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.

VA Stay in Time Perspective

The beauty of life for me is that given time and distance the better memories rise to the surface. Yesterday at the VA, where I was sent on a fool’s errand, smiling nurses and doctors appeared in my vision greeting, “How’s Carr?”

When I walked through the corridor, the nurse I thought of as the “dark hulk”, who would wake Kirt up with a raspy voice, “Carr, show me your arm band.”  The grand baldheaded silhouette towered over us, shading the suddenly bright light with his form. It became a regular morning treat, well, some days not so much, but a quietly competent, sweet, gentle man; we’ve come to know.

Tell you the truth, during the stay I felt like my brain sparked and caught on fire. Sometimes the top of my head felt hot, shit, it hurt. Seeing my darling man so sad, so hurt caused my heart chakra to pulse; that scared me but what the hell I was in a hospital. The big ebony guy wanting, now, to know how Carr’s doing is my angel. Each morning he looked into my eyes and smiled from his heart. I wasn’t just, “La esposa de Carr.” He saw me. That was priceless. Thanks, God, and VA San Juan for hiring my “Dark Hulk Angel.”

On the third floor sweet Ada with the knowledgeable hands and eyes, who does wound care extraordinaire smiled, “How’s Carr.” When “Les Miserables” were in the hospital all I could focus on was anything perceived as not good for my husband. I felt so comfortable with charming Ada’s skill. I allowed myself to go out of hearing range. My conversations with friendly confidants during these times kept me somewhat sane. Thank you, God, Ada, and my friends, Cheryl and Adri, for answering the phone.

Dr. Rodriguez, the shrink, whom I admire a whole bunch, Mary, the Social Worker, who does a bang-up job, and the Case Worker, Debra, maybe my favorite, all came for updates and well wishes. Dr. Aviles, the Rehab Doctor, who is one smooth dude on any continent listened to my description of Kirt’s leg, asked questions and gave me answers. Slam, bang, thank you and we’re on to the next item.

Next item is a whole “nother” story, which we’ll get to later. I just want to say that during the hospital stay it seemed natural to focus on the imperfections of a day. I’ll bet the shrinks have a spiffy name for it, like Patient Family Syndrome. When you love someone so much that you could go crazy with worry, no doubt, some of us can be a pain in the butt, but it’s all for the good of the patient; right! Thank you, VA, for seeing it that way. 

To make the rough times in a person’s life even tolerable is a tough job. Thank you San Juan VA; that’s all I have to say today.

Home from the Hospital

After two months in the hospital and three surgeries, my husband was going home. The drive graced with beautiful scenery went unnoticed as he stared at his leg with eyes filled with pain and sorrow, waiting for the brutal muscle spasms that have tortured him since the amputation, body tensing at every bump in the road, which is never longer than when heading home from the hospital; I thought as I looked at him holding his thigh.

San Juan faded in my rearview mirror. Memory of Kirt’s face the first time he saw the stump, flooded me with sadness. Loss so profound, unspoken, told by his eyes, when he took in his body and then looked into my eyes, slashed my heart. My pain at his loss is so great, how can he bear it? Greeted by green hills and blue ocean, Kirt began to look around.

Typically busy Friday afternoon traffic on the autopista/tollway demanded my attention. On rt. 22 there is a big charcoal colored fence with white birds that we noticed on our first ride west. He and I look at that fence. We smiled at each other for the first time in a while.

By the time we saw the exit sign for rt. 129 to Lares, Kirt’s pain meds were thin, so we pulled into the first gas station to medicate him before hitting the hills, the last leg of the journey twists and undulates. It will be the most challenging. I want the med to be kicking in good before we get to rt. 453. Some time is purchased at a roadside vendor along with watermelon, avocados and bananas.

Up the hill we go. I’m getting so tired. Two months of sitting by my husband’s bed hasn’t done anything good for my stamina, so all the running around and standing in line to get his gear and meds is taking its toll. It’s now rush hour on Friday. God, I want to be home.

On the highway the scenery enchanted Kirt, taking his mind off his pain. They don’t call this place La Isla del Encanto for nothing, but now we’re on bumpy country roads, that snake to and fro with everybody in a hurry to get home, including me. One thing about being a senior is that our limits become more clearly defined. I am burning out like a rocket’s red glare, so of course, I push harder. Kirt’s short leg went into spasm. He’s holding the leg in the air screaming as we hit a bump. Out of the corner of my eye it looks like he’s holding an elephant phallus. People want to get around us. It’s rush hour and I’m so tired, or maybe a little low blood sugar. I slowed down, so Kirt could get a grip on his pain and release his leg. Shit, I didn’t want Kirt to arrive home writhing.

From the car to the wheel chair, from the wheel chair to the bed transfers were made as quickly as I could manage. I ripped into his bag of meds to find the best pain management to handle him after the journey. The doctor told me he was going to step Kirt’s pills back a bit, but from 40 mg to 10mg, holy smoke, my eyes bulged out of my head, when I read that, but didn’t say a word. We focused on Kirt’s breathing. I held his stump in a gentle traction until the spasms subsided. We were home.

   

Puerto Rico Sunday Morning And Me

Sunday morning leisurely spent looking out bedroom window where trees dot undulating shade and sunlit pastures silent save the dove hooting in the big orange Flamboyant tree. Yesterday’s mown lawn smells green and rico enticing me to breathe more deeply, savoring the richness. I am loathe to lumber to the kitchen to make coffee. Did I say coffee?

Soon the scent of freshly ground coffee stirs me to take care of Kirt’s morning needs. The amputation wound is healing, looks like a great big circular scab. To be more precise it looks like somebody slashed him with a knife. I guess it looks like what it is; hmm, why that feels like a big revelation is beyond me, but so it goes. We have so much adjusting to do. It sneaks up on me sometimes. Usually I am busy enough and focused on a variety of things that I don’t allow myself to think too much about the changes in our lives. Well, this isn’t the first dramatic change in our lives, so as always, its one day etc, etc.

Still disciplined with many chores each week, but Sunday morning is my time. Here in Guajataca communing with the creator comes naturally. This, I believe, is some of God’s loveliest work. Landscape making me smile on a difficult day is priceless. Thank you, God. And thank you for the kind loving people of Puerto Rico. I have my difficulties with the language and the differences in our cultures, I love the way people go out of their way for one another. It isn’t universal. All the shit that happens in society is here like any place there’s people, but we receive so much kindness our hearts thrive and smile in gratitude to the people we meet on an average day. Yes, Cheryl, there is a reason we stay here and, no, we’re not stupid. ;)

Time to assist my darling with his shower so we can enjoy what man has made. We’re going to the mall. Enjoy your day!

Stay at Va Over

A two month odyssey in the VA medical system gave me sensory overload, starting with the ubiquitous room freshener. Symptoms began with headache, nasal swelling, sore throat. Oh, crap, was I getting a cold, which meant Kirt would get it, and then, I’d smell it, air freshener. I can’t be the only person in the world allergic to air freshener. This is the same thing that happened to me at the Hilton in Trinidad, where a fresh spray gassed the room overnight. An asthma attack froze my lungs after insisting my nose be closed. Thanks for your attention to detail. Ingesting the outdoor scent of chemicals is so much better than opening a window.

Kirt was treated to a plethora of experiences beginning with two weeks bed rest. At seventy what could be better for you? Then he was treated to a femoral bypass with staples from the crotch down his left inseam. The soft, chubby inside of my legs cringed every time I looked at his tender thighs. A fifth toe removal followed the bypass about a week later. Suture line quality made moot by below knee amputation around a week after toe extraction. The bypass surgery failed, but the suture line is healing beautifully until it intersects with below knee amputation. Trimming a nice flap for a stump must be perfected by OJT, on job training. I don’t imagine all flaps coming out of residency to be created equally. Kirt’s surgeon did a really lovely flap.

I thought the stump staple line had issues from the first time I saw it. One of the residents disagreed with me saying that it was beautiful; Kirt had held  his leg wrong, messing everything up. Leave it to a patient to screw up perfectly good work every time. Within days of the amputation the suture line was bright red radiating to dark further away, a couple of black spots looked to me like clotted blood, since then, the staple line has opened up in those areas. I would no longer even call it pretty. 

After the amputation, muscle spasms hammered his thigh and what remains below knee. Dr. Aviles, the excellent rehab doc, ordered calcium, which has helped decrease the cramps, and probiotics for Kirt’s intestines, but had no influence with the quality of breakfast whatsoever.

On Thursday, the surgery residents pitched another amputation on the basis of the poorly healing suture line and the stump healing at an angle impossible for prosthesis. Additional leg removal declined at this time, so Kirt was sent home on Friday. Hallelujah, saints be praised.   

   

Another Day at the VA San Juan

Last evening about 9 pm concerned nurses called the rehab doctors, who informed them that Kirt had been seen about 3 pm and antibiotics were ordered; get them started. I won’t bother to rag about lack of communication or that I was in the day room making a phone call for five minutes when they buzzed in and out. By this time Kirt had a low grade temperature and much more pain. This shift of nurses did a fine job of getting him settled down for what promised to be a better night.

About 2 am Mother Nature called. Kirt transferred from the bed to the wheel chair with a fair amount of skill. The physical therapy paid off already, well, not too much. He got stuck in the bathroom, so I had to call in the night nurses. When he yelled, “I’m getting out of here tomorrow,” I wanted to cry. Once back in bed he writhed in pain holding his leg above the amputation. One of the nurses told him to stop squeezing his leg, that he was making it all red.

Where the hell do you go with a stupid comment like that? She kept insisting that he was responsible for the inflammation in the stump below the knee. I should tell him to stop doing that. Sometimes there’s no point in arguing, so I told her I’d get on that right away.

Just a little sleep and we’d feel better, but that wasn’t to be Kirt ripped his IV out when he dozed off. There was blood all over the sheets, in his hair. He needed a bath and linen change.

With all of the pain and negative experiences it’s easy to over look the really great nurses and care that he is getting. I don’t want to do that because some of Kirt’s nurses have been tremendous; Ada, the kind and gentle, Felix the great, Eileen, the love have tended to him, when he was at the end of his rope. My darling’s recovery will be in no small part due to these wonderful and gracious nurses.

When he recovers all the difficulties forgotten, we’ll remember this time more kindly. 

Today at the VA San Juan

After five weeks of sitting by my husband’s bed in the VA Hospital in San Juan I went home for a couple of days to pay bills, wash clothes and sit on the porch looking at the lake. The rehabilitation team introduced themselves in such a positive way; surely he was in good hands.

His first physical therapy came on Saturday. He did exercises for upper body strength. Reports from our friend Adri about his good spirits helped me relax. Tuesday morning when I arrived I expected Kirt to be headed for therapy, but no. His pain had increased; the amputation was cherry red and oozing. Around 9 am the nurse informed me that the rehabilitation doctors put in a consult to the surgical team for evaluation.

Kirt waited in pain, holding his stump, so I stalked the medication nurse from room to room until she came with the pills that promised relief. Slouched posture and I sure as hell don’t want to be here demeanor spoke volumes as she scanned my husband’s wristband. The first pill she popped out of the bubble wrap plastic. He was unable to take it, so with her long painted fingernails she scooped it out and plucked it into his mouth. Now, it’s been a very long time since I went to nursing school, but as I recall contaminating a patient’s medication is a no-no. She opened the second pill, I pulled out my cell phone and caught the photo of the long nailed vixen handing him the other pill. In between she pushed the hair back from her face, so in complete disgust, I took her picture. It’s too bad her hair fell forward again before I could snap it.

By late afternoon even the rehab doctors were annoyed that the surgeons had not shown up. They ordered that an IV be inserted so Kirt would be ready, if the surgeons ordered IV antibiotics. We waited some more. While a nurse checked his blood sugar I noticed the fingers on his right hand were bloody. I asked the nurse if she knew where the blood was coming from, the short answer was no, and then she left. I washed his hand and pulled back the blanket. His arm was bleeding from where he pulled out the IV. I walked into the hall with the needle and wad of tape, presented it to the nurse just in case anyone wanted to know where the blood was coming from other than me.

A little later another nurse came in the room while I was taking pictures of his stump. She curtly informed me that no picture taking was allowed at the VA. “Did I understand that?” I informed her I did not wanting to be escorted out by security. Police power is an intimidator.

As of this writing it’s now 8 pm and a still no surgeons. The redness is covering a larger area of the stump. Again I asked the nurses to call the doctors and was told they could not call the surgeons that it was between doctors. Either the surgeons will come tonight or in the morning. I’m afraid to cause too much of a ruckus because I want to be able to spend the night with him. I realize that it’s by the good graces of the staff that I’m able to stay to watch my husband’s condition deteriorate this night.   

Counting My Blessings Part II

[The doctor told me stem cell therapy is not available at the VA Hospital in Puerto Rico; maybe we’d need to go to Indiana. Ok, that’s a thought; would that we could.

After the conference with the vascular surgeon, I headed to my friend Adri’s house in nearby Pinones. Looking forward to a shower, visions of stem cell therapy danced in my head. Traffic in San Juan was heavy this time of day. I hit a pothole that went damn near to China. My car died on the expressway with traffic whizzing around me and beeping at me like I could dematerialize for them. Scared out of my wits, I called 911, “Hola, digame.” So many times I’ve wished my Spanish was better, but never more fervently, and then I didn’t know where the devil I was. They asked me for land marks. In a city with billboards everywhere, the best I could do was a sign or a little laminating company. I thought I was still on rt. 26, but no it was 22, or was it the other way around. The 911 operator comforted me, saying that the police would find me soon.

Danny from Escobar Towing, 787 530-3423, pulled up alongside, gave me a questioning look. Yes! Yes! We called 911 back to let them know I was safe and on my way. Danny’s friendly smile and easy way relaxed me just as soon as I was in the cab of his truck. Apparently that pot hole has been very good to him.   

The remainder of Friday afternoon I researched Dr. Michael Murphy, MD and Indiana University School of Medicine for contact information. By the end of the day we had application forms in hand. Monday the surgeons will take toes off and fill out Kirt’s application for stem cell therapy. It feels good to have a shot at saving his leg after the failed femoral bypass.

After all we’ve been through to leave the cold Midwest, Indiana here we come- maybe. So far it looks like Kirt meets the criteria for inclusion in the study. 

Counting My Blessings Part One

Around 5 am a pack of surgical residents assembled at the foot of my husband’s bed. Kirt covers his head with the blankets lately. He no longer wants to hear most of what they say. The graft failed. The big discussion centers on how much lope to lob off, a toe, a foot, maybe midway below the knee. Gee, I wish I had covers over my head.

Just yesterday morning I was ticked with everybody who gave me a cock and bull story about why Kirt was sweating profusely. I mean wet gown and bed clothes sweating. It’s not a high temperature. It’s not low blood sugar. Then it’s that he has too many covers on. Oh, please, how sick do you have to be to sweat the bed wet under the covers? Duh, do you really think I believe that?  I was insulted to be told that tale.

When I came back to see Kirt in the afternoon, he was wringing wet. I told the afternoon nurses, who all said, “Yes, it’s a side effect of the pain medication he’s taking. We’re going to wash him off and change his linen.” Ta-Dum! Nothing satisfies like the truth. Kirt won the bonus round with nurses who took good care of him; no, excellent care, putting ointment on his hinny and joking with him while they worked.

My eternal gratitude goes to the hospital for allowing me to sleep on a cot by my guy’s bed. He’s well medicated and sleeps soundly. It’s just good to be with him.

In the night, while surfing the net to educate myself, I found info about stem cell research revascularizing legs that otherwise would have been amputated.  Hmm, a ray of hope eased my mind. I curled up on my little cot, trying to crack my neck to get rid of an intense headache.

And here we are back to 5 am. Without a cup of coffee, I may not have a pulse. Needless to say I didn’t have a functioning brain; hence no discussion of stem cells, just cutting, more or less, was the question. The next couple of hours sitting in silence were agonizing. Kirt said he didn’t want to talk about it. My head throbbed. He needed time to grieve for body parts.

Later the vascular surgeon laid out the facts surgically, if you’ll pardon the pun. I asked her about the stem cell therapy for revascularizing legs. She said she wasn’t familiar with it. Something new from Indiana University, I could see the excitement in her eyes. She said she would know more about it by the end of the day!

Hope, thank you God for hope; I’ll keep the rest of you posted. Please, pray for this.  

Hospitalized in San Juan

Tell me that the usual causes of profuse sweating do not seem to be the culprits. Tell me you don’t know why my husband is sweating so much his gown is wringing wet, why his body is outlined with a sweat ring on the bed and his pillow, but DON’T tell me it’s because he was too covered up by his blanket that he’s wet with sweat. Everybody knows that if you get too warm under covers you kick a foot out or your arms and you cool off. No way you lie there sweating like a hog, and this is normal.  

At my insistence the intern came in to look at him. Ok, whatever caused the profuse sweating seems to be over, that I can accept, but now clean him up and change his linens.

The floor nurses are kind, loving people, who usually do a good job. I hate to be bitchy, but this is my one and only husband. So today if he wants a shave and his teeth brushed it’s up to me. After his bed bath, the nurse handed me his bowl and a couple of towels. I wonder what they do if the patient doesn’t have family present to his tidying them up?

The femoral bypass surgery done on Friday has failed. The doctors are planning to remove a toe this coming Friday. Hmm, yes the fifth toe that was pink when he came in two weeks ago is black as a lump of coal. The fourth toe, the one that was blue is the same. Don’t know if that’s good or shades of things to come.

Any day of the week great things happen in a hospital, but the same can be said for bad things. If they don’t do a graft revision, the prognosis is not good for his leg. It’s worrisome when I hear from the residents that the man made material used in the bypass grafts doesn’t work well, so they don’t want to use it. The literature I’ve read gives a better outlook than what I hear from these docs, so I have concerns. 

Hospital Nightmare in San Juan

“Yelling at my husband in Spanish won’t help him understand you. He doesn't speak Spanish,” I informed his intensive care nurse. “Habla la lengua del pais.” She angrily said to me as my husband held his head.

“Why are you holding your head, does it hurt?” she shouted like she was taking to a deaf man. My love thrashed in pain, just hours after a femoral bypass operation. “Time to go, now,” Nurse Maria barked at me. I pleaded with the angry young nurse to let me see my husband relax after receiving his pain medication who said she would have to call security if I didn't leave NOW. My seventy year old darling became agitated. He pulled at his gown and bed clothes. My heart ached to stay with my husband of forty-five years, until he was comfortable again.  

This woman, who seemed intelligent and efficient, told me to get out so she could do her job. She would not give his medication until I left. My husband kicked reflexively with the leg she told him to hold still. She again ordered him in Spanish to not move his leg. She ordered me out in Spanish with un-called for vehemence.

Did she take offense because I told her that my husband needed to be elevated in bed? The foot of the operated leg was pushed against the foot of the bed. His toes have turned black since his admission to this hospital. I can only imagine that dying toes hurt on a good day let alone the day he has surgery on that leg.

I treat the staff with courtesy and respect. The floor nurses in the ten days he’s been in the hospital have been amiable. Some of them have had difficulty with English. I speak as much Spanish as I know. I like the language, looking forward to becoming proficient. We worked it out amicably. The surgical floor staff was wonderful to us.

The SICU nurse’s lack of compassion caused me worry for my honey’s well being. I sensed her competence at her job, but she lacked empathy. I told her I had to bring in her patient’s snore machine. His surgeon specifically said he wanted him to use it. I walked out to the car to get it, when I returned. No one answered the bell. It was after hours, but they knew I was coming back with it. I had to walk back to the other building in the emergency department to have someone call to get her to come to the door of SICU to take the machine. I wished her a good evening. Have a good night while taking care of my love.  She was working until 6 am she said before. She replied something in Spanish as she grabbed the bag.

I honor that Puerto Rico is a Spanish speaking country. I am learning the language, but the VA Hospital in San Juan is still a federal facility and my husband is still a veteran. 

Adventures in Paradise

A hen cackled, “I laid an egg. I laid an egg.” Funny, at the same time a rooster crowed. I wonder if the cock a doodle was, "I laid a hen. I laid a hen." The most minuscule brown birds swarmed the Royal Palm Tree near our front door. Once their nest was in that tree, perhaps they’ll build again; I hope. The sun stroked the tops of trees promising more to come.

About 8 am we were sitting in the living room having a cup of coffee, enjoying a slow start to the day. After being out all night the dogs jumped up from a dead sleep. When dogs bark low in a certain tone and growl, it’s human and close; if the growl turns into a growly whine, we like the person, so we knew it was our friend and neighbor, Geri coming up the driveway.

“Good morning,” he said in English with a big smile on his face. “Buenas dias,” we replied.  Geri held up a big bag of yams, smiled, as he told the story of how he came upon this treasure while cleaning his land. The words in Spanish flew past the little window to my brain before I could catch a one, but Geri’s expressive body language gave us the whole picture.

When I asked him how to cook this, he laughed. The idea of a woman who isn’t a good cook is incomprehensible to him. With great pride Geri told us that he was indeed an excellent cook and then how to cook the yams.

Geri frequently tells me stories. He laughs so heartily when he gets to the punch line that I laugh with him even though I don’t understand the words. Having a friend, who doesn't speak the same language, is an adventure. When the person is someone as dear as Geri, it’s a lovely journey. Geri embodies old school Puerto Rico, the heart and soul of La Isla del Encanto. On a personal note he reminds me of the old school farmers my grandfather would take me to visit when I was incredibly young.

For years I’ve been afraid of retirement. Not having a schedule each day, or a to-do list left me feeling flaccid, wasted. All right, I’ll say it, “Useless.” What regimented thinking! I am learning to enjoy my day, especially a serendipitous moment like a neighbor dropping by unannounced with gifts.   

Enjoy your day, Tricia

SUV Shipped to the Island

Just when the panic button became a serious option, I used Sea Star’s tracking device again. This time success, the SUV was in the Port of San Juan. Oh joy, that gave me a major relief.

Where is my car? My shipping agent never responded. He replied with instructions to send money to a company that, when I looked it up, sells cookware. Wouldn't you be suspicious?

It’s funny that I feel so relieved and yet, I’m still so blasted annoyed; now, to put my last two nickels together to pick “Beni” up.

The Department of Hacienda levies and collects the excise tax to import a car. They have a nifty gizmo on the website to estimate the tax. You fill in the VIN or make, model and year. They give you a tax estimate. How nice to know before heading out, and remember I don’t have a phone, so, I’m thrilled with anything I can do over the internet.

Don’t you just know that gizmo DID NOT WORK? I went through the instructions over and over with a check sheet, so I wouldn't miss a step. I thoroughly wanted to be ready to go to San Juan Monday morning.  

Tension: being at the end of your credit wondering if you’re going to make it; that about sums it up. I’d love waiting until Monday, if I were a masochist.

On the bright side I’m going to spend a couple of days with my very good friend Adri at her home in Carolina. We can walk to the beach. She goes swimming with a pack of rescue dogs.

That’s what I need: a dog packed vacation. Enjoy your day. Thanks for reading.  

No Car, No What!

The hauler phone number didn’t match the number on the website. It’s a day later; still don’t know where my car is.

My quest for patience gave way to panic hours ago. We’re retired, we can’t replace this stuff, the way we could when we were younger. To tell the truth, I would have never taken losing my car well.

Transporting Beni is digging into the very last of our resources. Oh, gee, another cause for panic; paying for it!

Internet piracy happens all the time. Heavens, I could get paranoid without really trying.

I love Puerto Rico. It’s worth all the difficulty to be in a tropical garden with the lake, the mountains, and the rock formations. Remind me of that later.

My neighbor, who speaks only Spanish, our contact for the phone company just told me Claro called. Twenty questions and google translate later; I’m not getting my phone for five to six weeks because the house no longer has a line. Could life get any better?

Shit, I can’t afford a cell phone, right now. The phone line is $25 a month. That was doable. It never occurred to me that I’d be sweating such small amounts, but here it is. Damn, I wish Claro would have told me about the phone line when they told me we couldn’t get internet here. We’ve been without a phone for a month.

So, I just got an email from the shipper, NO, your car is at Sea Star, will leave port on the such and such; just an invoice.

The agent handling this had a great sales personality. He should have saved some of that personality for his customer service.

The shipper’s website proudly displayed Visa, Master Card and American Express, but these people keep asking for cash transfers. I filled out the form on the website to track my vehicle before I received the email, so I assume they are connected, a small relief.

Guess I’ll pay the hauler and get a cell phone.

SUV Shipping Blues

Patience, that asset often eludes me. Being dreadfully long on imagination at times, I can see my Mercedes, SUV getting off the ship somewhere far away. 

We named the 1998 ML, Beni, so we’re talking old friend.

Last week the shipper and hauler were all over me to pay a COD bill on pick up and the shipper was requesting final balance actually before they had done anything physical like picking the vehicle up. Was it just an efficient routine?

COD was settled to be at delivery today. I am expecting to receive an email telling me that Beni arrived at Sea Star parking lot in Jacksonville, Florida, and pay up.

If Beni were a child, it would be time to call an Amber Alert, but Beni is a car, so prudence dictates waiting.

The shipper is a BBB, Better Business Bureau Member in good standing. Their website is fabulous. The hauler has a sharp, if anonymous web site. I don’t like company sites that don’t mention a single human being.

As on top of things as these folks were last week, I am staggered to report not a peep out of them this week. What should I think about this?

Sea Star has an online tool to check cargo whereabouts. Beni hasn’t been checked in yet. How long should I wait?

My thought is if they are legit, they'll want their money , so we'll hear from them. If not, it's already too late. 

     

Isla del Encanto: WARNING!!

                  

They’re called “Panaderias”, the equivalent of mom and pops small town bakery/quickie grocery store. Panaderias are found in every pueblo on the island.

Those of you over a certain age will know what I am talking about, maybe; your neighborhood still has one. 
These Panaderias hit my hot spot for nostalgia. Suddenly, I am a little girl again looking at the coin-op pony in the corner.

North Americans are frequently a tad out of their comfort zone upon first entering. I’ve seen it over the years here, hell, I’ve been it. With luck, someone in the store will speak English, or want to practice their English.

The sometimes locals' surprised looks  tell me they haven’t seen a foreigner in a while.
 In my, I don’t know Jack, stage of Spanish, “Hola,” a smile and hand wave got me through purchases. People can be so amazingly friendly.

                                   CAUTION 
Stay away from the warm, homemade bread. Stay Away from the home made donuts. The hot pastrami made in front of you should NEVER pass your lips.

Each panaderia has its own best donut or pastry. Fresh bread will not allow you to walk out. Smells so good, you must have some. I’ve eaten sandwiches, when I wasn’t hungry, but they were so good. I was powerless. My mouth is watering while I write this.

If you’re in Puerto Rico save your money, eat where the locals eat, but be very careful there is a chronic disease called Ican’tpassapanaderia. It will enchant your taste buds, and leave you helpless.

I am officially under its spell and my bottom line is showing it. 
This is the real Puerto Rico. 

Shipping Car to Puerto Rico

This morning I woke up with a knot in my stomach, intuition telling me something is very wrong.

Our repaired SUV is still in Mobile, Alabama. A contract signed and deposit taken to transport the vehicle to the Port of San Juan. This seemed fine. We’re eager to get our stuff in one place and be settled.

When I signed the contract on Monday, the agent told me that he had a driver in Mobile ready to take it. He needed a deposit, which I gave him.

In the next email the agent said that the hauler would be in Mobile to pick it up on Friday. The driver worked COD, so I needed to pay his fee in cash. He sent me the bank routing number and account number to deposit the fee for transport to Jacksonville before they would pick up the vehicle.

COD means cash on delivery to me, not cash on pick up. My deposit should have been a sign of good will and the lubricant to get things moving. I felt ill at ease being asked for additional payment up front and in cash only.

In an email I questioned when my vehicle would arrive in San Juan. Without an answer to that question, the agent informed me to deposit the balance into another checking account.

Admittedly I am not a very sophisticated woman, but this doesn’t seem right to me. Or am I just being paranoid?

  

Getting Settled, Or Trying

We’re in the tip of the Bermuda Triangle. No phone, internet broadband no longer working, or my husband’s glucometer. The carport light refused to be turned off, no matter how hard we wiggled the switch. The switch for the other light turned the naughty light on as well, but never off, had to disengage the breaker. If that light comes back on I am really going to be scared. Smile.

Liberty Cable in Hatillo, where we went yesterday to solve this ongoing problem has the very best staff. We loved the guard at the door. He couldn’t have been nicer, opened the door for us, showed us what to do. The lady behind the desk could not have sounded sadder, when she informed us we weren’t in their service area. Now, I know why my friend Gloria recommended them to me, good call my friend. We need competitive services in el campo.

After the big dive we just took, we need to be ultraconservative. What we have isn’t going to go far. Ah, the old wants versus needs.

Every time I get too serious about my troubles, the Great Courses DVD in the drive comes to life with the dramatic musical crescendo. I am really into those, glad I bought a few when we still had money.

Bands of white and darker grey clouds roll over the mountains. I love the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans in the morning. The roosters are crowing their butts off. There goes the Great Courses DVD again.

On Saturday morning the valley is alive with activity, after the tranquil weekdays, I enjoy the energy.

So far retirement for me is a cup of coffee on the porch, while watching the clouds roll in over the mountains. Of course, it’s followed by the journey of the day, which is Claro and AT&T in Plaza Del Norte, Arecibo.

The clouds over the mountains are getting darker, the under belly of the cloud pierced by the tallest spire gives rain. Shadows darken proud peaks looking now like an under world exposed. The netherworld grows with the grey in the clouds. Rain lightens the grey, as if the forces conspire. Who needs TV, when this drama unfolds?

The internet is another matter. I feel like a flipping addict. I’d better get a job, if I’m going to get Ground Control. Lord, I love the name. I hear a young Elton John’s Major Tom beckoning Ground Control. Their website is major sexy, pure power. I want it!

To advocate for the animals of the island, I need to be online. I just started a free online course on fantasy, how appropriate.

Hello to my good friends in New Orleans. I wish I could have brought you with me. Miss you mucho!

Retirement Reality

Retired, it’s been almost a month. The only thing slowed down is my rate of accomplishment. No phone, our SUV is still in Mobile, Alabama. The neuter program I want to put together for community strays is on a back burner until I get my act together.

We ordered phone service from Claro. Ten days later I found out they don’t have internet service where I live. What? No internet, well, I cancelled the phone thinking I’d get it somewhere else. For my part of the island there is no someplace else. When we first bought here in 2006 Verizon internet and phone worked fine. In fact that’s why we had Verizon, but then something happened and Verizon internet adaptor quit working here and then we had trouble with the phone. I think Claro bought out Verizon in Puerto Rico.

We need a phone, but not as much as I need reliable internet. Web surfing I came across Ground Control, which promises blazing speed and no outages. I got so excited my toes curled, and then I saw the price. Oh, baby, if I could afford it, the faster better internet would be mine.

The current budget will allow a house phone with unlimited calling to the states. We’ll go back to Claro on Monday for that. The broadband stick I have works best from midnight to six in the morning. I guess I’ll develop some new habits, like staying up all night.

It’s almost ten, still no internet access. I was having the same problem with Verizon in New Orleans. As much as I had no access there, I thought they were over selling their service. I don’t understand it, but it sure is frustrating.

On the plus side, I’m doing a lot of reading.

God Smiled on Puerto Rico

Can you picture God first imagining earth? Was it with the part of God’s mind from which sprang science? Or did God create the earth with an artist’s eye? 

Did God create the rules, or does God abide by rules?

I look at my beautiful valley in great admiration of God’s work. Green fields rise to meet white clouds. Orange blossoms punctuate hillsides with color. My eye is drawn to the lake. Cool blue demands audience.

Did God smile when earth’s creation was done? How could a creator not? We smile broadly when we do far less. Maybe we require disappointment to relish achievement.

Look at the beauty before me. Nothing we create advances near. My spirit settles here, anxiety fades.

God was in a good mood when creating Puerto Rico. I am blessed to be here. Gracias a Dio.

  

Retired in Puerto Rico

After a life filled with a sense of purpose, I worry about becoming stale in retirement. Sitting on the porch, an apt metaphor for those golden years; what could be better, right? Don’t get me wrong the view from my porch is outstanding. We get lost in it regularly.


I’m not ready to settle in for the view and gardening. My heart is young, if not wild; I have a passion for animals. The natural thing for me to do is find a place within the animal advocate community.

How can I help the animals of Puerto Rico? I am not going to open a shelter at my house like the women I admire the most. My husband and I have a contract that doesn’t include a kennel in the back yard.

What can I do? Let’s see: build a kennel from the ground up, build and run a business, train dogs, help people with dog problems. I am a certified Animal Control Officer in Puerto Rico. Yeah, that and two bucks will get me a cup of coffee.

I’ve volunteered with Adri, Amigos de Los Animales and  Alma Febus, ACO/CI, Bambi Rottweiler Service. These women are too busy to get together with me. And I mean that sincerely. It is my goal to do one good thing for each of them at a time because they are two of the best animal activistas I have met on the island.

In my opinion Puerto Rico is an excellent example of the way people have historically lived with dogs. Respecting what is, I am a proponent of trap-neuter, vaccinate and release. My payback to this beautiful island for all I enjoy will be that campaign. I’m glad we got that settled, without a direction. I feel lost.

You meet the best people when doing something good, so I’m going to start in my own backyard. Hello Puerto Rico.

Puerto Rico the Good & Bad

Welcome to Puerto Rico, one the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen, even rainy days are blessed with sunshine. The people for the most part are friendly. My neighbors are very nice.


Sam’s Club and Walmart stores are pretty much the same. Prices are higher since we’re on a little island, but things are accessible. Roadside vendors have the best fruits and vegetables, avocados you can only dream about back in the states.

Roadside vendors cater to locals. Returning customers are their bread and butter. The first time English speaking people buy from the vendor, we have to expect a higher price. I speak to them in my best Spanish to tell them I live here now. All have asked me where I live and do I like Puerto Rico. Many of these guys will then start speaking English. I usually recognize their English accents immediately.

On an island this size, chances are you’ll see people again, so making friends comes easy.

There are so many wonderful views here. We’re view junkies, if we see something pretty we’ll stop and stare. The view from our porch requires hours of inspection daily. The cattle are in different parts of the pasture and the clouds are so close.

Before you go thinking this is paradise, the utilities suck, in my opinion. I take that back, a bit. The electric company is not bad. Had minimal difficulties with electric, most problems have been weather related, which is expected.

Almost every day the water has been out for all or part of the day, today, 1/10/13, 6:20 pm, no water. By night it’s usually been back on, but since I use a clothes line to dry, washing clothes at night just feels wrong. Or more likely, I just don’t think about it at night. This daily outage pales in comparison to the year in which the water was out for eight months solid. Trucks would fill the rooftop reservoirs, if you were home when they happened by. Some days during that time I thought I would fall out of love with Puerto Rico, but that hasn’t happened.

The Puerto Rican Phone Company is giving me fits. I have an internet adaptor stick on a month to month basis, which I have for years. It sucks, forgive me, there’s no other way to say it. Actually it’s worse this time than the last time we were here. Within the week I’ve been down to the office for issues ranging from not being able to communicate with the server to SIM card not being activated. Five trips to Arecibo, I am having the same problems. I decided to give up the unreliable stick for a land line and internet combo the company offers. After filling out all the paper work, the guy tells me to stand in another line to find out why I have an outstanding balance and so am not eligible for further service. Since I’ve always been on a month to month basis, how could it be you say. Yeah, that’s what I said. I stood in the next line. The new man said, “You owe money,” I said, “No, show me for what.” He then told me I would have to call the company to find out for what. It didn’t come up on his computer screen.

“I am here at the company to do business. You call the department. I came all the way down here to get something. Let’s solve this now.”

“You can call the company on our phone, the man replied. He was kind enough to dial for me. When the prompts came on in Spanish he pressed the number for English option only to languish on hold. He hung up on his own company multiple times, and started complaining to me.

The phone company said that I skipped out on two months, about $75, which no one at the store could understand because it was clearly a month to month product. Now, being just a fabulous guy, my agent said, “If I would pay for one month, they would sacrifice the other.” After over an hour standing to discuss this with them, I agreed to pay the month. The agent politely helped me through the payment machine, smiled when he told me I could apply for the product I wanted, the house phone and internet service, in three days, when my account balance was at zero.

The moral to the story is that, unless you have a high tolerance for long lines and endless bullshit, Puerto Rico may not be the place for you. What helps make it tolerable foe me is that once settled, I, usually, only have the water company to bitch about.

There you have the good and the bad. The ugly is the animals starving in the streets, but that’s another story.