K.A.O.S. Headquarters

Oh where to begin, where to begin....

We have a neurotic cat.  Well, technically Karina has a neurotic cat, since it only likes her.  Elsa the cat does not deal well with lots of change or drama.  She has ways of expressing her displeasure.  Usually, she expresses it all over the dog bed, which is blessedly washable.  Unfortunately, for some reason she decided this was not a good enough outlet, shall we say.  The rug in Karina's room and the wood floor will never be the same.

This was discovered in the flurry leading up to Mary and Sarah leaving for the airport.  There was cleaning and scrubbing and airing.  Fortunately, no one would have to sleep in that room, so it would be fine.  Right? They are dropped at the airport and check their luggage and all is well.  And then the Portland fight is cancelled due to fog.  Ok, well, they are going south, not north.  Then the inbound flight from Las Vegas has to land in Medford instead for refueling due head winds.  Once on the ground, they cannot continue due to fog.  Back to the airport (after they've been hanging there for a few hours).  Reassemble the room.  Drag the reeking rug to the garage.  Collapse.

Everyone is up early.  They go back to the airport for an 8 am check in for an alleged 10 am flight.  This flight left at 2 pm.  If you've ever been to the Eugene Airport (home of Baggage Claim Only) you'll know there is not much to occupy your time for many, many hours.  This seems like a poor repayment for their kindness, let me say.

After an hour of being badgered within an inch of my life, Jen picked Karissa up for a play date, bless her.  I managed to get up AND dressed.  Kelly comes home to meet the woman from the medical supply company coming to pick up the insane amount of trach supplies we no longer need.  We got a 1/4 of our family room back.  Karina and I managed to make a sojourn to the Fred Meyer for milk and a Hanukkah gift.  As I had not anticipated losing a couple months of my life, my preparedness for Thanksgivikkah is lacking.  Good thing it doesn't come around for another 70,000 years.  Who knew a spin around the grocery store could be a work out???

Arrive back home, Jen returns Karissa, we speed off to my massage therapy appointment.

You know those cars teenage boys keep in the garage, rebuilding them as they can afford parts?  That is me. I've got several replacement parts now, but the Bondo isn't working out so great in some places.  Today was Miracle Mia making my rear hurt less, smoothing out the 12" s-shaped incision where they took the skin and muscle for the flap, and trying to sort out what is ticking my stomach off.  Apparently it's my chest dragging on it. Isn't it always?

Karina and crew pick me up from massage therapy. We race home to find our yard a hub of activity.  Angie, Carol and Randine are cutting back raspberries and grapes.  Stan and Lori are here to pick up Karissa for riding.  It seems like there are 19 cars in the drive way.  The amazing crew cut all back and loaded it up and Karina and Nathan hauled it to Lane Forest.  Way past generous considering the high today was 48 and foggy.  Again, not enough Karma points in the world.

Lori brings Karissa home and I make her some dinner.  Of course she has to go to the bathroom after one bite.  And... the dog steals the rest.  Pets, they enhance our lives.  Make her another dinner.  Lay out the schedule of homework and piano for the evening.  Kelly arrives home and I conveniently escape to the shower.  BWHAHAHA.

The book about tube feeding I ordered arrived and it is full of fascinating information.  Some of it is really important information, like you need to turn your tube regularly so the skin doesn't grow to it.  That would have been useful information to be told in the hospital.  Actually, no one really ever said anything about my feeding tube, and only looked at it maybe once or twice.  In all fairness, there was the whole "will the flap live," "did we get all the cancer," "what the hell is this infection," drama, so I guess dismissing something as mundane as a feeding tube is pretty understandable.  I'm going to send the name of this book to the dietitian though, so she can at least recommend it to people.

Also, based on what I've read thus far, the transition to 'regular' food should not be that difficult.  I have no food allergies, I don't have a compromised immune system, and I was eating regular food before the surgery. Blenderized Diet here I come!

The C-Diff test was negative, speaking of food processing.  I'm bombing in the probiotics and have figured out how to get the extra fiber stuff in as well.  I'm hopeful that transitioning to real food will help all this, and Imodium is a wonderful stop-gap.

The trach hole is nearly closed.  Once it is closed all the way, my speaking voice, such as it is, will improve. Not that being able to shower without potentially drowning myself like a turkey poult in a rainstorm should be undervalued.  Also, this is my last bandaged part.  I can take major surgery with Tylenol just fine.  Pulling medical tape off my skin reduces me to a writhing, crying mass.  Go figure.

As for speaking, it is not as bad as I had feared and I'm not that far out from surgery.  Ironically "K" is an impossible sound for me to make.  Some things I say are very understandable.  Others not so much.  Early on in her visit, Mary said, "I've known you too long to nod and smile.  If I don't know what you said, I'm just going to tell you."  Please do!!!  I would rather you say you don't understand me than pretend that you do. That either leads to miscommunication or frustration, or both.  There are note pads and magnadoodles.  I can say it slower.  I play a mean game of charades.   You will not hurt my feelings if you say you don't understand me.  You are being kind and honest.

A long day.  Not enough sleep.  Ready for bed.  Good night, all!