still have 44 weeks of being monitored by the Oncologist before she will declare me free of the dreaded cancer. In the meantime, I am taking care of business.

It was a Colonoscopy done three years ago that made me a cancer patient to begin with. It was a small mass in my rectum noted by the Gastroenterologist when I had my first Colonoscopy. For a few months, there was quite a bit of hand-wringing going on as to how much damage was done and where, and what to do about it.

I was referred to a surgeon who did a resection with the help of a robot nicknamed “Karen”. After consultation with the Oncologist, it was thought that I was out of the woods, but the Oncologist insisted on watching me for the next five years just to make sure that there was no problem.

I was scheduled for a follow-up Colonoscopy a year after the first one. Nothing was found and I was told to come back in two years.

A little past the one-year mark, or a little less than a year ago, the Rectal Cancer had popped up on my liver. Surgery, Chemotherapy (as a preventative measure) and more hand-wringing later, I found myself sitting with my laptop recalling all that had happened in the three years since my first Colonoscopy.

Quite the journey, but it’s not the last of it.

As I mentioned, I have 44 weeks, four visits with my Oncologist, at least one extra visit to have the port removed, four CAT scans, two visits with my primary care physician, and a partridge in a pear tree. There are a couple of financial details needing my attention (due to an office failing to pay attention to changes in my insurance) and other visits concerning my eyesight.

For the most part, though, I am healthy and wise. Never really wealthy, but two out of three ain’t bad.

Be Seeing You!

An April Fool Prank +50 years

An April Fool Prank +50 years

I came to the realization earlier today that 50 years ago, I was on the radio and needed to pull off a prank. With the help of a young woman, I was able to accomplish my mission. Here’s the scoop…

On a cool and rainy night fifty years ago, I teamed with an OU-C classmate to promote a “Streak In” at the OU-C parking lot on WBEX. A small group of people came to the station just before the April Fool was announced – one of them, a young woman, exposed her breasts, much to the amusement of the group she was with, the classmate helping me in the ruse, and me.

I stayed after the station signed off and filed a modified version of the story to the Associated Press. The Chillicothe Gazette took notice and I was on the front page the next afternoon, to the amusement of my co-workers and the young woman helping me with the ruse.

The VP mentioned was in her late seventies at the time and was the only person at the station not amused by the antics from the previous evening.

Be Seeing You!

My Cancer Journey – Intermission

My Cancer Journey – Intermission

In real time, my journey through Chemotherapy has been over for a week. The plug was pulled on my port on March 15th and I got to ring the bell, much to the delight of the nurses and fellow patients at the infusion center.

But the journey is not really over.

According to my Oncologist, I will be checked quarterly for the next year to make sure that the treatment has been 100% effective. My Oncologist did not say how often I would be seeing her after the year is up, although I imagine that I will likely be seeing her (or one of her minions) regularly for some time after that.

In the short term, though, I will be gathering my notes and putting them together to create a book. This will happen at about the same time as I polish up three stories I have neglected in the past six months.

There were a couple of things popping up today – one of them being the news that Kate Middleton, Mrs. Duke of Wales, had cancer when she underwent abdominal surgery earlier this year. It was reported that she would be undergoing preventative Chemotherapy just as I had just finished. After posting a comment on a friend’s posting of Kate’s impending journey, I was answered by a woman whose husband successfully underwent Chemo but later took his own life because of the aftereffects.

A sad story, but not totally unexpected. Chemotherapy is rough on a person. Yes, there will be some lingering aftereffects. I’ve had a few myself. I believe, though, that the worst of the aftereffects will be gone in another 6-8 weeks – in time to go with the better half to our special retreat in what I refer to as “Near west Texas” to snag some serious time in a hot tub.

I hope that Princess Kate will do the Chemo thing and do it with flying colors.

Anyhoo, during the meanwhilst, it’s intermission time here in my little corner of the DFW Metromess. More dispatches about my experiences will resume in a couple of weeks.

Be Seeing You!

My Cancer Journey XIII

My Cancer Journey XIII

In real time, I have had a busy couple of weeks – which I will delve into later. In the meantime, here is more of my journey…

November and December

Sessions four, five and six were accomplished in what could be described as the “Bleak Midwinter.” True, it was still technically Autumn, but still…

After a short absence, “Willie”, the quiet veteran in his wheelchair from the first infusion, started to become a usual acquaintance. What happened to the other veteran, we have no idea. Maybe he thought that quitting treatment like he said his other group did, was a viable choice.

I could see where someone could think so. Just give up and let the bastard win.

A Facebook friend in Ohio was having similar thoughts after having a stage four lung cancer diagnosis of his own. That friend had been through the wringer for several months prior to his diagnosis beforehand. Still, he decided to see if treatment would do him any good – buy him more time before the grim reaper came by to collect him.

Another friend, one from high school, consented to experimental treatment for his lung cancer several years ago. The treatment bought him another year. When he went, he went quickly. There were continuing conversations we were having which would never be completed.

Several other of my high school companions had more luck with their treatments. Two of them went to the Mayo Clinic and are in remission, leading me to quip that because we didn’t have a Mayo Clinic, we in Texas had to settle for a Miracle Whip Clinic. (Bad joke, I know, but I am known for bad jokes.)

Another of my compadres from high school went into remission at the Cleveland Clinic. He was spared the early death his father suffered. I recall running into his father less than a month before his demise. He appeared normal for a man in his early sixties. It was a shock to learn of his passing.

For myself, I don’t think I’m finished quite yet. Still want to be shot by a jealous lover at the age of 102.

By the time of my third infusion, I could be certain of a couple of things. For one, I could handle certain functions all by myself. On the eleventh of November, my wife went to San Antonio to visit her ailing mother. I was on day four of that round of infusion and for the most part, I felt that I could manage being on my own. I did rather well, considering. Some friends were having a gathering out in the county… people I wanted to see, so, I went. Solo. Did fairly well – donated to the potluck (a Pizza Hut goodie box), had a great time and came back with enough leftovers to last a week. What luck!

The only problem I was having at this point was constipation lasting one to three days after the infusion. Sparing the details, it was one of the worst side effects I had had so far. Combined with hemorrhoids, I was much less than pleased that my own personal plumbing system was not working correctly. Over the course leading up to the halfway point in my Chemo journey, I eventually learned ways to keep from having to be constipated.

The second infusion in December marked the half-way point in my infusion journey. Quite the accomplishment in many ways. In other ways, the journey was becoming tiresome, having to deal with some of the side effects. In addition, I was dealing with my usual Seasonal Affective Disorder. Snapping out of SAD was the next task I had to steel myself with. That and another event which made Christmas not as happy as it should have been.

Brave

From one of the various observations I’ve made on this journey:

Round 5, Day 5

Sunday (12/10)

Other than feeling a bit out of phase, Sunday was actually fairly good. I woke up earlier than usual (by design) and was able to take care of my normal Sunday morning duties with little fuss. There was the bit of fuss about Carol dragging her feet and making us late to church, but I let it go until after we got home, explaining that part of what keeps me grounded is having routine.

We left it at that.

I found myself with my mind wandering and my body attempting to keep up with what we Episcopalians call “Pew Aerobics” (Sit, Stand, Sit, Kneel, Stand, Sit, etc.). Our Seminarian – on the cusp of being Ordained, delivered the sermon – something having to do with Advent. I didn’t realize that he was the Seminarian until after the service when I asked, “Who’s that hippie?”

Immediately after Communion, I went with Carol to the Crying Room in the back of the church where she made herself available for healing prayer as a member of the Order of St. Luke. We had a chat with a parishioner whose brother had cancer. We had been praying for him and his brother for several weeks. He told us when we met that his brother died the previous Sunday. We prayed for both.

The Rector (Minister as a point of reference to non-Episcopalians) came in while we were commiserating, offering comforting words and then pivoting to my experience, stating that he thought I was brave for going through Chemo.

I never considered myself to be “Brave.” Rather, the opposite. Not that I’m a craven coward. I’ve been scared of plenty of things, not the least of which has been going through Chemotherapy. Thinking it through, though, what our Rector said made plenty of sense. It takes a fair amount of bravery to face a potentially fatal disease head-on while being afraid of what’s needed to face that disease. The pokes, the prods, the surgery, the port, and the medicines are all pretty darn scary. At the same time, something in the back of my mind tells me to keep on keeping on. I will get through this.

Something else keeps me going. It’s the support of family and friends through this stage of my life. I have been astounded at the response to some of my postings. They have helped me make it this far… helping me to be brave in the face of what I am going through. For that support, I am humbled beyond reckoning.

Sunday’s best show of support came from my stepson, Warren. He was down here in the DFW Metromess to attend a wedding over the weekend, and he took the time to stop in to see us Sunday afternoon. Although he never said so directly, he was concerned about my health. Something I especially appreciated from him. Now, I wasn’t being particularly brave in his presence, but I have an inkling that somewhere in the back of his mind he’s proud of my bravery. It’s just his way.

Again, I appreciate the Prayers and the Karma coming my way. I’m going to make it through this. Honest.

Be Seeing You!

My Cancer Journey XII

My Cancer Journey XII

I spent most of yesterday celebrating a “Normal” day with lots and lots of sunshine. Because of the President’s Day holiday, my mindset and the garbage collectors think this is Tuesday.

Normal Days

Cycle 3, Day 9

Since Day 7 of this cycle, I have been experiencing what I am going to call “Normal Days.” Most of the immediate ill effects of Chemotherapy have worn off. No bandages, no “football” to carry around, no constipation, and nearly normal sleep patterns.

There are some effects I need to realize won’t be going away.

Cold, for instance.

I’m writing this wearing a long-sleeved undershirt, a short-sleeved golf shirt, and topped off with a sweatshirt. And I am cold still cold.

Admittedly it’s partly my fault.

One of the benefits of Normal Days is that I can indulge again in cold orange juice and “Dad Tea.” For the uninitiated, “Dad Tea” is my own variation of that syrupy (in my opinion) concoction known as “Sweet Tea” served here in the south. My variation uses decaffeinated tea, and only a slight hint of sugar. Since starting chemo, “Dad Tea” is more of a luxury than a basic element of living. Of course, served over ice, so I expect to be cold.

I’ve also set the thermostat down to 68 degrees.

Part of my problem with chemo is that I have developed sensitivity to cold, especially in my fingers. If I lunge into the freezer, or for that matter even the refrigerator, my fingertips let me believe that even a quick delve into said appliance puts me in immediate danger of frostbite. And I am wondering if maybe that feeling will continue after I’ve finished with chemo. I had a chat with a friend of mine who had finished chemo a few months ago. He complained that since chemo he has had cold feet – even on the warmest days.

As I’ve continued this journey, I’ve looked forward to Normal Days. Sometimes my normal days are few (only one Normal Day during round 4), other cycles, most of the days between treatment are Normal Days. Sure, there are times I need to bundle up to avoid the cold. Other times, I am thankful that the meds are either better tolerated or there just weren’t as many meds on a cycle.

But today is a “Normal Day.”

I’ve done my normal rounds, walked the dog Filbrix, took the trash cans to the curb, filled and ran the dishwasher, checked my emails, and sparred with my insurance carrier.

It feels darn good to be able to do so.

I could complain, but I won’t.

It’s a “Normal Day.” May as well enjoy it while I have it.

Round 4

The day before Thanksgiving is no time to sit in the clinic to receive a dose of Chemo and the attendant medicines. The day after Thanksgiving I needed to have the needle pulled out of my port – something that I couldn’t have done at the infusion clinic due to the staff having the day off. Taking the needle out was all up to me.

I received the good news that I was approved to pull my own needle on the Monday before the infusion. Yes, I viewed the video on the internet and was briefed on the subject ahead of time. Just to be certain that I had the routine down pat, I was pulled into the infusion center ahead of the medications and was given a thorough set of instructions from the nurse in charge of giving instructions to us. A printed set of instructions was included in the package sent home with me, along with supplies and a pair of plastic bags containing the supplies.

The other reason the day before Thanksgiving is no time to sit in the clinic to receive a dose of Chemo and the attendant medicines is that the chemicals tended to kill my appetite, partially because the chemicals played hell with my taste buds.

Thanksgiving turned into a glum affair – Carol didn’t have to cook other than to heat up a package of Hormel Turkey and Gravy (four minutes in the microwave), slam together some mashed potatoes, and figure out what she was going to serve as a vegetable. The only happy creature in the house was the dog Filbrix. I was only able to choke down a little over half of what I was served. Filbrix did her duty by finishing up what I had on my plate. She’s good at that.

There were walks, there were naps, and there was lots of time cruising the internet and phoning the progeny to tell them Happy Thanksgiving.

The test came on Friday. In some senses, the operation was really simple. Daunting, but simple. Stripping the lines between the port and the pump – Injecting saline to clear the line – and then pulling the needle out with the assistance of the butterfly attachments built into the needle. Carol and I managed, got the pump and the needle placed into a “Sharps” bag, and went on with life over the long weekend.

When we were back to reality on Monday, I got in the car and delivered the plastic bags with the pump and the attendant tubing back to the infusion clinic. By the time I arrived, the place was swimming in Christmas decorations. Some of the work was done the day before Thanksgiving. The rest, later. Not unexpected, since nurses like to have a few days off, too.

Be Seeing You!