Happy Island Home

Waking up in the morning looking out at the lake, listening to the birds’ morning, smelling the coffee wafting down the hall these are the little moments of contentment we treasure. The dark cradle of co-kee, co-kee and other night sounds rocks away the stress of the day. We love our home in Puerto Rico.

Happy people tucked up in an island hideaway. That’s us. Most days we don’t let Kirt’s amputation diminish that image. He works out with his weights, so he’s ready for the new leg. I think he sees the possibilities for his life. We want to drive around the island visiting the beaches and mountains, the charming plazas call our names. Some days I see optimism in his eyes, but not today.

Today he seems weak. There’s a lost look in his eyes I don’t like. His blood sugar is fine, so that’s not the concern. He’s fallen twice, slipped out of bed, which he hasn’t done before, so I worry. He fell last week, but had the strength to pull himself up, didn’t even call me. Today he could hardly get up even with my help.  Who will get him up, if I can’t? I feel isolated for the first time.

My Aunt Margaret says we made a mistake in coming here. We’re happy here is what I told her. She says we should be near family. We’ve never lived near family, so I don’t relate to that comment. We take care of ourselves, always have. The beauty of nature is an important part of our days. Aunt Marge says we should have a house in the shadow of a good hospital. She’s eighty-seven, of course, she’d think that way.

Last year we lived on the other side of the wall from a person who was very unhappy. Before long she began to share her misery. We couldn’t take it. We’re happy here.

After I got Kirt back in bed, I took the garbage out. The German Sheppard somebody dumped yesterday was standing in the road wagging his tail. He came up for a bowl of kibble. A big bull frog sat on the porch with uncomprehending eyes. It didn’t budge when Chi-Ping sniffed it. She went in the house, so the dog could eat without her growling.

Kirt’s snoring, needs his c-pap on, so I hook him up. Whatever we should do is in God’s hands, I’m not going to worry.  

Isla del Encanto Yin and Yang

Doctor appointments, nurse and therapist visits dot the calendar like dandelions in spring. Thank God, Puerto Rico doesn’t have dandelions! Impromptu trips to the ER in San Juan have been their own special brand of hell, leaving us spent in the wake.

Our home in Guajataca has special healing energy, the lake, the mountains; we thrive after surgery. Kirt’s incision is healing beautifully. Last year in New Orleans the other leg, toe amputation took forever, and hyper bariatric treatments, to heal.  My surgeries have also healed better once I got here.  

Kirt comforted a dying puppy holding it close to him in the final hours. He stared at the lifeless rear end with red eyes brimmed with tears. I could feel the strong gift of energy Kirt gave the pup to no avail. The little head gazed at him with peaceful eyes half closed, until just before the end she cried, loudly. I’m just a puppy. I don’t want to die. Slumped in his chair Kirt rolled to the bedroom.

 The concept of yin and yang works in hyper drive here. Pointless trips to San Juan followed by other trips, exuberant praise from doctors genuinely surprised to see his progress. Sadly, it only pisses me off to know how much they wrote him off. I am glad that they seem to be sincerely preparing him for the new leg. The prospect is renewing. When he can think past the pain and shit, he smiles as he talks about walking again.

Speaking of smiles, if puppies make us smile, this is Puerto Rico, La Isla del Encanto, hold on another puppy is under a van at the bottom of our driveway as we speak.  Let’s get him before a car does.

We have a new puppy. Aren’t we lucky? And so Lucky he is.  

Another VA ER Saturday

Hey, anybody remember what we did last Saturday? That was so much fun let’s play Saturday, San Juan, VA Emergency Room again. This time Kirt rode in an ambulance.

The morning began with Castor Oil just like last weekend. This week there wasn’t the pain of butt ripping turds, yippie ki. What we had here was failure to defecate followed by reverse flow. You wouldn’t believe what came out of his mouth and nose. “Pat,” he bellowed like a dying bull elephant. I recognized my name or I wouldn’t have known it was Kirt calling me.

Getting an ambulance to not stop in the nearest town, but to go directly to VA San Juan took a little doing. In a sincere desire to ensure the best care for my guy I spoke probably every word I know in Spanish today. I knew I was in trouble when the EMT guy who was speaking some English to me relayed to his partner his opinion of the course of events. The EMT partner assertively told my neighbor Gerardo, to tell me something. Gerardo, who speaks no English, looks me compassionately in the eyes and ever so slowly, enunciating carefully tells me what all the guys think in (what else?) Spanish!  

With Kirt headed toward help I sat on the bed stunned. When I first saw my love, my best buddy in the whole world slumped in the wheelchair spewing like something out of a horror movie, I wanted to throw up, and cry and scream. My head had thoughts of blowing up. I locked the dogs and cat in the house and headed to San Juan.

The ER Doc had been told that Kirt fell on the bathroom floor, couldn’t get up and his belly hurt. No mention of vomiting, constipatation, Castor Oil, being incoherent, or that I had given him aspirin because I thought he may have had a stroke. Armed with this new information the doctor continued with what he was doing.

Short story treated and released; we were home before Sunday. On the ride he complained of pain in the long leg. The stump hurt less than the good leg. His belly hurt less than the whole leg. God, please let it be his back. 

New Amputee's First Hurtle

Quarter past five this morning, the sun lights up haystack looking hills along the northern coast; we’re on the road to San Juan. As drives go this isn’t a bad one until traffic screeches to a halt.  First post discharge doctor visit questions race in my head. Kirt tolerates the drive with a little help.

Unloading is easier when the entry attendants give a hand, but I can get the wheelchair out of the trunk fairly well myself. Kirt transfers easily. Giving him our gear and double checking that I haven’t forgotten anything we may possibly need takes the longest. Morning parking is a competitive event. With any luck a kind vet may lead me to the space he’s about to vacate. God bless our Veterans. They are the heart of the nation.

My husband can’t touch more than his coffee for breakfast in the canteen. Stress mingles with the discomfort from the drive. He takes another pain pill. By the time he sees the doctors, everything is wonderful. I’m happy to report that the doctors agree with him. The wound, which they debride is looking fine. Oh, happy day, Kirt hurtles the first post discharge appointment with rave reviews, yeah!

We request that he be taught how to use crutches, so he can do more than transfer and head home to Lago Guajataca. 

The Rocky Road to Recovery

Almost 24 hours in an ER overwhelms on a good day. Somehow we’re never having a good day when we go to the Emergency Room, yes, 24 hrs. in emergency. Finally he had a good poop and went home. Happy Mothers’ Day everybody! And thank you, apparently he couldn’t have done it without you.

Today, stormy Monday sees grey enveloping all. Rains’ steady roar ringing in my head drowns the jazz radio station playing in the living room. Nothing but grey invades the day, but it’s not dark. My introvert loves days we can be alone together. Chi-Ping and Smoki are puddles on the floor around my bed. Blondie is at my feet. My Honey is in his room. Today, it’s good to be me.

Tomorrow will start on the road to San Juan. Did I tell you about the fool’s errand I was sent on last week? Run down to the VA San Juan with a prescription for medication to knock the socks off his pain. When he hurts it’s a son-of-a-gun. Rush hour traffic demands endurance I no longer possess, but there I was in early morning parking lot, I mean expressway traffic. Bitch, piss and moan, but I made it. It was early in the morning, so the wait to hand in the prescription wasn’t “killer.” Next wait, to pick up prescription could happen any time before close of business. Basically this is a whole day venture for me.

The line to pick prescription meds was short, when the guy at the window where the meds are given told me to go back to Window 2. That’s where the Rx is handed in; this isn’t good. I just know it. They’re not going to hand me his meds in the privacy of a small room and wish me a safe trip. I could feel my eyes bulge out of my head. The pharmacist is going on in Spanish about his meds. My answer is simple; don’t know what the doctor wanted to prescribe, call him; let’s get whatever it is so I can get back home. Through a haze of Spanish it becomes clear. I am brining NOTHING home.

Double the dose of what you have and bring a new prescription with you when you come to the next appointment. Son-of-a-gun, if that didn’t make sense. Why did I have to drive about two hundred miles round trip to find out? I was supposed to tell the doctor what? No, we don’t get trip pay.

So tomorrow, San Juan; we see the Docs. We are not ready to hear more above knee talk. Last year Kirt’s toectomy took ten months to heal. Kind of tells about the quality of circulation in his right. Tomorrow we’re talking left leg all the way. The suture/staple line is mixed with a couple of areas closed between big gaping separations with big scabs. In the middle a clear exudate continues to drain. Diana, the home care nurse does a bang up job of cleaning the wound. I’m glad to have her on the case.

Just when I think pick up the medication and go home something always happens and on Mothers’ Day when not too many were around I got stuck in an elevator. After a while that’s unnerving. The policeman who got me out steadied me. It can always get worse somehow always taunts at moments like this.

See you on the road to San Juan. Bendiciones.

Two for Guajataca

Adventure in our senior years whistled come. We traded the windswept prairie all white with snow for lush tropical forest with papaya, banana and mango.

Familiar comfort, people, Midwesterners like ourselves, the same accent, all the things we liked, and didn’t like about ourselves, don’t discard lightly. The waitresses at the Silver Dollar Restaurant poured our coffee as we got out of the car. “What’ll it be, the usual?” Tidbits shared with a smile or a nod. These everyday moments cling, texturizing my life. We won’t say we were bored, no, never.

My God, to think about, running off someplace totally strange, well not totally, but close enough to cause friends to wonder what the hell possessed us. Life as a respected dog trainer with a kennel and all that gave me great pleasure for many years. A tractor, a bobcat, a few buildings filled with guy toys; what man isn’t happy in spite of himself?

Kirt and I are well balanced. My life has been running away from or to something, screaming; screaming what depends on the day or year. Conservative Kirt mastered the “what if” cautious approach early in our marriage. I know how to get something to work and he tells me why it won’t, or shouldn’t.  I hate it when he makes good points.

For more than a decade we talked about retiring to New Orleans, where we have friends and family. I love New Orleans, thank you Grandma! The very first time we landed in San Juan Kirt exclaimed, “This is where I’m going to retire. I’m going to live here!” My other half heard from and noted without more thought than of pigs flying. On Sundays my grandmother and I walked the streets surrounding St. Louis Cathedral in New Orleans looking in shop windows. She asked me questions about school, my friends, what I thought about this or that. What I thought; what a concept! How much would you want to re-visit that? Come on, that’s home for me.

Always listen when the quiet man speaks. Kirt usually supports me doing whatever I want, so when he has an opinion I honor it. We went to look at property. Bienvenidos a Lago Guajataca.  

Home From the Hospital, Now What?

Home from the hospital post op below knee amputation with wound separated from the staples, in pain; now what do we do? I wish we had an answer.

Each day we start with medication. Thank you, God, for the chemists, who make lives tolerable, when they are not.  Meds, some days are the only answer, but it gets better.

Kirt gets bored, every five minutes he’ll call, “Can you give me some…. Can you get me some…. Would you get it for me, is my personal favorite. Before of course, Dear, becomes sarcastic we must have the talk about planning wants and needs. Don’t wait until I get back in bed to tell me you just filled the urinal. That’s not funny.

The muscle spasms Kirt had in the hospital continue with his knee popping back and forth. The stump leg looked like a giant crochette hook with him holding it writhing in pain. We found that holding the lower leg in a gentle traction help with the cramps plus his knee extension improved. On the dark side sometimes he had rebound cramps if I pulled too hard. Kirt asks to have his leg pulled, so I’m a leg puller with a reference. Today for the first time in a week he had cramps; not the hook screaming variety. Gracias a Dio.

Since our talk Kirt is getting exercise by doing more around the house. If I don’t make the coffee fast enough, he is set up with filter, grind, beans, etc. to make it for himself. He looked proud this morning, as he brought my first cup of coffee. Sweet.